I Have Tea

Monday Night

2010-10-26T19:23:00.000-07:00

It's late, but here I sit, sipping a cup of coffee. Full strength. And it's good. The last few days have been very nice...no big problems. Even work is swimming along. My horoscope (smiles) actually told me that the ship is finally coming in after a long period of rocky weather, and that I should get used to stability, for a change. Hey, it was the best horoscope I've ever read, and although I truly don't put any stock in those, it's one that I want to believe. SO - I will.

Saturday was my birthday, and to celebrate, I got out of the house. I did. The plan was to stay out for the entire day, and that's almost exactly what happened. There's a whole big world outside of these walls! I had almost forgotten...we went to some yard sales, to the habitat store where we found a lovely fall painting that was 75% off. Soon, it will hang in the living room. We found books for the smallest grandchildren. We went to a health fair where my daughter and I both won door prizes, socialized a little bit and had a great time. And...as a treat for having been so good, we had tiramisu after dinner. Not too much! Just enough to appreciate decadence and the feeling of indulgence it brings. We all need that, once in a while.
_____________________________________________________________

On a somber note, I found out Bert passed away this past summer. She was a pistol, a wonderful lady who had a big heart. Godspeed, Ladybug. It was a privilege to have met you in this locationless space.

Holy Cow, the chandalier is shaking! Pardon me while I ramble. I don't talk much during the week.

2010-10-09T05:00:00.000-07:00

Ft. Bragg is apparently bombing in my back yard this morning - there just came a boom that made me duck, and also made me rethink the chandalier. If they continue to have exercises like this, I'm taking it down, lest it crashes on my head.

Good Saturday, Journal. I am behind in my housework, down to clothes I can't wear in the closet, and hiding in doorways, lest all the bombing should bring down the ceiling. The good news is, the dishes are soaking, the washer is agitating the dirt out of my laundry, and it isn't cloudy out, so the war games across the railroad track shouldn't shake the pictures off the wall. I just hope the participants don't shoot a shell the wrong way.

I met with a nutritionist yesterday. She says all I need to do is balance the carbs a little bit more. All this health is killing me - ophthalmology on Monday, mammogram on Friday, but you know what...it's worth it. My glucose is at least in a safe range, now, and I have lost ten pounds since August. It is amazing what simple changes have wrought. Exercise is the hardest, though. I can't seem to make myself do what needs to be done. A friend from work has generously agreed to walk with me during lunch. We don't get far (my fault), but my muscles are cursing me and my back is threatening to go on strike. Getting older is definitely not for the faint of heart, but it sure beats the alternative.

I am trying to be more upbeat. The last thing people want to do is hang out with Sad Sally.

We have a new clinical social worker at work, and there is something about her that makes me smile. She seems so serene, but at the same time, you can tell her wicked sense of humor is just below the surface. I like it! and can't wait to get to know her better. First impressions can be misleading, but...I think this one could be a lot of fun.

For some reason, I have always been drawn to the CSW's. First, there was Libby, whose eyes are solemn and wise, like an old country woman. Full of spit and vinegar, she was - and is. She retired several years ago. I admire her for so many reasons - her soft heart, her toughness, her willingness to unabashedly advocate for her clients. No, that wasn't willingness. That was just her nature. And everyone was her client, not just those on the roster. Libby is a force to be reckoned with, and a natural giver. Retirement has been no vacation for her. She continues to give, and volunteers at the Coalition, which provides for people in need.

Anyway...I don't think we're ever too old for role models. Now that I have time hanging from hands that were once so full...well. Now they're too empty. I'm thinking it's time to fill them again. Maybe Libby needs help at the Coalition, or perhaps I can find another organization that could use an extra hand.

A little reflection, a little looking toward the future.

2010-09-29T17:14:00.000-07:00

They came for Mom's hospital bed. I truly didn't think it would affect me the way it did. The room looks so empty. And I felt the way the room looks. I almost cried, but couldn't squeeze more than a few tears.

I don't know why. Perhaps it's because the last few years have called for so many tears I just don't have a lot left. How dramatic is that statement. It's true, though. I have grieved, as we all have, and have experienced anticipatory grief for Mom for more than a decade. I feel good that I could spend the last two years of her life with her. Once, she told me - "You're sweet. I always thought you were hard to get along with." Well...Mom wasn't far from wrong, but she and I spent a lot of time together not as mother and daughter. She was my employer until I was thirty-six, and maybe I was difficult because waitress was not my life's goal.

But we became close as the years went on. And we were even more so, the longer we lived together. She often remarked, "We get along so well. Did you ever think we would be living together again?"

I cooked in Mom's kitchen tonight. And later, as I was cleaning the mess I made, something came over me that had nothing to do with grief, and a lot to do with remembering.

Mom's sisters, whom she loved so much. The weekend canasta fests, when they all drank diet coke and laughed, called each other "hussey!" when one built a better hand than the other. They had so much fun! ... and I was the fly on the wall, or an observer on their periphery, taking it all in. They were my exposure to what a close family really is. They had so much love, and we loved being near them.

They're all gone, now, hopefully reunited in the proverbial much better place. I hope so. And tonight, for the first time, it occurred to me that it's time to step up and assume the role left to me.

I want to be happy. And I am...more than that, I want to leave the sisters' legacy for my children and grandchildren. I want them to have good times, laughter and love to remember and pass on to their own families, one day.

A few weeks before Mom went to the hospital, she and I were talking, about noise. She said it didn't bother her, and I agreed, saying noise - the kids, the tv, etc, were sounds of living. She watched me intently as I was talking, and she smiled. She would have wanted me to carry on. She would have wanted us to be happy.

New Challenges

2010-09-26T20:52:00.000-07:00

Last week, I took the plunge and made an appointment with a doctor. I did this after my brother was diagnosed with diabetes the previous week. And I had felt so...wrong, bad...over the past few months that, on a whim, I took my own blood sugar level. It was 287. I was horrified.

The doctor's appointment confirmed what I already knew, and I'm ok with it. There's a very good chance that I can eventually come off the medication and control the diabetes with diet and exercise. What bothered me is, my daughter was diagnosed the same day I was. That is not ok.

She isn't handling it well, probably because she's confused about what she can and cannot eat. She has had a rough couple of months, and she is afraid because she knows her Grandmother's diabetes contributed to her death.

So for the next while, my new mission is to make sure she - and I - do what we need to do to face this disease head-on and control it.

Maybe I have more purpose, after all.

I hardly know how to begin this...

2010-09-12T09:39:00.001-07:00

But it's important to write, for myself.

On September 5, my mother died. She had been in the hospital for two weeks. She had her 75th birthday there. The doctor allowed her to have fried chicken chimichangas for her birthday meal. The Monday after that, she went into respiratory arrest, and was rushed in for an emergency cardiac cath.

Amazingly enough, it wasn't her heart. I could list a litany of treatments she was subjected to after her cath, emergent dialysis, life support...

On the one hand, I am furious with the hospitalist who talked her into rescinding her DNR. She would have gone peacefully the day she had the cath, but no. She never really woke again, that I could tell. I visited her, I talked to her, rambling on about ordinary things that seemed so trivial in the face of her grave situation. We held her hand, we smoothed her hair back. We prayed, sang to her. Told her it would be ok. And there is the other hand. We had time to say goodbye, and know it was right to let her go. We told her it was okay, if she was too tired to fight anymore. We told her we would be all right.

And she went. I wasn't there; the hospital didn't call me, and neither did my brother. I tell myself that the important thing is, she was not alone at the end. I tell myself I couldn't have taken watching that beautiful spirit take her leave of this world.

I don't know how it was for my brother and sisters; she was so many things to all of us. For me, I lost my mother, best friend, my child...I had taken care of her for the last two years. I don't know what I'll do with myself, now. She was my company late in the night. We talked, reminisced, played games, drank coffee together.

And then I think, Oh, what she gave me...laughter. Music. Poetry. Heart. Life.

I know how lucky I have been in my life, how fortunate I was to have her and be with her these last two years.

A long-distance cousin sent lavender roses flanked with lavender calla lillies. She wanted something unique, she said, because Mom was such a singular, beautiful woman. Last night, I woke to the scent of those roses. I like to think it was a visit from her, a message that she is here in all the rare, wonderful things in this world.

I'll miss you, Mom.

Waiting for the Floor to Dry

2010-07-08T17:51:00.000-07:00

The picture on the left is of Dad, brother Mike and me. It must have been taken around 1962, not sure. My sister found it, scanned it, and I snagged it for my own personal use.

We're sitting in Grandma Parks' living room. I remember that old rocker! But barely remember Mike looking like that - so small and round and cute. The door behind us was Grandma's bedroom, and much later, was Dad's room. He would go in there, close the door to take a nap after working 12 or 16 hours, and we kids knew better than to make noise, lest he emerge, trip over one of us camped out in the floor and roar - "A bunch of cur dogs!" Well, that was Dad. Roar now (especially when he was in pain from hitting the floor after tripping over one of us), make a gesture of apology later. He never said the words...I'm sorry...but he would place one of his big hands on a shoulder and pat it. That's as close as he came, but it was ok, because we knew what he meant.

He has been on my mind a lot, lately, especially after this past weekend when someone broke into the house in which my baby sister now lives. They stole a few things, but the worst is, they managed to smash my father's picture. The one in his Air Force uniform. The one that sat for years in the cabinet you see in the photograph my sister scanned. They used his knives to stab his dog tags. It was a personal attack, yes, but not against my father; it was against my nephew, who adored him.

Some days, I think there's hope for the world, for the kids coming up, and other days I'm just tired from the violence and the insanity that surrounds all of us, every day, whether it touches us directly or not.

See that picture my sister scanned? It's from a time when the world was a little more tame, when morals were to the foreground for most, whether the background reflected them or not. It's from a time when I could sit in my father's lap and feel safe and peaceful.

Me, me, me, me me!

2010-06-28T18:36:00.000-07:00

So, it helps to blog. It keeps me honest. ;-)

I started physical therapy two weeks ago, for my back. Didn't realize how much I needed some help until I got there, and the therapist kept looking at me like 1. I was insane. 2. He didn't know what to make of me. 3. He was completely puzzled by my presence.

He was great, though. He assessed and identified the problem and started me on exercises to strengthen my hips. He also introduced me to massage via electrodes and heat by ultrasound. Holy cow, it's worth the money per visit just for the massage. However, money and time are an issue, and three times a week x $$ is not doable right now. It's ok, though. I came away with a few tricks, how to move correctly, and it seems to be helping.

I will miss the massage, though. Shoot.

The diet is going well. I have been faithful to it all day today, and hope to make it a full week. One interesting note I came across while researching nutrition...gelatin contains collagen that, when ingested, is good for the skin. Who would have thought...still, it's a bit hard to ingest it when you read what's in it. Hooves?? If you can turn off that image, you can scarf down jello with no problem.

It's easier to be positive when you're being good to yourself...a month ago, I found myself growing short tempered and intolerant of almost everything. Requests from other people came across as demands. I was not having fine moments by a long shot.

So I prayed. My own request was for help to make me what I needed to be, and what Mom and others need me to be. I was sincere in prayer. And then, things started happening. The PT, the desire to take care of myself, but something else...friends started reappearing in my life.

My buddy Charles called and actually invited us over. We went, and had a good time. Got caught in an explosive electrical storm on the way home, and it was great!

Old friends from school found me on facebook. I had an invitation for coffee, and conversation.

My boss started putting limits on what other departments could ask me to do. That, alone, is wondrous. And highly unusual.

I hope this is a trend and not a fad. But even if it stops, it all came at a time when it was sorely needed. I can be happy with that.

Good Sunday Evening

2010-06-06T20:03:00.001-07:00

I never saw what the last couple of years had done to me (oh, I suspected, but didn't pay it much mind) until I looked in the mirror last Thursday morning - holy cow, was that me?! - no pun intented.

I have gained 30 pounds and it really, really shows. My face looks like an overinflated balloon, my hair was shapeless, past my shoulders and I looked horrible.

I have no point of reference, except myself, but my guess is, most women are so busy taking care of everyone else that they forget they have to figure somewhere into the equation. Eat right - take a little time for exercise, like a nice, long walk. Get a haircut every now and then, why don't we, and maybe even read a book. Have a bubble bath, soak until the rest of the skin wrinkles. Write once in a while, because cliche or not, if you don't use it, that muscle will atrophy and may never recover.

After the initial shock of being confronted with an honest mirror, I took a few steps toward finding myself again. I recommitted to South Beach, waited an hour and a half for hair cut, and since I was already in the chair, had the eyebrows waxed and sprang for a shampoo - which I have to tell you was the next best thing to the best ... intimacy... I ever had. Tea tree shampoo. It is heaven in a bottle.

I bought a book, the new one by Pat Conroy, filled a grocery cart full of fresh vegetables and fruits and spent a small mint on shower gel.

Sometimes, you have to be good to yourself. I think sometime has come for me.

warming up

2009-11-07T06:49:00.000-08:00

It's Saturday morning, and I'm sitting here with my customary cuppa, Miss Thang hiding under my feet so she doesn't get banned to the garage. It's so hard to believe it's November already...

This time last week, I was sitting at the Golden Griddle in North Myrtle Beach with Mom, ordering pancakes (bad girl) and getting excited about the flea market. It was a nice trip, mostly, and the farthest from home we had been in two years. That's a shame, being that the ocean is only two and a half hours away from here.

The exception to the "mostly" came when Mom had a sugar drop while she was sleeping. I heard her talking and bent over to ask her if she was ready for dinner. Her eyes were open and she was pointing at the wall and she suddenly started repeating, "Maser maser maser, wester wester wester" over and over. I shook her and said, Mom, wake up! and she screamed Noooo! Folks, I'm here to tell you, I have never seen anything like that in my life and it only took a split second to call for EMS. I thought she had had a stroke - a sugar drop would never have occurred to me. And I'm usually good in emergencies and don't crumble until everything is over, but I lost it. Thank God for the EMT's. They gave her an IV and in minutes she was back to her normal self. She didn't remember any of it and hasn't had a hypoglycemic episode of that magnitude since last week.

When we got home, we took her levels and they were low over a period of time, so I decided to check me to see if maybe the meter wasn't working right. Well, her level was 52 and mine was 233.

I do believe I'll be good now.

As for Mom, her doctor has lowered her insulin dosage. As for the flea market, there wasnt much there...

As for the week, it ended on a special note, literally, when I opened my email at work and someone very thoughtful had sent "a little poetry to go with your morning tea."

Surprising, isn't it, how small things can make things right.

AUUUGGHHH!

2009-11-07T06:31:00.000-08:00

I knew it, could tell something was wrong the other night when I tried to save the 600 words I had just added to my November Novel. Works did not save! Shoot, and I was just getting into a groove.

How's everybody else doing?

National Novel Writing Month

2009-10-30T07:29:00.000-07:00

Okay, friends and neighbors and fellow scribblers - November is coming up fast, and so is the Novel Writing event. The goal is to write a novel in 30 days (175 pages) no matter how bad it is. The goal is productivity. I'm posting a link here for anyone who is interested. Let's do it!!!!

http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/whatisnano

Trying so hard not to get the ice cream out..

2009-09-12T15:59:00.000-07:00

Well, it's Saturday already. And it's almost over - today was a busy day.

Yesterday was my grandson's first birthday. So hard to believe a year has gone by since he was born, harder to believe how much has happened in that time. We had his party today...was very nice! He seemed especially fond of a blue and green striped shirt someone gave him, and I suspect the child will be a clotheshound.

As much as I loved having everyone over, I hope tomorrow will be more peaceful. There's a lot going on around here, still, and I'm beginning to wonder if there will ever be an end to it.

Mom now has a vertebral stress fracture and a bulging disc in her back, so she's in a lot of pain. Mike and I took her to a bone specialist last week to see if she was a candidate for gluing the fracture, but...no. We did finally get her pain medication straightened out, which has helped a lot.

Routine

2009-09-02T18:10:00.000-07:00

The week has been a fast one - tomorrow is Thursday already. And there's a three day weekend coming up! The joy of it! I can sleep in for three straight days, barring disaster!

Let's see...work. My boss has given me a new responsibility. In her absence, I will arrange swaps with other units. There are times when it's necessary to find one of our guys a new "home", either because he is a security risk or he is in danger from another inmate. In those situations, we try to find a unit who also has a man they can't keep. For instance, a few months ago, two guys went to an officer and told him they were being forced by a gang to execute a hit on another man. They turned over their shanks to the officers, and those two and the intended victim were segregated until we could find a place for them (which we did, that very day). The gang leader was also locked up - but he was demoted, placed on intensive control and was eventually sent to a higher security facility.

After months of having a minimal role in the process, Ms. L. seems to think I'm ready. She even gave me a swap to work out on my own, for practice, and gave me a list of the transfer coordinators across the state. I was so excited!

I had three men to choose from for my swap....none of them winners, none of them even near honor grade material. So I chose what looked to me to be the lesser of the three evils, and wouldn't you know...he is a liability and in danger of being "food" for a certain gang anywhere he goes. We had no idea until he arrived. See, when they want to get rid of a man, those transfer coordinators aren't going to give the whole story. And I am so freaking naive.

At any rate, that deed is done. This is a responsibility I'm not at all sure I want.

Wow

2009-09-01T19:29:00.000-07:00

It has been so long since I posted a blog here that I almost (accidentally) created a new blog instead of a post. *Looking around* Things are a little different, aren't they?

Hi to all who might remember me. It has been a long nine months, but here is what has been going on with me:

I think I've finally moved completely into this house now. This summer, we were finally able to move George and Lacy into the fenced back yard with Boogie, my brother's dog. They love it! I bet all that time I was gone, they wondered why they had been deserted. When Jim brought George over, I went to the truck to take him to his new home. When he saw me, I swear, it looked like he caught his breath.

We have spent a lot of time on the patio, watching the hummingbirds. There were dozens of them, and only two feeders. I never realized how aggressive they were, and how assertive. There were several that hovered in front of me and stared me in the eyes. They may have been sizing me up. Who knows?

I have been taking care of Mom. Her spirits have been good, but, physically, she is declining. She doesn't go out on her Friday shopping trips anymore because they take too much out of her. She does, however, believe in the power of take-out, and she enjoys her Panera soup whenever she wants it!

As for me, I'm fine. Just tired lately. I really want to reconnect with all of you, though, and make this a part of my daily routine. It's time to get back to something that resembles my old life, just for the comfort of it.

Hope you're all well.

Hugs!

Miss Thang, Mom, Mike, Jen...Mother's Day Roses

2009-07-28T17:11:00.000-07:00

2009-07-28T16:56:00.000-07:00

Just playing...from my back yard

2009-07-28T16:51:00.000-07:00

Religion

2009-04-13T17:18:00.001-07:00

Now there's a forbidden topic...but this is a blog that has to be.

When I was a little girl, we lived (still do) just down the road from Shiloh church. My cousin was the organist there, and on Saturdays, I would go with her to practice for the Sunday worship service. We had a good time in the empty church - I loved music, and we would giggle while she told me all about the choir member she had such a crush on. And then, I would attend church on Sundays, and eventually, I became a member there.

I remember reciting the Apostles Creed, taking communion. It was all very reverent,very quiet. You could have heard a gum wrapper drop, so the giggles my cousin and I shared during practice were a huge no-no. It was a perfect set-up for the culture shock that would follow when I attended a Baptist revival a few years later. The Amens! flowed, the preacher was animated and had color in his face as he invited the congregation to give their souls and hearts over to Jesus. I liked it there - and so I stayed, but didn't give myself over to Jesus until I was 15 and at yet another revival, they showed the film Scared Straight. I was traumatized by the film's graphic nature. I marched myself up to the pulpit, lest MY head should be separated from the rest of my body like the motorcyclist in the movie and gave myself over to the service of the Lord that very night. For days, I carried a Bible around with me and read it during breaks at school, my personal amulet against satan.

Meanwhile, the rest of my family remained at the old church. My mother was very upset with me for not attending there, and I stopped going anywhere for services. Yet...without the fellowship, without the support that is so important, I still remain a spiritual woman who does have a relationship with God. He has picked me up by the seat of my pants and deposited me where He wanted me to be too many times for there to be room for agnostic doubts. I believe He is the still voice that comes to me in times of trouble and lends me comfort. He is the presence in my green cathedral.

I've given a great deal of thought to Christianity and what it means over the years, what it means to serve God and do his work on this earth. I haven't always followed through, but I give when I can - not to the church, but by way of donations to community, including the animals. Lending an ear or shoulder to someone when they need it. And I'm the first to admit, I don't do this often enough. And I have often thought I would like to attend church again, but have had a difficult time deciding where to go. Not back to the Baptist church where I was a member. It has grown large and political, and they have one of those signs out front that tells you the temperature and when services will be held (a great big orange arrow pointing towards the building). My choices boiled down to the little Methodist church that hasn't changed much in thirty years and the church where my cousin was organist - UNTIL

Easter Sunday. My sister came home for the Easter celebration dinner. My son picked her up at the nursing home where she is a resident, and has been for the past fifteen years. She brought with her a letter from the new pastor at Shiloh, informing her that her membership there had been terminated for non-attendance.

My sister is in a wheelchair. She can feed herself, but there are times when she is so drunk from the medications that her eyes swim in her head. You can see it. Her feet swell so that, often, she can't get her shoes on her feet. If she has to go to the bathroom, it takes someone with a strong back to lift her from her chair and sit her on the toilet - in short, Carol doesn't get out much. The church knows this...

When I read that letter, I was burned with a flame a mile high. YES, I understand that members need to attend. But I understand something the new pastor doesn't seem to get - she can't sit there long enough for him to preach his Christian ways.

I saved the envelope for the return address, fully intending to write and first ask him if he realizes her condition, and if the answer is yes (which it should be), I planned to thank him for not visiting her at the nursing home and to congratulate him on having such a large following that he could cut loose one of his congregation without a second thought. That brand of christian love is enough to turn a person against organized religion for life. I know that after seeing the hurt in my sister's eyes, it has left a taste in my mouth more acrid than sulfur.

Perhaps I'll just stick to my green cathedral, after all.

2009-04-11T08:28:00.000-07:00

It was quite an honor when, opening my email this past week, to find that Lori at Dusty Pages had given out an award, and had included me! Thank you, Lori, and congratulations on your award. Your blogs always teach me something or leave me smiling.

And according to Lori's blog, I'm supposed to list seven things I love. They are:

1. Getting lost in a good book. The characters become real to me, and when the last page is read, it's like losing dear friends. That explains why I read my favorites over and over.

2. The scent of honeysuckle. We used to go for rides in summer, and instead of turning on the air conditioner, I kept the windows rolled down so I could smell the honey flavored air. It's a reminder of times when the world was sweeter and more simple.

3. My patio. It has become a haven, and during tumultuous times, I escape there with a cup of Seville Orange Coffee and drink it and the peace in.

4. Orange Seville coffee. It is my new passion.

5. Dogs. They love you back, no matter what.

6. The whippoorwill's song on a summer night.

7. Swimming. It's the closest thing to absolute freedom I have experienced.

One of the best things about this award is passing it on.

Paula at Pauline's Country Tales has entertained us all by taking us along on her trips out and about. You don't read her blog without feeling as if you've had a taste of life on the ranch and living in Texas!

Leigh at My Thoughts Honestly has such a way with prose. She's another who can put you in the moment.

Mary a Rejected Truth ...There really is no need for elaboration. Mary is WOW!

I do have more to add, but duty calls for now.

To all of you - I've missed you.

I feel like poetry..

2009-03-10T19:30:00.000-07:00

That's a good sign, don't you think?

First Light

He said,
Goodbyes aren't allowed,
It won't be forever.
I believed him, never spoke the words
until time stretched the expanse
and I thought it was broken.
Only I knew the utterance that, with no one to catch it,
fell at my feet,and the world went so wan without him.
Forever, it seemed, music was stilled and poetry withered,
exiled
like unspoken words,
to depths that could never be reached again.
All good things he said were worth waiting for
were lost in faltering faith,
and the conviction that hope was prelude to a tear drop.

But tonight, faint strainsof a long ago melody whispered,
in his voice, the sweet song
I love you
and in the breathless after-moment,
I felt the stirrings of poetry rise
to spill warm and wet from my lashes,
and the music grew stronger as the light I thought extinguished
shone prelude to a sunburst,
and the whisper closed distancewith the beautiful words...
I'm coming home.

Where I Have Been

2009-01-21T16:52:00.000-08:00

Wow, time really slips away when you're tumbling. Ever since November 30, I have felt like God or the Universe picked up the snow globe I inhabit and shook it hard...and when the flakes finally settled, we were in some foreign space and trying to find a foothold.

Since I last wrote...

I have moved from the little house in the woods to the big house beside the busy highway in civilization (thank you, Jess, I like the way you phrased that). We moved in with my mother to take care of her. One day - and I fervently hope that one day is far, far in the future - this will be home, but for now, I'm trying to adapt.

Mom has been in the hospital, which precipitated our move. We had spent the night because she was sick, and at 3 a.m. I heard her fall. Now...had she been alone, I shudder to think what might have happened. And shortly after she came home from the hospital, she informed me that I was now living with her. I'm glad it was her decision and not mine. Makes it so much easier.

And so, coming home from work, I turn right instead of left. I am living life in an "L", and hope to be back when the dust finally settles, or at least when I'm sure the snow globe won't be shaken for a while.

So - a belated Happy New Year to all of you, and give me some time to get around to you all again. Take care!

My SINCEREST apologies!

2008-12-10T18:52:00.000-08:00

I was messing around on a site called reunion. com and I inadvertently sent out invitations to everybody in my address book - I honestly didn't know what I was doing. So if any of you receive that invitation, please forgive me and delete the thing.

I am so embarrassed.

Miss Thang

2008-12-06T12:32:00.000-08:00

A little over a month ago, we went to visit our daughter, and put that baby gate up for the dogs. The smallest, Baby, managed to get her two front paws caught in the gate and broke both of them. We have had her at the vets for dressing changes every week since it happened. She's really a sweet little dog, but we have discovered how fierce she can be via the wonderful staff at Banfield who have nicknamed her "Miss Thang." Yesterday, she chewed off the bandage on her left leg, just done on Wednesday. So - in the car and back to PetSmart we went. We picked her up later that day, brought her home, and son of a gun if she didn't chew off the bandage on her right leg sometime during the night. The good news is, she's healing. And the good news is, she hasn't bitten anybody yet, thanks to sedatives and a muzzle. Y'all, don't learn the hard way like we did...never leave a small animal behind a baby gate. It's much too dangerous for them. If I haven't made it by your blogs yet, I will. Slowly getting caught up after the last week. Thanks to you all for your comments and support.

Sunday

2008-11-30T16:37:00.000-08:00

My father was with us through Thanksgiving. He was conscious, alert, and was able to at least touch his new great-grandson. He went to bed after that and never got up again. He slipped into a coma sometime last night, and passed away a 3:25 this evening. He doesn't hurt anymore.

Thanks to all of you who have left words of encouragement. You are all very kind, and I am grateful.

Back There

2008-11-13T17:15:00.001-08:00

Back There

I remember somewhere
back there, behind the trees
on the other side of the glass
and the smoke
and mirrors,
somewhere there,
I had time.

It was a world with slightly less bullsh*t
and slightly more laughter
and it’s like a dream, sometimes,
reaching out to grasp light-borne phantasms
and watching flesh and wood fade away
into dry mist
and nothingness.

I’m not there
anymore

But I remember it, sometimes
between meetings
or sitting, eyes closed against the flickering lights
between moments of insanity and incredulity;
the soft sounds of the river
the breezes in the leaves
and natural, unfiltered
sunlight.

It was good.

-Joshua Overgaard

Oct-November

2008-11-11T06:01:00.000-08:00

So much has been happening, it's hard to keep up with it all while it swirls in my brain. At work, the transit inmates have been shipped to other facilities and part of our institution is shut down for asbestos abatement. My section's offices are located largely in that area, so four of us are temporarily stationed in the staff dining room (nobody uses it for dining), our phones and computers hooked up on long tables to cords coming down from the ceiling...we look rather like a Jerry Lewis telethon.

We all like each other, so that's a plus. Otherwise, it's disconcerting, because there's lots of traffic flowing through all day. Just try making a phone call and actually hearing what's being said on the other end!

There have been some changes in Dad's condition. We noticed some confusion and occasional stupor...I thought it could be from the medications, but the hospice nurse seems to think that there is metastasis to the brain. Dad talked to me about that last night. I couldn't understand much of what he said, but knew what he was talking about. He said the nurse told him that one day or night, he would go to sleep and just not wake up.

I don't normally cry in front of my father and I tried hard to hide it, but I don't know how successful I was. I told him I'm there for him, for anything he needs and he said...I don't need anything, just your love. Well, you have my love, Dad. and he replied, You have mine.

He hasn't been an overly religious man, and doesn't put his trust in most clergymen. But there is one he trusts and respects. Unfortunately, he moved to South Carolina a few months ago. Yesterday, though, he called my father and asked him, "Marshall, are you ready?" And Dad told him "yes." They prayed over the phone together and talked at length. I'm not sure how much Mr. Reed could understand of what Dad was saying, but like with me, there was enough.

Dad asked for my cousin, Lynn, to come with his communion set and has asked that he perform the funeral ceremony when the time comes.

I know that with untreated brain metastasis, death comes quickly. Maybe a few weeks. So, I have been weepy this morning. I'm trying to look at the good side of this, if there is any such creature. He's suffering now, even with the medications; with the brain mets, he most likely will go into a coma and perhaps not know the pain.

Flecks of Humanity

2008-11-08T10:05:00.000-08:00

Flecks of Humanity
The dirty white of the walls had always depressed Gisela, but the building was old; she understood that. It had been built in the early 1900?s, on the highest peak in the county, and had been dubbed Pestilence Hill. It was one of the first tuberculosis institutions in the state, but as cases of TB waned, it had been consigned to the Department of Corrections as a prison infirmary.

The end of her shift was nearing. It was so hot inside, almost ninety degrees; she would welcome the cold that would greet her when she stepped outside ? a whole new atmosphere complete with fresh air. She was sweaty from changing bed linens and hanging IV’s.
She would check Mr. Bugg’s vitals one more time before leaving. The last time she had gone into his room, his 02 sats had dropped to sixty-five.

“You old coot, you’re not going to die on my shift,” she had groused at him. “You, always causing me trouble, all of the time!” But he hadn’t heard. He had slipped beyond the walls of prison into coma, earlier in the day. He hadn’t been shipped out to the hospital because of his Do Not Resuscitate status.

“Did the social worker notify his family?” she had asked Nurse Brown.

Brown had looked at the German lady with compassion. She knew that what she would tell Gisela would razor past her tough and gruff facade.

“Gisela, there isn’t an emergency notify on his visitors list. If he does have family, they’ve probably disowned him.”

Gisela shook her head. “He told me he had a daughter. Didn’t anyone call his daughter?”

Brown shrugged. “There was nobody to call.”

“Ah, well.” That was the way of it. She had turned back to the dingy hallway to carry out her duties.

Gisela could understand why Bugg’s family would desert him. He had done a horrible thing, and he was a hateful old SOB. But she wouldn’t put up with his garbage. She had shifted his attitude months ago, the day she had met him. It had been her first day on the job. Brown and the other nurses were making jokes about initiation.

“We’re going to throw you into the deep end of the pool! You get to bathe Bugg, room 2304. Want an officer to go with you?”

Not wanting them to think she was afraid, she had declined the offer.

“Okay, but don’t say we didn’t ask!”

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, didn’t look too sickly, his gray hair wiry and wild. She knew he was a cancer patient who had refused chemo. When she entered the room, he looked at her, cold and expressionless.

“Don’t touch me. I didn't ask you to come in here, damn it!” he roared. Take your soap and water and get the hell out. Get out!”

She clutched the basin tight against her to keep her fingers from trembling.

“Mr. Bugg, I don’t curse at people, and you better not curse at me if you don’t want to be written up. Don’t make me call the officer.” Warning was issued; inside, she was shaking.
“And what do you think will happen if you write me up? The'll throw me in seg, maybe pepper spray me. Lady, I’m dyin’. I don’t give a @#%$ if you write me up.” And then he laughed at her. Laughed!

Something sparked inside of her, spitting mad. Did he think she was here out of the goodness of her heart? No way was she going to be talked to like that by anybody. “Listen, you — you can sit here in your own stink if you want, I don’t care! But you’re keeping me from doing my job, and that pisses me off.” She had banged the basin down onthe side table, had splashed water onto the floor. “Take off your pajama top.”

Bugg’s eyes had gotten as round as silver dollars. He wasn’t used to being challenged by the nursing assistants. Usually, all it took was a growl and they packed up their gear and almost ran from the room. This one had spunk. There was a chance he could respect her.

“Lady,” he said, then laughed. “You just cursed at me. I could file a grievance against you up for that.”

Gisela hadn’t cracked a smile or shown fear. She looked at him, stone faced, one hand on her hip, her shoes wet from the spilled water. “I’m waiting, Mr. Bugg.”

“You've got fire. I’ll say that much for you.” He was unbuttoning his pajama top.

“Yeah, and I’ll burn you, too.” Funny, how anger made a person braver. “Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, lady, we do.”

After that, Bugg hadn’t allowed anyone but Gisela to bathe him or change his bed linens. Not that anyone else wanted to. And he had begun talking to her about his life, his regrets.
“You know, they almost paroled me to a nursing home. I’m glad they didn’t. I don’t know why anybody would want to help me after the things I’ve done. I do know why God wouldn’t have mercy on me,and why I’m dyin’ so slow with so much pain. I didn’t show mercy. I didn’t show mercy.”

And while she bathed him, he retreated into himself and his past. She didn’t have words with which to respond; she just listened. In here, you never knew how much of what an inmate said to you was true, or if you were being conned. With Bugg, she knew the dilemma of detached compassion. She would not, could not get emotionally involved. If she had met him on the street, there would be no friendship. She would be afraid. She wasn’t his friend. Couldn’t be. She was an employee, here to do a job.

“Sometimes, lady, it dawns on me that I’ve been locked up these past twenty years to keep society safe from an old murderer. That isn’t much of a punishment. I get three squares a day, a place to lay my head at night, and enough pills to almost kill the pain. I’m finding that God’s retribution is a hell of a lot worse than anything man can dish out. I reckon I deserve everything He’s spooning my way."He never spoke directly of remorse, Gisela noted. Always, his musings were about the punishment he was enduring now, and his acceptance of it.

Two months after she first met Bugg, she was called into the supervisor?s office. It was painted the same drab white as the rest of the building, dressed with ivy from the greenhouse. The supervisor nodded for Gisela to have a seat.

“Gisela, there has been concern expressed about your friendship with Mr. Bugg,” she began. “I trust you remember policy. We can’t get involved with these men, dying or not. You do understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”

Gisela’s face went blank. What was the woman talking about? Then it struck her to her toes with the force of a lightning bolt. How dare they! Sure, she had straddled the line between compassion and detachment. It was a damned hard thing to do, but they all had done it. It came with the job.
“Mrs. Adams, I don’t have friendship with Bugg. I treat him with the same respect I give everybody else here, staff or prisoner. He talks to me. I can handle him better than any of the other assistants, that’s all.”

Mrs. Adams nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. And you know the disease process is making him weaker, so he won’t be able to make as much of a fuss. It might be a good idea to distance yourself a little, let one of the others take over for awhile.” Then, in a lower tone, “You know how people watch, Gisela. You know how they talk. Save yourself the trouble.”

She couldn’t afford to risk her job. Gisela bit back the retort that rose from inside of her and choked out, “Yes ma’am.”

Bugg hadn’t taken kindly to the change in his care. He turned the basin over on one assistant, kicked at another, and was put in segregation. He stayed there for three days before he was transferred to an outside hospital for pain management. When he finally came back, he signed to be admitted to hospice.

Gisela was working the day he returned. Brown handed her his change of clothes and said, “He’s all yours! Nobody else wants him.” And Brown had laughed a huge laugh.

“Thanks for taking him on, Gisela. Everyone else is refusing.”

Gisela shook her head. Let them talk now! She went to the door of the hospice room.

“What kind of trouble have you been making now, Mr.Bugg?” she almost smiled.

He jerked to face her. His eyes were more sunken, his thin body a mere ripple under the sheets. My God, how he’s gone down so quickly, she thought.

“Where the hell have you been?” he rasped. “There ain’t another spitfire in this whole hospital who knows how to give me a bath.”

“That’s because you won't let them. You should be ashamed of yourself." There was reproach in her voice. “Always causing trouble.”

Bugg’s laugh was thin, like his body. “I got a whole lot more to be ashamed of than that, lady.”
And while she bathed him, he talked.

“The chaplain just left. I reckon that’s a bad sign, that the chaplain would come see me. It means I don’t have much longer.”

“You don’t know that, Mr. Bugg.” She looked at his wasted limbs, and knew the truth. Soon, Bugg wouldn’t be confined to these dim walls.

“Oh, I’m not afraid. Death doesn’t scare me, lady. It’ll be a big relief. I won’t hurt no more. It’s what happens after death that scares me. I’ve been thinking about Hell. Wonder if that’s the next big step for me.”

“Did you talk to the chaplain about that?”

“No. He wants to save my soul. I told him I don’t have one.”

She helped him into the chair and stripped the bed. “Everyone has a soul, Mr. Bugg.”

“Maybe. If I don’t, I won’t have to worry about Hell, will I?”

He was quiet while she smoothed fresh sheets. When she turned to him again, his face was creased with pain.

“I am sorry, you know. I can’t change it now, though.”

Gisela nodded. She knew what he meant.

“I wonder if I would be so sorry if I weren’t dyin’. I don’t know, lady. I just don’t know.”

“Mr. Bugg, are you different now than you were back then?” She shouldn’t ask, but she felt he had more to say. Perhaps this was God showing mercy, she wasn’t sure.

“I might be. Never had a chance to find out. Who knows, if I were out, I might have done it again. Like I said, I don’t know.” He was retreating again.

“Could you ask the nurse to bring me my pain pills? I need my pain pills.”

She saw the shine in his eyes before he closed them and rolled his head toward the window. He would be furious if he knew she had seen. Big, bad Bugg, reduced to crying.

“Sure, I’ll go tell her now.”

“Hey, lady,” he stopped her, still facing the window.

“Yes?”

“You made me feel human again. As near to normal as I’ve felt in more than twenty years. You never judged me. Thanks.”

She took a deep breath, turned the light off and relayed his request for pain meds.
That was weeks ago. Bugg hadn’t spoken much since then, and now he would never speak again.
It was 10:30, almost time to go. She noticed the paint was peeling in the hallway, showing small patches of the blue it used to be. Mrs. Adams was supervisor on the house again tonight, and she called out to Gisela.

“Are you going to take Bugg’s vitals again before you go?”
“Yes ma’am.”

She pushed open the door of the hospice room. He was even less a ripple under the sheet, his respirations shallow and labored. One breath, then a pause. When she came in tomorrow night, Bugg would be gone, his body stored in a morgue until someone claimed it - if they claimed it. And then another old prisoner would transfer in to take his place. There was always another one.
She reported back to Brown, who charted the vitals.

“I’m out of here, good night.”

“Night, Gisela, drive safely.”

She gathered her coat and purse and headed for the stairwell. The lights were turned down, and the flaking walls seemed even drearier. She had forgotten to mention the blue patches. Ah, let them stay for a while longer. They were like little flecks of humanity from another time, masked over by that dirty, indifferent white.

She stopped on the stairwell. Damn it, damn it! Always causing me trouble. She went back to where Bugg lay, all alone,dying, and she took the seat beside his bed.

One breath, then a pause. He had trusted her; she would wait. Another breath, and a longer pause. She laid a hand on his thin arm. It was the humane thing to do.

“It’s okay, Mr. Bugg, it’s almost over.”

Did he find the answers to the questions that tortured him? Perhaps he had made peace with the God who had meted out the ultimate punishment. Who knew? Perhaps he had lived hell on earth and had paid his dues, and his soul would find forgiveness. He was moving beyond man. What happened now was between Bugg and a Higher Power.

Another pause. A nurse came in to check him.

“It won't be long,” she told Gisela kindly.

“My conscience won’t let me leave him to die alone,” she explained, as if she had to.

“I know.” Her co-worker pulled a chair in from the nurse’s station, and sat with her while she kept vigil.

Twenty minutes later, Bugg exhaled one last time. Gisela waited for the pause to end, but it didn’t. She held his wrist. No pulse.

“Better notify the doctor,” she told the nurse. “I believe Mr. Bugg is gone.”

The room swam in front of her eyes. She patted his shoulder, and gathered her coat again. She walked through the halls, suddenly too bright, then down the stairs, quickly. Outside, she took a deep breath of fresh air, and traded the heat of the building for the iciness of the night.

From AutumnSongs, 2004, Almustafa, Mara Style.

2008-10-29T18:01:00.000-07:00

Mara-Ani, the poetic and chairbound, had waited long in the den of her home for words to pop into her head and translate themselves into a readable form on the screen, but distraction was smothering the impulse. She decided to stand.

And as she stood, she could not believe her eyes. The Net Citizens came forward in a ripple of IM activity, crying out to her in bold fonts — Where you going? You’re one of us — you can’t leave us now.

Cassandra the Seeress, who had known Mara’s heart better than anyone, came forward, and with a calm voice said, “I know you have heard and at last know your own truth and you must needs go. But before you leave us, my sister of the pen, we have a lot of questions. Are you up to answering them?”

Mara bowed her head. What answers would she have for these questions beyond, Heck if I know. What would she say to those who came to her from mid-surf to hear her farewell?

“I’ll try, but you KNOW I have a terrible case of block. What are your questions?”

The Seeress said, “Speak to us of men with 12-inch appendages.”

With a great indrawn breath and twinkle in her eye, Mara said,
“When you are approached by men who boast of 12-inch appendages, pity them, for they are either deluded or pathalogical liars who need to impress some woman, somewhere. Otherwise, they’re just trying to get into your cyber-panties and believe the thought of a home-grown hysterectomy attached to two jiggly things will send you into undeniable lust. Yes, pity them, for with the burgeoning number of 12 inch parts will come the need to outdo the others and soon they will tell you they have subscribed to penis enlargement programs via email and are happy to report they now have expanded themselves to a full and competitive 15. Next question!”
Then JC, quite the loveable snob, came forward.

“Well sugar, I know you aren’t really leaving. You’re too much of an addict for that. But since you’re already talking, speak to us of trailer park dwellers.”

Mara thought for a second, and then said, “When you meet your trailer park brethren, scorn them not, for they cannot be lumped into the same pile. Some have opted for affordable housing, some are armed and dangerous, and others are just waiting to host their own radio talk show and market the barbeque sauce recipe that is now top secret and in their possession.”

And JC responded, “ummmm…if you say so, sugar.”

Then came Matthew.

“Answer this, Mara. When are you coming over?”

And Mara said with a sigh — “Matthew. If I haven’t made the trip from Carolina to Seattle in the next 15 minutes, turn the porch light off. Verily, I say unto you, I ain’t coming over.”

And another came who said, “Speak to us of poetry and love.”

“Oh lord, don’t ask me that. Ok — your poetry is your life and how you live it, what metaphors you see in nature, and the occasional rant. It is your heartbreak, your joy and creative expression. Love, on the other hand, is like chocolate. If you’re on a diet, you should abstain completely, because the sugar free version just doesn’t taste as good.”

“Ok, the sun is sinking low in the sky and I have to go. My sink is full of dirty dishes and the mountain of clothes in the hamper will soon qualify as a national range. Farewell to you, citizens of the net. Long have I dwelled among you, and I will love you forever.”

Cassandra and Joshua watched her name become enclosed by parentheses. Joshua said…I give her 10 minutes. Sassy Cass, always the seeress, said…”thou art being optimistic. I give her 5.”

And they were both right.

JusJournaling...about journaling.

2008-10-29T17:20:00.000-07:00

In 2000, a sweet friend surprised me for my birthday by creating and hosting a blog for me. I was so excited - my very own space on the internet to write about anything that flowed from my brain to the tips of my fingers. I wrote there, in AutumnSongs, religiously. Poured out my heart and soul because - after all, nobody was going to read it. Right?

Wrong. A few stumbled on it, and I actually had comments and not all of them were spam! Wow. That was amazing. But it still felt like my own little corner of the internet, and write I did. Even had a poem of the month, sometimes, posted with the author's permission. I used to be a poetry board participant.

Then AOL journals started, and I decided - well, why not? And I started posting, and was greeted by Lahoma. She was so supportive. I had found my first friend in J-Land.

And now...those doors are closing. I deleted I Have Tea and Simply Me, myself, because I was loathe to let AOL do away with that part of my life. Had to do it myself and move on. Still, even though those journals were moved here, there is this sense of loss...

Maybe I can pick up where I left off with AutumnSongs, writing my heart out, in my own little corner of the internet, complete with music, a pretty background, and hopefully, what pops into my brain will exit through my fingertips. And to get me in the mood, there will be a few posts moved from Autumnsongs to here.

Update

2008-10-27T19:52:00.000-07:00

Well, the officer has left. He took a report, and unfortunately, since no one got the caller's name and the phone number he called from is not taking calls at this time...I don't know if we'll ever find out who was doing this. In a big way - I hope not. I hope they just drop it and never call back and of course, that they don't find their way down my dirt road.

At the same time, I don't want them to terrorize anybody else and hope the detectives who follow up on the report find the ####### and arrest him.

Thanks, y'all, for being here.

I'm Scared.

2008-10-27T16:54:00.001-07:00

I'm waiting for a deputy to come, and I need something to do until he/she gets here. So I'm writing.

About 2:00 this afternoon, someone called my house and asked for my son or husband, called them by name. They were offering debt consolidation services, and when Jim told them we weren't interested, the caller said - f*ck you. And has been calling back ever since.

The last call came a few minutes ago. My son did the wrong thing and was cursing the caller...and then the caller said he was going to kill him. I took the phone. The caller was whispering and said, Can I come to your house? I hung up and called 911.

I'm scared. We live down in the woods, on a back road. If they called the house and they know who lives here, don't they know where we live?

Repost: Saffron, Sage and Scarlet

2008-10-19T14:24:00.001-07:00

It's almost like trying to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow - an elusive feeling, and you find yourself in a cool, crisp wind thinking - where is it? what is it? And you never find it, but oh, listen! It rustles on the wind or crunches under your feet as you walk. You feel it in a vacant, lonely place inside of you, an empty, aching echo that needs filling.

It was late this year. The trees are two weeks behind in turning - so say the ubiquitous they, who are also elusive. But this morning, I sensed it in the second frost of the season, saw a hint of it in the Bradford pears just now beginning to blaze, in the yellowing leaves of wild grapevines, edges curled like old parchment, the history of a fallen season scribed gold in their veins. I decided if I could not find it, I would follow it, mapping a course for places it would have visited first. I headed west, toward peach country, pushed along by a nipping north wind, and as each mile fell behind me, I saw where it had drifted like an autumnal will-o'-the wisp: grass, hoary and glittering in the early sun; a sudden burst of scarlet flaming through the green; saffron and sage punctuating the distant pines as the hills rose and fell with the open road.

I stopped at a roadside market where the vendors were bundled against the first blast of autumn air. The shed was lined with baskets and baskets of heirloom apples - Pink Lady, Winesap, Golden Delicious. Sweet potatoes and pumpkins - mellow and fragrant. It had been here. We shivered together for a while, and for the vendors' time and conversation, I purchased a mixed bag of apples and sweet potatoes, a taste of the elusive season.

And I drove farther into autumn, where houses were sparse and colors were deeper. Not yet, not quite, but I could see the hues begin the burn - a flaming testament to living, a burst of wisdom whispering secrets in the north wind. I'll never catch it, or touch it, but it will ruffle my hair with a chilly hand. It will tease my tongue with its fruity and mellow flavors, and I will lose myself in its colors, melding into saffron, sage and scarlet - a celebration of life.

Lacy, George and Peanut

2008-10-18T06:23:00.000-07:00

A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than you love yourself. -Josh Billings

It's a beautiful Saturday morning - chilly! and the temps aren't supposed to climb above 60 today. George, my golden/chow mix, is loving it - he's outside playing tackle, as dogs do in the first really chilly mornings, with Spike. But before that, he let me know I had overslept by coming to my bedside. At first, he only stared at me (funny, how you can feel eyes on you, no matter what stage of sleep you're in), and then he spoke.

"Woof." It sounded just like that, quietly. When the first one only made me open one eye, he tried again, a little louder. "WOOF."

"Okay, okay," I told him, crawled out of bed and let him out. He was ecstatic.

My dogs...all of them. They know Mama has the treats, a kind word, and a scratch behind the ears. The latest addition to the family is Peanut (Baby), a Jack Russell-Chihuaha mix. She's even more bossy than Lacy, demanding her treat or to be picked up for a cuddle. And she moonwalks. She's the first dog we've had who walks backwards, and she's the only dog who thinks she's a doberman instead of a tiny little thing. Ferocious, that one is. A burglar wouldn't stand a chance against her, as I am sure she would knock him down and eat him alive.

When my kids grew up and didn't need Mom in quite the same way, the house suddenly filled with canine babies. They have been a great source of comfort, amusement - and joy!

Well, I started out with good intentions on this post, but think I will close it for now. For sure, though, my little "family" gives love fully and unconditionally. And they'll even remind you that they require a pretty fall morning in which to romp.

Enjoy the weather, everybody, and have a great weekend.

Jessica Michelle

2008-10-16T15:13:00.000-07:00

There is a young lady who makes me count myself lucky that she came into our lives...my daughter-in-law, Jessica. She's a young mother who greets life with enthusiasm. This year for the first time, my lawn was decorated with hay bales, pumpkins, and there are even ghosts hanging from the mimosa tree in the side yard. She did it all by herself, for her son and yeah, for herself, too. She's excited because she's cooking her first Thanksgiving dinner this year, and is already hard at work on the menu. Seeing her enthusiasm makes me remember my own.

She is the only woman I've ever met who can go grocery shopping with coupons and come home with sixty dollars worth of items that she got for less than twenty. And the woman can COOK! She makes Zuppa Tuscano even better than Olive Garden, if you can imagine that.

Jess has started a new blog here, and I hope you can drop by to welcome her at http://handmadethoughts2.blogspot.com/

I understand she'll be sharing recipes for her soups, home made breads, etc. :-)

Eternal Optimista

2008-10-10T16:12:00.000-07:00

Well, if it isn't one thing, it's another. I spent last week in Durham with my daughter. She developed infection in her c-section surgery site and was in the hospital until last Friday. She came home with a WoundVac because they can't close the incision - it has to heal from the inside out. And so, Home Health comes to her three days a week to pack the wound and tape it up. She has a long way to go...I wish I could have transferred her care and brought her home with me where someone could be with her all the time, but she chose to stay in Durham.

I wish, too, that I could go back this weekend, but there's so much going on around here...Dad is considering having a total glossectomy - tongue removal - and has an appointment with a surgeon on Tuesday. Mom needs me around here...and I have to tell you - my house is a total wreck this week. I don't even know where my laundry is.

I got an email from Dr. H, my favorite psychologist, last week in response to a forwarded email that was a litany of looking on the sunny side. He wrote back - Oh, thou eternal optimista!

I had to laugh at that. BUT - he's one of those coworkers that either makes you shake your head or smile.

Optimista. Well, he might be right...I'm counting my blessings and realizing what a lucky woman I am to have been blessed with my daughter's returning health and my father's spirit. I ask once more for your prayers for both of them.

And now to take a night for myself and get caught up on all of your journals. I don't know how y'all feel about it yet, but blogspot seems to be great!

2008-10-04T13:11:00.000-07:00

Well Good Grief~

2008-10-03T21:29:00.000-07:00

After all the years on AOL, they are shutting the doors on our blogs. So here I am...Who knows, this might be a lot better.