The Atmosphere Has Changed

Any time you are dealing with a person who has dementia and can't remember, relates wrong information, can't hear and is generally lost, and another person who is mentally fine but physically a wreck and has a bad attitude, you should use much patience and love.  Well, I have the love down, but the patience - not so much.  My mother drove me to the brink this morning when I had to take her to the doctor.  She told me to go to "the place where the young man parks your car," and I asked at the hospital and she said yes.  So I proceeded to go to the hospital.  "No, no she said - where are you going?"  I said, "I was going to the hospital, just like you said."  "Well, the clinic is owned by the hospital (blah, blah, blah), but we have to go this way."  It started to escalate at this point.  I said, "Mom, I asked you if it's by the nursing home and you said no," and so on and so forth. "Oh honey, I get so turned around and a little confused."  Come to find out it is by the nursing home, so I had to make a u-turn and go the opposite direction.

In the doctor's office, she couldn't hear what the nurse was saying and gave weird answers to their questions that I had to keep correcting.  I felt sorry for her in there - she was completely lost.  So the doctor determined that she has to be on the antibiotic for 2 weeks, and so from there we schlepped up to the hospital because they can't administer the medicine in his office.  On the way, she kept telling me when to turn, where to go and when to stop.  Finally, I just told her she was a terrible back street driver and she stopped, after doing it once more.  Kind of like one of my kids who always had to get the last word in.

She, in fact, is acting almost childish.  I guess that's the dementia in part - and partly, I think she's really enjoying the attention.  Which is fine, because I don't think she got a lot as a child.  Being the older sister, she always had to look after my aunt because my grandmother had to work - her husband died when my mom and aunt were young.  My great-grandmother lived in the apartment too, however, she didn't speak any English.  My mother always knew what she was saying though, because she spoke Yiddish and used a lot of hand gestures.  Jews use a lot of hand gestures.  She sounds like she was a cute, little old lady.  Her fragile, little gold earrings were handed down to me and I will eventually give them to my daughter. 


I think my mom has been a very depressed woman for a long time and I have never seen her laugh a real, hearty laugh.  She laughs quietly or silently or chuckles.  My brothers and I get our laugh-out-loud laughs from my father.  He has always had hearty, belly laughs and we inherited that from him.  I love to laugh - a real belly laugh.  It makes me feel great and it's an incredible stress reliever.  That's what I need right now -- a big, belly laugh.  I think I'm just tired, because I've been kind of ornery all day.  The atmosphere around here has changed since my mom came home and I just have to get used to it.  Spending more time in the pool will help, as well as this little vacation I am about to embark on.  And I really, really need to ignore my mom's passive-aggressive comments so I don't blurt something out in anger.  In any case, tomorrow is always a new day and one where we can change what we didn't like about today.  Thank God.

I saw the following in the newspaper today and thought it was funny.  It doesn't take much to entertain me....

New Texting Codes
For late life texters, these are some new texting codes you might need:

ATD:  at the doctor
BFF:  best friend fell
BTW:  bring the wheelchair
BYOT:  bring your own teeth
FWIW:  forgot where I was
GGPML:  gotta go, pacemaker low
GHA:  got heartburn again
IHO: is my hearing aid on?
LMDO:  laughing my dentures out
OMMR:  on my massage recliner
ROFLACGU:  rolling on floor laughing and can't get up (my personal favorite)
TTYL:  talk to you louder

Mishigos!

Well, yesterday was a "mishigos" (Yiddish for crazy or all mixed up) day.  My mom was discharged first thing in the morning from the nursing home and was driven home by a friend.  When she came in the house, I noticed there was blood on her shorts on her side, so I had her lay down and I pulled her shorts down and saw that the incision where they did the hip replacement, was oozing pus and blood.  I sat there and didn't know what to do at first - it was a weird moment for me.  So I called the Home Health nurse that was supposed to come to the house the next day and she told me that my mom had to be seen right away.  We just got her home, and now I had to schlep her to the ER! 

So we get to the ER and of course it's slower than molasses.  Finally the doctor sees her, pokes the incision with a long q-tip and took a culture.  He squeezed the incision and puss and blood came drooling out - it was pretty disgusting.  The q-tip went in pretty far which is not good - she has an infection, and probably the same infection she had before - Mersa.  They keep telling me that it's hard to get rid of.  They put her on an antibiotic that took an hour and a half to administer, so I left and took my dad home.  He fell asleep in the waiting room with his legs jacked up on top of his walker - a tad-bit embarrassing, so I thought it best for him to stretch out at home rather than the waiting room of a hospital. 

I went back later to get my mom and now they are telling us that she has to be on this medicine for several days, possibly weeks, and she has to go to the hospital every day to have it administered there.  Otherwise Medicare won't pay for it.  Tomorrow, we have an appointment with the infectious disease doctor to find out if it is truly Mersa or another type of infection.  She will find out tomorrow how long she has to be on this antibiotic.  Hopefully it won't be long because it causes diarrhea and we've already had, um, an episode.  I guess I will just have to treat it like Kita (my dog) forgetting and going poopoo in the house.  Of course, I can't scold my mother.  My dad "came upon it" first and yelled, "Sharon, come in here!"  Notice he didn't say "Sis" or "Sweety."  This time he meant business and yelled it like, "Get in here now and clean this up!" although that wasn't what he said.  He just couldn't handle doing it, and frankly I'm not crazy about it either but then who would that leave? 

So the Home Health lady came today and changed the dressing and took mom's vitals and all that stuff.  They are arranging to have someone come in and bathe her and someone to do physical therapy.  Medicare pays for it for awhile, then I guess I'm on my own.  The shower scares me because there is a step but hopefully by the time they're gone, I can at least help her into the shower.  Man, it really sucks to get old like this.  It's also kind of funny too though.  My dad hobbles around with a walker, my mom scoots around in a wheelchair and I waddle around with a cane.  We keep bumping into one another and they keep calling for me, so I am up and down and up and down.  But that's okay.  That's why I'm here (I keep reminding myself).  I'm just glad mom is no longer in the nursing home.  Those places, no matter how nice they appear, are depressing.  For most of the people in there are just waiting to die. 

Well, we survived yesterday and today - so far, so good.  I've got to pack and do laundry and get everything in order for them because I leave for Madison on Wednesday.  This is not good timing, but there is plenty of food in the fridge, their clothes will be clean and they will have Home Health coming over every day.  Plus they have all their friends and relatives calling them and stopping by, so I think a week away will be just fine. 

Besides.... I need a vacation!!

Truly Blessed

So, I said something to my mom tonight when we were at the nursing home.  My dad left to bring her stuff to the car (because she's coming home tomorrow) and it seemed the right time.  I said, "Mom, you have to stop being so mean to him.  He's really trying and I know he gets on your nerves, but you're being really mean to him."  She almost started crying and admitted that she knows she is and that she's trying.  I said, "You chose to stay with him, so you need to deal with this now."  She kept agreeing with me and then I didn't say anymore.  It was uncomfortable for me to say that, and maybe I should have left the second part out, but sometimes it gets on my nerves when she acts like a martyr, as she could have left him if she had wanted to a long time ago.  The thing is, I think they really do love each other, but have a lousy way of showing or not showing it.  She said that my dad doesn't even get along with his own kids, and I said I'm getting along with him just fine.  She agreed and I bit my tongue.  I wanted to say that my brothers don't get along with him, because she's always ragging about him to them.  I just left it alone at that point and changed the subject.  Sometimes, less is more, if you know what I mean.

We were watching the news and they were showing the terrible drought in Africa, videos of little children starving to death.  I couldn't watch it - it makes me crazy to see people starving to death - especially children - and there's not a thing I can do to change it.  And there was no where for these people to go, to sleep, to eat - they had to resort to sleeping out in the open.  I can't wrap my mind around that.  I have been blessed beyond measure because I've always had food to eat and a place to stay - always.  Even when I lived in dumps, and I have lived in dumps - at least it was a roof over my head.  My old apartments would probably look like palaces to those people.  And the free government cheese I got didn't melt, but it was food and it filled our bellies.

When I was pregnant with Jason, the apartment I lived in was roach-infested and the neighborhood was very dangerous. One day, while I was walking my dog down the street, it was about dusk and I happened to turn and look across the street right at the time someone had apparently jumped out the window, killing himself. I wasn’t sure what I saw and heard, because it was getting dark, but the sound his body made when it hit the pavement was a crushing, weird sound and it stopped me in my tracks. The next thing I knew, a woman came running out the door of the same building, screaming and looking around, asking me if I had seen what happened. I couldn’t really see it, but I certainly heard it and saw a dark form falling to the ground. The ambulance came soon after that, but I never got the details on it, as I didn’t want to know.

My apartment in this neighborhood, and in fact the whole building, was roach-infested. One night, I thought I would out-smart those roaches and I decided to spray all the kitchen cupboards and cracks before I went to sleep and would see them all conveniently dead in corners by morning. Well, my bed was basically in the same area as the kitchen, and the crib sat next to my bed, as it was a very small, studio apartment. After spraying, I turned the lights off and laid down on the bed. It was a garden apartment, and so the lights from the street would come in through the windows and cast a glow in my apartment. As I was lying on my back, I started noticing dark lines creeping across the ceiling and I couldn’t make out what they were. I flicked the lights on and to my great dismay, armies of roaches were crawling out from the cupboards, up the walls and across the ceiling and falling onto my bed and the crib! I totally freaked out.  I took the Raid can and sprayed and sprayed and cried as I sprayed as it was a very gross scene indeed. I never did get rid of the roaches because they would just travel from one apartment to the next. 

One night, some very stoned guy came banging on my door in the middle of the night trying to get me to let him in. I was petrified, as he almost broke the door down. I called the police, but they took so long to get there that he had already left by the time they came. The Chicago Police have a very nasty reputation, and they generally live up to that reputation. One night, driving home from my boyfriend's mother’s home, the police stopped me on the highway to interrogate me, because they wanted to know why “a white girl was in a black neighborhood.” They made me get out of my car in pouring rain, off an exit in the middle of nowhere, and they sat in their car, leafing through my wallet, looking at the pictures I had in it and mocking me. I was too young and naive to know at that time, and it took me years later to realize that they could have easily hurt me without anyone finding out.

Needless to say, I moved out of that neighborhood as soon as I could, especially after Jason was born because I couldn't stand the thought of a roach crawling into his crib.  But even a situation like that, can't compare with what those people in Africa have to deal with.  My heart simply goes out to them.  Just when we think we have so many problems or life hasn't been fair or somehow we've gotten a raw deal -- there is always someone worse off than you or I.  Always.  It's just another reminder to be thankful every day, because the bottom line is that we all are, truly blessed.

Sunday's Comin'

Well, things have changed and my mom is coming home this Sunday - two days away.  That gives my dad and I a very short period of time to get rid of all the "fattening" and "you-don't-need-those" goodies we have lying around, out of the house - either in the garbage or in our bellies.  That also means that I have to clean up a bit, do the laundry and sheets and get her bedroom in order before then.  I wanted her to come home after I got back from Madison, but their insurance won't cover her stay any longer. 

Last night, my mom and dad got into an ugly argument at the nursing home.  It was kind of bizarre and both of them appeared wrong, as well as childish, in my opinion.  It's clear she doesn't want to come home and it's also clear the dementia is kicking in.  Danny thinks that when she gets home, that will get better since she'll be in familiar surroundings.  I'm not so sure.  She doesn't want to come home because she doesn't want to deal with my dad without me being there.  I told her, "Well, you can't just live here."  She has to come home and deal with everything, whatever that means for her.  I'm just worried about what will happen when I'm in Madison.  I can see them both getting into it in an ugly way.  I just don't want each of them hurting themselves by either falling or my dad's blood pressure shooting up.  I didn't know their communication, or lack of, was this bad.  My dad tries to help her, she doesn't want his help and gets mad and snaps at him, and he backs off in anger.  All I could do was sit there and watch this, as there were other people in the room and I didn't know what to say.  Too bad lightening didn't strike the building right at that moment like it did last Monday.

We were sitting in the lobby of the nursing home when a storm rolled in and lightening directly struck the building, right where we were sitting.  We all jumped, the phone was knocked out for a bit, the lights went off and on, some warning siren went on and wouldn't go off and the fire alarm was activated and went on and off.  It was crazy.  I guess Florida is known as "Lightening Alley," per my dad.  I didn't know that, so now when I'm in the pool and it starts thundering, I'm outta the water real fast.  The weird thing about Florida weather is that one half of the sky can be cloudy, thundering, lightening and raining and the other side is a clear blue sky with the sun shining.  The weather is very schizophrenic here.  If you wait a few minutes, it always changes.

Speaking of the oddities of Florida, I got an instant message on Facebook the other day from a friend, telling me that she saw on the news that a lady in Tampa found a 4 foot alligator in her swimming pool.  Good grief!  I told my kids that that was possible!  Albeit, it was only 4 feet long, and the ones I've seen in the canal are much bigger than that, it still leaves me uncomfortable swimming in the evening or night when it seems more likely they come out of their hiding places because it's dark.  I know they're God's creatures, but they are terribly disgusting.  I usually don't keep my back to the canal when I'm in the pool - just in case.  I've pictured one running in back of me and grabbing my head in his giant mouth, dragging me back down to the water.  It's my over-active imagination again, I know.  But still...

To be honest, what worries me about my mom is the dementia.  I really don't know how to deal with that.  I've heard that you talk and treat the patient at the "age level" they're acting, but that's gotta be very weird.  I mean, here is my mom who gave birth to and raised me and now in most ways, our relationship has reversed and I am the caretaker and she is the child.  Well, not really, but you know what I mean.  That's very uncomfortable for me.  Especially since my relationship with her hasn't been the greatest all these years.  I know it's time now for me to mend it, and I have been in the process of doing just that -- but I would much rather have her still be the mom and me just be the kid - no matter how old we are.  And I suppose everyone in the world who's ever experienced this has wished the same thing.  It makes me really sad, truthfully.  It means an era is slowly coming to an end. 

So when my parents pass away, that means my brothers and I must step up to the plate and we become "next."  We become the elderly, frail and perhaps sick people my parents are now.  And when we pass away, then our kids step up to the plate and they become "next."  It's just the natural progression of life.  And I know that logically; it just makes me sad emotionally...

A Day in the Life

 So I was thinking I should write what I normally do in a day, for anyone who is interested.  Maybe no one is, but for posterity, allow me to entertain myself.  It changes day to day, as all life does, but this is generally my daily schedule.

When I wake up, which is around 10:00, I take my morning pills and proceed to the den.  Now before anyone gasps at the thought of waking up so late, please keep in mind that not only do I go to bed late, I also have fibromyalsia and one of the many side effects of this disorder is fatigue.  I am always tired, no matter what time I go to bed or what time I wake up.  It's just the nature of the disorder, which my fellow-fibro friends will attest to.  In any event, now that I am not working, it helps incredibly to get more sleep and is actually very therapeutic.

Ok, now that I have defended myself, the next thing I do is go into the den where my dad is sleeping in his chair.  Actually, we do almost everything in the den.  We eat, watch tv and dad sleeps in his chair and has been for over 20 years, in the den.  I usually wake him up by saying, "Hi Dad."  He then wakes up and says, "Hi Sis."  I ask him if he has had breakfast yet and he usually tells me he hasn't.  So I prepare his breakfast of a toasted bagel or English muffin, juice and a slice of honeydew melon.  He always eats this.  If he gets hungry before I get up, he'll nosh (Yiddish for snack on) on cookies or donuts or whatever we have in the house.  Usually the stuff my mom thoroughly disapproves of, and the stuff we have to get out of the house before she gets home.  My dad has had his fun and now it's almost over.  I have a bagel and coffee with my dad and he turns on the Military Channel as we eat.  This morning we learned about the 10 most powerful weapons.  Whatever.

After breakfast, I get on my laptop and dad kicks back in his chair and continues watching TV.  "In the Heat of the Night" comes on the Chicago station WGN around noon and he always watches that.  I never watched it when it was actually on TV, but now I'm drawn back to the 80's when he has it on.  He will usually fall asleep again during this time and when I'm done on my laptop, I go in the pool.  I usually stay in for an hour and a half or so.  I pray and think about what in the world I'm going to make for supper.  I hate having to think that up every day.  It's torture for someone who hasn't really cooked for years.  When I'm done swimming, or floating really, I come in and get dressed.  Dad is now either still sleeping or in his office on the computer.  If I have time, I get back on my computer - if not, I get ready to go see my mom. 

We try to go see mom around 4:00 and usually stay until around 5:30 or 6.  It's usually pretty boring just sitting there looking at each other.  Neither of them can hear very well, so I am usually shouting, even though there's not a lot to talk about.  It's a good thing my mom's roommate is almost deaf.  We talk about the weather, the mail, the grandkids, the long walk to her room; every day it's the same thing.  Everything my dad says, she gets annoyed at, so I try to do most of the talking.  I haven't talked to her yet about her attitude, but I intend to.  Probably when she gets home.  My dad will say, "Sis, we'll leave at 5:30," (when it's 5:15) just to warn everyone in advance, I guess.  My mom looks almost relieved when we leave.  It's an awkward position to be in to having to be forced to talk to one another.  It's not like a natural conversation you would have at home -- you know it's only for a certain time and so you feel forced to come up with something to say.  I usually rack my brain trying to figure out what else to say, and if that doesn't work, I resort to playing a game on my phone.

After our visit, we go home and I make dinner (lunch is usually skipped and provided by noshing in the afternoon).  Last night I made chicken pot pie which my dad really liked.  I was able to cut the rest of it into 4 big pieces and put them in containers and freeze them for my dad when I go to Madison.  I'll be gone a week and I want him to be able to just pop the container into the microwave for his meal.  Whatever it is that I make, we then sit down to dinner with the news and stock market reports on the Public Broadcasting station.  Everyone on this station talks in a monotone voice and so it is very boring to listen to.  During dinner, everything I say or ask my dad, I usually have to say twice, so I try to shout it out loud the first time.

After dinner, I do the dishes and clean up the kitchen.  When everything is done, I sit down with my laptop and try to work on it with the TV blaring.  I keep asking my dad to turn it down, but he's getting so hard of hearing that he has to keep it up loud.  I usually wait until he turns the TV off and goes into his office to work on my laptop, because then I have peace and quiet.  But then it usually gets pretty late before I go to bed, waiting for him to leave.  Last night, he slept the whole time the TV was on after dinner and if I would have turned it off, he would have woke up immediately.  I did change the channel to the History Channel and watched something about the Third Reich.  I have a weird fascination with Nazi Germany and even though I cringe while I watch it, I just can never understand how people could be so cruel.  After awhile, I went to bed and left the TV on because he was still sleeping.

After praying and reading my Bible, I play Words with Friends on my phone until I can't keep my eyes open any longer.  Last night, I took some muscle relaxers with my regular drugs because my whole body was in so much pain - another effect from Fibromyalsia - I just couldn't get comfortable.  I dreamt last night/this morning that I was hugging my grandkids and I had a big smile on my face.  The biggest sacrifice I made by coming here is that I am so far from my grandchildren.  But I know this is God's will, and I know He will make up the difference. 

So there you have it.  My life in a nutshell, for now.  When my mom comes home, it will be stepped up a few notches.  Dad and I won't be able to enjoy our sweets and treats, and I figure that would be a good time to go on, yes, another diet.  I will be helping her in and out of the bed, getting dressed, things like that.  Hopefully there will be a home health nurse coming in and bathing her.  Just sayin'.  Oh, and I will probably have to straighten out all the cupboards because I hate putting pots and pans away and they're all just shoved in there. That will not be acceptable to her. 

But until then, I have ice cream bars in the freezer and M&M's on the table that we both munch on.  The "food police" will be home soon enough and I'll have to resort back to stashing candy in my room somewhere.  I'll have to hide it well, because I'm sure Eunice will slowly creep into my room just to see "what's going on in there."  Kind of reminds me of when I would hide weed in my underwear drawer when I was younger.  I just won't hide chocolate - that would melt and be a real mess...

Forgiveness

There was a person once who hurt me very much, for a long time, and I became very bitter toward him, and eventually that turned into hate.  I had so much hate toward him, that I probably could have killed him if he hurt me any more.  I knew my feelings were detrimental to my self and my soul, and I prayed and asked God to help me forgive this person over and over again for years.  I still remember the day I finally forgave him.  There was no fanfare, no shouting, just the quiet, still voice of God leading me and I suddenly realized that I no longer hated him.  I realized that all the hate and bitterness finally left and it felt like a million pounds was lifted off of me.  Years later, the forgiveness actually turned into love and that was even more of a miracle.  I believe true forgiveness is a miracle - it's not something we have the ability to do on our own.  We need God's spirit to help us, and that, to me, is a miracle. 

Aside from Jesus dying on the cross for us and forgiving our sins, which is truly the ultimate act of forgiveness, I experienced a much more personal experience first-hand, of what love and forgiveness was truly about.  I knew a woman who experienced sexual abuse as a child, from her father.  When I first met her, I remember her asking me why God would allow this to happen to her.  The only answer I could think of to come up with was that God gives us all free will to choose to do right or wrong and unfortunately, her father chose something that was horribly wrong that affected her.  I know it wasn't the answer she was looking for, but we formed a friendship out of our many conversations.  When this happened to her, she had no one to turn to for comfort and no one came to her side.  I guess the few people that did know what happened to her, just didn't know what to say and so they avoided her entirely.  While that is a really stupid response, I understand their fear.  We just need to force ourselves to leave our comfort zones at times to "minister" to others.  In some cases, it's a matter of life or death.

This woman grew up to be a beautiful woman, inside and out.  She taught me many things about love and relationships, and most of all, forgiveness.  When her father layed dying, she went to his side and stayed with him until he passed away.  I was there too.  I saw how she stroked his hair and his arm, singing to him songs about Jesus and telling him it was ok, that he could let go and that God would be there to meet him.  She cried and sang and stroked the hair of a man who hurt her beyond words can describe.  My eyes well up now, after all these years, because I still can't believe what I saw and I will never forget it.  Here was the epitomy of forgiveness - God's forgiveness. 

Forgiveness crosses churches, religions, faiths and cultures.  It's even essential for people who are athiests - it affects us all.  I would say that if you ever meet an old person who is mean or bitter, if you look into their past, there is someone or something along the way whom they chose not to forgive.  Because unforgiveness leads to bitterness.  And bitterness leads to hate.  And hate can lead to all things negative and evil.  But it doesn't only affect old people.  Young people can experience this as well.  That's why it's so important to guard ourselves from unforgiveness - that is, if we want to lead fulfilling and satisfying lives. 

Why should I forgive others?  It doesn't condone what the person has done.  But what it does is free ME from holding onto grudges, bitterness and attitude toward the person who offended me.  Why should I hold onto something that they probably haven't thought twice about?  So really then, forgiving others helps me in so many ways.  It's really pretty simple, but decidedly hard to do. 

So, the bottom line for me is that I try not to be offended by others in the first place.  You know, the older you get, the less you care what others think about you anyway.  And if someone does actually offend me, I try to "talk myself down" or ask God to help me with this and before I know it, I don't even remember what happened.  Getting old really is a blessing!  I can definitely keep a secret - my memory is so short I don't remember what you told me this morning...

Gotta Love Her

Oh, Eunice, you gotta love her.

Tonight at the nursing home, an aide was telling us that she has traveled around the world with her husband and talked about their recent trip to China.  At the end of her description, my mother asked her if her husband came home with slanted eyes (from China).  I just gasped and said, "Mom..." but she had no clue that what she said was not kosher.  The aide, who is from Jamaica, just smiled and continued on her way.  She wasn't offended, which I was thankful for.  We tend to hold our breath before my mom says anything out loud, because you never know what it's gonna be. 

It's really interesting, though, watching her at the nursing home.  She talks to the aides and nurses like she's a little girl or pretending to be mad at them or just plain silly.  They all seem to like her - it's probably a nice break from the mean, mentally ill ones - but I don't know what to make of it.  I know she loves the attention she's getting because she talks to everyone who comes in her room, whether they came in to see her or not (she has a roommate).  She knows all their names and all their backgrounds and if I didn't know any better, I would say that she's so comfortable there that she doesn't want to leave.  She kept telling my dad and I tonight that her physical therapists don't think she should leave yet because they don't think she's ready.  So instead of July 24, we decided for her to come home after I return from Madison, about August 4 or 5.  That way she won't be alone with my dad, which is hard enough as it is, without not feeling well.

I know that my mom was "secretly" diagnosed with the beginning of dementia - "secretly" because we haven't told her - so I take what she says with a grain of salt.  I don't want her to know this because I think it will make her very depressed and my dad and brothers agree.  Her mother, my Nana, died from complications of Alzeimher's Disease, so I don't want to put fear or sadness into my mother's psyche.  I just don't think it's necessary. 

But my mom has always said things that were inappropriate or weird.  I had a boyfriend once that came over to dinner and my mom happened to be there as well and he had a cool, bright-colored shirt on, that I actually gave to him.  The first thing that came out of my mother's mouth after meeting him was, "My, your shirt is quite loud."  I, of course, cringed and changed the conversation, but she had no clue what she said could be interpreted as offensive.  I actually tried to warn my boyfriend before he met her that sometimes she says inappropriate things, but it was still embarrassing to me when she said it. 

Once when I was young, probably around 11 or 12, an extremely heavy woman crossed the street in front of our stopped car and my mother looked at me and said, "Now, you need to stop eating so much; you don't want to look like her, do you?"  I was too young to talk back to her then, but it embarrassed me nonetheless.  SHE was the one who said, "Sticks and stones can break your bones, but names will never hurt you."  She really had no clue all the times she hurt me by criticizing me about my weight.  But then most parents don't know how they've hurt their children until it's way too late, looking back in retrospect.  I know her mother hurt her, she hurt me and I'm sure I've hurt my kids in one way or the other. 

Forgiveness is the key.  It's what mends relationships and heals hearts.  If I can't forgive others, then how can God forgive me?  I need His forgiveness every day, and so I try to repent and forgive every day.  After all, who am I to hold a grudge against someone who has offended me, when I have also offended others?  It's such a simple concept, really.  So simple that lots of folks haven't grasped it yet.  And the very cool thing about it, is that when I forgive, I unload a lot of pure junk which I carried as a burden on my shoulders, sometimes for years, that feels wonderful when it's lifted.  It's like the weightless feeling of floating in the pool.  And you know, I really dig that.

Rebellion

Richard and his family left yesterday, driving back to Iowa. Micah and Jasmine left this afternoon and I always hate when my children leave me. I get this icky, empty feeling cause I know that I won't see them in a long time and I just hate that. He lives so far away, but now I live so far away from all my kids and grandkids. I'm just going to have to plan visits more often, that's all.

So everyone has gone and it's back to just me and Bob.  I would never call him Bob to his face, of course, but it's kind of funny in writing.  Not that he can do anything about it anymore; it would be him chasing me and we both waddle and wouldn't get very far. 

But it wasn't always this way.  My dad was very formidable when I was young and he scared me to death.  And even though I was scared of him, I did some really stupid things during my youth.  When I was a teenager, I would come home late at night, stoned or drunk out of my mind and my dad was always sitting at the kitchen table waiting for me.  He would be doing some kind of paperwork and when I walked in, I tried not to look him in the eyes, thinking he would realize I was stoned.  He always looked up and I always looked down and said, "Hi dad," and he would say "Hi sis," and I would head straight to my room.  He never did know about my getting high, unless he just didn't let on.  I would guess that he didn't know because he wouldn't know what weed smelled like, so he probably thought I was just smoking cigarettes.  He no doubt smelled the alcohol though, and it was probably those nights when he gave me the evil eye.  He had, and still has, one of the meanest looks known to man.  As they say, if looks could kill, well, let's just say I would be dead ten times over.

In the same vein of parents not knowing what their children are doing, my mother was a prime example of that.  She worked as the secretary in my junior high school, Lincoln Junior High, which was a real drag for me because I began going behind her back by wearing make-up and jewelry (which she prohibited me from doing), and I had to be very careful as to not letting her see my face during the day.  I would put this stuff on before school and take it off after school, and she never was aware of what I was doing.  When I had to walk by her office, I would open my eyes up real wide so she couldn't see the eye liner that was so obviously on my eyes.  Black, thick eyeliner and sometimes black mascara too.  How can you not see that?  I even bleached my hair with peroxide in the summer and she never noticed.  I would take the peroxide bottle she kept in the bathroom cupboard and with a tissue, simply swipe it through my hair, then sit in the sun.  It made my hair stink real bad, but she simply thought the sun was lightening it up, even though one year it was actually blonde when I was naturally a brunette! 

It was during Christmas break the year that I was 16 years old that my parents decided to take a trip to Florida.  I didn’t want to go with them, and so they took Danny (Richard was in the service) and foolishly left me at home alone for 2 weeks!  I really couldn’t believe they did that, but they did, and so I took advantage of the situation.  They also left me their car, which was very convenient, as I drove down to the south side of Chicago to pick up my boyfriend, Michael, so he could stay with me.  As it turned out, I had a party in my parents’ home for the entire 2 weeks, with people coming in and out, some of whom I didn’t even know.  We smoked, drank the liquor in my parents’ liquor cabinet (filling the near-empty bottles with water afterward), used drugs and just sat around listening to music all day and night.  I tried to air the house out before my parents came home, as they didn’t smoke at all, but that was impossible and they smelled it as soon as they walked in the front door.  Apparently my dad had written down the mileage on the car before he left (which I didn’t know about) and wanted to know where I had driven to put so many miles on the car.  He was furious of course.  It was not a good situation when they came home, but I deserved every bit of their wrath, if not more.

Someone told me this week that they read that it's usually the wayward or rebellious child who ends up taking care of the parents in their old age.  I thought that was interesting and just smiled, because in my situation, it's true.  My brothers never put my parents through all the grief that I did.  Now, which one of my kids....

I Don't Understand

I don't understand why people wait until they're dying or very ill or in a terrible situation before they turn to God for help.  I really don't understand this, and even wrote a poem a long time ago, which is below.  God wants us to come to Him as our Father and He longs to fellowship with us.  It's not about religion - it's about relationship - our relationship with Jesus.  Relationship is so important.  It's actually the most important relationship we can ever have in our lives.  And if that is true, then I believe we should pursue it wholeheartedly, with honest desire long before we are old or dying or up against a spiritual wall. 

God wants us to choose to love and seek Him - He would never force us.  Just like our children - we long for them to love us but we would never try to force them to do so.  That would not only be ridiculous, but it would not be real love.  And so it is with God. 

I hope I don't sound like an annoying know-it-all.  I'm really just expressing something I have never understood.  Because I have depended on God most of my adult life, I don't know how people can function without Him.  I have joy, I have peace and most of all, I have hope.  If my hope was in this life only, how shallow and disappointing that would be.  I'm definitely not perfect - not even near - but like the bumper sticker says, I am forgiven.  Thank God for His mercy and grace.

What I have said to my friends who claim to be athiests or just follks who don't think God is important, is that if I am wrong and there is no God, I really won't have anything to lose.  I lived a good life and I am at peace.  But, if there is a God as I believe, then you have everything to lose.  I choose not to gamble my eternity - it's far too important.

I have some questions I must ask
            to understand your mind;
                        is it your pride or foolishness
                                    or just from being blind?

How can you just ignore the fact

            He gave His life for you?
                        His blood and pain was for your soul,
                                    and yet you never knew.

 How can you live your life as though

            the end you'll never see?
                        yet though, not knowing, you decide
                                   where you'll spend eternity.

 What do you think about at night

            before you fall asleep?
                        does fear or emptiness appear
                                    or do you simply weep?

 Do memories invade your thoughts

            and plague you with your past?
                        and have you ever wondered
                                    why your happiness won't last?

Why do you look beyond the One

            Who holds the very key?
                        of life and love and peace within
                                    the kind your soul does seek.

It's really not as difficult

            as you make it out to be;
                        turn to the One Who loved you first
                                    then love, for once, you'll see.

My Mom

The backyard of my dad's house sounds like a rainforest.  There are species of every bird imaginable, ducks, crickets and some insect or animal that makes a really loud, high-pitched cricket-like sound.  The birds are all chirping, beeping, sqwalling, wooing and cawing.  It's a menagerie of sounds quite like the jungle, not that I've ever been there, but what I would imagine a jungle would be like.  And then there are the alligators. 

Jason and I saw a huge alligator just last week in the canal in back of the house.  His head was out of the water and we were all excited but he just ignored us and kept floating along while Jas took a short video of it.  It was bizarre that he was so close with no barriers.  Kind of scarey too.  I've read that they can run up to 30 mph for short stints, however they only run straight.  That's supposed to be comforting, because all you have to do is run zig-zag and he won't get you.  However, I don't know any human being who can run 30 mph, even for a short stint, much less in a zig-zag fashion.

So all the sounds of the backyard makes it feel very exotic when I'm in the pool.  I watch the canal carefully, because I don't want an alligator crawling up to the screen and pushing his way through to me.  My kids laugh at me and say that would never happen, but just in case...  We swam at night a few times, which is very cool with the light on in the pool.  It all looks very eerie, but every loud sound we heard, made me feel a little alarmed inside.  You can't see out into the canal when it's dark, so all you have is your imagination, and mine is quite vivid.  I stayed on the opposite side of the pool, so just in case he came crashing through the screen, I could make a fast, or rather as fast as my feet would go with hopefully adrenalin pushing them, getaway up the stairs and into the house.  That hasn't happened yet, which is a good thing because I would probably end up having an asthma attack and collapsing in the kitchen.

Richard picked up my mom today and took her for a drive and then we all met for lunch.  She's doing really well.  I took her back to the nursing home, but we made a pit stop at the house first to surprise my dad.  We decided that Sunday, July 24th, she will be coming home.  I'm going to have to have a "talk" with her that I really don't want to do.  She talks and treats my dad so mean that it's getting ridiculous.  I know she has a lot of resentment toward him, but enough already.  It's really ugly and I don't like it.  I mean, my dad isn't the easiest person in the world to live with, but neither is she!  At least I don't have to hide my Butterfingers with my dad.  I'm not sure if she realizes how mean she is being toward him and I plan on laying it out for her.  I don't like to see or hear it and I feel sorry for my dad.  All he wants is to help her and she barks at him like a dog.  He doesn't deserve that.

What a weird position to be in.  I'll talk to her alone when I go to the nursing home this upcoming week.  Hopefully she will "hear" me.  You would never know this about my mom.  She does it very quietly and if there are people around, not at all.  To my mom's friends, her sky is always blue, the grass is always green and she is always "just fine."  Unfortunately, my mom doesn't look life square in the face and confront it for what it is.  Her motto always was, and still is, "Ignore it and it will go away."  She used to say that about my dad too.  I think the reason I tend to be too bold or too honest or too confrontational, is because she was just the opposite.  She is very passive-aggressive and I hate that characteristic.  But in some ways, being the martyr that she is, has perhaps helped her survive all these years.  She has, for as long as I can remember, been extremely depressed, but would never admit it.  Just recently, while in the nursing home, I finally talked her into taking an anti-depressant.  Hopefully that will kick in soon and her disposition will change; because I really don't want to be a referee.  I'd much rather be just their daughter.

Fish

I'm watching how octupus mate tonight with my father.  How awkward.  It's on the Public Broadcasting Channel and supposed to be educational.  All I feel is embarrassed.  I mean, it's the most natural thing in the world, but somehow watching it with my father, loses the educational part and all I can think of is that they're having sex.  I act like it's an interesting show to watch when he points certain things out to me, but trying to paying little attention to it.  But my father is becoming hard of hearing and the TV is blaring.  It's hard to simply ignore.  But the question is, who cares how octupus mate??  Some of these shows are so bizarre.  These researchers probably get paid huge salaries to watch and record how octupus mate.

Earlier in the evening, my father watches one show after another about stocks, bonds and the market in which I know nothing about and I find very boring.  I don't have a clue what they're talking about and my father sits glued to them with intense interest.  I need to pull my paints out and start painting during this time; I don't know why I haven't yet.  I keep putting it off and I don't know why.  It's probably some deep psychological issue; or maybe I'm just lazy.

My mother is feeling much better. Her infection is gone and the doctor has given her permission to come home.  But she doesn't want to just yet.  She told Danny that she's scared.   I'm not sure what she's scared about, so I need to talk to her to find out what's going on.  I guess it's understandable to be scared, leaving the security of the nursing home, but that's the whole point for me being here - to help my mom and dad both.

She went to the doctor yesterday morning and I was planning to go with her and my dad.  She told my dad that she wanted my older brother, Richard, to go with her instead.  Why?  Because he had some kind of medical experience in the Air Force some 40 years ago.  I just shook my head and laughed.  Richard has always been, and still is, my mother's favorite.  So I said no problem, because I wanted to sleep in anyway.

My brother and his wife and granddaughter came down to visit my parents two days ago.  They drove down because they have a lot of stuff here that they want to take back up north with them, and to see about my parents.  They came over today and we swam in the pool and just hung out.  Micah and Jasmine left for the other coast this afternoon.  They are preaching in a church in Palm Beach and will be staying there for a few days before coming back to Venice.  They plan on driving down to Key West and then on Sunday, they have another preaching engagement at a different church.

Now we're watching a program about white whales.  No, I didn't know there were white whales, but I think it's time to go to bed.  I REALLY don't want to see how these huge fish mate...

Life as I Know It

I thought my head was going to explode today.  Micah, Jasmine and I went to the beach and the sun was so hot burning down on me, that I got real red and HOT.  After awhile, I went to sit in the car to get out of the sun, turned the a/c on high and just laid back.  When we got back to the house, we all jumped into the pool and it felt like my sizzling skin was immediately relieved in the cool pool.  It was bizarre!  I felt like a chicken roasting on the hot sand and when we jumped into the pool, I could visualize steam rising up from the cool connecting with the hot.  Ahhhhhhh....

When I was young, I always sweat under my arms, where most people sweat.  When I went through menopause, it seemed I sweat from every gland in my body.  Now, after menopause, I sweat only from my head!  It's the weirdest thing.  A lot of the time, my hair is soaking wet like I just washed it, simply from sweat.  It's very embarrassing and inconvenient.  Do I have to wear a bandanna every day to catch the little droplets of water emitting from my scalp?  I mean, when I was young, all you had to do was to keep your arms down at your side and no one would have a clue what was going on down there.  During menopause, everyone expects you to sweat from all areas of your body and so others look pitifully at you with a "I'm so sorry for you dear, but I know how you feel -- I went through it too."  But now, why in the world is my head playing tricks on me and spitting out so much water??  How could my head have so much water in it - there's really no room with all the other stuff in there. 

And then my hair.  Well, it used to fall down to my waist.  So much hair comes off on my brush that at this rate, I could be bald before I'm 60.  It's thinned out and somehow gotten shorter over time, that eventually I may have to buy a babushka (scarf) and wear that.  I can envision myself waddling around with my cane and babushka - just like my great-grandma.  Except she only spoke Yiddish and no English.  She was a short little woman who wore a wig or a babushka, because back in those days, when an orthodox Jew got married, they shaved their heads and wore a wig the rest of their lives.  I have no idea why - that's just what they did.  I can imagine how that must have itched - I would have hated it.  But I guess when that's all you know, that's what you do without question.

It would have been very strange to live in that era.  In my family, the girls stayed home to help in the house and the boys went to school till about 5th grade, then they helped in the fields.  My descendants were farmers, blacksmiths and factory workers when they came to the United States.  They all entered through Ellis Island, which is a place I want to visit one of these days.  My grandmother on my father's side could not read or write and my other grandparents had limited English skills - but they all knew Yiddish.  Yiddish is a mixture of languages from several countries, that Jewish people created to connect to one another.  It's a funny and very descriptive language that I love to hear and repeat. 

My great-grandfather on my father's side had a son who married a gentile (non-Jew) and my great-grandfather disowned him.  He actually held shiva (a funeral service) for him and considered him dead.  That's really harsh, but the old school tradition was meant to preserve Jewish identity and his son marrying outside of the religious faith meant certain "death" on the "offender's" part.  I'm sure that's what my parents were thinking when I came home pregnant, not married and to a black gentile.  Except by that time, traditions had changed and my parents weren't orthodox.  They raised us in Reform Judaism, which is the most liberal branch of Judaism. 

My brothers and I were forced to go to "religious school" which was on the weekends.  I hated it so much that I was very disruptive in class and when we had to be in the sanctuary with the rabbi talking/preaching, other kids and I would flip "birdies" to the kids in front of us - just to be disrespectful and obnoxious.  My poor mom never could understand why I was so rebellious and angry.  I think my dad understood, because I was (and am) much like him, but he never acknowledged it.  In fact, I never heard about my dad's colorful past until I was an adult.  I guess he didn't want to encourage me any more than I was already acting.

I love history and I love learning about the past.  It explains so much about the present and gives us hope for the future.  The kind of hope where if you've made a mistake in the past, you can correct it in the future.  Tomorrow is always a clean slate that we can change what we want to change, keep what we want to keep and create new paths and pictures of what we want to become or go or be.  That's awesome when you think about it.  You are the author of your life, and where you choose to go or become is totally up to you.  God gives us free will to choose our paths and make our own decisions.  But it's the wise person who gives their life back to God and says, "Lead me Lord, for I will follow."  Yeah.  I'd rather follow the One Who knows, than to wander around aimlessly myself.

The Other Biggest Regret

I sat and listened to Micah preach this morning and I realized how proud I am of him, and how proud I am of all three of my children.  They grew up to be successful, loving and driven people who live for God - the most important thing.  Of all the qualities I could have impressed upon them, the most important is a life that is committed to Jesus Christ.  Everything else pales in its sight.  And then I noticed a young mom with her children and I smiled because I remember and miss those days.  It was then that I realized that the other biggest regret I have is how I raised my kids.

I've made a lot of poor choices in my life, but having my three children was not one of them.  And because their father wasn't willing or able to be a father, I was forced to raise my children alone.  I was both mom and dad to them, which I believe is one of the hardest jobs in the world.  It's nearly impossible to be both mom and dad to children - that is, if you want to do a good job.  I always wanted to do a good job; I wanted to be a good and loving mom, and yet I feel that I fell short.  My regret is that I wasn't loving and nurturing enough; that I was too harsh and used discipline far too often.  You have to discipline your children or they turn out to be obnoxious and unruly people, but the key is to do it with love.  I did it most of the time out of frustration and anger.  I regret that.  I wish I would have been more patient and loving. 

There is no doubt that I love my children with all my heart.  But there are a great deal of ways I could have raised them differently and shown my love more.  I blame myself only for that.  I always second-guessed my decisions and wondered if what I was doing was right.  There are no books or manuals that can tell you how to raise children.  You just have to do it, pray and hope you did the right thing.  And trust God.  God is the definitive factor.  Without Him, my children and I would not be where we are today. 

And so I want to publicly apologize to my children for all the mistakes I made while raising them.  I wish I could go back in time and re-do everything I feel I did wrong, but obviously, I can't.  At the time, I felt I did the best I could with what I had, but hindsight tells me differently.  But then I wonder if other parents feel the same way I do, and my guess would be that there are plenty who do.  If we really examine ourselves truthfully, we find that we have many regrets in our lives and wish we could have done things differently in one way or the other. 

Regrets are okay, though.  They're not great, but they're okay.  They show us that we're not perfect, nor will we ever be.  And that's, well, okay.

People Can Change

I'm sitting in the den with my father, Jasmine and Micah, listening to the conversation Micah is having with my dad.  Micah is a preacher inside and out and my dad is actually listening.  I think the older he gets, the more he is mellowing out and becoming less narrow-minded.  Years ago, he would have stopped the conversation before it even started.  And now, he's actually discussing the bible with my son.  People can and actually do change.

We had a good day today.  First, we all went to see my mom and she was happy to see everyone.  Jade and Donovan lit up her eyes as she played and sang with them.  Later, we went to my brother, Danny's house.  First we went to the barn and met his miniature horse and standard horse, who were both so beautiful.  I had never been that close to a horse, where his nose was right in my face and he snorted and blew on me - it was pretty funny.  His eyes were so telling and it seemed he knew what I was saying.  He nudged me to keep petting him.  He was actually sweating on his skin from the heat.  We also met his five dogs - a mastiff, collie, shitzu and 2 chiuhuas.  They were all wonderful, except for the chiuhuas who kept barking - they were real obnoxious.  It was really hot outside, so we decided to go swimming in Danny's pool.  Afterward, we left when Danny took Jason and the kids to the Tampa Airport hotel as his plane leaves in the morning.  I hated to kiss my grandkids goodbye, but I'll be seeing them in a few weeks when I go home, so I kept telling myself that.

It was great having Jas and the kids here this past week.  And my dad even behaved himself, which was a surprise.  It was a little hectic at times, but that's what children bring to the picture, so it was just fine.  Both the kids had a blast swimming in the pool and looking for the alligators.  We actually saw an alligator floating down the canal a few days ago.  Jason took a video of it and I stood there watching as I couldn't believe how big it was.  And to see it in person just several yards away, was surrealistic for sure. 

Jade kept my dad entertained and he loved playing with her.  He showed a gentle side of himself as he communicated with her.  He seemed to really love it.  It was fun to have them here this week, for both my mom and dad, as well as myself.  But alas, they had to leave to get back to their lives in Madison and so they went on their way.  Micah, Jasmine and I went out to dinner and afterwards, they went to the beach to watch the sun go down.  I was exhausted, so I stayed home with my dad and we watched the news until they came home.

And so, we are in the den talking and that is something I enjoy doing, but my father didn't always converse with me like this.  For some reason, he always made it clear that he thought I was an "idiot" and what I had to say really didn't matter or didn't make sense.  I don't know why he acted like that - but he never took me seriously.  I don't know what I ever did to cause him to act that way.  All I do know now, is that we are improving our relationship slowly, day by day, and I don't think he thinks I'm an idiot anymore... 

Regrets

Old people especially seem to look back on their lives and think about all the regrets they have of what they should have done or what they shouldn't have done.  Younger people don't have enough time spent to look back on their lives and critique it.  However, if perhaps I would have critiqued my life earlier, I would not have so many regrets now.

But I do have many regrets, as most of us do.  I regret not going to the Art Institute of Chicago when I got out of high school.  My father would have paid for it, but I was kind of a screwed up kid and my priorities were different back then.  Instead, I worked at odd jobs, got high and hung out with friends.  I would visit my Uncle Erwin (who I named Micah after) with my dog, Louie, and I would sit and listen to him as he told me all about his colorful past.  Even though he was raised an orthodox Jew, he was the first person to ever tell me about Jesus.  My family considered him eccentric, but he was just a simple, loving man who was terribly lonely and old.  His only son died in World War II and he was divorced twice.  He lived alone in a tiny apartment in Chicago and we would eat cheese sandwiches and he would reminisce.  He told me that he once had a black girlfriend long before he was married.  During that day and age, it was extremely taboo, so I was really impressed to hear that.  I was a rebel, and it was cool to hear that my great uncle was one too.  He was the kindest man I had ever known at the time and I regret to this day lying to him. 

I became pregnant in 1975 and I didn't know what to do, so I decided to get an abortion.  I didn't have the money at the time, so I lied to my uncle and told him I needed to fix my car and he lent the money to me, but all the while, I felt like he knew I was lying.  He died of cancer the following year and I always regretted lying to him, and although I did pay him back every penny, I never told him the truth. 

When I had the abortion, I was so young and naive, that I wasn't prepared for what was going to happen.  The only way I can describe it is like having a vacuum cleaner attachment put inside you and when the doctor turned it on, I could see my belly moving up and down, uncontrollably, with a strong, incredibly uncomfortable sucking feeling going on inside of me.  When the whole thing was over, I was taken to the "recovery" room where another girl was laying and she seemed totally okay with the whole thing.  She told me that this had been her sixth or seventh abortion and I had a hard time believing anyone could do this thing more than one time.  I laid there, bleeding heavily and cried, but I really didn't know what I was crying about.  My parents never taught me that it was wrong and yet I felt this tremendous loss along with pain; the kind of which that only if you have had one, could you ever understand what it is like.  I knew instinctively it was wrong, on every possible level, even though I was never taught or shown that.  To this very day, the greatest regrets in my life were the two abortions that I had.  The first one was out of ignorance and the second one was out of medical necessity, or so I thought.

When I moved to Madison in 1978, I became very sick with a lung infection.  I went to the area hospitals, but no one could figure out how to heal me.  I was bedridden for months because I couldn't breathe. Jason was just 2 years old and during this time, the TV in the motel I stayed at did most of the babysitting for him.  Finally, I went to a new clinic out in Mt. Horeb and met with a young doctor.  He gave me a shot of something that immediately opened up my lungs and then put me on steroids for several days.  The infection cleared up and I could breathe easier, but it was during this time that I found out I was pregnant again.  I had so much medicine pumped into me that I feared the baby would be affected by it, especially the steroids, so I decided to have another abortion.  This time, I borrowed the money from a friend and "took care of the problem," justifying it because of the medication.  Unfortunately, I had the same pain and the same emotional shock that I had the first time - it hadn't changed, even though I thought my reasoning was sufficient.  It wasn't, but I had no one to turn to for help and advice, so once again I made a regretful decision that day.

I wonder sometimes if I will see my aborted babies in heaven.  Sometimes I cry to think of the mistakes I've made that cannot be undone and sometimes I marvel at the stupidity of the many decisions I've made.  And always, when I think of the many regrets in my life, I thank God for His mercy and grace, and the patience and love He has for me.  Without that constant reminder, my life would be nothing more than one giant mistake after another...

Babies and Puppies

I watched as Jason came into the house last night, swept up his kids and sat down with both of them in front of my dad, his Papa.  He is proud of his children and was introducing them to his Papa and it reminded me of the Lion King presenting his son, Simba, to the kingdom.  I remember Leah doing the same thing with Shanti, putting her in Papa's arms.  Today, we will go to the nursing home and Jas will present his kids to Gigi (my mom, their great-grandma). 

I think it's a common, unspoken ritual, because I remember doing the same thing after I had Jason.  Jason was 2 months old and I flew down to Atlanta, where my parents were living at the time.  I was so proud of my new-born baby, and so I "presented" him to my parents.  They, however, were not receptive at the time.  After all, their daughter was not married to the baby's father, he was black and not Jewish.  My child had everything stacked against him at the time.  In fact, I was in the bathroom and I heard Jason start crying and my mother was right near him but wouldn't pick him up.  I had to hurry up and finish to go and get him to answer his need.  I looked at my mother like, "Why didn't you at least pick him up??"  But she stood there looking puzzled and confused as not to know what to do.  Later that evening we had an uncomfortable conversation, initiated by my father and it was at that time that I stated emphatically that my baby has done nothing wrong, and if they couldn't accept him as he was, then I didn't want anything to do with them and I would leave and never see them again.  They knew I was serious, and it was soon after that, that my parents changed their attitude toward myself and my son.  Thank God they did, because I would have done what I said as I loved my baby and I would protect him from all evil and harm as much as I could.

That was 35 years ago, and today my parents absolutely adore my children - and now their great-grandchildren.  I'm not saying I was right to give them that ultimatum, but I was a momma bear protecting her baby cub, no matter what came our way.  Thankfully, many people, including my parents, have changed after all these years, regarding inter-racial families.  Attitudes needed to change, and for those who have not, I feel it's their own loss.  God is "no respecter of persons," then why should I be?

My mom was thrilled when we brought the kids to see her today.  She has never seen Jade and so this was extra-special for her.  Donovan walked around telling the old folks "Hi" and they responded so excitedly that little children were walking the halls.  Even when Jade started crying because she was so tired, some people who were in the halls, just smiled and laughed and thought she was so cute.  The folks that live there permanently get excited when dogs and kids come to visit.  It's actually therapy for them (as well as everyone else), and they enjoy these visits so much. 

Children have a way of piercing some of the coldest hearts.  There's something about the love and affection of a child, that most of us respond to in a most positive way.  A kiss, a hug or a smile can brighten up even the gloomiest of dispositions.  The same is true with puppies.  They're full of love and kisses and who can resist them?  We all want to be loved - even those who don't show it.  That's why we respond the way we do to puppies and children.  Old people in nursing homes are especially needy in this area.  Years ago when I was involved in a nursing home ministry, I found that many of the people there never got visitors; either they had no children and few friends, or in some cases, the children never visited them.  I couldn't believe it, but the staff told me that it was true.  The people who needed love and affection the most, were void of it the most.  There's something seriously wrong with that.  I see it every day visiting my mom.  Half of the people there are recovering from surgery and getting rehab, but the other half are residents there.  The saving grace in this nursing home are the CNA's.  They do absolutely everything except for giving out the medication, and yet they are gentle and kind to the residents there.  I think it takes an incredibly strong and comitted person to do these jobs.  I've seen them stroke the patient's hair or shoulder and even give a kiss on the cheek.  I've seen them do this with my own mother and she eats it up.  I'm so thankful that these workers do what they do.  They are truly some of the most unsung heroes that I know.

My Kids

I'm thinking that all the sun I'm getting from swimming, that the red/tan my skin turns will help disguise the red blotches on my face!  Those blotches horribly remind me of the movie "The Blob," that I saw when I was a kid. A bunch of us went to the Skokie Theater and paid $.35 to see this movie. The gist of the movie was this giant, red blob that was trying to overtake a city. It was made in the 50's or 60's at the same time they made "Godzilla." Now we would watch these movies today and just laugh because they were so unrealistic and ridiculous.  But back then, I'm sure we were scared to death.  But then the Skokie Theater was scary itself.  There were always older kids throwing popcorn at us from the back.  It was dark and spooky, you could hardly find your seat.  The screen was hidden by a huge red, velvet curtain that opened quite majestically when the show was to begin.  There were no commercials back then, except for maybe an advertisement to buy popcorn and candy.  The show always started with a cartoon or two, but because this was a scarey movie, I don't think it had one.  I know - my imagination runs a bit wild at times.  The red blotches on my face really don't compare with "The Blob."  It's far worse.

Poor Jas.  His plane has now been delayed 3 times.  He was due in here at 6, and they keep delaying it by the hour, so now he's due in Tampa at 9.  It takes an hour and a half to get there, so I should leave here about 2 hours ahead because I have no idea how to get there.  I just spoke to him and he said the kids are running wild.  I told him to let them!  What else can they possibly due in an airport?  Besides, they'll run until their little legs are tired and probably fall asleep on the plane.  That's what he wants, because there's nothing worse for you or the other people on the plane, than to hear a kid wailing.  I was always fortunate when I flew down to see my parents when my kids were babies.  The whir of the engines must have something to do with lulling them to sleep.  That and threatening them to be quiet or to the bathroom we would go with the "wooden spoon."  Little did they know that we both wouldn't be able to fit in the tiny closet they call a bathroom, much less me spank their tushy with the spoon.  Just the threat was usually enough to quiet them down and go to sleep.

Micah dreaded the wooden spoon, because he met with it the most out of my three.  He had a stubborn streak and a naughty side that most people don't believe today.  Oh... but he did.  One time in church, and we always sat up towards the front in the 2nd or 3rd row on the right side, Pastor Grant was preaching a rather long-winded message and Micah was getting very antsy.  He kept whining and asking when we were going to go home and I kept telling him, "Soon, soon."  At one point in the sermon, there was a lull when he took a drink of water and Micah stood to his feet, looking straight up to my pastor and said, "Are you done yet?" Well he was loud enough so the first few rows heard what he said, as well as Pastor and his reply was, "Yes, Micah, I'm almost done."  I was so embarrassed, I whisked him up and to the bathroom we went, with wooden spoon in my side pocket.  People were laughing, so I didn't spank him that night, but there were plenty of other nights that all I had to do was put my hand on the spoon and look at him, that he stopped the naughty thing that he was doing.  Out of my three children, he was the most strong-willed and I broke many a wooden spoon on his behind.  He survived - and I'm very proud of him, because today Micah is an associate pastor at Christian Life Center in Stockton, California and he has an awesome ministry with his wife, Jasmine, and the young people in their church, ages 18 to 35.  He's working on his Master's Degree now in Theology, and works full time at the church as well as teaches some classes at the CLC college.  Jasmine teaches at the CLC school that is on campus and is also involved in the music ministry, as she has a beautiful soprano singing voice.

Leah just finished her Master's Degree in Psychology and will be looking for work when her, Parris and Shanti move to California.  Leah was fortunate enough to get her education online while she stayed home with Ashanti.  Parris also just graduated from steam-fitting school and after he finishes a certain number of hours of on-the-job training, he will be an official union Steamfitter.  I'm so proud of both of them.  Going to school while raising a child is not an easy task, but Leah completed it with a high grade point average.  More important than that (to me) is the fact that Ashanti is a wonderful, polite and caring little girl who minds her parents very well.  Leah and Parris have done an excellent job raising her thus far and I'm real proud of them.  Raising kids in this day and age is incredibly difficult.  But Ashanti has a great head start and besides, she has ME for her grandmother, so she can't go wrong!

Jason got his Bachelor's Degree from the University of Wisconsin and has been a Madison police officer for several years.  I'm very proud of him, even though I wish he would get a different job.  Being an officer is one of the hardest jobs you can have and I worry about him when he's on the beat.  There are insane people out there doing insane things.  Just another reason why I pray for my children and grandchildren every single day.  Jason has two children, Jade and Donovan, who he shares custody with his ex-wife.  They do every other week and he has them this week, which is why he is coming down now.  I can't wait to surprise my mom.  We were going to do it tonight, but now it will be tomorrow because she usually goes to bed early.  

Frankly, I don't know where my kids got their "smarts" from - it surely wasn't me.  I was lucky to get C's and D's in high school and what's worse is that I could have cared less at the time.  But the bigger question is, and I don't condone running out and getting pregnant, but who said that a single mother can't raise kids that stay out of jail and go to college?  Just sayin....

Love

Micah and Jasmine will be here on Wednesday and I'm really looking forward to that.  I wish Leah, Parris and Ashanti could be here too - it would be a regular family reunion.  But we usually have those during Christmas, so I can wait until then.  It's getting to the point now where I am really missing my grandkids.  I never knew how much I could love someone else until my grandchildren came along.  I, of course, love my children with all my heart; but when my granddaughter was born, I was totally swept away by the love I have for her.  And then my other grandchildren followed and it is incredible that more love just keeps pouring out.  It must be a neverending supply.

There are these little gnats that are flying around in here and driving me crazy!  I don't know if they're fruit flies or just plain gnats, but they love me and I am trying to kill them every time I see one land on my arm or the computer screen.  They're tiny and fast so I usually miss.  I wish I knew how to get rid of them without all the violence.  After all, I don't want to break my laptop.  Maybe my mom would have a home remedy - I should ask her.

I've gotta tell ya, that I have a real pet-peeve lately, especially on Facebook or Twitter or wherever social networks are:  people who insist on telling others how they should live their lives, in a not-so-subtle way.  They may "say" it in a semi-positive way, but I find that very arrogant and presumptuous and it "irks" me, as my mother would say.  I think it's fascinating to learn about others and their beliefs, as well as expounding my own - but forgive me if I ever try to landblast someone else with what I believe or don't believe, and especially when it's not solicited. 

I've always hated selectivity or better stated, cliques.  When I was in high school, I was in neither the greaser's clic, the hippie's clic or the jock's clic.  I couldn't stand that one group would refuse to accept someone else who wasn't of that group's genre.  That's incredibly ignorant and I still feel this way.  I have certain beliefs and standards and morals that many people may not share; but I won't diss them for not believing what I believe.  Not only is that counter-productive, it's prejudicial and immature. After all, I come from a Jewish home, have 3 bi-racial children, 3 bi-racial grandchildren, 2 African American grandchildren and profess to be a Christian -- which category would that put me in??

I have been blessed with so many friends who come from so many different backgrounds.  I have friends that are a constant encouragement to me like Janice, Juan and Linda; I have friends that are a lot of fun to hang out with like Barb, Sandy and Tammy; I have friends who I know would pray for me like Virginia, Rich and Jeannette; I have friends that I know I could trust my life with like Brenda, Laurie and Sharon.  I could go on and on and list all of my friends who God has placed in my life and who have been such a blessing to me.  And we're all different.  Every single one of us. And yet I have the capacity to love and respect each and every one of them.  God, please help me never to presume my friends and others need me to point out their faults and help me to show them unconditional love, just as You have showed to us.  Amen.