DNA

Ok, so I'm browsing the internet when I happen upon an article on sweat, believe it or not. Seeing that we've already discussed this subject at length, I thought I would copy and paste a portion of it here because I thought it was interesting:

Perspiration may be biologically useful, but it also tends to pour from your pores at inopportune times. We tell you how to stay dry.

The Basic Biology
"Bodily functions such as digestion and muscle movements generate heat, and we perspire constantly to keep things chilled. So while you're busy patting down your sweat 'stache, your system is on AC overdrive, sending and fielding a complex network of cooldown codes. Here's what's happening in your body:

1. In response to scorching temps or frazzled nerves, your brain fires a sweat signal down your spinal cord, triggering the release of a chemical called acetylcholine.

2. The acetylcholine shoots from your spinal cord into thousands of nerves that travel to your legs, arms, chest, face, and back.

3. The acetylcholine arrives at your 4 million eccrine glands (wedged between your fat and skin layers) and prompts them to start filtering fluid from your bloodstream to produce sweat.

4. Your eccrine glands then pump out the stuff—99 percent water, 1 percent salt—through your skin's millions of pores.

5. The released sweat helps regulate your core temperature, much like splashing yourself with cold water helps you cool off. Most sweat starts to evaporate immediately, but if your glands are working overtime, it'll pool up on your skin. Or, if you’re dressed, it’ll seep into your clothes.

Ways to Stay Dry
Even people who think they're as dry as a desert are constantly losing water, says Dee Anna Glaser, M.D., a professor of dermatology at Saint Louis University School of Medicine. "Just the act of breathing makes us sweat." On average, we perspire enough each day to fill a shot glass (1.5 ounces), and that's before working out or otherwise exerting ourselves. Because the highest concentrations of sweat glands are in our armpits, forehead, soles, palms, and scalp, those tend to be our dampest parts. If you're a real drippy mess, you can thank Mom and Dad; DNA regulates the actual amount we sweat, says Glaser."

That's it?  They said they would, but they didn't tell us (me) how to stay dry!  That's probably because they have no idea.  Or maybe they are suggesting that I carry a shot glass around with me so I can "fill it up" after a good day of sweating.  I've determined it's a plague for only some people, although it is clear by this report we all do sweat.  But not all of us show it.  Some people sweat quietly, lady-like and refined.  But I have to sweat with a loudspeaker, like a construction worker under the hot sun. 

Thank God for DNA.  It proves people are either murderers or innocent, and look - it also determines how much we will end up sweating.  Now that's really profound scientific knowledge.  So the next time someone looks at me strange when there is water dribbling down my head and creating puddles in my neck area, I will just blame it on my parents.

Revelation

When I came out of the pool today, I sat in the warm sunlight and the wind was blowing.  I smelled something familiar and closed my eyes to think of what it was.  It was a memory of when I was a kid, and it all came back to me in that moment.  It was right before dinner, I was at the park, playing basketball with the boys.  I remember the weather was warm and the wind blowing and I could sense the same feelings I felt when I was at the park.  The sun was still high in the sky, but you could tell it was getting around dinnertime and I would have to be leaving soon to walk back home.  But I would get in all the basketball I could before having to go home.  After dinner, I would run right back to the park and play until it got dark.  That was the sign that I had to be home.  But for that moment this afternoon, I found myself back when I was 11 or 12, enjoying the weather just like I was today.  It's so hard to believe that was 45 years ago.  A lifetime has happened between then and now.

The other day, I took a survey in a magazine about being happy.  The article began by asking the question, "Are you happy?"  Well, since I was curious, I took the survey, I got a score in the area where I was labeled "Happy."  I smiled and thought about it for a minute and I realize that I really am -- happy, I mean.  I don't think there's a time in my life from the time I was a kid playing basketball at the park until now, where I can truthfully say I was happy.  I don't know particularly why I wasn't - I just wasn't.  When I was teenager, I was suicidal and when I was a young woman, I was busy with my children, and frustrated and unhappy because I always wanted a complete family - a husband and father for my children.  But then when they became grown, I still longed for a husband/companion and since I had none, that also made me unhappy.  I worked for what seemed like forever that paid the bills and helped me raise my kids, but I was still unhappy - it wasn't what I wanted to do with my life, but it was what I ended up doing because that's all I knew.  I grew so physically and emotionally exhausted because of all of the pain in my body, I could hardly function these past couple years, and that left me with feelings of unhappiness and hopelessness. 

And now here I am caring for my parents and caring for myself at the same time, and I can finally say, I am happy.  I didn't need a magazine to tell me that, but it just confirmed what I already knew.  I'm still without a companion, I miss my kids and grandkids terribly and I'm still in a great deal of pain, but I am content for the first time in my life that I can ever remember.  I am content and happy to know that I am helping my parents live their lives, as well as my own.  It's a personal revelation for me, to know and finally feel this way.  It's my testimony to my faith in God.  I thank Him that He has brought me to this point, for without the endless strength and love He has given me, I would have given up a long time ago. 

Rice

My dad's little world consists of sitting and sleeping in his chair and eating in the den while watching tv, going to the bathroom which is adjacent to the den and monkeying around on his computer in his office which is adjacent to the bathroom.  I call it "The Schwartz Triangle."  Thankfully, no one gets lost going or coming from that area. And he is very content with this.  I've been trying to get him out in the pool, but he refuses.  He said one day he may surprise me.  I want him to exercise his legs because they look like potato sticks.  He has the normal bump where the kneecap is, but the rest of his leg, all the way up to his hip, looks like skeleton legs.  I think if he walked around in the pool, that it would bring some of his muscle mass back, but I can't get him in the pool.  Once my mom can do the steps, she'll come in the pool and it will do her a lot of good. 

We are waiting for the doctor to call us with the date of her next surgery on her left hip, which has been bad all of this time.  The implanted pins in her hip have slipped and are poking out of her bone, so she's in constant pain.  Surgery has been delayed all of this time because of her other hip surgery, and then we were waiting for the Mersa to go away.  The doctors have told us its gone, so now we're just waiting for them to schedule the surgery.  These clinics down here really take their time doing things.  It's very annoying.  But then I'm not the one with the pins poking out of my bones; my mom has much more patience than I do. 

It's getting to the point that when I make dinner, I hold my breath to see if my dad will like it or not.  I mean, he critiques every meal and so I am getting used to his saying that "This is good, sis."  He has a couple of times said, "I really don't like this.  Could you have done something different with it?"  I'll either say I didn't like it either or yeah, I missed something.  Funny, but he's usually right.  So I made chocolate chip cookies this afternoon, which he really likes, but this time they didn't turn out right.  They were puffy and gross, with not a lot of flavor.  I couldn't figure out what I did wrong.  My mom said maybe the margarine wasn't right, and for sure, that's what it was.  I should have used butter, but even if I used margarine, I would need to use the stick kind - not the kind in the tub, which is what I used.  Oh well - we stick everything in the freezer here, so that's where they went too.  When they're frozen they're really not that bad.

We had enchiladas that I found in the frozen section at the store tonight.  They were very good, but the funny thing is they were filled with rice.  My dad hates rice, and when he began to eat, my mom and I just looked at each other with sly grins, waiting for my dad's critique.  After a minute, he said, "I like this, but it's really not that spicy."  I don't know how he can tell with all the BBQ sauce he dumps on it, but that's ok - he ate it.  And he didn't even know there was rice in there because the sauce disguised it.  I don't know what he thought he was eating - maybe some mysterious Mexican ingredient.  My mom and I laughed about it after dinner.  Now I'm going to get more courageous and see what other rice dishes he won't be able to recognize, because my mom and I both like rice.  I love it, but I haven't made it since I've been down here. 

My mom is growing really attached to Kita, and I think it's doing her wonders.  Now I know why people bring dogs into nursing homes and hospitals - they're very therapeutic.  I'm glad that she's being more than just a companion for me.  Sometimes it's the small things in life, like the love of a dog, that we overlook or take for granted, but end up meaning so much.

Schizophrenic Dynamic Relationship

Mom asked me this morning how to punch in 2 minutes on the microwave to cook her oatmeal.  I looked at her thinking she was kidding, but she wasn't.  Ok, so I told her what it was and moved on, but realizing that she really is getting dementia.  I hate this and Alzheimer's disease.  When my mom's mom, my Nana, got older, she came to live down in Florida near my mom.  She had Alzheimer's disease when she moved down here and she went into a nursing home that specialized in that.  Every time I came down to visit my parents, I would visit my Nana and every time she grew worse and worse.  In the beginning, she would laugh and talk but wouldn't make much sense.  After that, she would laugh but it was a nervous and misplaced laugh and you didn't know what she was laughing at and she didn't recognize me any longer.  Next came her holding a doll and stroking it's fake hair, and not recognizing anyone, including my mom.  Near the very end she would just stare past me, with no expression on her face at all.  It was an obvious progression into oblivion, where only she knew where she was.  I tried to talk to her every time I went to visit her, but I got nowhere, and I would end up leaving and crying on the way back to my parent's.


I remember it was my mother's birthday, August 14th several years ago, and she had just come back from visiting my Nana.  I had bought her an outfit and I wanted her to try it on, which she did.  She came out to show my dad and I what it looked like and then all of a sudden, she broke down in tears.  She cried and said that her own mother doesn't know who she is and it was her birthday.  I just sat there feeling very awkward, and my dad got angry - his usual response.  I forced myself to get up and hug my mom and tell her everything would be all right, even though I knew it wouldn't be.  She gathered herself together quickly, because my mom doesn't exhibit her emotions like that normally, and went to her room to take her new clothes off.  I felt really sorry for my mom, as I thought it must be terrible for your own mother not to know who you are.  And now this just might happen to me.  I guess that means that we need to live our lives, holding our loved ones as close as we can, for as long as we have, because no one can predict the future. 


My dad screamed out, twice, in his sleep again last night.  It woke me up and I was confused and at first thought it was some guy in the street, then I realized it was too late at night for anyone in this neighborhood to be out in the street.  I waited to see if I should go out and help him, but I didn't hear him so I assumed he went back to sleep and then I fell back asleep.  He said this morning that he's never done this before, and now it's happened twice since I've been here.  I ask him if he remembers what he's dreaming about and he says no.  This is really bothering me, as it is like a howl, an agonizing howl coming from a man who never shows emotion except anger. 


I hope my dad doesn't sleepwalk and go into the living room.  That is where Kita has decided to do her duty as she refuses to go outside.  So I put a big sheet down on the living room floor, but don't ya know, she poopoos right outside the edges of the sheet.  I'm hoping the peepee is on the sheet, but I can't readily see that.  No one ever goes in the living room, so if my dad were to unwittingly walk in there and step in her doodoo, he would be livid.  My mom is my spy and tells me when Kita has done her duty, which kicks me into action of quietly disposing the evidence.  Kita wags her tail as if to say, "Good mommy, good mommy," and I glare at her, as if that will do any good.  After all is said and done, my parents are really enjoying her, as she jumps into their laps and gives them kisses, and they get to talk to her like she's a baby.  Even my dad, with his strict, military demeanor melts when she jumps into his lap - unless of course he's sleeping.  Then everyone gets to hear some choice words of disapproval. 


Kita likes to take one morsel of food and bring it to another place, like under the dining room table or on a chair - you know, a more comfortable place to dine.  Yesterday, she took her morsel to one of his chairs and he went a bit off.  He said, "Sharon, you have to stop her from doing that," and I said, "How would I do that, dad?  It's not hurting anything - she eats it all up."  He just smirked and we continued eating, but sometimes I don't think my dad is happy unless he complains about something.  Then it's, "Get down, get down, I said get down!" when she is jumping up on his legs at the dinner table.  I told him, "She doesn't understand "get down," but will probably jump even more thinking you're playing with her."  So dinnertime has become a circus with Kita jumping up and down, my dad yelling at her to get down, the tv is blasting about what the stock market did today or the loud monotone voices of PBS newscasters, me telling my dad to leave my dog alone and my mom sitting silently eating, seemingly oblivious to it all. 

The thing about my family, though, is we can be really angry with one another one minute, then the next minute, we're just fine.  It's a schizophrenic dynamic relationship, which I just made up.  How else can you explain such nonsense?  I love my parents, and I know they love me, but oy vay.  We most defintely have a schizophrenic dynamic relationship, in the purest sense.

Weather

I love the sky and the clouds down here.  I think because Florida is so flat that you can see a huge sky with huge clouds.  You can see way off in the distance where it is raining, even though it could be sunny where you are.  Every day, it starts off sunny and clear in the morning, and then as the day goes on, clouds start creeping across the sky until they become dark and full, and then it storms.  This happens every day.  Maybe it's the rainy season or something, I really don't know.  But it will be weird for me as Fall approaches and it doesn't get a whole lot cooler here.  I love Fall - it's my favorite season.  I love to see the leaves turning colors and the cool weather.  But I guess that won't happen down here.  I will be back in Madison for a week in October, so at least I'll get a little bit of Fall in me then.  What I won't miss is the winter with the cold and snow.  Funny - I used to love snow, but I sure don't any more.

When we were kids, we would make caves out of the snow and I remember a particularly bad year, it was 1967 or 68, where we had a blizzard in Chicago.  Everything shut down and we were stuck at home for a few days.  Of course, we loved it because we didn't have to go to school and we could play in the snow.  It was then that my brothers and I made tunnels and caves in the snow in our front yard.  The snow fell so much that when it was shoveled and packed, it was higher than I stood.  We wouldn't come in the house until we absolutely had to, and then our cheeks were red and frozen and our hands were too if we weren't wearing our mittens.  Sometimes my mom had hot chocolate waiting for us, which we drank down and went right back out into the snow.  We had a blast.

But it was when I got older and started driving that I began to dislike the snow.  Driving in it is just a drag.  I don't mind watching it fall and especially on Christmas to see clean, white snow -- but in rush hour and when there is ice, it's a real pain in the neck.  When Jason was just a baby, I lived in the city and there were few parking places on the streets in front of your apartment; so when I got one, I tried to stay there so no one else could take it.  One year, the snow was so bad, that when the snow plows ran through the streets, they buried our cars that were parked at the curb and we had to literally dig them out.  It seemed impossible at the time, but with Jason in a carseat waiting patiently, I dug out what I could and then drove back and forth, back and forth to rock/ram my car through the snow only to race to the daycare provider and then race to work.  Needless to say, there were many of those days that I was late for work.

The first year I lived in Madison, I experienced an ice storm for the first time in my life.  I was on the beltline coming home, and I lived on Simpson Street at the time.  Everyone was driving at a reasonable speed as it was raining, but turning to sleet, I thought.  I first saw it on the light poles, that they began to shine and then I realized I was skidding and not driving at all.  I looked around and everyone else was breaking and it freaked me out that I naturally slammed on the breaks too, when that is the opposite of what I should have done, and my car began to spin.  Fortunately, I got it under control and went very slow the rest of the way home.  Cars were crawling, it was so slippery, and it was a miracle that I made it home.  I'll never forgot the phone lines and the street lamps, that they were so beautiful as they glistened from the ice against the light.  Beautiful but deadly at the same time.

Now I hear that there is a hurricane approaching the U.S. and originally the forcasters thought it would hit Florida, but now it won't be.  A few days ago, people were talking about "the storm" and saying what they needed to do to be ready for it.  My physical therapist even cancelled my appointment on Saturday because of it.  I was amazed, but my mom said that places always shut down when a hurricane might be coming their way.  I guess they do that everywhere.  All I know of is tornadoes and there isn't a whole lot of warning for those - they just hit and there's not a lot you can do when they hit.  I guess there also was an earthquake on the east coast a few days ago, which is really strange.  I didn't know they get earthquakes. 

All of these strange and continuing weather patterns, gets me to thinking what the Bible says about weather and the "last days."  What does it say?  In all honesty, I can't remember which scriptures it is, but if you dig yours out, dust if off and begin reading, you'll find it too. 

My Dad vs. The Computer

Well, today I completed the beginning of the arduous task of applying for Social Security Disability. I don't know why I kept putting it off, but I'm glad I finally sat down and forced myself to do it. It took about 3 hours to complete online. Not an easy project. And it will be a long time coming and I will probably be denied the first time as most people are, as I've heard. The government makes it very difficult and I understand why, for the most part.

I was granted short term disability through an insurance company that the county uses some time ago now; I'm not sure if I mentioned that or not. I could also apply for long term disability through it, but I wanted to get on Social Security disability because I want to officially retire with the county when I do. I'm thankful I had the foresight to obtain and pay for this short and long term disability several years ago. Who would have thought I would be in this position today.

I'm not especially proud of applying for disability; I feel that it is the only thing I am able to do at this point. And like everything else in life, if you've never experienced it, it's not something you can totally understand, and therefore not be a judge of it. That's why I hate prejudice so much. People make assumptions about other people because of ignorance. It doesn't make any difference if it's a black teenage kid standing on a street corner, a single mom using food stamps at the grocery store, or a homeless man pushing a grocery cart and sleeping on the street. If you haven't walked in that person's shoes, you have no place to judge them or assume anything about them. It just makes me crazy when people do. It's at that point that I jump on my soapbox and begin to preach, sista!

Suffice it to say that I feel comfortable with my decisions and hope that the process isn't too overwhelming. Not like after I completed the application and emailed my dad a few documents that I needed him to print out because I don't have a printer. It's easy. Three documents to print out. What proceeded to take place was thrown way out of proportion. I don't know if he didn't know how to do it or what, but I offered to do it for him. Of course not - he knew how to do it. So I sat there and waited - impatiently - to print the 3 documents for me. He kept moving the mouse all around hitting the X and deleting it every time he opened one of the documents up. I kept saying, "Dad - let me sit there, I'll do it, no problem." He said, "No, no, I know how to do it, stop being so impatient."   "Yeah, but dad, what are you doing?  You keep deleting the document!"  "Stop being so impatient and shut up!  I'll figure it out," he says.  Well, we lovingly bantered like this back and forth as he monkeyed around with the mouse, squinting because he can hardly see and clicking on everything but what he was supposed to click on and it was driving me crazy.  Finally, after much talking and mouse-clicking and document-deleting, he managed to print the documents out for me.  Whew.  Three documents.  A secretary he ain't.

WalMart

I also miss the days when we were all young mothers and we would schlep our children on one side of our hip and the purse and diaper bag on the other side, everywhere we went.  I loved raising my children, however, you may not have guessed that if you knew me at the time.  It was very stressful being a single mother and the stress showed on me most of the time.  But when my kids were finally asleep, I would creep into their bedrooms and watch them sleeping for a few minutes.  It was then that I knew everything was all right and even though the day might have been a huge catastrophy, my children were all tucked into bed, sleeping and looking like little angels.  Each one of them has these cute little lips that when they slept, they poked out like they were puffing out on something.  It made me smile to see them so content.  I miss that now, even though then I thought those frantic and chaotic days would never end.  Unfortunately, they do, and really too late to take in what I miss most about them now. 

My dad's cousin and his wife came to visit today, from California.  His name is Bobby and he calls my dad Bobby, which is funny to me because I remember only my grandmother calling him that.  My dad likes his cousin, who is only 3 years older than I am.  He joked around and we reminisced all day.  It was good to reminisce.  He knew things about his side of the family that I didn't know and he kept making fun of my dad's mom.  She really was a tyrant and everybody knew it, but my dad doesn't like when people make fun of her -- except Bobby could.  It was pretty funny - we had a good laugh.  His wife didn't have a whole lot to say, but that's probably because Bobby did all the talking.  He had a lot to say about Micah being a preacher.  He thinks it's "a shame" that such a good Jewish boy would go ahead and become a Christian.  We avoided that conversation because I would have had a lot to say, but I think he sensed that, so it wasn't talked about.

After they left, my mom's friend Sue and her daughter came over for a short visit.  They are from England and they have the cutest accents.  I enjoy listening to them, although I have to admit, sometimes I didn't catch what they said.  We met them yesterday before my mom and I went to Wal Mart.

There's only one thing worse than going to Wal Mart on a Saturday afternoon, and that is if you go with a cranky kid or a disabled mother.  I parked the car as close as I could to the entrance, but she insisted on walking with the walker to the front door, to get a scooter.  Well, it took forever for her to get across the parking lot road as I first of all kept cheering her on like a cheerleader, and then when I was getting frustrated, I just said, "C'mon mom -- go faster.  You're going too slow, someone's gonna hit you!  C'mon!"  I started mumbling about the fact that she wasn't ready to go to WalMart and I told her that, blah, blah, blah.  She walked so slow that she was almost at a standstill and kept saying that she had the right of way, etc.  As she was coming in the doorway, her legs looked cockeyed, like they were going to give out from under her and I was beside myself.  Fortunately, there were two scooters available and she very carefully got on one and I on the other.  The nice greeter man put her walker to the side and kept it by the doors for us when we left. 

As we started driving the scooters, I said just follow me, but I had to keep looking backward to see if she was still behind me.  She was, but waaaaayyyy back there, so I said to just drive alongside of me, which we did until the aisles got smaller.  Then I said, you go in front of me and I'll follow you and it was at that point that she crashed into a shelf, backed up and crashed into it again.  I just sat there waiting for her to get her bearings and then we were off again at the races.  She found what she needed and then it was my turn to look for what I needed, so I told her to follow me.  She did, but at one point she went one way and I went the other and I just gave up and figured she'd find me at the pet section, which she did eventually.  We picked up the few things that were on our lists and I high-tailed it out of there as quickly as possible.  This time, I pulled the car up to the door so she wouldn't have to cross the road and a nice fellow helped her into the car and put our stuff in as well.  I flicked the a/c on high as I sat and took a few deep breaths, glared at my mom and she looked perfectly fine.  It didn't phase her, partly because she can hardly hear and partly because she had no clue that I was beyond frustrated.

It will be a long time before I ever accompany my mom into WalMart again.  I think Publix is safe because there are usually just a few people who shop there.  But WalMart - nope.  Not unless I take a horse tranquilizer before I leave.

The Good Old Days

I miss the days when my friends and I would all jump into the car and head out to known and unknown places, all very exciting and carefree.  I miss hanging out every Friday and Saturday nights, going to concerts or just hanging out at Mister Donut.  I also miss going out to Lake Michigan and sitting on the rocks by myself and meditating about life.  I knew there had to be more, but what it was, I didn't know.  We would do whatever it was young people did and enjoyed every minute of it, not thinking much about the future or what some things would do to our bodies or have an affect on them in the future.  We just never cared.  Now, of course, I wish I had.  I was very hard on my body, in more than one way, and now I'm paying the price.  However, if someone had come up to me in those days and told me to take better care of my body, I would have told them to "blow it out your ear," or something equally as repulsive.  I never liked someone telling me what to do.  I think now, after the many conversations my dad and I have had, I must have inherited all of those wonderful traits from him.

So sometimes it's hard to sit here and watch while the world goes physically by.  We take some things, such as walking, for granted.  When you can no longer walk or no longer walk without a great deal of pain, it's then that you realize what you once took for granted.  You never think about it - you just get up and walk.  And if there's one thing I really want to do and have so for some time, is to walk.  I just want to walk by myself and not be in pain. 

What brought this on is the fact that some friends and I want to plan a vacation together.  We were tossing up different ideas and one of the concerns was "Can Sharon get her scooter or wheelchair in and out of cabs?" and "Who will push her if she doesn't take her scooter?" among others.  So we decided to take a cruise, which sounds like fun, I've never done that before, even though my choices were sightseeing in Hawaii, New York or Bermuda.  But in those cases, it would probably be difficult for me to get around.  I think my friends were thinking a cruise would be easier for me overall and it probably would be.

When I told my parents what my friends and I were deciding on doing, the first, not the second, but the first thing my mom said was, "Well, you know all you do on a cruise is eat, eat, eat - that's all you do, morning, noon and night, (blah, blah blah)."  I said, "Ma, there's a whole lot more to do on cruises, I've seen brochures."  But she insisted that eating was the primary goal on every cruise.  Okay.  Whatever.  She is so obsessed about eating and weight that she actually asked one of the nurses at the doctor's office yesterday to weigh her.  He had to stop what he was doing, help her out of her wheelchair, and announced to the whole waiting room that she is 114 pounds.  You could see a little twinkle in her eyes and then she told me in a serious tone, "Don't tell your father."  In her twisted sense of body image, she thinks the less she weighs, the healthier she is, when in reality, at her age, she needs to gain weight -- and the doctor told her so.  I think sometimes she thinks she looks younger than she really is, but she has so many wrinkles, spots and sagging skin that it hardly makes her a candidate for a beauty pageant. 

I think she would have liked that.  I think she would have liked for people to fuss over her and say what a beauty she was, and how thin she was!  And I think that goes back to her childhood.  My aunt, her only sibling, was a cute girl and probably fussed over by my grandmother, where my mom had striking features and would have been considered pretty, but she was tall and lanky, and my aunt was short and petite.  I have a feeling my grandfather gave her the attention she craved as a child, but he died when she was very young, and she was left with a heart that was never the same.  I saw the anger and resentment she had toward my grandmother when she was alive.  Now, she in fact reminds me of my grandmother, a small, little body in a wheelchair and not making a lot of sense most of the time.  Not angry any more, though - just seemingly content with fond memories.  I hope when I get old, I'm like that too.  I don't want to remember all the bad stuff - I only want good memories.  Even if that makes me look lame, I don't care.  I want to be at peace and content and know I lived a full life with few regrets and lots of memories.

Mom's Drug Usage

My mom would never have had fun if she was a teenager in the 60's and 70's. The slightest variation in medication and she goes a bit off. Tonight, after taking her sleeping medication and the new medication the doctor prescribed for seizures, she didn't make a lick of sense. It upset my dad and he called me in the bedroom to decipher what she was saying. She was talking about the medication and then said something about the recipe and I said, "It's ok mom, we'll talk about it tomorrow morning when you're making sense." She kept babbling on and on and she was falling asleep in the wheelchair. My dad and I had to get her up from the wheelchair and help her onto the bed, and my dad lifted her legs up so she could lay down. She's only about 120 pounds, but she seemed alot heavier as I tried to get her to a standing position so she could hold onto her walker as we guided her into bed.  I kept saying, "Wake up, mom!"  I felt like the mother of a stoned or drunk teenager that I was trying to get into bed so she could sleep it off. 

My dad stayed in the bedroom with her until she fell asleep, then came looking for me.  He just shook his head and kept saying that she wasn't making sense.  He was listening to her and trying to make sense out of what she was saying.  I told him that it was like she was high and she wouldn't be making sense and she should take those meds right before getting into bed so this type of thing doesn't happen again.  I felt like I was giving my dad a lesson on drugs.  But after thinking about it, of course he would have no idea, because they never used drugs.  On the other hand, I would have quite a bit more knowledge on the subject because, well, let's just say that I would.

Everything we do here it seems is done in slow motion.  My mom likes to sit in the wheelchair instead of walking with the walker and so she pushes herself around by her feet - very slowly.  She reminds me of the little old man who Tim Conway played on the Carol Burnett show.  She gets there, but it takes a lonnnnnnggg time.  So while I'm waiting for her to get to the kitchen table, I sit in the rolling kitchen chair and watch tv or play on my phone, because there's not enough room in the hallway if we both try to get there.  If my dad with his walker, collides with my mom in her wheelchair, then somebody has to get out of the way.  It's usually my mom.  But then, she goes in reverse, as slowly as she was going forward.  I just sit, watch and wait until the coast is clear.  Me with my cane, my dad with his walker and my mom with her wheelchair is quite a sight to behold.  And when she is actually using her walker, she goes even slower, talking out loud, telling herself to "step with my heel first, then my toe, heel first, then toe," something she learned at the nursing home.  She learned a lot of useful things at the nursing home.  She learned that her "grabber" is not only good for grabbing, but for pushing and pulling and even getting her shoes on.  The grabber helps me grab things off of high shelves that the three of us could never reach, so I really enjoy the little tool too.

We are going to the doctor tomorrow and Friday again, so I have that to look forward to in the heat and humidity.  I think I should buy or make a bandana sort of thing, to bind around my head so all the sweat can be caught in the fabric.  I think it would probably look ridiculous, but it would definitely serve its purpose.  I think I will look for that next time I'm at WalMart.  Maybe I can find a cool one, like a biker's scarf and pretend I'm a biker.  It wouldn't work, of course.  Just one look at me and you can tell I'm no biker.  I can't even walk.  Oh well, I can pretend, can't I?  It would be kind of humorous tho, while I'm scooting around WalMart or Publix in the motorized scooter.  That's about the closest to a biker chick that I'll ever be.

God Always Answers Prayers

My dad and I got up to the hospital around 1:30 this afternoon, and we all didn't leave until 6:30 this evening.  We were waiting for the neurologist all that time, to come and explain to us what is going on with my mom.  Finally she did appear and what she said was very good news.  She thinks my mom has been having tiny, small seizures by her own description before she falls.  The doctor prescribed her some new medication that will help if she is truly having seizures, and hopefully help with the dizziness.  She also said the spot on her brain was nothing to worry about.  It could have been there for many years, as far as they could tell. The MRI and EEG tests that she had, showed everything was fine and there was no cause for worry.  This was all a huge relief.  I think my dad, mom and I all took a deep breath after everything that was said and done.  Who said God doesn't answer prayers?

But frankly, even if the news was not good tonight, God still answers prayer.  Sometimes it's not as fast as we would like it or it's not the answer that we want - but He always answers - one way or the other.  When I don't know which way to pray, I will always pray that His will be done.  That's the safest way to pray, as there is more power in prayer than we even realize. 

Several years ago I heard a sermon preached by a visiting evangelist that I will never forget.  There was a group of scientists of whom some believed in God and others didn't, who wanted to measure prayer scientifically.  I don't remember exactly how they did it, but they hooked up people to machines that detected the velocity or electrical degree, or the power that they emitted as they prayed their prayers.  It was an amazing story, in that the people who were praying for others, the electrical impulses or velocity went off the scale they were measuring.  In other words, their prayers measured "off the charts" scientifically and the scientists were all amazed at the degree of power their prayer eminated.  They stated that the amount of power that was being projected by a single person's prayer equaled a huge bomb. 

So the bottom line is that when we pray, we not only touch the throne of God, we do it with such a large amount of power, that the whole spiritual realm must quake.  That's very cool when you think about it.

I believe in the power of prayer and I believe in the One, True, Living God Who answers my prayers.  Can I get an amen?

Feelin' a Little Sick to My Stomach

My mom is still in the hospital and she said tonight that the neurologist wants to talk to us together tomorrow morning.  She had an MRI and an EEG today, but the results weren't told to her, so I don't know what to think.  I'm somewhat concerned at this point.  I feel a little sick to my stomach, as I know I don't deal with this kind of stuff very well.  And my father's response is always anger.  But I will try to put it in God's hands, just as I heard it preached yesterday morning.

The service was good and the preaching was better.  We sang songs we used to sing at Calvary, many, many years ago.  It was fun to sing them again - it brought back a lot of memories.  There is no drummer or keyboard player, no guitar and the only music are some tambourines.  The singers are off key a lot, but it really doesn't matter - the sweet spirit of God was in that little church nonetheless.  We prayed for my mom and I felt the power of the Holy Ghost very strong at that time.  I left there feeling very content and at peace.

We went to see my mom in the early evening and she looked good and was doing fine.  Apparently they found out that it's not a blood spot on her brain, and it also wasn't caused by the Mersa.  But what it is, we will find out tomorrow. 

I don't understand why hospitals tell you early on what they think it is then change their mind and say it's something else - sometimes over and over again.  That is really stupid.  When I was very sick about 6 years ago, I ended up in the hospital and at first they said I had congestive heart failure, then they changed that and said I had something else. After running many tests, they finally realized that I had Sepsis - a blood infection.  That's a far cry from congestive heart failure.  They should just wait until they're sure and then tell you and your loved ones what the problem is.  Up until that point, they should just admit that they don't know yet. 

I'll never forget the doctor who I had when I was pregnant with Leah.  During delivery, it went very wrong and they had to call in a specialist and then he was able to deliver Leah.  My doctor, as he was wheeling me to the recovery room, actually apologized to me, that he had me pushing too early.  He admitted that he was wrong and admitted that the baby could have brain damage because of that.  That doctor's character spoke volumes to me and I will always remember his honesty.  How many times can one say that about any human being, much less a doctor?

Well, it's early but it's time for bed.  I'm exhausted as usual, physically and emotionally.  But that's ok.  God always gives me the strength for a brand new day.

A Sign of a Greater Problem

Well, I guess my mom's dizziness was a sign of a greater problem, or so the doctors think.  This morning, my mom was so dizzy that she couldn't sit up in bed and so I called 911 again.  This time, the guys that came out took my mom into the hospital by the stretcher.  When they picked her up, she groaned because she was so dizzy.  I'm not sure if that hurt her or just made her feel weird, but they took her into the hospital about 9:30.  I unfortunately had a physical therapy appt at 9:45 and I didn't know what to do because I missed my first appt with Linda, the physical therapist.  So I called them and told them that I was running late and expained what was happening.  I also called Danny and he came down to the hospital as well.  I took my dad to the ER and dropped him off to be with my mom and I went to the physical therapist.  I came in there kind of frantic, kind of antsy and feeling guilty that I just left my mom in the ER, but by the time I left, I felt very relaxed and "centered" - a term we used to say back in the 70's.  Maybe people still say that today, I don't know.

In any case, I went to the hospital after my appt and Danny was there with my dad.  I went in to see my mom and she was fine, feeling ok, but they did a cat scan on her brain and they saw a blood spot in the back of her brain.  They don't know what it is or what it's doing there, so they admitted her to do more tests later today and tomorrow.  It's probably what is making her dizzy, but the question is why and where did it come from?

Danny left to take my dad home because my dad can only deal with this for a short time, and then he went home, and I stayed with my mom for awhile.  They gave her some lunch and she seemed fine talking to me.  Her birthday is tomorrow and my dad and I were going to take her out for dinner, and so she was telling the nursing staff that they had to have a birthday party for her now.  They really didn't understand my mom's sense of humor - well, very few people do - as sometimes she says and does strange and out-of-place things.  It's just her and it's always been her, although she's gotten much worse since being sick.  And I think it's because she's never received this much attention before.  Whatever the reason, if she was worried, she covered it up by her acting silly.

It would take them "several hours" to find a bed on one of the floors for her, so I decided to leave.  Later I found out that they put her in a restricted area in case of the Mersa that some of the doctors are claiming is the reason for the blood spot.  Others are saying it's something else.  I came home, went into the pool, then took a long nap - I was exhausted - emotionally and physically.  My dad woke me up because he was hungry and wanted to eat, so I got up and fixed him and me dinner.  I think watching movies and tv is my dad's escape of reality.  All of this is wearing on my dad as well.  He was always the one who needed to be taken care of, now my mom is in that position and he doesn't really know how to handle this.

After dinner, I watched a movie with my dad and he narrated it as we watched it, as he had seen it before.  This is his way of dealing with the situation with my mom.  I know he is concerned about what they found and doesn't know how to express his feelings or talk about them.  Neither of them do.  That's really sad to me, as I learned that a long time ago when I was in the hospital, and I think it is a very important thing to know how to do. 

But there is something that I find incredibly hard to do and always have.  That is, telling my parents how much or even, that I love them.  I can tell friends, my kids, the neighbor down the street or Mr. Magoo - but I can't seem to get it out of my mouth to either of my parents.  When I do say it, it sounds very forced (which it is), and it creates a very awkward situation.  My father has never been able to say this (until very recently) to me or my brothers or my kids.  My mom will say it often but for some unknown reason, it's very difficult for me to say this back to her.  Sometimes, it's even difficult for me to look into her eyes.  I don't understand it.  It makes me very uncomfortable, but I have to push past my comfort zone and do this more and more, especially now.  Why else would I be down here?  

 

Who is Who and What is What, Page Two

So, I had to take a picture of my dad but that is really hard to do because he does not like getting his picture taken.  But I got one of him and my mom eating dinner.  The second one is when he looked up and asked me what I was doing.  I told him I was trying to figure out something on my camera, which is true, but not completely. 

Notice in the picture below, and you can barely see it but it's there, the bottle of BBQ sauce on the table.  I went to the store today and they had two for one - I was so excited for my dad.  Also, if you can see it, they are watching the Military Channel.  This is the den/kitchen area where my dad and I watch movies and talk when my mom is asleep.

Below, is their swimming pool, as Kita looks at her reflection in the water.  This is where I pray and relax and feel wonderfully pain-free for an hour or two each day.

This is a terrible picture, really, but I was in the screened porch and the sun was reflecting off of it.  This is the canal in the backyard where the alligators and poisonous snakes roam.  I actually saw an alligator yesterday when I was in the pool, and as I opened my mouth really wide to shout and tell someone to look, I realized there was no one to tell or see.  It was cool nonetheless.  It's back rose up above the water so I could see how big it was and then went into some bushes on the other side of the canal to continue lurking. 

Well, that's all the photos for now.  If something comes up and it would make it clearer to see a photo, I'll photograph it and include it in here.

Today was a busy, frantic day.  I went to the grocery store early in the afternoon and I actually saw an old lady fall on the floor.  She just went skidding like she was skating or something.  The man with her was using a cane and just stood there.  A big guy came around the corner and picked her up.  I went over and picked up some paper that she had dropped and when I gave it to her she just laughed.  Kind of a weird response.  All the suits in the store came rushing up to her to be of help.  They brought a chair for her to sit on and it was quite a big deal.  I'm sure they're afraid of a lawsuit, but I can see both sides of something like this now, since my mother has fallen several times.  Yes, there might have been something slippery on the floor and if that was the case, they should be held responsible for it.  But if there was nothing on the floor and she was as fragile as she looked, she should have had a cane or a walker or something.  I wonder what store owners do in situations like this where the majority of residents are old and frail.  They probably have really good liability insurance.

When I got home, I proceeded to take the food out of the bags and my mom called from the bedroom.  I went in there and she said she was dizzy.  Dizzy laying down and dizzy trying to get up.  So I called the home nurses because when they came over this morning, they took her blood pressure and it was very low - enough for them to be concerned.  They told me to take her into the ER.  So, Danny was on his way over to my mom's and suggested we call 911, which we did.  They came in and took her blood pressure and hooked her up to all these pads and apparently she was just fine.  They briefly examined her and let us decide whether to go to the hospital or not, but my mom and I decided to just stay home since they did all her vitals already.  The rest of the evening she was just fine, so maybe, hopefully, it was just some weird glich. 

Our bodies are like time bombs - we just don't know if and when something will go wrong with them unless we've had some warning signs.  And then, we still may not know because some of us don't know what to look for.  The bottom line, I believe, is to be ready to meet our maker whenever that time may be.

Who is Who and What is What, Page One

I thought it would be great to give a visual of what and whom I talk about, so I will use the next few pages to show who is who and what is what.  I'm partial to books with pictures -- I usually don't read books that don't have pictures in them.  Tomorrow I will continue with Page Two.  It took me all evening to figure out how to load pictures onto this Blog thing and I'm tired and going to bed.

 Below is my son Micah and his wife, Jasmine.  Micah was about to say something, but decided not to.

This is my mom, Eunice, holding my dog, Kita.  The wheelchair is holding my mom.















This is my youngest grandchild, Jade, playing Itsy Bitsy Spider with my mom at the nursing home.  My mother takes these games very seriously. 

Below is my daughter-in-law, Jasmine,  holding my grandson, Donovan.  Donovan in turn, is holding Spider Man.

Below is a picture of my daughter, Leah, with my granddaughters Shania, Latavia and Ashanti.  My daughter is not a queen - she wore this as an accent piece to her hairdo on her Golden Birthday/Graduation party celebration.

Below is my son, Jason with my grandchildren, Donovan and Jade when she was born.  Jas looks like he hasn't gotten much sleep here with his newborn...

Below is my son-in-law, Parris, and Micah, at Micah and Jasmine's wedding.  It was on the beach in Long Beach and was a beautiful wedding.

Sweating Must Be Good For Something

It's a huge production getting my mother out of the house and into the car. First, we have to keep yelling at the dog and telling her to "stay" to make sure she doesn't run out the door. Next, my father has to walk behind my mom and guide her through the house, out into the garage and to the car door, as if she doesn't know where it is. If she goes too slow, he'll give her a little push to get her going faster.  When he is pushing her wheelchair, he bumps into the walls and goes too fast as she holds on for dear life. He's got even less patience than I do. I try to close the laundry room door before opening the garage door because then Kita won't be able to run out the garage door and eventually run out the big garage door wandering into the street.

This morning, the lady who comes to clean the house, opened the door wide, letting Kita run out, after I just specifically told her why I keep that door closed. Kita was running around my father's car as we were all shouting for her to come to us. She of course, has a mind of her own and was trying to get in the car with me and I grabbed her and returned her to the cleaning lady, and she went back in the house. I wanted to scold the cleaning lady, not Kita. 

At this point, my father is shoving my mother's legs into the car as my mother is practically laying down in the seat. She has a difficult time sitting up so she kind of leans back and her legs are slanted sideways because they hurt too much to straighten up. This is the ritual every time my mom comes with me in the car.  My dad then says, every single time, to "wait until I get out of the way before backing up," as if I was too dumb not to know that already.  He has to walk around the vehicle to get back in the house and after he yells that, he still makes hand gestures, just in case I didn't understand English.  He's also telling me at this point to close the garage door, which I always do, but he feels necessary to tell me every single time I drive out of the garage. 

Now if I have to take her out of the car where we are going, like the doctor's office, it becomes an even greater ordeal.  I have to schlep the wheelchair from the back of the car, unfold it and lock it in place by the side door. She, very slowly, slides out of her seat, hanging on to the seatbelt because there is nothing else to hang on to in the car and I help her get her legs out first, then she carefully sits down while holding onto the sides of the wheelchair. I am sure to get all of our papers and paraphernalia that we have to take with us and lock the car.  We then proceed to the doctor's office in 95 degree humidity as sweat pours down my face onto my neck. When we finally reach the doctor's office, they check her in and look at me as if I'm a Martian, with sweat pouring from my head, into my face and neck.  I look like I just got out of the shower.   Before I have a chance to catch my breath, we are called by the nurse and walk the long walk to one of the rooms.  Again, the nurse looks at me rather oddly like I have a sword sticking out of my head and I try to ignore it as I wipe more sweat from my brow.  When the doctor finally does come into the room he also looks at me with interest for a moment, then focuses on my mother and not on my sweat.  After all is said and done, we have to go back downstairs and out to the car to do the procedure we just did, in reverse.   By the time I have to lift and throw the wheelchair into the car, I’m near death and I barely make it into the driver’s seat, sweating and wheezing and turning the air conditioning on “extreme high.”  It always takes me several minutes to just sit there to gain my composure, even though the sweating doesn’t stop for a long time afterward.  You’d think I’d be a twig at this rate, but alas, I am more like a really wide trunk.

I was hoping that sweat was good for something, but I really don't know what.  I mean, I could let it drip into a container and sell it for pete's sake, if there was some value in it, but that's nonsense.  What is really nonsense is that my whole head, hair and all, is soaking wet after an afternoon like this but I still have to wash my hair on Saturday nights.  It's not fair, I tell you.  I don't lose weight from it and I still have to wash my hair once a week.  Ah, but I've been told life isn't fair and I see that the older and older I get...

World Traveler

We waited an hour and a half for my mother to get in to see her doctor, who looked at her for maybe 5 minutes.  This was the infectious disease doctor and he thinks the mersa infection that she had is gone, although he did say it's possible that it may return.  Her legs were starting to really hurt her, sitting in the wheelchair and I was about to get up and complain when one of the nurses came out to get her.  It's true that we were surrounded by old people all waiting to get in to see a doctor, and one by one of them disappeared as we sat and waited.  But seeing my mom in pain was making me angry that she had to sit that long.  It was a good thing they finally came and got her or I would have had to make a complaint.  I'm not a patient person, but I had just changed my pain patches and was a bit foggy, so I was a bit more mellow than I normally am.  So if you ever want to argue with me, wait until after I put the new pain patches on and you'll probably win.

Waiting is not an easy thing for me to do.  I'm not a good waiter.  I wasn't even a good waitress.  I wasn't blessed with an overabundance of patience, like some of my friends who I greatly admire.  I really do think highly of those who are patient and mellow - 2 characteristics I always wished I had.  But then I came to realize that we're all made different and we should appreciate all the idiosyncrisies we each have.  (Now I know I didn't spell that right, but there is no spell-check on here and that drives me crazy.  Being an administrative support person all of my adult life, I always notice spelling or grammatical errors and then when I misspell a word, it annoys me, but not enough to get up and get a dictionary, so let's pretend I spelled it right.)

Kita is sitting on my shoulder, on the back of the chair I'm sitting on.  She likes to perch up there so she's right next to me.  She has to touch me when we're sleeping and when we're just chillin'.  I love her so much, but I'm thinking she should go back to Virginia for good because I just can't walk her.  She's so tiny, only 6 pounds, but really she should be taken on walks.  She does get outside though.  When I go in the pool, she's right outside there with me and likes it.  I've even brought her in the pool a few times and watched her "dog paddle."  Imagine that!  It's really cute, but she can really swim.  She just can't get over the side of the pool so I have to help her a little bit.  Usually, I let her swim to the steps and she can get out that way, with a little help.

She stands at the sliding glass window at times and growls and barks at something outside but there's nothing outside.  I don't know if it's her reflection that she sees, or if she senses something else -- like an alligator or something.  We were in the pool last night, but I was sure to get out of there before it turned dark.  Those alligators lurk around and come out at night and even though there's a screened in porch, it gives me the creeps.  Besides, Kita would be a tiny appetizer for them.

Did you ever notice when you're writing something like I'm writing this Blog, that you use the word "I" a LOT?  I this and I that, I went here, and I went there.  I, I, I, I.  Blah, blah, blah, blah.  Yadda, yadda, yadda, yadda.  I just noticed that I say "I" alot.  But then I guess if I was writing about someone else, I would be writing about "them."  Dumb commentary but I guess it's just hard to avoid using the word "I" when you're writing about yourself and your family.   

So I just got my tickets tonight to go to Madison in October.  I made my doctor appointments and so I scheduled the flight around that and seeing my grandkids.  I can't remember if I wrote this or not, but the short-term disability insurance granted my application, but they are requiring me to see my doctor every 3 months and to have physical therapy regularly here in Florida, which I will have to pay for because my insurance doesn't cover costs out of county.  The next several months will be really busy for sure.  After the October visit, my kids and I are planning on going to Micah and Jasmine's for Christmas, but first I have to fly to Madison for Shanti's birthday party.  I can't miss that.  Then I'll have to fly back in January for my next doctor's visit.  Boy - I've become a world traveler without seeing the world!  One day I want to travel - some friends and I have already talked about going on a trip together.  That would be a lot of fun and I look forward to wherever we go.  But right now, my focus is here with my parents, and that's exactly where I'm supposed to be...

Sometimes I Just Have to Whine

Last night, I spoke for a couple of hours to a friend who I had lost contact with about 30 years ago.  It was great to talk with her again and we laughed just like we used to.  I knew Cheryl when I was pregnant with Leah and our kids played together when we lived on Simpson Street in Madison.  She and Melody were with me in the hospital when I gave birth to Leah.  I'll never forget their faces when I asked them how the baby was after she was born.  They both tried their best to cover up the truth that Leah was not breathing when she was born, so she was blue, and there was a possibility that she would have brain damage.  I kept passing out between contractions and when the doctor figured out that her shoulders were stuck, he called in a specialist to pull her out.  The specialist came in and I remember him saying, "We have to get this baby out of here right now."  And so they did.  And because I was in so much pain I kept passing out between contractions, I didn't see them whisk her away to the infant ICU.  Cheryl and Melody did - they told me much later that she was blue and that it was best that I didn't see her.  My doctor actually apologized to me while wheeling me to the recovery room.  I asked my pastor to come to the hospital and pray for her and he did.  He prayed for her through the incubator, while all the nurses watched.  I believe Leah was healed that day because of the power of prayer.  It was great to hear from Cheryl again, and hopefully we will keep in contact.  Friendships are very important to me and those I have been particularly close to, I hope to keep in contact with for many years to come.  

I was awoken early this morning, around 3 am, by my dad letting out a blood-curdling scream I have never heard before. I was in a deep sleep and I immediately jumped out of bed and ran out in the den and asked him if he was ok. He said yes, and kept apologizing for waking me up. He said that he must have had a nightmare but he didn't remember what it was. This bothered me all day.  It was an awful scream, and coming from my dad is even more bizarre since he is so self-controlled. 

Church was good this morning.  Pastor Dagan has so much exhuberance and zeal, he makes me tired just watching him.  At the end of the service, he is always sweating through his shirt even though the air conditioning works fine in the building.  I remember when I had that much zeal - well, maybe not as much as him, but more than I do now.  I've thought a lot about why I don't do the things I used to do in church or at home, and I realize that I am in constant pain and that prohibits me to do much of anything anymore.  I'm even on stronger drugs the last two weeks and it doesn't do a whole lot - it doesn't even take the edge off, but it does make me even more tired than I already am.  I get tired of talking about it, thinking about it and explaining to others why I am not able to do the things I used to.  The bottom line is that if you don't experience this for yourself, there's no way for another person to understand.  The only time I am not in pain is when I'm in the pool, or in deep sleep.  Otherwise, it's constant, no matter what position I'm in.  Ok, enough complaining.  Sometimes I just have to whine.

Danny came over today and helped me (well, he did it all - I didn't do any of it) move the furniture around in my room.  There is a huge bed that was in the middle of the room, so now it's pushed up against the wall and a few things were taken out.  I shipped my tv and vcr/dvd player down here and they should be arriving this week, so I can go in my room to work on my computer and watch tv, and hopefully my mom will sit out in the den more with my dad.  She said something to me the other day that was kind of weird.  I asked her if my dad had breakfast yet and she said, "No, he wanted to wait and eat with you (me)."  That made me slightly uncomfortable and I think it made my mom feel a little bad too.  Maybe it's because I don't critique everything he puts in his mouth and she does.  Oh well, I know how he feels.  I moved my chair at the kitchen table because I don't want to face her when I'm eating, so now I'm sitting on the side and can watch tv instead.  So now I deliberately don't see the looks and I can't hear the sighs of what I'm eating because the tv is always blaring.  She's gone to sleep by now, so I think I'll go and get an ice cream cone to enjoy in utter peace and quiet...

Close Calls

Sometimes I think about the close-calls I've had in my lifetime and have to believe that God has had His hands on me the entire time.  There have just been so many of these situations, even when I had no idea anyone was watching out for me.  I've experienced many times where I should have been hurt or killed because I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and because I was so young and naive.

When I was dating Jasper, I drove down to the southside of Chicago quite often and boldly because I was so naive. One day, at a stoplight, some guy just walked up to my car and began to open the door. I slammed on the gas and drove right through the light, as it unnerved me, and I was so unprepared. From then on, I started locking my car doors, but never stopped from driving down to where I was clearly unwanted. 

The summer after I graduated from the Day School, I took summer school classes for driver’s education and art.  My art teacher was an interesting man.  He invited me over for dinner at the end of the semester and I went, thinking he was a neat teacher and friend.  His wife was very pregnant, and also very nice, but unfortunately married to him.  My teacher asked me if I wanted to go for a walk after supper (they lived in the country) and I agreed.  His wife said she’d stay and do the dishes – she looked real uncomfortable as she was due at any time.  I offered to help her with the dishes but she insisted on doing them as I was their guest.  On our walk, he began to hug and kiss me and tried to molest me right there in the woods.  I couldn't believe it, he was my teacher and it never dawned on me that he would do something like that.  It was a good thing that I had a fighting attitude at the time, as I pushed him away and told him to knock it off and walked back to his house, as he pleaded for me not to tell his wife.  I left immediately after saying goodbye to his wife, feeling very stupid and weird that my TEACHER was such a jerk.  All I can say is that he’s a very lucky guy – if I had known better at the time, I could have had him charged with sexual assault and he would have lost his job.  As I drove home, I felt very sorry for his wife.

One night after work, I was getting off the train in Chicago to go to my apartment, and I had to walk down a flight of stairs from the elevated train to the street.  I remember vividly that as I got closer and closer to the bottom of the stairs, I felt a very evil feeling.  When I got to the base of the stairs, a really big guy came around the corner, right in front of me and I gasped.  There happened to be another person on the other side of the steps come around at the same time, and I hurried away and ran down the street to my apartment.  I felt like I escaped what could have been something very awful that night, and it was like God was preparing me as I walked down the steps to be aware of my surroundings.  And that was before I knew anything about God. 

One time my friend Vicki and I got real high and walked to her friend's house.  I don't remember her name, but her son's name was Jason and that's how I came up with the name for my first born child.  Anyway, she and her husband were in a big fight when we got there, and her husband ordered us to sit on the couch with his wife and son, pointing a rifle at us and screaming at us at the same time.  I was so high that I really didn't understand the seriousness of the matter at the time.  Soon, there were police outside, shouting up to this guy to let us go and it became a hostage situation!  After quite a long time, he let us go and the police took him away.  We left as soon as we could, but I couldn't stop laughing because the whole thing seemed too crazy. 

One day when Jason was about 3, I became very ill, with severe pain in my abdomen. Jasper had come over and noticed right away I didn’t look well. I thought I just had the flu or something, but he had enough sense at the time to take me to the emergency room at St. Mary’s Hospital. While waiting there to see a doctor, I began having shooting pain and I knew something was seriously wrong. They put me on a gurney in a room and after a moment, I passed out and fell off the gurney onto the floor. The next thing I remember was people standing over me, trying to get me back to consciousness. Years later, I remembered that it was at that point that I was in a conversation with someone who wasn’t in the room. I believe I was actually speaking with God and He was giving me a “second chance.”

They rushed me to surgery and found out by extracting blood from my uterus that I was bleeding internally and the blood was rushing to my diaphragm. When the doctor injected me with the long needles to extract my blood, I actually screamed out in pain as I have never felt pain like that before, or since. The sack he was extracting from was infected and so severe pain was a result. I suppose for confirmation, he did this twice, as I screamed obscenities at him to stop. They informed me that they had to do emergency surgery on me and found out through the surgery that I had an ovarian pregnancy that burst and that was the cause of the internal bleeding. The doctors told me later that if they had waited 15 minutes more, I would have died. 

Close calls.  I could go on and on with other incidents in my life that I recall now as "close calls."  God has truly had His hands upon me my whole life, and still does.  How can people not believe in God?  I can't fathom that.  And just like my father protected me when I was young against things that would harm me, my Heavenly Father protects me from things I can't even imagine.  Because He loves me more than anyone ever has or will love me.  And in His love, I am complete.

A Lazy Person You Shouldn't Be

My mother has a really hard time just sitting still, watching tv or resting without moving her body.  She feels she has to always be doing something and she raised us that way as well.  When we were kids, we were seldom allowed to watch Saturday morning cartoons - chores had to be done first.  And even after chores, we could only watch one or two cartoons and then we had to go outside and play.  We were never allowed to just sit around watching cartoons all day.  Even when it was nasty outside, we had to do something else besides watch the "box," like color or play games.  When we became older and just wanted to sleep in, she would make a sufficient amount of noise, like banging into our bedroom doors when she was vacuuming, to be sure and wake us up.  I was reminded of this today when she came in my room, without knocking, to come and get Kita while we were taking a nap.  She kept calling for Kita until I finally told her that she would not leave the room without me.  When I told her later that I didn't want to be awoken unless she was in need of something, she said "she saw my toes moving and thought I was up."  Funny - my toes move even in my sleep, a sure, telltale sign that my mother raised me to be doing something even when I am sleeping. 

And because I was raised to not be lazy and to be a productive human being, I've had many jobs in my lifetime, starting with babysitting in my teens.  I was a waitress when I turned 15 at The Red Balloon, somewhere outside of Chicago.  It was hard for me to remember what everyone ordered and because of that, I didn't make a very good waitress.  There were several times I only got a penny for a tip, but there was one time I got a joint wrapped up in a napkin, which I thought was pretty cool.  One of the first full time jobs I had was at the AAA office in Evanston, Illinois.  From there, I went to a car rental company outside of O’Hare Airport.  My job was to shuttle people going to and from the airport in a large van. The airport was much smaller back then - today it looks like a city, it's so huge.  I will always remember a salesman from a tuna fish company hitting on me each time he went to the airport.  He was a gross, older man with fat lips and pockets all over his face – and probably married.  I thought he was disgusting and I basically ignored him.  One time, on one of the trips coming out of the airport, I smashed into a small Toyota truck that was sitting in the road and didn’t have his brake lights on.  It was obviously my fault, but I argued with the police that he was just sitting there, in the middle of the road.  Another time, I had a van full of businessmen coming back to the car lot, and as I drove under a bridge, at that exact moment, a huge sheet of ice came crashing down through the windshield.  We all freaked out and I slammed on the brakes but no one was hurt.  Soon after that incident, I was fired.  My boss simply gave me a notice and told me to pack up my stuff – that was my last day.

From there, I went to work for my dad for a very short time, doing odds and ends clerical work.  There was a man who worked there that was giving puppies away and that’s where I got Louie.  He was also a racist and when he found out my boyfriend was black, he called me a “nigger lover” right in the office in front of everybody.  Of course, being the way I was, I had several nasty retorts for him as well and for obvious reasons, I didn’t last very long there.  My dad was really angry that he called me that, but he couldn't fire the guy as he was partners with 2 other people who had hired him.

I've had so many different kinds of jobs.  I've been a waitress twice, driver for the rent a car place, day care provider, claims processor and clerical worker on a construction site, for several different private companies and for government.  I never really wanted to be an administrative support person - I just never went to college to get a better job and that's what paid the bills.  What I really wanted to do was to be an art teacher, but that never panned out because I didn't go to secondary school, except for one semester of junior college.  I barely got through high school - I took my entire junior year in the hospital and I didn’t want to leave when they finally discharged me, but they realized my stay there was too long and I had no choice. I refused to go back to Niles West High School for my senior year, so my parents enrolled me in The Day School, in Chicago - a school for “kids with emotional problems.” It was located on Buena Avenue in an old, beautiful mansion that was used as a school. I had a lot of fun there, as it was very liberal and I only took classes I enjoyed, like art and writing. My writing teacher, Mr. Deutsch and I became good friends.  He was a very caring, loving man and it took me awhile, but I grew to trust him in the end.  I kept in contact with him for a long time after I graduated. The principal was like an old hippie. He and his wife, who was my art teacher, ran the school. I loved art class, but wasn’t crazy about my teacher, who I thought was eccentric and arrogant, although she taught me a lot of different skills. I received my high school diploma from this school, which at the time, could have cared less about.

I met different kids at the Day School, who all became my friends, as it was a small school with only about 30-40 kids. David, who had long, blonde hair and was very strange, had a crush on me and used to hound me all the time, which drove me crazy. I never liked him that way, but I never was good at confrontation like that because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Another boy, Mark, who also liked me, had a very violent temper and was always beating up on David for hounding me. Vickie, a tall, black girl with a bad attitude became my friend also. She was “going” with Kenny Johnson, who also attended the school, and who would eventually introduce me to Jasper, his half-brother. Kenny once said that I was the only white person he ever met that he liked. I guess I took that as a compliment.

I have a few photos of this time period and when I look at them, I am amazed at how I looked.  You would never have recognized me from those photos.  I think about what the other folks would look like today and none of us would probably recognize each other.  Time is harsh on our looks - for most people, that is.  Thank God that is not the quality of a person.  Looks are not the sum of what a person is.  Character and honor and truth is what makes up a person.  What lies deep within the heart of a person is what the person truly is, and this becomes revealed through the person's character, whether good or bad. 

So how does this have anything to do with my mom waking me from a nap this afternoon?  Absolutely nothing.  Except that while some people change from day to day or from year to year, my mom hasn't changed a bit during my entire lifetime.  She still has clothes from the 1960's.  And thankfully, she doesn't do the vacuuming any longer...

Home, Sweet, Home

My trip to Madison was a giant whirlwind.  I stayed at Jason's the first night, then I went over to Leah's house to save on gas.  Thursday, Leah and I got our nails done and we hung out with Ashley and the girls.  Friday, we got ready for Leah's party and it was a lot of fun.  Many people came and it was a big hit.  Jasper even went and wore a white shirt and tie (the first time I ever saw that).  The decorations were beautiful and the food was great.  The dessert was made by a baker in Deforest and the food was catered by a place that Blake knows - it was all very good.  I got a chance to talk to Brenda and some other folks I haven't seen in awhile and it was all good.  I was so tired, I just sacked out when I got back to Leah's.  I slept on the couch, which was pretty comfortable but hard to turn.  That night when Leah and the family came home, Shanti tried to talk to me but I was so tired, I didn't make much sense.  It was really funny.

We went swimming on Saturday,  and that night I went out with Tammy, Barb, Sharon and Sandy.  We all met at Olive Garden, which was delicious as usual.  We had a great time talking and stayed in the resturant for 4 hours.  You know, get a flock of women talking who I haven't seen in two months, and it becomes a talking and laughing orgy - which is what I really needed.  It was great to see them and we are going to plan a vacation somewhere we all want to go to -- which sounds like a lot of fun!  

Church on Sunday was really good, and Jasper came.  The sermon was about the Prodigal Son which really touched Jasper.  I'm so glad he was there to hear it.  After church, we went to the Cheescake Factory in the Milwaukee area.  Jason, Donovan and Jade met us there and Nazly, Robert, Jasper, Ashley and Elise went with us.  The food was great and it was a lot of fun.  We stopped at Johnson Creek outlet mall on the way back.  All in all, the week was great.  I got to the doctor appointments I needed to go to, did a little shopping, enjoyed all the stuff that goes into making a party great with Leah and Ashley and really enjoyed my grandchildren.  It was truly a vacation.

Jasper woke me up at 2:30 this morning because he wanted to make sure I got to the airport early.  I mis-read the ticket and so I was really early, but no worries - better early than late.  First, we had to go and pick up Kita from Virginia at 3:30 am, and then off to Milwaukee's airport.  Yesterday, I had taken Kita to the vet to get doggie tranquilizers to use when we went on the plane, and then she had a haircut.  It looks more like a crewcut, but the groomer said she couldn't help it, that her hair was too matted down.  I felt really bad - I should get her hair cut sooner than I did, next time.  She only weighs 6 pounds.  Kita is a Yorkie mix with either Poodle or Bichon - I don't know which - and she just turned a year old.  Virginia was watching her for me, but now it was time for me to bring her down to Florida with me.

So we got to the airport at around 5:00 and my plane didn't leave until 7:50.  I gave Kita the tranquilizers and she got really mellow within an hour.  I took dramimine around the same time, and I got really mellow too - we were both pretty high when we boarded the plane.  I actually slept on and off the whole plane ride, which was great.  The seat next to me was empty while everyone was boarding and I prayed and asked God to have someone who is skinny and is a female sit next to me.  I didn't want a big, smelly man sitting next to me, where we have to touch - I just hate that.  So, thankfully, toward the end of the line, a slim lady sat down next to me and all I could say was, "Thank you Jesus..."  I do not like touching or being touched by someone I don't know.  In those skinny airplane seats, you inevitably touch the person next to you, and if you are the unlucky one to be in the middle, well, then, you have to touch two people.  In fact, you're almost like a sandwich, you're so squeezed in those things. 

When I got to Florida, it actually felt like home, which is really kind of weird.  I guess I don't have a home in Madison any longer, so this is where I belong at this time.  I will have to go back to Madison every 3 months to see my doctor, but it will be right around then, that I will be missing my grandkids and I'll need to go there to get my "fix." 

Danny picked me up at the airport and we laughed about all of the current antics with my parents.  Things haven't changed.  But I wasn't expecting them to either.  My parents met Kita for the first time this afternoon and they both seemed to like her.  My dad didn't have his usual nasty comment about the dog looking like a rat, since he isn't fond of small dogs.  And Kita actually jumped on his lap and he enjoyed that she did that.  Who knows - maybe her and my dad will come to like each other and she will actually be therapeutic for him and my mom.  She pooped right in front of my dad and instead of bellowing a fit, he just said she did poopoo in a matter-of-fact tone of voice and I cleaned it up.

I am at "home," tomorrow is another day, and for right now, I am looking forward to sleeping in a bed with the door closed and Kita right beside me.  Who knows, maybe she will surprise me and actually poop on the grass tomorrow.