I've been in Florida now a year, almost to the day. It is, I think, a good time to end this blog, but not for that reason. I've had a hard time to sit down and write like I want to, for various reasons, but not because I don't want to. I started taking a painting class several weeks ago and I am still taking it and loving it. I'm learning watercolor and I love the medium, and still have so much to learn, but that is taking up a lot of my time. Taking care of my parents and having my daughter's family living here also takes up time - but good time. I love my family, even as dysfunctional as we are. And of course Howie has me following him to and fro, to try and catch him before he does his "duty" in the house. That's always a fun game to play. Some people have suggested I convert this blog into a book, and I just may do that in the future.
But I have a new idea for a blog that I won't be able to start for another year, at least. I've decided that when I get on Medicare, I plan on having bariatric surgery (for which I'm not able to afford, nor does my present insurance cover). I thought I would detail the experience before, during and after the surgery, for my own benefit and anyone else who wants to read it. That's what my plan is now, but I have to wait for another year or so until I'm eligible.
Thanks to all of you who have commented on these blogs - they were all very uplifting to me and so appreciated. It would help me if you are no longer interested in getting my future blogs to please let me know, and I will take you off of my email list. Thank you.
I leave you with part of a poem by James Russell Lowell, that I was just recently introduced to and I will share it here. I really like it, and I would be interested in your opinion/explanation of the quote, which is here:
Careless seems the great Avenger; history's pages but record
One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old systems and the Word;
Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne,--
Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown,
Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own.
Peace,
Sharon
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Howie
It's been about 3 weeks since Howie has been living here and he is fitting in very well. He, however, considers the entire house his bathroom and there is no room that is sacred from this function. Even in my dad's office. I hear a loud voice, swearing and muttering to himself and I know it's my dad who just encountered a puddle or present under his desk. My mom and I are both trying very hard to get him to "make" in the enclosed porch that has indoor-outdoor carpeting in it and can be washed very easily. He agrees to do this to a certain extent - he piddles on the puppy pads out there, but refuses to poopoo on the pads. I know, I know, TMI. I'm trying to describe how my current days are, and this is a big part of it.
The day begins at about 2:00 in the morning when I hear him whining like a cat next to my side of the bed, that he wants me to pick him up, which I do, and bring him in the bed with my mom and I. I put a pillow barrier between her and I and I tuck him in next to me, away from the side of the bed. He then falls back asleep until about 7:30 or 8:00. He loves to sleep with me just like my kids used to. I had to put them in the middle too, worried that they would fall off the bed, just like Howie. He wakes me (or my mom) up chewing on our hair and licking our faces. I bring a chew toy into bed at that point to give me a few more minutes of sleep.
When we do get up, I quickly put him out on the porch for him to "make." I wait and wait and wait, and then I sit down to wait some more. Sometimes he produces something, sometimes not. When he doesn't, as soon as we go back in the house, a puddle and present will appear out of nowhere, like magic. I talk a lot to myself these days, as he obviously isn't listening to me. It's far worse than potty training a child. At least you can bribe them with candy. These little creatures have a mind of their own. And apparently, Dachschunds are difficult to potty train. Great.
When I am not cleaning up puddles and presents, I (finally) started a watercolor class at the Venice Art Center. I am loving it, even though it is showing me how inept I am at what I thought was going to be relatively easy. It's a challenge and I like that because it puts my mind in a totally different place. And I'm learning and that's always a good thing.
My first attempt is a sloppy mess of a sunset. It's not even good as an abstract sunset. You could even surmise Howie piddled on it. But we learn from our mistakes and hopefully I will slow down and get it right. You must have patience to do watercolor and this will definitely help me with that.
My second attempt, which is what I am working on now, is a painting of Howie. I guess I deal with him so much during the day, I thought I would honor him with a portrait. Leah took the photo of him that I'm painting from, and he happened to be sitting on a potty pad, like a good boy. Ha! Hope springs eternal.
The day begins at about 2:00 in the morning when I hear him whining like a cat next to my side of the bed, that he wants me to pick him up, which I do, and bring him in the bed with my mom and I. I put a pillow barrier between her and I and I tuck him in next to me, away from the side of the bed. He then falls back asleep until about 7:30 or 8:00. He loves to sleep with me just like my kids used to. I had to put them in the middle too, worried that they would fall off the bed, just like Howie. He wakes me (or my mom) up chewing on our hair and licking our faces. I bring a chew toy into bed at that point to give me a few more minutes of sleep.
When we do get up, I quickly put him out on the porch for him to "make." I wait and wait and wait, and then I sit down to wait some more. Sometimes he produces something, sometimes not. When he doesn't, as soon as we go back in the house, a puddle and present will appear out of nowhere, like magic. I talk a lot to myself these days, as he obviously isn't listening to me. It's far worse than potty training a child. At least you can bribe them with candy. These little creatures have a mind of their own. And apparently, Dachschunds are difficult to potty train. Great.
When I am not cleaning up puddles and presents, I (finally) started a watercolor class at the Venice Art Center. I am loving it, even though it is showing me how inept I am at what I thought was going to be relatively easy. It's a challenge and I like that because it puts my mind in a totally different place. And I'm learning and that's always a good thing.
My first attempt is a sloppy mess of a sunset. It's not even good as an abstract sunset. You could even surmise Howie piddled on it. But we learn from our mistakes and hopefully I will slow down and get it right. You must have patience to do watercolor and this will definitely help me with that.
My second attempt, which is what I am working on now, is a painting of Howie. I guess I deal with him so much during the day, I thought I would honor him with a portrait. Leah took the photo of him that I'm painting from, and he happened to be sitting on a potty pad, like a good boy. Ha! Hope springs eternal.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Zayde, Howie, Maxwell, Murphy??
How difficult is it to name a puppy? Well, when there are lots of people giving you a suggestion, each one sounds good until the next one. I mean, it's like picking something from a menu. I quietly freak out when I go to a restaurant that has so many choices, their menu fills up several pages. My ADD kicks in and I am overwhelmed by what to choose. And what happens is that I usually choose what I've chosen before, so what a waste of time that was, to go through each page. I think I've finally found the name I will use for my new puppy - Howie. My dad likes that one, and that's the one my mom can remember. When I named him Murphy, she kept forgetting what it was and was walking around saying, "Mar...Mer...Mr...." and I would have to interject, "Murphy, mom. It's Murphy." Well, for some reason "Howie" she can remember, so Howie it is. Danny and I came up with "Zayde" when we drove home after picking him up somewhere near Ocala. It was a long drive and we had a great conversation going up, and a puppy-naming brainstorm on the way back. "Zayde" means grandpa in Yiddish and we both thought he looked like an "old soul" so that was the reason for "Zayde." However, when I got home, everyone said, "Zayde?? That's stupid!" Ok, after a lot of arguing and reasoning, I relented and Howie it is.
Howie has settled right in and has stopped whining for the most part. I'm sure he missed his mom and brothers and sisters the first few nights, but I bought him a kennel and put a bed in there and he retreats to his little house by himself. I leave the door to the kennel open in case he has to pee, and there are puppy pads on the floor next to his kennel. In the early morning, he wakes up and whines on my side of the bed until I reach down and pick him up. Then he wants his tummy rubbed and demands my full attention until he wants "down."
My parents have taken a real liking to Howie, which is good. And Shanti loves him. She follows him all around and plays with him until he's pooped, then he retreats to his house. Last night they went to my brother's house and Howie just moped around here whining, looking for Shanti. Today, Shanti started school, so he will be bored until she comes home.
Here is a picture of Howie at about 7 weeks. He will be 9 weeks on April 14. It says "Dakota" in the corner because that's what his owner named him in the beginning. I like "Dakota" but there are too many syllables. I like two syllable names because you can yell or call them easier. "HOW-IE, come over here now!" is better than "DA-KO-TA, come over here now!" It takes too much time to yell the three syllables. And now I'm drifting off into a subject I'm not well versed in because I hated English Grammar in school, so let's just get back on track. Here's his picture:
He is a long-haired, miniature Dachshund, and oh-so-cute. He will only get to be about 7-8 pounds, just like Kita.
I love animals, and especially dogs. They are loyal and give you unconditional love no matter what. I think we could learn a lot from dogs, in particular. Giving love with no strings attached - just because.
On a greater scale, it's the same unconditional love Jesus showed us by dying on the cross. No matter who we are, no matter what we do - He suffered and died for every single one of us, and yet most of us are not even aware of that, or much less care. We wear crosses on our necks or on our dashboards, but do we really understand what that means? I think not. He is not just a symbol hanging on a cross. He is so much more, and yet few of us ever reach deeper to find out who He is all about. That's truly a shame. A waste of a lifetime. A waste of eternity, in fact...
Howie has settled right in and has stopped whining for the most part. I'm sure he missed his mom and brothers and sisters the first few nights, but I bought him a kennel and put a bed in there and he retreats to his little house by himself. I leave the door to the kennel open in case he has to pee, and there are puppy pads on the floor next to his kennel. In the early morning, he wakes up and whines on my side of the bed until I reach down and pick him up. Then he wants his tummy rubbed and demands my full attention until he wants "down."
My parents have taken a real liking to Howie, which is good. And Shanti loves him. She follows him all around and plays with him until he's pooped, then he retreats to his house. Last night they went to my brother's house and Howie just moped around here whining, looking for Shanti. Today, Shanti started school, so he will be bored until she comes home.
Here is a picture of Howie at about 7 weeks. He will be 9 weeks on April 14. It says "Dakota" in the corner because that's what his owner named him in the beginning. I like "Dakota" but there are too many syllables. I like two syllable names because you can yell or call them easier. "HOW-IE, come over here now!" is better than "DA-KO-TA, come over here now!" It takes too much time to yell the three syllables. And now I'm drifting off into a subject I'm not well versed in because I hated English Grammar in school, so let's just get back on track. Here's his picture:
He is a long-haired, miniature Dachshund, and oh-so-cute. He will only get to be about 7-8 pounds, just like Kita.
I love animals, and especially dogs. They are loyal and give you unconditional love no matter what. I think we could learn a lot from dogs, in particular. Giving love with no strings attached - just because.
On a greater scale, it's the same unconditional love Jesus showed us by dying on the cross. No matter who we are, no matter what we do - He suffered and died for every single one of us, and yet most of us are not even aware of that, or much less care. We wear crosses on our necks or on our dashboards, but do we really understand what that means? I think not. He is not just a symbol hanging on a cross. He is so much more, and yet few of us ever reach deeper to find out who He is all about. That's truly a shame. A waste of a lifetime. A waste of eternity, in fact...
Monday, April 2, 2012
Third Grade
It's been a bit hectic around here the last few days, as my daughter, her husband and my granddaughter came to live with us. Stuff has been put away and the dust has finally settled and my dad hasn't really lost his temper, yet. He and I got into an argument last night (he likes perfect silence at the dinner table) but it ended up ok. I let him blow off some steam, and I did as well. When we were kids, we had to sit in silence and eat and if we did try to talk about our day, my father would explode, slamming his fist down on the table and tell us all to "Shut up!!" It didn't quite come to that yesterday, but I could see it was heading in that direction so I thought I better intervene. All in all, my dad is doing pretty good for having people suddenly descend into his privacy. Hopefully it won't be for long, as Parris has an interview tomorrow and Leah should be getting a job soon too. And when they find their own place to live, my dad will be relieved, but he should also look at it as a good thing he's done to let them stay with him for a short time. It's always good to be a blessing to others, especially when you get nothing back in return. My dad never learned that lesson, so it's about time he does.
As for me, I am totally enjoying my kids and granddaughter here with me, for however long it lasts. I will be going back to Madison in July for several appointments, to see my grandkids and friends and to ship some of my stuff back down to Florida. In the meantime, I'm looking into taking an art class or two at the Venice Art Center. I have paper, paints, brushes and other supplies and some of it is still boxed up. I don't know why I haven't taken it out and started using it. I'm procrastinating for some reason. I don't have a specific place designated for my stuff, maybe that's why. I could use the dining room table, but I don't like when people watch me paint. I may have to just use it there, though, because there really isn't anywhere else in here that will work.
And then, for some silly reason, I don't want to hear my father's critiques. When I was in third grade, I remember bringing home a drawing that I thought I did really well, but when I brought it to show my dad, he made suggestions on how I could make it better and critiqued it like I was in art school. In third grade. I guess that's kind of stuck with me and although I love to draw and paint and create, I hear my dad's approving or disapproving voice in the back of my head. That's a really silly reason to procrastinate, but I can't think of any other reason. It's bizarre that as adults, some of us still try to get our parents' approval.
Maybe it's because my dad was always honest with his opinion of my artwork. My mother, however, always said, "That's nice, dear," or "That's just beautiful," when what I created was clearly not "nice" or "beautiful." To my mom, anything I created was "just beautiful," as most moms are with their children. Looking at it with older eyes, I guess I would rather have an honest critique than a flat, empty opinion. So maybe I should start creating again. It should be good to be critiqued to do better. After all, I'm no longer in third grade.
As for me, I am totally enjoying my kids and granddaughter here with me, for however long it lasts. I will be going back to Madison in July for several appointments, to see my grandkids and friends and to ship some of my stuff back down to Florida. In the meantime, I'm looking into taking an art class or two at the Venice Art Center. I have paper, paints, brushes and other supplies and some of it is still boxed up. I don't know why I haven't taken it out and started using it. I'm procrastinating for some reason. I don't have a specific place designated for my stuff, maybe that's why. I could use the dining room table, but I don't like when people watch me paint. I may have to just use it there, though, because there really isn't anywhere else in here that will work.
And then, for some silly reason, I don't want to hear my father's critiques. When I was in third grade, I remember bringing home a drawing that I thought I did really well, but when I brought it to show my dad, he made suggestions on how I could make it better and critiqued it like I was in art school. In third grade. I guess that's kind of stuck with me and although I love to draw and paint and create, I hear my dad's approving or disapproving voice in the back of my head. That's a really silly reason to procrastinate, but I can't think of any other reason. It's bizarre that as adults, some of us still try to get our parents' approval.
Maybe it's because my dad was always honest with his opinion of my artwork. My mother, however, always said, "That's nice, dear," or "That's just beautiful," when what I created was clearly not "nice" or "beautiful." To my mom, anything I created was "just beautiful," as most moms are with their children. Looking at it with older eyes, I guess I would rather have an honest critique than a flat, empty opinion. So maybe I should start creating again. It should be good to be critiqued to do better. After all, I'm no longer in third grade.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Sleeping
So we got everything moved over into my mom's room last night. Danny came over and moved the heavy stuff out of my room and my dad's office, as the men who are laying down the new flooring came early this morning. My mother had to trapse him into her bedroom where I was sleeping to look at the floor in her closet. I hid under the blanket and felt ridiculous. She couldn't wait until I got up and got dressed - no. She had to do it right at that moment. I felt like an idiot, as I was still attached to my CPAP machine, so the hose was sticking out from under the blanket. Sometimes, I have no idea what she's thinking.
My stuff is all in my mom's room, so I slept in her bed last night. It was very weird. First of all, she takes Tylenol PM to go to sleep because her doctor told her not to take the sleeping pill but it was ok to take Tylenol PM, which I think is really stupid. It takes about 3 hours for the pill to kick in (actually, I don't think it works; I think she just thinks it works). In the meantime, she doesn't stop moving her legs. The bed kept moving and it was getting a little irritating but I didn't say anything. Who am I to talk? I'm a huge restless sleeper. In fact, for some reason, I ended up sideways in the bed last night. In my sleep, I kept wondering why my legs were hanging over the end of the bed; I figured I just scooted down to the end. But no - I had turned sideways and was head to head with my mom who was also sleeping but was confused as to why she kept bumping into me. Finally, I opened my eyes and I realized what I had done and quickly turned around and went back to sleep. It was very weird. I have no idea what I was dreaming about, but it must have been pretty active to find me sideways in the bed.
When I was a little girl, I would sleepwalk into my closet, then cry when I didn't know where I was or how I got there. My dad would come and rescue me after he figured out where I was. Another time, I got into the bathtub and turned the water on because I was going to take a bath. The problem was that I had my pajamas on and was sleepwalking. Thank God I don't do that anymore - surfing in bed is bad enough. When Shanti sleeps with me, I am conscious that she is next to me so I don't toss and turn so much - but she does enough for the both of us. When Rocky slept with me, he was so big that it prevented me from moving around a lot too. But when Kita slept with me, I was real careful not to squish her as I tossed and turned. One time, she let out a squeal because I missed and landed on her as I turned. After that I was very conscious of her tiny little body sleeping right next to me. There's something peaceful about having a "being" sleeping right next to you, whether it be your spouse, a pet or a child. I find it very comforting.
My mother, however, is not the "being" I am talking about. As long as she stays on her side of the bed, I'll try harder to stay on my side, and we'll be fine. It's a king size bed, so it shouldn't be a problem. She also talks in her sleep. I'm writing this now and looking at her sleeping and she just said something but I couldn't hear what she said. Now I know that if I didn't have that CPAP machine crammed up my nose, I would probably be talking as well. We would both be having conversations to each other in our sleep. It's all very bizarre. We happened to take a nap at the same time today and she yelled out in her sleep, saying, "No, no, no, no, no!" I tapped her on her shoulder and said, "Mom, you're dreaming." She woke up for a minute then went back to sleep. She sounded so desperate and it really bothered me. I guess we're all guarded for the most part when we talk and share things with others - but when you're sleeping and you do that, I think it comes out of a real place baring no facade, and it is real, raw emotion.
Well, I'm really tired now and I've been putting it off, but I need to go to bed. She's still squirming around so she must keep waking up, but hopefully she will be fast asleep soon. Oh well; hopefully, I will sleep vertically tonight....
My stuff is all in my mom's room, so I slept in her bed last night. It was very weird. First of all, she takes Tylenol PM to go to sleep because her doctor told her not to take the sleeping pill but it was ok to take Tylenol PM, which I think is really stupid. It takes about 3 hours for the pill to kick in (actually, I don't think it works; I think she just thinks it works). In the meantime, she doesn't stop moving her legs. The bed kept moving and it was getting a little irritating but I didn't say anything. Who am I to talk? I'm a huge restless sleeper. In fact, for some reason, I ended up sideways in the bed last night. In my sleep, I kept wondering why my legs were hanging over the end of the bed; I figured I just scooted down to the end. But no - I had turned sideways and was head to head with my mom who was also sleeping but was confused as to why she kept bumping into me. Finally, I opened my eyes and I realized what I had done and quickly turned around and went back to sleep. It was very weird. I have no idea what I was dreaming about, but it must have been pretty active to find me sideways in the bed.
When I was a little girl, I would sleepwalk into my closet, then cry when I didn't know where I was or how I got there. My dad would come and rescue me after he figured out where I was. Another time, I got into the bathtub and turned the water on because I was going to take a bath. The problem was that I had my pajamas on and was sleepwalking. Thank God I don't do that anymore - surfing in bed is bad enough. When Shanti sleeps with me, I am conscious that she is next to me so I don't toss and turn so much - but she does enough for the both of us. When Rocky slept with me, he was so big that it prevented me from moving around a lot too. But when Kita slept with me, I was real careful not to squish her as I tossed and turned. One time, she let out a squeal because I missed and landed on her as I turned. After that I was very conscious of her tiny little body sleeping right next to me. There's something peaceful about having a "being" sleeping right next to you, whether it be your spouse, a pet or a child. I find it very comforting.
My mother, however, is not the "being" I am talking about. As long as she stays on her side of the bed, I'll try harder to stay on my side, and we'll be fine. It's a king size bed, so it shouldn't be a problem. She also talks in her sleep. I'm writing this now and looking at her sleeping and she just said something but I couldn't hear what she said. Now I know that if I didn't have that CPAP machine crammed up my nose, I would probably be talking as well. We would both be having conversations to each other in our sleep. It's all very bizarre. We happened to take a nap at the same time today and she yelled out in her sleep, saying, "No, no, no, no, no!" I tapped her on her shoulder and said, "Mom, you're dreaming." She woke up for a minute then went back to sleep. She sounded so desperate and it really bothered me. I guess we're all guarded for the most part when we talk and share things with others - but when you're sleeping and you do that, I think it comes out of a real place baring no facade, and it is real, raw emotion.
Well, I'm really tired now and I've been putting it off, but I need to go to bed. She's still squirming around so she must keep waking up, but hopefully she will be fast asleep soon. Oh well; hopefully, I will sleep vertically tonight....
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Beds
Lately, my dad has been barking a lot. My mother will ask him a question and he will bark back, "WHAT?" like it was a real bother to answer her. I don't know what his problem is but I again told him that, "No one wants to deal with your attitude." Before he could get up and hit me, I left the room and stayed in my bedroom until he cooled off. He's always angry about one thing or the other. The other night we got into a heated argument and he yelled back at me and said, "Because I caaaaan't saaaaaaaaayyy noooooooo!!" in a low, demonic sounding voice, which reminded me of the girl who was possessed in that one movie, which I never saw. Apparently, her head turned all the way around, and I was waiting for that to happen with my dad, but it didn't. I laughed about it last night with Danny because it was so over-dramatic. Sometimes my dad reminds me of his mother, my grandmother Esther, who was very dramatic. She was the one who passed out onto the living room floor when she found out I was pregnant with a BLACK, NON-JEWISH man.
Last night I thought I would please my dad and made him one of his favorite dishes, Cabbage Borsht (soup). I found the recipe online and he really liked it. His aunt and his mother used to make this when he was a boy. Apparently it turned out good because he really liked it. My mom seemed to enjoy it too, however I could only eat one bowl. It was really different, but definitely not for my taste buds. My mom froze the leftovers so they can have it again. There are only a few Jewish foods that I do like, and this is not one of them.
Leah, Parris and Ashanti are coming down here next week to live with us until they get on their feet. Parris has been laid off now for a few months and it's hard to keep up with all the bills on unemployment comp. I'm happy - I will have them and of course, my Shanti down here, and I will enjoy that. I told Danny that we probably will be making lots of trips to his house to relieve some of the tension that will undoubtedly be around here. Hopefully, my dad will behave himself and the tension will be minimal, but that's highly unlikely. Thank God there is a swimming pool we can all retreat to, and the water should be getting warmer enough to swim any day now.
Today, my mom and I have to empty my dad's office and my bedroom because they are getting new flooring in both rooms on Monday. Danny is coming over later to move the heavy stuff. My mom is already scooting around getting things done and keeps checking on me to "get going." Remember, Saturdays are work days - not relaxation days. This has to be done, however, and I won't have time to do it tomorrow, so I have to do it today. I will be moving all my "stuff" into my mom's room to clear it out for my kids to stay in. So we'll be schlepping stuff to and fro all day.
I'll be sharing my mom's king size bed, while my kids are here. This should be fun. It's a good thing we have been getting along really well lately. But as I said before, I am a very restless sleeper, so I hope I don't end up curled next to her - that would be just weird. Hopefully, I'll stay on my side of the bed and sleep at the edge. If I fall, it's not that far down. She has little stuffed animals on her bed, so I will put them between us for a barrier. And when Shanti wants to sleep with me, I will gladly have her, so it's an even better barrier. I miss sleeping with her. I hate sleeping alone, with the exception of sleeping with my mom. When all three of my kids were born, they all slept with me until a few years in age. One took longer to wean than the others, and slept with me for a long time. That child also nursed for the longest and in fact, would stand up saying to me, in public as well, "Ninny, mommy, ninny!" I, of course, obliged, though not in public. I only did that when my oldest was born because that was the hip thing to do in the 70's. I'm sure I freaked people out, but I didn't care, being the rebel that I was.
Anyway, this should be an interesting next several months. I look forward to having my kids and granddaughter here with me. And I think Shanti will be good for my dad to soften him a little. She's a very loving child and could melt the hardest heart just by looking at you. She will want him to go outside and sit with her by the pool, which will be good for him to get outside for a change. I think all in all, it will be fine. That is, if I can stay on my side of the bed...
Last night I thought I would please my dad and made him one of his favorite dishes, Cabbage Borsht (soup). I found the recipe online and he really liked it. His aunt and his mother used to make this when he was a boy. Apparently it turned out good because he really liked it. My mom seemed to enjoy it too, however I could only eat one bowl. It was really different, but definitely not for my taste buds. My mom froze the leftovers so they can have it again. There are only a few Jewish foods that I do like, and this is not one of them.
Leah, Parris and Ashanti are coming down here next week to live with us until they get on their feet. Parris has been laid off now for a few months and it's hard to keep up with all the bills on unemployment comp. I'm happy - I will have them and of course, my Shanti down here, and I will enjoy that. I told Danny that we probably will be making lots of trips to his house to relieve some of the tension that will undoubtedly be around here. Hopefully, my dad will behave himself and the tension will be minimal, but that's highly unlikely. Thank God there is a swimming pool we can all retreat to, and the water should be getting warmer enough to swim any day now.
Today, my mom and I have to empty my dad's office and my bedroom because they are getting new flooring in both rooms on Monday. Danny is coming over later to move the heavy stuff. My mom is already scooting around getting things done and keeps checking on me to "get going." Remember, Saturdays are work days - not relaxation days. This has to be done, however, and I won't have time to do it tomorrow, so I have to do it today. I will be moving all my "stuff" into my mom's room to clear it out for my kids to stay in. So we'll be schlepping stuff to and fro all day.
I'll be sharing my mom's king size bed, while my kids are here. This should be fun. It's a good thing we have been getting along really well lately. But as I said before, I am a very restless sleeper, so I hope I don't end up curled next to her - that would be just weird. Hopefully, I'll stay on my side of the bed and sleep at the edge. If I fall, it's not that far down. She has little stuffed animals on her bed, so I will put them between us for a barrier. And when Shanti wants to sleep with me, I will gladly have her, so it's an even better barrier. I miss sleeping with her. I hate sleeping alone, with the exception of sleeping with my mom. When all three of my kids were born, they all slept with me until a few years in age. One took longer to wean than the others, and slept with me for a long time. That child also nursed for the longest and in fact, would stand up saying to me, in public as well, "Ninny, mommy, ninny!" I, of course, obliged, though not in public. I only did that when my oldest was born because that was the hip thing to do in the 70's. I'm sure I freaked people out, but I didn't care, being the rebel that I was.
Anyway, this should be an interesting next several months. I look forward to having my kids and granddaughter here with me. And I think Shanti will be good for my dad to soften him a little. She's a very loving child and could melt the hardest heart just by looking at you. She will want him to go outside and sit with her by the pool, which will be good for him to get outside for a change. I think all in all, it will be fine. That is, if I can stay on my side of the bed...
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Dog Sitting
I've just now recovered from my "weekend with the dogs." It was actually fun talking to non-human beings and swimming in my brother's pool. However, his house is so big, that it exhausted me to go from one end to the other, just to let the dogs out.
Now these dogs all have their own little personalities. "Keeper" (my favorite) is a giant Mastiff and so gentle and slow. She kind of just meanders around and plunks down with a big grunt like she's exhausted. She snores quite loud, drools and looks at you with pitiful, beautiful eyes. I just couldn't help it - I had to give her more cookies.
"Finnegan" is a beautiful male Collie that actually looks like Lassie. He's got so much fur that a little dog could get lost in it. Finnegan was also extremely gentle and meandered around, plopping down whenever meandering became too much. He would go out at night and would not come back, which was frustrating to me. I would let him out and he would go running and barking his head off and sometimes did not come back until the next morning. That's really not a problem, because Danny lives on several acres of land and his neighbors are far enough away. Finnegan's nose was long and funny, like a beak, and so I had a hard time kissing him -- so I just pet him on the head.
"Emma" is Danny's daughter's dog and is a Shitzu. She's a very cool dog, kind of funny looking with her teeth sticking out like she has buck teeth, but I think that's the way they all look. She is a small, compact dog, but is actually the oldest and the leader of the pack. If she starts barking, then one by one, they all follow suit. Finnegan and Keeper bark from their lying position, unless it is a real danger, like someone ringing the doorbell, then they all bark like maniacs until the danger is over. The two Chihuaha's never get when the danger is over, however. They continue to bark and bark and bark long after everyone else is quiet. They must just like to hear themselves bark, much like some people I know...
"Drover" and "Lady" are the two Chiuhaha's that bark and run hand in hand, like lovers. Drover warmed up to me quickly, but Lady took a few days before she would carefully let me pet her. By the time I left, she was my friend and I felt like I actually accomplished something.
Now these dogs are wonderful, loving, loyal and beautiful except for one bad habit: waking me up at 4 am to go potty. I didn't know I could yell at them to "shut up and go back to sleep," until my brother came home and told me. So, like the dutiful dogsitter that I was, I walked to the other end of the house every morning around 4 am and let the dogs outside to do their thing. I sat at the dining room table, nodding off until I heard the little pitter patter of their feet coming back to the door. So, one by one (and I counted them each time), they came back except for Emma and Finnegan, who at 4:00 in the morning, were barking their heads off. It's dark at that hour and I kept thinking the neighbors are going to kill me, but they never did come over to complain. If they didn't come back when I called, I closed the door, pretending they didn't live there and went back to sleep.
Now going to sleep in my brother's bed is quite a feat indeed. It is almost as high as I am tall and either you have to high jump with one of those sticks to get onto it or you have to use the doggy stairs at the end of the bed. I chose the latter as I was never good at high jump. Climbing the stairs, I used my cane to balance, and I felt like a tightrope walker. When I got to the top, I threw my cane on the bed and awkwardly bounced onto it, rolling over to the pillow end. It was all very dramatic and I'm surprised that I didn't break my neck. Getting out of the bed was relatively easy: I just slid down it like a slide until I landed on my feet. I don't understand why people have such high beds. There's probably some useful thing about it, but I prefer ones that I can sit on the edge while my feet are able to touch the floor. Subconsciously, all night I was very aware of the edge of the bed. I imagined falling off of the side and breaking a bodily part, as the floor is all tile. Then I would have to crawl or slide to my phone which was plugged in the kitchen, on the other side of the house. Thank God I never fell. Imagining it was bad enough.
I had an enjoyable time with these interesting creatures and got to know them fairly well. I miss having a dog and one of these days I'm going to look into getting another one. Until then, I'll just have to visit Danny more often and play with his. As long as I don't have to wake up at 4 in the morning, I'm cool.
Now these dogs all have their own little personalities. "Keeper" (my favorite) is a giant Mastiff and so gentle and slow. She kind of just meanders around and plunks down with a big grunt like she's exhausted. She snores quite loud, drools and looks at you with pitiful, beautiful eyes. I just couldn't help it - I had to give her more cookies.
"Finnegan" is a beautiful male Collie that actually looks like Lassie. He's got so much fur that a little dog could get lost in it. Finnegan was also extremely gentle and meandered around, plopping down whenever meandering became too much. He would go out at night and would not come back, which was frustrating to me. I would let him out and he would go running and barking his head off and sometimes did not come back until the next morning. That's really not a problem, because Danny lives on several acres of land and his neighbors are far enough away. Finnegan's nose was long and funny, like a beak, and so I had a hard time kissing him -- so I just pet him on the head.
"Emma" is Danny's daughter's dog and is a Shitzu. She's a very cool dog, kind of funny looking with her teeth sticking out like she has buck teeth, but I think that's the way they all look. She is a small, compact dog, but is actually the oldest and the leader of the pack. If she starts barking, then one by one, they all follow suit. Finnegan and Keeper bark from their lying position, unless it is a real danger, like someone ringing the doorbell, then they all bark like maniacs until the danger is over. The two Chihuaha's never get when the danger is over, however. They continue to bark and bark and bark long after everyone else is quiet. They must just like to hear themselves bark, much like some people I know...
"Drover" and "Lady" are the two Chiuhaha's that bark and run hand in hand, like lovers. Drover warmed up to me quickly, but Lady took a few days before she would carefully let me pet her. By the time I left, she was my friend and I felt like I actually accomplished something.
Now these dogs are wonderful, loving, loyal and beautiful except for one bad habit: waking me up at 4 am to go potty. I didn't know I could yell at them to "shut up and go back to sleep," until my brother came home and told me. So, like the dutiful dogsitter that I was, I walked to the other end of the house every morning around 4 am and let the dogs outside to do their thing. I sat at the dining room table, nodding off until I heard the little pitter patter of their feet coming back to the door. So, one by one (and I counted them each time), they came back except for Emma and Finnegan, who at 4:00 in the morning, were barking their heads off. It's dark at that hour and I kept thinking the neighbors are going to kill me, but they never did come over to complain. If they didn't come back when I called, I closed the door, pretending they didn't live there and went back to sleep.
Now going to sleep in my brother's bed is quite a feat indeed. It is almost as high as I am tall and either you have to high jump with one of those sticks to get onto it or you have to use the doggy stairs at the end of the bed. I chose the latter as I was never good at high jump. Climbing the stairs, I used my cane to balance, and I felt like a tightrope walker. When I got to the top, I threw my cane on the bed and awkwardly bounced onto it, rolling over to the pillow end. It was all very dramatic and I'm surprised that I didn't break my neck. Getting out of the bed was relatively easy: I just slid down it like a slide until I landed on my feet. I don't understand why people have such high beds. There's probably some useful thing about it, but I prefer ones that I can sit on the edge while my feet are able to touch the floor. Subconsciously, all night I was very aware of the edge of the bed. I imagined falling off of the side and breaking a bodily part, as the floor is all tile. Then I would have to crawl or slide to my phone which was plugged in the kitchen, on the other side of the house. Thank God I never fell. Imagining it was bad enough.
I had an enjoyable time with these interesting creatures and got to know them fairly well. I miss having a dog and one of these days I'm going to look into getting another one. Until then, I'll just have to visit Danny more often and play with his. As long as I don't have to wake up at 4 in the morning, I'm cool.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Trucks
It was a good day today: I was able to get my dad out of the house and he even enjoyed himself eventually. He's been wanting to go to the national cemetary in Sarasota, where veterans and their wives have the benefit of a free burial lot and tombstone. He's been wanting to do this for months but kept cancelling and I finally just said that we're going. When we started out, he was in a really bad mood and barked at my mom and I said, "Man, you're in a bad mood." He said, "Yeah, I am" slamming the door closed. I said, "Well, nobody wants to hear that mess..." and he interupted me and said, "Sharrooonnn....." as his voice escalated into a dramatic thunder of anger and I put my hand up and said, "Whatever..." and stopped because I'm still scared of this guy. If looks could kill, his would definitely had wiped me out right then and there in the car. He wanted to go check out this cemetary, and yet he didn't. He admitted later on in the drive that he was superstitious, and I said, "Well, I'm not, so we're going." I'm not sure what he meant by being superstitious - maybe if he went to visit a cemetary, he would die the next day - I really don't know. But he's been wanting to do this so I just insisted it would be today.
It was a nice cemetary, as far as cemetaries go. The tombstones are all the same and lined up in straight order. We spoke to the people in the office and they gave my parents literature and it was all very simple. They didn't even have to do anything beforehand. All that happens, is that the funeral home gets a copy of my dad's discharge papers and they contact the cemetary and they take it from there. I think it's a great benefit for veterans and they have these cemetaries all over the country. My parents had already "bought" plots to be in a Jewish cemetary, and I told them to just sell the plots and go here. They decided they would donate them to someone who needed them who were not in a position to purchase them. I thought that was a better idea yet. The whole ordeal is very surrealistic, although I know it needs to be taken care of. You talk to and about them as if they have already died and that's just plain weird. My grandmother had planned a "picnic" at a park and invited my parents there and they had no idea it was a cemetary park until they got there. My grandmother thought it would be "nice" to have a picnic in the cemetary and show my parents where she decided to be buried. For this and many other reasons, I want to be cremated.
After our excursion to the cemetary, we stopped and had dinner at a restaurant. The three of us walked slowly into the restaurant: my parents, each with their walkers, and me with my cane. What a sight we must be. The food was good and we wasted time because we weren't due to my brother's until 6:00. After dinner, my father tried to locate the restroom and almost ended up in the kitchen. I was behind him yelling, "Go to the next hall and turn left, dad. No, the next hall!" He has double vision and can hardly see so I offered to lead the way, but no, of course he could do it himself. I don't know how he managed to leave the restroom and find my mom, but he did. I'm sure he probably knocked into people along the way, but he just keeps barreling through like a bull. He has tunnel vision and won't stop until he gets to his destination. He does the same thing in the house, so you have to get out of the way quickly if he's coming by, or he might just run you over.
We went to Danny's house because I am watching his dogs while he's gone this weekend and he needed to show me the ropes on how to take care of his 5 dogs. He has a giant Mastiff, a beautiful Collie, 2 yippee Chiuhaua's, which I don't know how to spell, and a Shitzu, which could also be wrong. He showed me where to find everything and my parents went home in their car, and I took his truck back to their house and will return tomorrow after he leaves. The truck reminded me of when my oldest son was just a little boy, probably about 2 or 3 and he couldn't say his "TR's" but he said "F" instead. He loved trucks and one day as we were driving somewhere, I was sitting in the front with my dad and Jason was in the back with my mom and he saw a really big truck and kept yelling, "Look mama, a _uck, a _uck!" My dad, thinking the child was doing this on purpose, yelled at me and told me to shut him up. I just looked at him like he was crazy and said, "Well, how am I supposed to do that??" Poor Jas - it took him a year or two until he could pronounce the "TR" sound...
His truck is a gigantic truck, and it is very difficult to get into. First I have to throw my purse and cane in the passenger seat, then I have to hold onto the grabber thing, pull one foot up, then the other one, all the while balancing on this little step thing next to the door. One false move, and I would quickly be in a heap on the ground. It must look quite clumsy and probably comical as I swing myself into the seat, thanking God that I actually made it. Getting out is just as tricky, as I slide very slowly down to the ground until I am in a standing position. He told me that I can use the truck as much as I want. However, after I make it to his house, it will be parked there until he comes home, unless there is a dire emergency and I have to leave. I can only hope that doesn't happen.
It was a nice cemetary, as far as cemetaries go. The tombstones are all the same and lined up in straight order. We spoke to the people in the office and they gave my parents literature and it was all very simple. They didn't even have to do anything beforehand. All that happens, is that the funeral home gets a copy of my dad's discharge papers and they contact the cemetary and they take it from there. I think it's a great benefit for veterans and they have these cemetaries all over the country. My parents had already "bought" plots to be in a Jewish cemetary, and I told them to just sell the plots and go here. They decided they would donate them to someone who needed them who were not in a position to purchase them. I thought that was a better idea yet. The whole ordeal is very surrealistic, although I know it needs to be taken care of. You talk to and about them as if they have already died and that's just plain weird. My grandmother had planned a "picnic" at a park and invited my parents there and they had no idea it was a cemetary park until they got there. My grandmother thought it would be "nice" to have a picnic in the cemetary and show my parents where she decided to be buried. For this and many other reasons, I want to be cremated.
After our excursion to the cemetary, we stopped and had dinner at a restaurant. The three of us walked slowly into the restaurant: my parents, each with their walkers, and me with my cane. What a sight we must be. The food was good and we wasted time because we weren't due to my brother's until 6:00. After dinner, my father tried to locate the restroom and almost ended up in the kitchen. I was behind him yelling, "Go to the next hall and turn left, dad. No, the next hall!" He has double vision and can hardly see so I offered to lead the way, but no, of course he could do it himself. I don't know how he managed to leave the restroom and find my mom, but he did. I'm sure he probably knocked into people along the way, but he just keeps barreling through like a bull. He has tunnel vision and won't stop until he gets to his destination. He does the same thing in the house, so you have to get out of the way quickly if he's coming by, or he might just run you over.
We went to Danny's house because I am watching his dogs while he's gone this weekend and he needed to show me the ropes on how to take care of his 5 dogs. He has a giant Mastiff, a beautiful Collie, 2 yippee Chiuhaua's, which I don't know how to spell, and a Shitzu, which could also be wrong. He showed me where to find everything and my parents went home in their car, and I took his truck back to their house and will return tomorrow after he leaves. The truck reminded me of when my oldest son was just a little boy, probably about 2 or 3 and he couldn't say his "TR's" but he said "F" instead. He loved trucks and one day as we were driving somewhere, I was sitting in the front with my dad and Jason was in the back with my mom and he saw a really big truck and kept yelling, "Look mama, a _uck, a _uck!" My dad, thinking the child was doing this on purpose, yelled at me and told me to shut him up. I just looked at him like he was crazy and said, "Well, how am I supposed to do that??" Poor Jas - it took him a year or two until he could pronounce the "TR" sound...
His truck is a gigantic truck, and it is very difficult to get into. First I have to throw my purse and cane in the passenger seat, then I have to hold onto the grabber thing, pull one foot up, then the other one, all the while balancing on this little step thing next to the door. One false move, and I would quickly be in a heap on the ground. It must look quite clumsy and probably comical as I swing myself into the seat, thanking God that I actually made it. Getting out is just as tricky, as I slide very slowly down to the ground until I am in a standing position. He told me that I can use the truck as much as I want. However, after I make it to his house, it will be parked there until he comes home, unless there is a dire emergency and I have to leave. I can only hope that doesn't happen.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Mistakes
Sometimes a simple conversation like the one I had the other day, jars me back into the past and reminds me of all the mistakes I've made, as well as the ones I didn't realize I made. Some mistakes are done and over with and affect no one but me. And then there are those that are never over with, but lie in the hearts and minds of others. I wish that I could somehow erase all those hurts I have caused others, as well as the hurts that were caused to me, but of course, I can't. Maybe that's why most people as they age become wiser - ever learning over mistakes that have been made. It's a constant growing process that is many times painful along the way, yet we keep plodding on. There is no other option but to keep learning, growing and changing. It becomes worthwhile if we do actually change. It's pointless if we don't. I suspect that if and when I reach a ripe old age, I will finally stop making mistakes and live the rest of my days without hurting or being hurt. But then, who knows.... I may just not live that long...
I'm back in Florida and have to say that I had a good time in Madison with my friends and family. I got a lot of paperwork and appointments taken care of so I feel good about that. And of course I got to see my children and grandchildren and that makes me very happy indeed. Several weeks ago, I entered into this contest to win a home and a car and lots of money on HGTV, and I was so hoping to win it. It's in Utah, but it's so big that my children, grandchildren and parents could all come and live with me and we would live happily ever after. I thought, so what if it is a 1 in 20 million chance to win? I could be that 1! Well, of course it was nice day dreaming, but the only thing I've ever won was through a grocery store a long time ago, and it was a water board. I had no idea how to use it, so I sold it. When the representative called me from the store and told me that I had won the water board, I said, "Yeah, right. Who is this really? Who put you up to this?" He said, "Uh, maam, this is Bob and I'm the store manager for Copps and you really did win this water board." Then I probably turned 10 shades of red because I remembered putting my name in the box at the store. When I went to pick the thing up at the store the next day, it wouldn't fit in the car - it had to hang out the window. So I drove home with this contraption hanging out of my car window and schlepping it into the house. "Now what do I do with this?" I thought. I really had no idea how to use it, but since "Bob" told me it was worth $500, I put an ad in the paper and sold it for a little less. That was my one and only win that I can remember.
For some reason it reminds me of "Queen for a Day," which was a television show back in the 50's and 60's. I remember watching it as a little girl and being enthralled by it. For those of you who are not familiar, this is how the show went: There were several ladies who came on the show and each told the announcer their sad story of woe. Each story was worse than the other and there was this arrow-thing, an applause meter, that moved from low to high when the studio audience clapped. So the more dramatic the story, the more the audience clapped and the arrow would move, sometimes all the way to the other side of the board. Well, after all the ladies told their stories, and after the arrow did it's thing, the announcer would have the ladies stand on the stage and announce the winner. The announcer named the winner and brought out a royal crown, a dozen roses and royal robe for the "Queen for a Day" to wear, as "Pomp and Circumstances" played. She of course was crying the whole time and thanking everyone. She won whatever the need was for her family, like a refrigerator or stove or just cash. Anyway, like I said, I've never won anything worthwhile.
Going back to the beginning about mistakes - I made a mistake. It's not, "pointless if we don't change." It's tragic if we don't.
I'm back in Florida and have to say that I had a good time in Madison with my friends and family. I got a lot of paperwork and appointments taken care of so I feel good about that. And of course I got to see my children and grandchildren and that makes me very happy indeed. Several weeks ago, I entered into this contest to win a home and a car and lots of money on HGTV, and I was so hoping to win it. It's in Utah, but it's so big that my children, grandchildren and parents could all come and live with me and we would live happily ever after. I thought, so what if it is a 1 in 20 million chance to win? I could be that 1! Well, of course it was nice day dreaming, but the only thing I've ever won was through a grocery store a long time ago, and it was a water board. I had no idea how to use it, so I sold it. When the representative called me from the store and told me that I had won the water board, I said, "Yeah, right. Who is this really? Who put you up to this?" He said, "Uh, maam, this is Bob and I'm the store manager for Copps and you really did win this water board." Then I probably turned 10 shades of red because I remembered putting my name in the box at the store. When I went to pick the thing up at the store the next day, it wouldn't fit in the car - it had to hang out the window. So I drove home with this contraption hanging out of my car window and schlepping it into the house. "Now what do I do with this?" I thought. I really had no idea how to use it, but since "Bob" told me it was worth $500, I put an ad in the paper and sold it for a little less. That was my one and only win that I can remember.
For some reason it reminds me of "Queen for a Day," which was a television show back in the 50's and 60's. I remember watching it as a little girl and being enthralled by it. For those of you who are not familiar, this is how the show went: There were several ladies who came on the show and each told the announcer their sad story of woe. Each story was worse than the other and there was this arrow-thing, an applause meter, that moved from low to high when the studio audience clapped. So the more dramatic the story, the more the audience clapped and the arrow would move, sometimes all the way to the other side of the board. Well, after all the ladies told their stories, and after the arrow did it's thing, the announcer would have the ladies stand on the stage and announce the winner. The announcer named the winner and brought out a royal crown, a dozen roses and royal robe for the "Queen for a Day" to wear, as "Pomp and Circumstances" played. She of course was crying the whole time and thanking everyone. She won whatever the need was for her family, like a refrigerator or stove or just cash. Anyway, like I said, I've never won anything worthwhile.
Going back to the beginning about mistakes - I made a mistake. It's not, "pointless if we don't change." It's tragic if we don't.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Tossing and Turning
For the most part, my dad says he likes my cooking, which I am grateful for because he can be a very picky eater. Quietly, I think this hurts my mom, which I feel equally as bad for. And because my mom has always been a very passive-aggressive person, things come out of her mouth that prove what is in her heart in an indirect sort of way. But the other night was different - and odd, for sure, when I couldn't figure out the recipe on something and she stood in the kitchen and said in a sing-songy way, "She can't figure out what she's dooooinggg, na na na na na na...." I pretended like I ignored it because I'm sure it was the dementia talking. It felt weird coming from my mother, not another kid in third grade. And so every time my dad compliments me on dinner, I cringe and feel embarrassed for my mom. What a position to be in. Frankly, I don't know how he can taste anything with all the BBQ sauce he dumps on his food. Because of that, I really shouldn't take it as a compliment...
Little by little, my mom seems to be creeping into the dark hole of dementia. It bothers me a lot because I remember her mother not remembering who she was toward the end of her life. She had Alzheimer's and I don't have a clue what the difference is between that and Dementia, but it can't be that big of a difference. I don't think I could handle it if my mom gradually didn't know who I was. I'm getting teary-eyed just writing about it. My mom and I have had a rocky relationship as long as I can remember, but the older I get, the more I love her. In some ways, I feel like being down here helping them is my "pentance" for the way I've treated them when I was younger, especially in my teenage years. At dinner one night, my mom was describing to my dad and I that when I was in the "hospital" she would come 3 times a week to do my laundry and she would see me behind locked doors but couldn't talk to me because of the rules. She would have to drive a long way home (we lived on the north side and the hospital was on the south side) and it wasn't until she got into her bedroom and sat on her bed, that she would cry. I didn't know that - how could I have known that? And being the self-centered teenager that I was, I never bothered to ask her how she was doing.
That leads me to something that I find repulsive and arrogant and usually comes from young women, as well as teenage girls. I understand it for the most part from teenagers, but not from young (or older) women. I cruise through Facebook almost daily and every now and then I read a comment made by the person whose profile it is, that someone just told her she was pretty, or talented or whatever it is that exalts herself. That really bugs me. Not just because the Bible says, "Let another praise ye," but aren't we supposed to outgrow that self-centeredness in adulthood? Well, I think so. Another thing that bugs me, as long as I am on the subject, are those folks who feel the need to "preach" to other folks. Telling others how to live, what to do and what not to do, condemning others and bringing all sorts of drama on there which, I think, is totally inappropriate. I don't understand either way of thinking and when I don't understand something, it bugs me. I'm tempted to disconnect my account and be done with it, but for some reason, I haven't done that. I guess I'm nosy and I like to see what others are up to, their pictures and keeping in contact with long, lost friends. So I guess I'll be on there yet awhile and try to be more tolerant of those who get on my nerves. A lesson in tolerance, I guess. Lord knows I need lots of lessons on different topics...
So I'm leaving today for Madison for 12 days and looking forward to seeing my grandchildren and children. I think I have an appointment every day I'm there, so I will be kept busy. My favorite part is sleeping with Ashanti and feeling her little toes and knees banging against me as she tosses and turns. She takes after me in that respect, as I am a very restless sleeper. But you know, I was told that people who toss and turn in their sleep are highly creative, artistic and brilliant individuals.
Ha - just kidding..... :)
Little by little, my mom seems to be creeping into the dark hole of dementia. It bothers me a lot because I remember her mother not remembering who she was toward the end of her life. She had Alzheimer's and I don't have a clue what the difference is between that and Dementia, but it can't be that big of a difference. I don't think I could handle it if my mom gradually didn't know who I was. I'm getting teary-eyed just writing about it. My mom and I have had a rocky relationship as long as I can remember, but the older I get, the more I love her. In some ways, I feel like being down here helping them is my "pentance" for the way I've treated them when I was younger, especially in my teenage years. At dinner one night, my mom was describing to my dad and I that when I was in the "hospital" she would come 3 times a week to do my laundry and she would see me behind locked doors but couldn't talk to me because of the rules. She would have to drive a long way home (we lived on the north side and the hospital was on the south side) and it wasn't until she got into her bedroom and sat on her bed, that she would cry. I didn't know that - how could I have known that? And being the self-centered teenager that I was, I never bothered to ask her how she was doing.
That leads me to something that I find repulsive and arrogant and usually comes from young women, as well as teenage girls. I understand it for the most part from teenagers, but not from young (or older) women. I cruise through Facebook almost daily and every now and then I read a comment made by the person whose profile it is, that someone just told her she was pretty, or talented or whatever it is that exalts herself. That really bugs me. Not just because the Bible says, "Let another praise ye," but aren't we supposed to outgrow that self-centeredness in adulthood? Well, I think so. Another thing that bugs me, as long as I am on the subject, are those folks who feel the need to "preach" to other folks. Telling others how to live, what to do and what not to do, condemning others and bringing all sorts of drama on there which, I think, is totally inappropriate. I don't understand either way of thinking and when I don't understand something, it bugs me. I'm tempted to disconnect my account and be done with it, but for some reason, I haven't done that. I guess I'm nosy and I like to see what others are up to, their pictures and keeping in contact with long, lost friends. So I guess I'll be on there yet awhile and try to be more tolerant of those who get on my nerves. A lesson in tolerance, I guess. Lord knows I need lots of lessons on different topics...
So I'm leaving today for Madison for 12 days and looking forward to seeing my grandchildren and children. I think I have an appointment every day I'm there, so I will be kept busy. My favorite part is sleeping with Ashanti and feeling her little toes and knees banging against me as she tosses and turns. She takes after me in that respect, as I am a very restless sleeper. But you know, I was told that people who toss and turn in their sleep are highly creative, artistic and brilliant individuals.
Ha - just kidding..... :)
Friday, February 24, 2012
Subway
I made a pan of Tiramisu tonight in honor of Danny coming to dinner tomorrow night. When I was just about done, my mom said she was going out for some subs for dinner. That was around 5:45. I finished cleaning up and just hung out in the kitchen, thinking she would be returning in 20 minutes or so, as it was only a 5 minute drive to any Subway around here. After waiting 45 minutes, I decided to go back in my room and get on the computer to wait. And I waited. And waited. And then it was an hour she was gone and I began to get worried. I tried calling one of the Subways she frequents, but the number was disconnected. I said, "Dad, you know Mom has been gone an hour already?" He said, "Yeah, so what?" I said, "Well, I'm getting worried. It doesn't take an hour to get subs." I thought, who should I call? She didn't have their cell phone on her - she never does, I don't know why they bought it. Should I call the Venice police? What would I say? "Uh, hello...my name is Sharon Johnson and I lost my mom." I can picture them laughing and thinking it was a prank call. But then they would remember this is Venice after all, and most of the people here are old. Out of embarrassment, any young people around here probably dodge questions of where they live, and who can blame them.
Anyway, I decided not to call the police and then I thought of calling the different Subways in town. But then, what would I say to them? "Uh, hi, um, I'm looking for an old lady who uses a walker and goes real slow - did you happen to notice one who came in there tonight?" And just as my father got on the bandwagon and started searching through the phonebook for these numbers, who should walk in, but my mom. She of course came in singing a song and walking slowly. I got up and went out to the kitchen and said, "Where did you go, to China??" "No honey, I went to the Subway off of Jacaranda Boulevard." "Mom," I said, "You've been gone for over an hour. It doesn't take an hour to get subs that are 5 minutes away." "Oh, well, you see there was a long line and one of the people in line offered for me to take their place, but I said, 'Oh, no thank you,' so I just waited like everyone else and....." She went on and on telling me about the other people waiting in line and the workers behind the counter and that one of them didn't have gloves on and a lady in line told him she wouldn't buy anything from him until he put gloves on. This went on and on. I was just happy for her to be home. My imagination takes over when she's supposed to be home and she gets delayed somewhere.
My mom makes friends everywhere she goes. She will talk to everyone and anyone. When the man who cleans the pool is here, she will talk and talk to him and it really aggravates my dad. "He's supposed to be cleaning the pool," he says, and my mom just ignores him and keeps on talking. They are polar opposites, that's for sure. My dad likes sitting in his chair all day watching the stock market and my mom never sits still. She's either doing laundry, folding towels, emptying the dishwasher, tidying her room - something - all the time. When we were kids, we were never allowed to just sit around and watch cartoons on Saturday morning. We had to do chores. My brothers had the easy stuff and I had to do the gross stuff like cleaning bathrooms, floors and ironing. Girl stuff. They got to mow the lawn, take the garbage out, clean their rooms. I hated ironing because it took so long. That was in the days when we had to iron the sheets and that took forever. Although that was easier than my father's shirts. I hated doing those because of the buttons and you had to use spray starch. When we were done with our chores, we could go outside and play, but very seldom - only if it was raining or nasty outside - were we allowed to watch Saturday morning cartoons.
Tomorrow is Saturday and maybe after I wake up, I'll go in the den, turn the TV on and watch cartoons, just to see what mom will say. That would be pretty funny, but I probably won't, because cartoons just don't hold the same thrill for me than they used to.
Anyway, I decided not to call the police and then I thought of calling the different Subways in town. But then, what would I say to them? "Uh, hi, um, I'm looking for an old lady who uses a walker and goes real slow - did you happen to notice one who came in there tonight?" And just as my father got on the bandwagon and started searching through the phonebook for these numbers, who should walk in, but my mom. She of course came in singing a song and walking slowly. I got up and went out to the kitchen and said, "Where did you go, to China??" "No honey, I went to the Subway off of Jacaranda Boulevard." "Mom," I said, "You've been gone for over an hour. It doesn't take an hour to get subs that are 5 minutes away." "Oh, well, you see there was a long line and one of the people in line offered for me to take their place, but I said, 'Oh, no thank you,' so I just waited like everyone else and....." She went on and on telling me about the other people waiting in line and the workers behind the counter and that one of them didn't have gloves on and a lady in line told him she wouldn't buy anything from him until he put gloves on. This went on and on. I was just happy for her to be home. My imagination takes over when she's supposed to be home and she gets delayed somewhere.
My mom makes friends everywhere she goes. She will talk to everyone and anyone. When the man who cleans the pool is here, she will talk and talk to him and it really aggravates my dad. "He's supposed to be cleaning the pool," he says, and my mom just ignores him and keeps on talking. They are polar opposites, that's for sure. My dad likes sitting in his chair all day watching the stock market and my mom never sits still. She's either doing laundry, folding towels, emptying the dishwasher, tidying her room - something - all the time. When we were kids, we were never allowed to just sit around and watch cartoons on Saturday morning. We had to do chores. My brothers had the easy stuff and I had to do the gross stuff like cleaning bathrooms, floors and ironing. Girl stuff. They got to mow the lawn, take the garbage out, clean their rooms. I hated ironing because it took so long. That was in the days when we had to iron the sheets and that took forever. Although that was easier than my father's shirts. I hated doing those because of the buttons and you had to use spray starch. When we were done with our chores, we could go outside and play, but very seldom - only if it was raining or nasty outside - were we allowed to watch Saturday morning cartoons.
Tomorrow is Saturday and maybe after I wake up, I'll go in the den, turn the TV on and watch cartoons, just to see what mom will say. That would be pretty funny, but I probably won't, because cartoons just don't hold the same thrill for me than they used to.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Old People Horror Movie
The Jewish Community Center, which my parents and a few of their friends started more than 30 years ago, was having a "festival" which included a rummage and food sale on Sunday, so my mom and I went to see what they had. The food they serve there is pretty standard Jewish food, and we all wanted some kosher hot dogs and latkes, but by the time we got there, they were all out. Thousands of people come to this festival every year and this year was no different. We got there late at around 1:00, because I had gone to church in the morning. We ended up with some mandel bread, blintzes and chopped liver. Well, I should explain what this stuff is. Latkes are potato pancakes - grated potatoes that are seasoned and fried - very delicious. Mandel bread is a hard bread/cookie that is similar to scones. My grandmother taught me how to make these and they are very good, especially if you like dry cookies or scones. Blintzes are really good, and they are made out of a crepe like pancake that is stuffed with fruit or cheese. Really delicious! Chopped liver is just that - a yucky liver from a cow that is ground up with eggs and onions and spices that people eat with crackers. It is disgusting, but my parents love it.
I looked around at the rummage sale and there was so much stuff that it was hard to look at all of it. That's when my ADD kicks in. I was mostly looking at the art work anyway, as I love to find different pieces of original art. There was nothing that interested me, so I sat on one of the couches that they were trying to sell, and watched the hoards of people trying to squeeze through the hallway. I didn't see one kid there - they were ALL old people, with the exception of a few that were probably around my age. Oh, I take that back - I did see 2 kids, but they were so strange looking, that they looked old. Many people stopped to admire the couch, one took a measuring tape out and measured it, and another asked me if it was comfortable. People were swarming in through every door - it was very unsettling. I felt like I was in a movie and instead of aliens creeping in, they were all old people of every make and style. Most of whom spoke with New York accents at stellar volumes. "Hey Harry, look what I found over here! OK Sylvia, I'm right behind ya!" I was glad when my mom was finally done visiting with all her friends. We took the food out and ran for our lives. Of course we didn't really run. I waddled with my cane to the car and she slowly walked with her walker far behind me. And I walk slow. No matter how fast I try to get her to walk, a turtle would pass her up. She is exactly like the old man Tim Conway used to play on the Carol Burnett Show. She even mutters to herself like Tim did.
I really shouldn't talk - I mutter to myself all the time. Since I get tired of saying everything twice around here, I will sometimes talk to myself in a low mutter; however, I don't answer myself. Yet. I learned the other day that my great grandmother had dementia before she died, and my grandmother had it (her daughter) and now of course my mom has it, and I naturally will be next in line. What a dismal thing to look forward to. I just hope I don't end up like one of those little old ladies who drool, swear and talk crazy to everyone. I hope I am more like someone who is living in bliss, happy and singing in the hallway somewhere. Oh well, let's change the subject. I will fight becoming like that anyway, and since I am a born fighter, I may just win.
Yesterday, my mom and I went to the dog shelter in a nearby city, because we all talked about getting a dog. My mom wants a small one, however, I want a Mastiff, but since this is their house, I will humour her with trying to find a small dog. We didn't see anything appropriate at the shelter. We were going to see a dog this morning, but I didn't have a good feeling about it and then my mom surprised me by telling me that she wasn't ready for a dog now anyway. I just thought it would be good for both of them, because Kita brought so much life in here and they both fell in love with her. Maybe when I come back from Madison, I will start the search again for a small dog if I can talk my mom into it.
I'm going to Madison so soon because my granddaughter Jade will be "dedicated" in the church service on March 4, and so I scrambled to get an airline ticket today. I also will be meeting with a state retirement counselor, as I am planning on officially retiring and will be pulling my pension as soon as I am able. I can't believe that I am actually retiring. After all these years, and now it is really going to happen. When did I get this old? Good grief, it seems like I was young just a short time ago. It's bizarre how fast life goes the older you get, but when you're young, it seems like it takes forever. I wonder if we are ever really content with who we are, with what we have, and when we have it. I can honestly say that since last June, I've never been more content in my life. Maybe that just happens as you age. Or maybe it's because I trust God more now than I've ever before. Whatever the reason, it's finally good to know.
I looked around at the rummage sale and there was so much stuff that it was hard to look at all of it. That's when my ADD kicks in. I was mostly looking at the art work anyway, as I love to find different pieces of original art. There was nothing that interested me, so I sat on one of the couches that they were trying to sell, and watched the hoards of people trying to squeeze through the hallway. I didn't see one kid there - they were ALL old people, with the exception of a few that were probably around my age. Oh, I take that back - I did see 2 kids, but they were so strange looking, that they looked old. Many people stopped to admire the couch, one took a measuring tape out and measured it, and another asked me if it was comfortable. People were swarming in through every door - it was very unsettling. I felt like I was in a movie and instead of aliens creeping in, they were all old people of every make and style. Most of whom spoke with New York accents at stellar volumes. "Hey Harry, look what I found over here! OK Sylvia, I'm right behind ya!" I was glad when my mom was finally done visiting with all her friends. We took the food out and ran for our lives. Of course we didn't really run. I waddled with my cane to the car and she slowly walked with her walker far behind me. And I walk slow. No matter how fast I try to get her to walk, a turtle would pass her up. She is exactly like the old man Tim Conway used to play on the Carol Burnett Show. She even mutters to herself like Tim did.
I really shouldn't talk - I mutter to myself all the time. Since I get tired of saying everything twice around here, I will sometimes talk to myself in a low mutter; however, I don't answer myself. Yet. I learned the other day that my great grandmother had dementia before she died, and my grandmother had it (her daughter) and now of course my mom has it, and I naturally will be next in line. What a dismal thing to look forward to. I just hope I don't end up like one of those little old ladies who drool, swear and talk crazy to everyone. I hope I am more like someone who is living in bliss, happy and singing in the hallway somewhere. Oh well, let's change the subject. I will fight becoming like that anyway, and since I am a born fighter, I may just win.
Yesterday, my mom and I went to the dog shelter in a nearby city, because we all talked about getting a dog. My mom wants a small one, however, I want a Mastiff, but since this is their house, I will humour her with trying to find a small dog. We didn't see anything appropriate at the shelter. We were going to see a dog this morning, but I didn't have a good feeling about it and then my mom surprised me by telling me that she wasn't ready for a dog now anyway. I just thought it would be good for both of them, because Kita brought so much life in here and they both fell in love with her. Maybe when I come back from Madison, I will start the search again for a small dog if I can talk my mom into it.
I'm going to Madison so soon because my granddaughter Jade will be "dedicated" in the church service on March 4, and so I scrambled to get an airline ticket today. I also will be meeting with a state retirement counselor, as I am planning on officially retiring and will be pulling my pension as soon as I am able. I can't believe that I am actually retiring. After all these years, and now it is really going to happen. When did I get this old? Good grief, it seems like I was young just a short time ago. It's bizarre how fast life goes the older you get, but when you're young, it seems like it takes forever. I wonder if we are ever really content with who we are, with what we have, and when we have it. I can honestly say that since last June, I've never been more content in my life. Maybe that just happens as you age. Or maybe it's because I trust God more now than I've ever before. Whatever the reason, it's finally good to know.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Life's Twists and Turns
It's been almost a month since I last wrote, partly because I don't have my laptop with me and mostly because so much has happened during this time. Where do I begin?
Well, I moved all my stuff back to Madison and I was living with my daughter and her family. I thought that was the right thing to do at the time, even though my dad was upset when I left - he wanted me to stay longer. He feels more comfortable when I'm with them, as my mom's memory is going and there are times when she simply doesn't make sense. My dad doesn't know how to handle this and I think he looked to me as the buffer between him and my mom.
I lived with Leah a few weeks and then I got a phone call from my little brother that his wife had died. He was totally distraught and I wished I could have been down there (he lives in Florida too) to help him. My kids and I all decided to go down to Florida for the funeral. Jason flew and so did Micah and Jasmin. Leah, Parris, Ashanti and I all drove down to my mom's in their van. It was quite an experience and one that I won't forget. We had a lot of laughs going down there.
Finally we all got to my mom's and relaxed for a few days before the funeral. Danny had asked Micah to speak during the service and so they both said something and it was a short, simple and peaceful service. Afterward, we all went out to eat but Danny wanted to just take his daughter home and sleep. They both had a grueling and emotional week and I'm sure they were exhausted.
The rest of the week, we all just hung out and talked and I realized that I had left Florida too soon. I decided to just stay here for an indefinite amount of time, as long as my parents need me, and now Danny needing me. I didn't think it all the way through when I moved back to Madison, and the timing wasn't right. I will miss my grandchildren as well as my children and friends, but I have to do what I feel is the right thing to do. Besides, I will still come home every three months for my doctor appointments, so I will see everyone then. There's no greater place to be than to be in the will of God. There can be a whirlwind of storms all around you, but if you're in the center of His will, then you're in the safe palm of His hands.
So I guess my blog won't end here after all, since I'm still living with old people. Oh, and I should mention that I was approved for Social Security disability, so I will be retiring officially within the next few months and pulling my pension. Life is interesting and always full of twists and turns. And it's even more exciting when being led by that unseen hand...
Well, I moved all my stuff back to Madison and I was living with my daughter and her family. I thought that was the right thing to do at the time, even though my dad was upset when I left - he wanted me to stay longer. He feels more comfortable when I'm with them, as my mom's memory is going and there are times when she simply doesn't make sense. My dad doesn't know how to handle this and I think he looked to me as the buffer between him and my mom.
I lived with Leah a few weeks and then I got a phone call from my little brother that his wife had died. He was totally distraught and I wished I could have been down there (he lives in Florida too) to help him. My kids and I all decided to go down to Florida for the funeral. Jason flew and so did Micah and Jasmin. Leah, Parris, Ashanti and I all drove down to my mom's in their van. It was quite an experience and one that I won't forget. We had a lot of laughs going down there.
Finally we all got to my mom's and relaxed for a few days before the funeral. Danny had asked Micah to speak during the service and so they both said something and it was a short, simple and peaceful service. Afterward, we all went out to eat but Danny wanted to just take his daughter home and sleep. They both had a grueling and emotional week and I'm sure they were exhausted.
The rest of the week, we all just hung out and talked and I realized that I had left Florida too soon. I decided to just stay here for an indefinite amount of time, as long as my parents need me, and now Danny needing me. I didn't think it all the way through when I moved back to Madison, and the timing wasn't right. I will miss my grandchildren as well as my children and friends, but I have to do what I feel is the right thing to do. Besides, I will still come home every three months for my doctor appointments, so I will see everyone then. There's no greater place to be than to be in the will of God. There can be a whirlwind of storms all around you, but if you're in the center of His will, then you're in the safe palm of His hands.
So I guess my blog won't end here after all, since I'm still living with old people. Oh, and I should mention that I was approved for Social Security disability, so I will be retiring officially within the next few months and pulling my pension. Life is interesting and always full of twists and turns. And it's even more exciting when being led by that unseen hand...
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Choices
My mom is so cute. She gets very excited when she goes out in the car by herself. This morning, she went to a friend's house. Yesterday, she took back a few things to the grocery store. She's self-sufficient again and loves it. She still has to go very slow when she gets in and out of the car, but she uses her walker and gets around quite well. I'm really proud of her. She didn't just sit around getting worse - she didn't just give up.
My dad, on the other hand, gave up a long time ago. It makes me sad to watch him, a figure who looks nothing like he did when he was younger. He sits in his chair all day, watching the news or the military channel or the channel about animals. This is his escape from the reality that he will die one day. He either sits in his chair watching tv or sits in his office at his computer. I tried to get him into the pool when it was warmer, but for some reason, he wouldn't budge. He never goes anywhere and doesn't even sit on the screened in porch, where he would at least get some fresh air. I ask them to open up the doors in the morning to bring in some kind of breeze, otherwise it's stuffy and sad in here. There's something about fresh air that gives life to what is dull. My father, I determined, is just sitting there, waiting to die. Not consciously, I think, but because he does nothing, he mindlessly watches the world go by via the tv and computer, even though every now and then he calls my brother to change one of his stocks. My kids are not coming down to get me after all. I'm disappointed about that, because my parents would both have enjoyed Ashanti and it would have given my dad a change in his day.
I'll be flying home this week and instead of sitting here writing, I should be packing. I'm being very lazy about this for some reason. I'm not sure what I should take and what I should leave here. Because I'm flying, I can't take it all like I was planning. I really don't have that much stuff, so it's not a big deal, but I've never been good at making choices. If you give me a menu with a hundred things on it, I calmly freak out because I don't know what to choose. If I have to clean up a big mess, again, I can't figure out where to start. Big grocery stores are troublesome for me, as there is too much to look at, at one time. It's sensory overload, just like carnivals or circuses. Well, scratch that - I hate circuses, so I would never go there. But whenever there are a lot of choices or decisions or things to look at, I sometimes have a hard time distinguishing what is what. I decided that this is from adult ADD, but then it may not be that at all. It could be that I'm just weird. That's probably the best explanation.
So, I'll be moving home and won't be living with old people after this week. So it seems a good time to complete my blog. But I really don't want to. I mean, it can't go on forever and ever, so it has to end at some point, and this is the most logical point. Maybe I'll start another blog on an entirely different topic. I really don't know what to do, but I'm not done yet. I still have four days left living with old people, and I have no doubt my parents will give me something more yet to write about.
My dad, on the other hand, gave up a long time ago. It makes me sad to watch him, a figure who looks nothing like he did when he was younger. He sits in his chair all day, watching the news or the military channel or the channel about animals. This is his escape from the reality that he will die one day. He either sits in his chair watching tv or sits in his office at his computer. I tried to get him into the pool when it was warmer, but for some reason, he wouldn't budge. He never goes anywhere and doesn't even sit on the screened in porch, where he would at least get some fresh air. I ask them to open up the doors in the morning to bring in some kind of breeze, otherwise it's stuffy and sad in here. There's something about fresh air that gives life to what is dull. My father, I determined, is just sitting there, waiting to die. Not consciously, I think, but because he does nothing, he mindlessly watches the world go by via the tv and computer, even though every now and then he calls my brother to change one of his stocks. My kids are not coming down to get me after all. I'm disappointed about that, because my parents would both have enjoyed Ashanti and it would have given my dad a change in his day.
I'll be flying home this week and instead of sitting here writing, I should be packing. I'm being very lazy about this for some reason. I'm not sure what I should take and what I should leave here. Because I'm flying, I can't take it all like I was planning. I really don't have that much stuff, so it's not a big deal, but I've never been good at making choices. If you give me a menu with a hundred things on it, I calmly freak out because I don't know what to choose. If I have to clean up a big mess, again, I can't figure out where to start. Big grocery stores are troublesome for me, as there is too much to look at, at one time. It's sensory overload, just like carnivals or circuses. Well, scratch that - I hate circuses, so I would never go there. But whenever there are a lot of choices or decisions or things to look at, I sometimes have a hard time distinguishing what is what. I decided that this is from adult ADD, but then it may not be that at all. It could be that I'm just weird. That's probably the best explanation.
So, I'll be moving home and won't be living with old people after this week. So it seems a good time to complete my blog. But I really don't want to. I mean, it can't go on forever and ever, so it has to end at some point, and this is the most logical point. Maybe I'll start another blog on an entirely different topic. I really don't know what to do, but I'm not done yet. I still have four days left living with old people, and I have no doubt my parents will give me something more yet to write about.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
It Was What It Was
I am back in Florida for a few weeks and then I am moving back up north to live with my daughter. My parents are doing well - my mom actually looks good and my father is doing well, however he looks like Howard Hughes. He refuses to cut his hair or his beard until he absolutely has to and wears a baseball cap on his head, I suppose to feel young again. I don't know. I hope he doesn't scare Ashanti when she comes in a couple weeks. This is the same man who made my brothers wear crew cuts when they were young, and wore his hair like that as well, all the years I was comin' up. It was definitely not the style at the time and I'm sure my brothers hated their hair like that. He was exactly like that sgt. in the Marines on the TV show "Gomer Pyle," way back in the 60's. In fact, when I watched the show, it was scary how much that actor and my dad looked and acted alike.
When I first walked in the house, I noticed that my mom looks much better. She actually had more skin on her face and looked healthy. She told me that she gained 5 pounds and I told her that that was awesome. She still weighs herself at Publix on the giant scale in the front of the store. I'm positive that she still announces to whoever is around at the time how much she weighs. She delights in this as much as I delight in a hot fudge sundae. As much as I love my mom, we are so not alike. She and I have much different ideas about beauty, self and raising children.
My mother is, in the truest sense of the word, a food "nazi." No matter which room in the house she is in, if I go into the kitchen at any time of day or night, she will be in there in the matter of seconds. She is quickly alerted by the sound of the refrigerator door being opened, no matter how quiet I try to be. Sometimes I think she flies in there with a swoosh of her wings. She feels she must sit or stand, guarding the refrigerator and watching every single morsel I put in my mouth. She will recite endearing phrases such as "Don't forget dinner is in twenty minutes," or "Why don't you go and take a nap now," or "Is that all the cookies that are left?" She has, and always had, a vehement desire to see that my brothers and I adhere to her strict serving sizes and demand for complete food submission. And because she was such a food "nazi" when we were coming up, as soon as her foot stepped out of the house, we would steal as much food as we could from the refrigerator and the freezer in the basement. And so, you see, because she wanted us so much to be thin and trim, she actually caused us to all be overweight. It's such a reverse-psychology kind of thing that I learned in grade school. She has yet to learn this and I'm sure it puzzles her why she never got us the way she wanted us.
The freezer in the basement was awesome. It held little pound cakes and treats that we would gleefully eat and then stuff the wrappers at the bottom of the garbage can. We did this for a long time before she actually began to wonder why the treats in the freezer seemed to disappear so fast. Those treats were not for us - they were for my father, who also got to eat ice cream from the container, eat off bricks of chocolate my Nana would bring for him and drink pop - all of which were off limits to us. Instead, we would have Jello for dessert, or fruit, or something equally not as exciting as what my dad would get. We would drool watching him down a 1/2 carton of ice cream with a spoon and imagined what it would be like to be able to do that. It became too much torture, so we actually snuck and ate several times out of the container, attempting to make the spoon carvings just like my dad's, and we got away with it for awhile. That is until she made my dad put the ice cream in a bowl.
In comparison, my kids pretty much ate whatever they wanted to, when they wanted to. I mean, I made dinners most of the time, but they were usually simple meals and I didn't worry about how many carbs there were, etc. I was always tired coming home from work, so I bought a lot of frozen pizzas and made tons of macaroni and cheese, because we received "free" cheese when my kids were young. The cheese was so processed that it hardly melted - it would just sit there and you really had to mix it up good or it was one big blob. But it was food (I think) and it filled our bellies. They also ate a lot of Ramen noodles. Whatever was cheap and still filled the belly. I never hounded my kids on what they ate or didn't eat. I never told them that people were starving in China so they had to finish all the food on their plate. I was determined that I wouldn't raise my kids the same way I was raised, but I probably should have made them healthier meals. When you're on welfare or making minimal money at your job and still have to pay for day care, the cheapest food is what you could afford. I'm not proud of that fact - but it's just the reality of it. It was what it was. It is what it is. I like that phrase a lot. It is what it is. Simple but absolutely true, without going into a plethora of explanations.
When I first walked in the house, I noticed that my mom looks much better. She actually had more skin on her face and looked healthy. She told me that she gained 5 pounds and I told her that that was awesome. She still weighs herself at Publix on the giant scale in the front of the store. I'm positive that she still announces to whoever is around at the time how much she weighs. She delights in this as much as I delight in a hot fudge sundae. As much as I love my mom, we are so not alike. She and I have much different ideas about beauty, self and raising children.
My mother is, in the truest sense of the word, a food "nazi." No matter which room in the house she is in, if I go into the kitchen at any time of day or night, she will be in there in the matter of seconds. She is quickly alerted by the sound of the refrigerator door being opened, no matter how quiet I try to be. Sometimes I think she flies in there with a swoosh of her wings. She feels she must sit or stand, guarding the refrigerator and watching every single morsel I put in my mouth. She will recite endearing phrases such as "Don't forget dinner is in twenty minutes," or "Why don't you go and take a nap now," or "Is that all the cookies that are left?" She has, and always had, a vehement desire to see that my brothers and I adhere to her strict serving sizes and demand for complete food submission. And because she was such a food "nazi" when we were coming up, as soon as her foot stepped out of the house, we would steal as much food as we could from the refrigerator and the freezer in the basement. And so, you see, because she wanted us so much to be thin and trim, she actually caused us to all be overweight. It's such a reverse-psychology kind of thing that I learned in grade school. She has yet to learn this and I'm sure it puzzles her why she never got us the way she wanted us.
The freezer in the basement was awesome. It held little pound cakes and treats that we would gleefully eat and then stuff the wrappers at the bottom of the garbage can. We did this for a long time before she actually began to wonder why the treats in the freezer seemed to disappear so fast. Those treats were not for us - they were for my father, who also got to eat ice cream from the container, eat off bricks of chocolate my Nana would bring for him and drink pop - all of which were off limits to us. Instead, we would have Jello for dessert, or fruit, or something equally not as exciting as what my dad would get. We would drool watching him down a 1/2 carton of ice cream with a spoon and imagined what it would be like to be able to do that. It became too much torture, so we actually snuck and ate several times out of the container, attempting to make the spoon carvings just like my dad's, and we got away with it for awhile. That is until she made my dad put the ice cream in a bowl.
In comparison, my kids pretty much ate whatever they wanted to, when they wanted to. I mean, I made dinners most of the time, but they were usually simple meals and I didn't worry about how many carbs there were, etc. I was always tired coming home from work, so I bought a lot of frozen pizzas and made tons of macaroni and cheese, because we received "free" cheese when my kids were young. The cheese was so processed that it hardly melted - it would just sit there and you really had to mix it up good or it was one big blob. But it was food (I think) and it filled our bellies. They also ate a lot of Ramen noodles. Whatever was cheap and still filled the belly. I never hounded my kids on what they ate or didn't eat. I never told them that people were starving in China so they had to finish all the food on their plate. I was determined that I wouldn't raise my kids the same way I was raised, but I probably should have made them healthier meals. When you're on welfare or making minimal money at your job and still have to pay for day care, the cheapest food is what you could afford. I'm not proud of that fact - but it's just the reality of it. It was what it was. It is what it is. I like that phrase a lot. It is what it is. Simple but absolutely true, without going into a plethora of explanations.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
A Letter to the Church
When even one person dies or becomes seriously ill in the body of Christ, it affects us all. It's like a ripple effect that groans with pain, even for those who knew not the peron who died or became ill. That makes the meaning of "body of Christ" much more real. I've heard that term for over 31 years now and I had an idea what it meant, but now I experienced what it means. Just as when you burn a finger or stub your toe, that particular pain affects my whole body, and until it starts to mend itself, that's all I can think of. The same applies to the mourning and grief of one who has died. Time is what heals in this situation and the scripture that says, "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning," is the absolute truth.
The young man who died the other day was only 25. So young with so much life to live. And yet it was cut short for only reasons that God knows. And I think of all the young men and women who end up in prison for the rest of their lives for their own doing and I mourn the waste of a life. And life or living becomes more paramount in my mind. When you're young, you tend to think that you have the whole world in your hands and that you're invincible. When you get older, you realize that none of that is true and you think quite a bit more about life and death and eternity. And you realize that the days we have here are truly short indeed.
I don't mean to be a downer for those who are reading this, but I sincerely believe that we need to examine our lives often to make sure we are living the best way we can. I want to be a blessing to others and live my life as one pleasing unto God. And because that is sometimes so difficult, I pray all the time that God's will would be done in my life.
I know some of you will roll your eyes over that statement, but that's ok. We each have to find our own way in life, and I've found mine. And you're thinking "I wish she would have written something funny instead," but there is a time for every season. I personally would much rather laugh out loud than cry, but that's just not the way life is. I picture in my mind that life is one very long (or perhaps short) road that has hills followed by valleys all along the way. So we're not always sad, but we're not always happy either. Kind of like a roller coaster. Kind of like the moods of someone with bi-polar. Except we're all in the same boat, traveling down this road of life together. A boat traveling down a road. Ok, not a great analogy, but you get the gist.
Love others, be kind to others and be a blessing to others. We just never know when our time on this road comes to an end.
The young man who died the other day was only 25. So young with so much life to live. And yet it was cut short for only reasons that God knows. And I think of all the young men and women who end up in prison for the rest of their lives for their own doing and I mourn the waste of a life. And life or living becomes more paramount in my mind. When you're young, you tend to think that you have the whole world in your hands and that you're invincible. When you get older, you realize that none of that is true and you think quite a bit more about life and death and eternity. And you realize that the days we have here are truly short indeed.
I don't mean to be a downer for those who are reading this, but I sincerely believe that we need to examine our lives often to make sure we are living the best way we can. I want to be a blessing to others and live my life as one pleasing unto God. And because that is sometimes so difficult, I pray all the time that God's will would be done in my life.
I know some of you will roll your eyes over that statement, but that's ok. We each have to find our own way in life, and I've found mine. And you're thinking "I wish she would have written something funny instead," but there is a time for every season. I personally would much rather laugh out loud than cry, but that's just not the way life is. I picture in my mind that life is one very long (or perhaps short) road that has hills followed by valleys all along the way. So we're not always sad, but we're not always happy either. Kind of like a roller coaster. Kind of like the moods of someone with bi-polar. Except we're all in the same boat, traveling down this road of life together. A boat traveling down a road. Ok, not a great analogy, but you get the gist.
Love others, be kind to others and be a blessing to others. We just never know when our time on this road comes to an end.
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