I'm sitting in the den with my father, Jasmine and Micah, listening to the conversation Micah is having with my dad. Micah is a preacher inside and out and my dad is actually listening. I think the older he gets, the more he is mellowing out and becoming less narrow-minded. Years ago, he would have stopped the conversation before it even started. And now, he's actually discussing the bible with my son. People can and actually do change.
We had a good day today. First, we all went to see my mom and she was happy to see everyone. Jade and Donovan lit up her eyes as she played and sang with them. Later, we went to my brother, Danny's house. First we went to the barn and met his miniature horse and standard horse, who were both so beautiful. I had never been that close to a horse, where his nose was right in my face and he snorted and blew on me - it was pretty funny. His eyes were so telling and it seemed he knew what I was saying. He nudged me to keep petting him. He was actually sweating on his skin from the heat. We also met his five dogs - a mastiff, collie, shitzu and 2 chiuhuas. They were all wonderful, except for the chiuhuas who kept barking - they were real obnoxious. It was really hot outside, so we decided to go swimming in Danny's pool. Afterward, we left when Danny took Jason and the kids to the Tampa Airport hotel as his plane leaves in the morning. I hated to kiss my grandkids goodbye, but I'll be seeing them in a few weeks when I go home, so I kept telling myself that.
It was great having Jas and the kids here this past week. And my dad even behaved himself, which was a surprise. It was a little hectic at times, but that's what children bring to the picture, so it was just fine. Both the kids had a blast swimming in the pool and looking for the alligators. We actually saw an alligator floating down the canal a few days ago. Jason took a video of it and I stood there watching as I couldn't believe how big it was. And to see it in person just several yards away, was surrealistic for sure.
Jade kept my dad entertained and he loved playing with her. He showed a gentle side of himself as he communicated with her. He seemed to really love it. It was fun to have them here this week, for both my mom and dad, as well as myself. But alas, they had to leave to get back to their lives in Madison and so they went on their way. Micah, Jasmine and I went out to dinner and afterwards, they went to the beach to watch the sun go down. I was exhausted, so I stayed home with my dad and we watched the news until they came home.
And so, we are in the den talking and that is something I enjoy doing, but my father didn't always converse with me like this. For some reason, he always made it clear that he thought I was an "idiot" and what I had to say really didn't matter or didn't make sense. I don't know why he acted like that - but he never took me seriously. I don't know what I ever did to cause him to act that way. All I do know now, is that we are improving our relationship slowly, day by day, and I don't think he thinks I'm an idiot anymore...
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Regrets
Old people especially seem to look back on their lives and think about all the regrets they have of what they should have done or what they shouldn't have done. Younger people don't have enough time spent to look back on their lives and critique it. However, if perhaps I would have critiqued my life earlier, I would not have so many regrets now.
But I do have many regrets, as most of us do. I regret not going to the Art Institute of Chicago when I got out of high school. My father would have paid for it, but I was kind of a screwed up kid and my priorities were different back then. Instead, I worked at odd jobs, got high and hung out with friends. I would visit my Uncle Erwin (who I named Micah after) with my dog, Louie, and I would sit and listen to him as he told me all about his colorful past. Even though he was raised an orthodox Jew, he was the first person to ever tell me about Jesus. My family considered him eccentric, but he was just a simple, loving man who was terribly lonely and old. His only son died in World War II and he was divorced twice. He lived alone in a tiny apartment in Chicago and we would eat cheese sandwiches and he would reminisce. He told me that he once had a black girlfriend long before he was married. During that day and age, it was extremely taboo, so I was really impressed to hear that. I was a rebel, and it was cool to hear that my great uncle was one too. He was the kindest man I had ever known at the time and I regret to this day lying to him.
I became pregnant in 1975 and I didn't know what to do, so I decided to get an abortion. I didn't have the money at the time, so I lied to my uncle and told him I needed to fix my car and he lent the money to me, but all the while, I felt like he knew I was lying. He died of cancer the following year and I always regretted lying to him, and although I did pay him back every penny, I never told him the truth.
When I had the abortion, I was so young and naive, that I wasn't prepared for what was going to happen. The only way I can describe it is like having a vacuum cleaner attachment put inside you and when the doctor turned it on, I could see my belly moving up and down, uncontrollably, with a strong, incredibly uncomfortable sucking feeling going on inside of me. When the whole thing was over, I was taken to the "recovery" room where another girl was laying and she seemed totally okay with the whole thing. She told me that this had been her sixth or seventh abortion and I had a hard time believing anyone could do this thing more than one time. I laid there, bleeding heavily and cried, but I really didn't know what I was crying about. My parents never taught me that it was wrong and yet I felt this tremendous loss along with pain; the kind of which that only if you have had one, could you ever understand what it is like. I knew instinctively it was wrong, on every possible level, even though I was never taught or shown that. To this very day, the greatest regrets in my life were the two abortions that I had. The first one was out of ignorance and the second one was out of medical necessity, or so I thought.
When I moved to Madison in 1978, I became very sick with a lung infection. I went to the area hospitals, but no one could figure out how to heal me. I was bedridden for months because I couldn't breathe. Jason was just 2 years old and during this time, the TV in the motel I stayed at did most of the babysitting for him. Finally, I went to a new clinic out in Mt. Horeb and met with a young doctor. He gave me a shot of something that immediately opened up my lungs and then put me on steroids for several days. The infection cleared up and I could breathe easier, but it was during this time that I found out I was pregnant again. I had so much medicine pumped into me that I feared the baby would be affected by it, especially the steroids, so I decided to have another abortion. This time, I borrowed the money from a friend and "took care of the problem," justifying it because of the medication. Unfortunately, I had the same pain and the same emotional shock that I had the first time - it hadn't changed, even though I thought my reasoning was sufficient. It wasn't, but I had no one to turn to for help and advice, so once again I made a regretful decision that day.
I wonder sometimes if I will see my aborted babies in heaven. Sometimes I cry to think of the mistakes I've made that cannot be undone and sometimes I marvel at the stupidity of the many decisions I've made. And always, when I think of the many regrets in my life, I thank God for His mercy and grace, and the patience and love He has for me. Without that constant reminder, my life would be nothing more than one giant mistake after another...
But I do have many regrets, as most of us do. I regret not going to the Art Institute of Chicago when I got out of high school. My father would have paid for it, but I was kind of a screwed up kid and my priorities were different back then. Instead, I worked at odd jobs, got high and hung out with friends. I would visit my Uncle Erwin (who I named Micah after) with my dog, Louie, and I would sit and listen to him as he told me all about his colorful past. Even though he was raised an orthodox Jew, he was the first person to ever tell me about Jesus. My family considered him eccentric, but he was just a simple, loving man who was terribly lonely and old. His only son died in World War II and he was divorced twice. He lived alone in a tiny apartment in Chicago and we would eat cheese sandwiches and he would reminisce. He told me that he once had a black girlfriend long before he was married. During that day and age, it was extremely taboo, so I was really impressed to hear that. I was a rebel, and it was cool to hear that my great uncle was one too. He was the kindest man I had ever known at the time and I regret to this day lying to him.
I became pregnant in 1975 and I didn't know what to do, so I decided to get an abortion. I didn't have the money at the time, so I lied to my uncle and told him I needed to fix my car and he lent the money to me, but all the while, I felt like he knew I was lying. He died of cancer the following year and I always regretted lying to him, and although I did pay him back every penny, I never told him the truth.
When I had the abortion, I was so young and naive, that I wasn't prepared for what was going to happen. The only way I can describe it is like having a vacuum cleaner attachment put inside you and when the doctor turned it on, I could see my belly moving up and down, uncontrollably, with a strong, incredibly uncomfortable sucking feeling going on inside of me. When the whole thing was over, I was taken to the "recovery" room where another girl was laying and she seemed totally okay with the whole thing. She told me that this had been her sixth or seventh abortion and I had a hard time believing anyone could do this thing more than one time. I laid there, bleeding heavily and cried, but I really didn't know what I was crying about. My parents never taught me that it was wrong and yet I felt this tremendous loss along with pain; the kind of which that only if you have had one, could you ever understand what it is like. I knew instinctively it was wrong, on every possible level, even though I was never taught or shown that. To this very day, the greatest regrets in my life were the two abortions that I had. The first one was out of ignorance and the second one was out of medical necessity, or so I thought.
When I moved to Madison in 1978, I became very sick with a lung infection. I went to the area hospitals, but no one could figure out how to heal me. I was bedridden for months because I couldn't breathe. Jason was just 2 years old and during this time, the TV in the motel I stayed at did most of the babysitting for him. Finally, I went to a new clinic out in Mt. Horeb and met with a young doctor. He gave me a shot of something that immediately opened up my lungs and then put me on steroids for several days. The infection cleared up and I could breathe easier, but it was during this time that I found out I was pregnant again. I had so much medicine pumped into me that I feared the baby would be affected by it, especially the steroids, so I decided to have another abortion. This time, I borrowed the money from a friend and "took care of the problem," justifying it because of the medication. Unfortunately, I had the same pain and the same emotional shock that I had the first time - it hadn't changed, even though I thought my reasoning was sufficient. It wasn't, but I had no one to turn to for help and advice, so once again I made a regretful decision that day.
I wonder sometimes if I will see my aborted babies in heaven. Sometimes I cry to think of the mistakes I've made that cannot be undone and sometimes I marvel at the stupidity of the many decisions I've made. And always, when I think of the many regrets in my life, I thank God for His mercy and grace, and the patience and love He has for me. Without that constant reminder, my life would be nothing more than one giant mistake after another...
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Babies and Puppies
I watched as Jason came into the house last night, swept up his kids and sat down with both of them in front of my dad, his Papa. He is proud of his children and was introducing them to his Papa and it reminded me of the Lion King presenting his son, Simba, to the kingdom. I remember Leah doing the same thing with Shanti, putting her in Papa's arms. Today, we will go to the nursing home and Jas will present his kids to Gigi (my mom, their great-grandma).
I think it's a common, unspoken ritual, because I remember doing the same thing after I had Jason. Jason was 2 months old and I flew down to Atlanta, where my parents were living at the time. I was so proud of my new-born baby, and so I "presented" him to my parents. They, however, were not receptive at the time. After all, their daughter was not married to the baby's father, he was black and not Jewish. My child had everything stacked against him at the time. In fact, I was in the bathroom and I heard Jason start crying and my mother was right near him but wouldn't pick him up. I had to hurry up and finish to go and get him to answer his need. I looked at my mother like, "Why didn't you at least pick him up??" But she stood there looking puzzled and confused as not to know what to do. Later that evening we had an uncomfortable conversation, initiated by my father and it was at that time that I stated emphatically that my baby has done nothing wrong, and if they couldn't accept him as he was, then I didn't want anything to do with them and I would leave and never see them again. They knew I was serious, and it was soon after that, that my parents changed their attitude toward myself and my son. Thank God they did, because I would have done what I said as I loved my baby and I would protect him from all evil and harm as much as I could.
That was 35 years ago, and today my parents absolutely adore my children - and now their great-grandchildren. I'm not saying I was right to give them that ultimatum, but I was a momma bear protecting her baby cub, no matter what came our way. Thankfully, many people, including my parents, have changed after all these years, regarding inter-racial families. Attitudes needed to change, and for those who have not, I feel it's their own loss. God is "no respecter of persons," then why should I be?
My mom was thrilled when we brought the kids to see her today. She has never seen Jade and so this was extra-special for her. Donovan walked around telling the old folks "Hi" and they responded so excitedly that little children were walking the halls. Even when Jade started crying because she was so tired, some people who were in the halls, just smiled and laughed and thought she was so cute. The folks that live there permanently get excited when dogs and kids come to visit. It's actually therapy for them (as well as everyone else), and they enjoy these visits so much.
Children have a way of piercing some of the coldest hearts. There's something about the love and affection of a child, that most of us respond to in a most positive way. A kiss, a hug or a smile can brighten up even the gloomiest of dispositions. The same is true with puppies. They're full of love and kisses and who can resist them? We all want to be loved - even those who don't show it. That's why we respond the way we do to puppies and children. Old people in nursing homes are especially needy in this area. Years ago when I was involved in a nursing home ministry, I found that many of the people there never got visitors; either they had no children and few friends, or in some cases, the children never visited them. I couldn't believe it, but the staff told me that it was true. The people who needed love and affection the most, were void of it the most. There's something seriously wrong with that. I see it every day visiting my mom. Half of the people there are recovering from surgery and getting rehab, but the other half are residents there. The saving grace in this nursing home are the CNA's. They do absolutely everything except for giving out the medication, and yet they are gentle and kind to the residents there. I think it takes an incredibly strong and comitted person to do these jobs. I've seen them stroke the patient's hair or shoulder and even give a kiss on the cheek. I've seen them do this with my own mother and she eats it up. I'm so thankful that these workers do what they do. They are truly some of the most unsung heroes that I know.
I think it's a common, unspoken ritual, because I remember doing the same thing after I had Jason. Jason was 2 months old and I flew down to Atlanta, where my parents were living at the time. I was so proud of my new-born baby, and so I "presented" him to my parents. They, however, were not receptive at the time. After all, their daughter was not married to the baby's father, he was black and not Jewish. My child had everything stacked against him at the time. In fact, I was in the bathroom and I heard Jason start crying and my mother was right near him but wouldn't pick him up. I had to hurry up and finish to go and get him to answer his need. I looked at my mother like, "Why didn't you at least pick him up??" But she stood there looking puzzled and confused as not to know what to do. Later that evening we had an uncomfortable conversation, initiated by my father and it was at that time that I stated emphatically that my baby has done nothing wrong, and if they couldn't accept him as he was, then I didn't want anything to do with them and I would leave and never see them again. They knew I was serious, and it was soon after that, that my parents changed their attitude toward myself and my son. Thank God they did, because I would have done what I said as I loved my baby and I would protect him from all evil and harm as much as I could.
That was 35 years ago, and today my parents absolutely adore my children - and now their great-grandchildren. I'm not saying I was right to give them that ultimatum, but I was a momma bear protecting her baby cub, no matter what came our way. Thankfully, many people, including my parents, have changed after all these years, regarding inter-racial families. Attitudes needed to change, and for those who have not, I feel it's their own loss. God is "no respecter of persons," then why should I be?
My mom was thrilled when we brought the kids to see her today. She has never seen Jade and so this was extra-special for her. Donovan walked around telling the old folks "Hi" and they responded so excitedly that little children were walking the halls. Even when Jade started crying because she was so tired, some people who were in the halls, just smiled and laughed and thought she was so cute. The folks that live there permanently get excited when dogs and kids come to visit. It's actually therapy for them (as well as everyone else), and they enjoy these visits so much.
Children have a way of piercing some of the coldest hearts. There's something about the love and affection of a child, that most of us respond to in a most positive way. A kiss, a hug or a smile can brighten up even the gloomiest of dispositions. The same is true with puppies. They're full of love and kisses and who can resist them? We all want to be loved - even those who don't show it. That's why we respond the way we do to puppies and children. Old people in nursing homes are especially needy in this area. Years ago when I was involved in a nursing home ministry, I found that many of the people there never got visitors; either they had no children and few friends, or in some cases, the children never visited them. I couldn't believe it, but the staff told me that it was true. The people who needed love and affection the most, were void of it the most. There's something seriously wrong with that. I see it every day visiting my mom. Half of the people there are recovering from surgery and getting rehab, but the other half are residents there. The saving grace in this nursing home are the CNA's. They do absolutely everything except for giving out the medication, and yet they are gentle and kind to the residents there. I think it takes an incredibly strong and comitted person to do these jobs. I've seen them stroke the patient's hair or shoulder and even give a kiss on the cheek. I've seen them do this with my own mother and she eats it up. I'm so thankful that these workers do what they do. They are truly some of the most unsung heroes that I know.
Monday, July 4, 2011
My Kids
I'm thinking that all the sun I'm getting from swimming, that the red/tan my skin turns will help disguise the red blotches on my face! Those blotches horribly remind me of the movie "The Blob," that I saw when I was a kid. A bunch of us went to the Skokie Theater and paid $.35 to see this movie. The gist of the movie was this giant, red blob that was trying to overtake a city. It was made in the 50's or 60's at the same time they made "Godzilla." Now we would watch these movies today and just laugh because they were so unrealistic and ridiculous. But back then, I'm sure we were scared to death. But then the Skokie Theater was scary itself. There were always older kids throwing popcorn at us from the back. It was dark and spooky, you could hardly find your seat. The screen was hidden by a huge red, velvet curtain that opened quite majestically when the show was to begin. There were no commercials back then, except for maybe an advertisement to buy popcorn and candy. The show always started with a cartoon or two, but because this was a scarey movie, I don't think it had one. I know - my imagination runs a bit wild at times. The red blotches on my face really don't compare with "The Blob." It's far worse.
Poor Jas. His plane has now been delayed 3 times. He was due in here at 6, and they keep delaying it by the hour, so now he's due in Tampa at 9. It takes an hour and a half to get there, so I should leave here about 2 hours ahead because I have no idea how to get there. I just spoke to him and he said the kids are running wild. I told him to let them! What else can they possibly due in an airport? Besides, they'll run until their little legs are tired and probably fall asleep on the plane. That's what he wants, because there's nothing worse for you or the other people on the plane, than to hear a kid wailing. I was always fortunate when I flew down to see my parents when my kids were babies. The whir of the engines must have something to do with lulling them to sleep. That and threatening them to be quiet or to the bathroom we would go with the "wooden spoon." Little did they know that we both wouldn't be able to fit in the tiny closet they call a bathroom, much less me spank their tushy with the spoon. Just the threat was usually enough to quiet them down and go to sleep.
Micah dreaded the wooden spoon, because he met with it the most out of my three. He had a stubborn streak and a naughty side that most people don't believe today. Oh... but he did. One time in church, and we always sat up towards the front in the 2nd or 3rd row on the right side, Pastor Grant was preaching a rather long-winded message and Micah was getting very antsy. He kept whining and asking when we were going to go home and I kept telling him, "Soon, soon." At one point in the sermon, there was a lull when he took a drink of water and Micah stood to his feet, looking straight up to my pastor and said, "Are you done yet?" Well he was loud enough so the first few rows heard what he said, as well as Pastor and his reply was, "Yes, Micah, I'm almost done." I was so embarrassed, I whisked him up and to the bathroom we went, with wooden spoon in my side pocket. People were laughing, so I didn't spank him that night, but there were plenty of other nights that all I had to do was put my hand on the spoon and look at him, that he stopped the naughty thing that he was doing. Out of my three children, he was the most strong-willed and I broke many a wooden spoon on his behind. He survived - and I'm very proud of him, because today Micah is an associate pastor at Christian Life Center in Stockton, California and he has an awesome ministry with his wife, Jasmine, and the young people in their church, ages 18 to 35. He's working on his Master's Degree now in Theology, and works full time at the church as well as teaches some classes at the CLC college. Jasmine teaches at the CLC school that is on campus and is also involved in the music ministry, as she has a beautiful soprano singing voice.
Leah just finished her Master's Degree in Psychology and will be looking for work when her, Parris and Shanti move to California. Leah was fortunate enough to get her education online while she stayed home with Ashanti. Parris also just graduated from steam-fitting school and after he finishes a certain number of hours of on-the-job training, he will be an official union Steamfitter. I'm so proud of both of them. Going to school while raising a child is not an easy task, but Leah completed it with a high grade point average. More important than that (to me) is the fact that Ashanti is a wonderful, polite and caring little girl who minds her parents very well. Leah and Parris have done an excellent job raising her thus far and I'm real proud of them. Raising kids in this day and age is incredibly difficult. But Ashanti has a great head start and besides, she has ME for her grandmother, so she can't go wrong!
Jason got his Bachelor's Degree from the University of Wisconsin and has been a Madison police officer for several years. I'm very proud of him, even though I wish he would get a different job. Being an officer is one of the hardest jobs you can have and I worry about him when he's on the beat. There are insane people out there doing insane things. Just another reason why I pray for my children and grandchildren every single day. Jason has two children, Jade and Donovan, who he shares custody with his ex-wife. They do every other week and he has them this week, which is why he is coming down now. I can't wait to surprise my mom. We were going to do it tonight, but now it will be tomorrow because she usually goes to bed early.
Frankly, I don't know where my kids got their "smarts" from - it surely wasn't me. I was lucky to get C's and D's in high school and what's worse is that I could have cared less at the time. But the bigger question is, and I don't condone running out and getting pregnant, but who said that a single mother can't raise kids that stay out of jail and go to college? Just sayin....
Poor Jas. His plane has now been delayed 3 times. He was due in here at 6, and they keep delaying it by the hour, so now he's due in Tampa at 9. It takes an hour and a half to get there, so I should leave here about 2 hours ahead because I have no idea how to get there. I just spoke to him and he said the kids are running wild. I told him to let them! What else can they possibly due in an airport? Besides, they'll run until their little legs are tired and probably fall asleep on the plane. That's what he wants, because there's nothing worse for you or the other people on the plane, than to hear a kid wailing. I was always fortunate when I flew down to see my parents when my kids were babies. The whir of the engines must have something to do with lulling them to sleep. That and threatening them to be quiet or to the bathroom we would go with the "wooden spoon." Little did they know that we both wouldn't be able to fit in the tiny closet they call a bathroom, much less me spank their tushy with the spoon. Just the threat was usually enough to quiet them down and go to sleep.
Micah dreaded the wooden spoon, because he met with it the most out of my three. He had a stubborn streak and a naughty side that most people don't believe today. Oh... but he did. One time in church, and we always sat up towards the front in the 2nd or 3rd row on the right side, Pastor Grant was preaching a rather long-winded message and Micah was getting very antsy. He kept whining and asking when we were going to go home and I kept telling him, "Soon, soon." At one point in the sermon, there was a lull when he took a drink of water and Micah stood to his feet, looking straight up to my pastor and said, "Are you done yet?" Well he was loud enough so the first few rows heard what he said, as well as Pastor and his reply was, "Yes, Micah, I'm almost done." I was so embarrassed, I whisked him up and to the bathroom we went, with wooden spoon in my side pocket. People were laughing, so I didn't spank him that night, but there were plenty of other nights that all I had to do was put my hand on the spoon and look at him, that he stopped the naughty thing that he was doing. Out of my three children, he was the most strong-willed and I broke many a wooden spoon on his behind. He survived - and I'm very proud of him, because today Micah is an associate pastor at Christian Life Center in Stockton, California and he has an awesome ministry with his wife, Jasmine, and the young people in their church, ages 18 to 35. He's working on his Master's Degree now in Theology, and works full time at the church as well as teaches some classes at the CLC college. Jasmine teaches at the CLC school that is on campus and is also involved in the music ministry, as she has a beautiful soprano singing voice.
Leah just finished her Master's Degree in Psychology and will be looking for work when her, Parris and Shanti move to California. Leah was fortunate enough to get her education online while she stayed home with Ashanti. Parris also just graduated from steam-fitting school and after he finishes a certain number of hours of on-the-job training, he will be an official union Steamfitter. I'm so proud of both of them. Going to school while raising a child is not an easy task, but Leah completed it with a high grade point average. More important than that (to me) is the fact that Ashanti is a wonderful, polite and caring little girl who minds her parents very well. Leah and Parris have done an excellent job raising her thus far and I'm real proud of them. Raising kids in this day and age is incredibly difficult. But Ashanti has a great head start and besides, she has ME for her grandmother, so she can't go wrong!
Jason got his Bachelor's Degree from the University of Wisconsin and has been a Madison police officer for several years. I'm very proud of him, even though I wish he would get a different job. Being an officer is one of the hardest jobs you can have and I worry about him when he's on the beat. There are insane people out there doing insane things. Just another reason why I pray for my children and grandchildren every single day. Jason has two children, Jade and Donovan, who he shares custody with his ex-wife. They do every other week and he has them this week, which is why he is coming down now. I can't wait to surprise my mom. We were going to do it tonight, but now it will be tomorrow because she usually goes to bed early.
Frankly, I don't know where my kids got their "smarts" from - it surely wasn't me. I was lucky to get C's and D's in high school and what's worse is that I could have cared less at the time. But the bigger question is, and I don't condone running out and getting pregnant, but who said that a single mother can't raise kids that stay out of jail and go to college? Just sayin....
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Love
Micah and Jasmine will be here on Wednesday and I'm really looking forward to that. I wish Leah, Parris and Ashanti could be here too - it would be a regular family reunion. But we usually have those during Christmas, so I can wait until then. It's getting to the point now where I am really missing my grandkids. I never knew how much I could love someone else until my grandchildren came along. I, of course, love my children with all my heart; but when my granddaughter was born, I was totally swept away by the love I have for her. And then my other grandchildren followed and it is incredible that more love just keeps pouring out. It must be a neverending supply.
There are these little gnats that are flying around in here and driving me crazy! I don't know if they're fruit flies or just plain gnats, but they love me and I am trying to kill them every time I see one land on my arm or the computer screen. They're tiny and fast so I usually miss. I wish I knew how to get rid of them without all the violence. After all, I don't want to break my laptop. Maybe my mom would have a home remedy - I should ask her.
I've gotta tell ya, that I have a real pet-peeve lately, especially on Facebook or Twitter or wherever social networks are: people who insist on telling others how they should live their lives, in a not-so-subtle way. They may "say" it in a semi-positive way, but I find that very arrogant and presumptuous and it "irks" me, as my mother would say. I think it's fascinating to learn about others and their beliefs, as well as expounding my own - but forgive me if I ever try to landblast someone else with what I believe or don't believe, and especially when it's not solicited.
I've always hated selectivity or better stated, cliques. When I was in high school, I was in neither the greaser's clic, the hippie's clic or the jock's clic. I couldn't stand that one group would refuse to accept someone else who wasn't of that group's genre. That's incredibly ignorant and I still feel this way. I have certain beliefs and standards and morals that many people may not share; but I won't diss them for not believing what I believe. Not only is that counter-productive, it's prejudicial and immature. After all, I come from a Jewish home, have 3 bi-racial children, 3 bi-racial grandchildren, 2 African American grandchildren and profess to be a Christian -- which category would that put me in??
I have been blessed with so many friends who come from so many different backgrounds. I have friends that are a constant encouragement to me like Janice, Juan and Linda; I have friends that are a lot of fun to hang out with like Barb, Sandy and Tammy; I have friends who I know would pray for me like Virginia, Rich and Jeannette; I have friends that I know I could trust my life with like Brenda, Laurie and Sharon. I could go on and on and list all of my friends who God has placed in my life and who have been such a blessing to me. And we're all different. Every single one of us. And yet I have the capacity to love and respect each and every one of them. God, please help me never to presume my friends and others need me to point out their faults and help me to show them unconditional love, just as You have showed to us. Amen.
There are these little gnats that are flying around in here and driving me crazy! I don't know if they're fruit flies or just plain gnats, but they love me and I am trying to kill them every time I see one land on my arm or the computer screen. They're tiny and fast so I usually miss. I wish I knew how to get rid of them without all the violence. After all, I don't want to break my laptop. Maybe my mom would have a home remedy - I should ask her.
I've gotta tell ya, that I have a real pet-peeve lately, especially on Facebook or Twitter or wherever social networks are: people who insist on telling others how they should live their lives, in a not-so-subtle way. They may "say" it in a semi-positive way, but I find that very arrogant and presumptuous and it "irks" me, as my mother would say. I think it's fascinating to learn about others and their beliefs, as well as expounding my own - but forgive me if I ever try to landblast someone else with what I believe or don't believe, and especially when it's not solicited.
I've always hated selectivity or better stated, cliques. When I was in high school, I was in neither the greaser's clic, the hippie's clic or the jock's clic. I couldn't stand that one group would refuse to accept someone else who wasn't of that group's genre. That's incredibly ignorant and I still feel this way. I have certain beliefs and standards and morals that many people may not share; but I won't diss them for not believing what I believe. Not only is that counter-productive, it's prejudicial and immature. After all, I come from a Jewish home, have 3 bi-racial children, 3 bi-racial grandchildren, 2 African American grandchildren and profess to be a Christian -- which category would that put me in??
I have been blessed with so many friends who come from so many different backgrounds. I have friends that are a constant encouragement to me like Janice, Juan and Linda; I have friends that are a lot of fun to hang out with like Barb, Sandy and Tammy; I have friends who I know would pray for me like Virginia, Rich and Jeannette; I have friends that I know I could trust my life with like Brenda, Laurie and Sharon. I could go on and on and list all of my friends who God has placed in my life and who have been such a blessing to me. And we're all different. Every single one of us. And yet I have the capacity to love and respect each and every one of them. God, please help me never to presume my friends and others need me to point out their faults and help me to show them unconditional love, just as You have showed to us. Amen.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
My Father
I love my father. I'm a lot like him, so I can relate to where he's coming from, most of the time. It's when we don't understand each other that we fuss and argue and it becomes dangerous territory. But really, we get along a whole lot better than we used to. There was a time that our visits to Florida with my parents always ended in a huge explosion between my father and I. I think he was basically angry with me for letting him down all those years and he expressed it in explosions. I, being the kind of person to never back down from a fight, always reciprocated with my own explosion, with my kids and mom looking on from a distance. I'm glad that doesn't happen anymore. It's too exhausting.
He critiques the meals I prepare him for lunch and dinner. He does the same thing with my mom, so I really don't mind. For breakfast, he always has the same thing, so there's nothing to critique. For lunch and dinner, he will either say, "This is very good, sis," or "This is good, sis," or "This is ok (no sis)" I think he rates them from very good, good to just ok. So far, thank God, he has never said, "Yuk! I can't eat this - this is terrible!" If he ever does say that, I'm going to tell him that this is not a restaurant and he has to eat it. Of course, I will never say that, but it's fun to picture it in my mind. That would get him really riled up, and in some ways I still fear him, so we won't do that.
He calls me either "Sis," "Sweety" or "Sharon." "Sis" and "Sweety" are when I'm either waking up, going to bed or during his meal critiques. "Sharon" is when he is serious or I've done something wrong. "Sharon Penny" hasn't been said since I was a kid and did something really wrong. Which is good because I hate my middle name.
The only recollection I have of my very early life, is what I have viewed on a video my mother made from old 8mm filmstrips. It’s difficult watching the video my mother made, generally because the majority of people on it are now dead, and it’s very depressing to see how my parents have aged. It brings tears to my eyes to see my dad sitting on a black couch (covered with see-through plastic, which is the same couch in his house today) with me on his lap and feeding me with a bottle. I think it makes me cry because I never knew my dad to be affectionate, and seeing that shows a different side of him that I never knew. I suppose he raised us the way he was raised, and that was without any affection. When he kissed me hello or goodbye, it was on top of my head. I guess that was safer than anywhere on my face. In addition, he was in the Marines, and generally ran his family like we were his little “troop.” My father always seemed angry and bitter and didn’t do a lot of talking. I think he basically was, and is, a very unhappy man. He has mellowed out, though, as he's aged. He doesn't lose his temper as often or to the intensity as he used to. And I know he loves my brothers and I and his grandchildren and great-grandchildren - he just doesn't know how to show it.
I've learned a great deal from my father and have inherited a lot from him. I have his temperament, arthritis, spinal stenosis, neuropathy and the list goes on and on. What I wished I would have inherited from him, are his skinny legs. No - I had to inherit that from my mother. Let's suffice it to say that they remind me of strange tree trunks with 10 toes. Even if I were to lose a hundred pounds, my legs would still look like tree trunks. It's so totally unfair. But I guess you gotta work with what you have, so tree trunks it is...
He critiques the meals I prepare him for lunch and dinner. He does the same thing with my mom, so I really don't mind. For breakfast, he always has the same thing, so there's nothing to critique. For lunch and dinner, he will either say, "This is very good, sis," or "This is good, sis," or "This is ok (no sis)" I think he rates them from very good, good to just ok. So far, thank God, he has never said, "Yuk! I can't eat this - this is terrible!" If he ever does say that, I'm going to tell him that this is not a restaurant and he has to eat it. Of course, I will never say that, but it's fun to picture it in my mind. That would get him really riled up, and in some ways I still fear him, so we won't do that.
He calls me either "Sis," "Sweety" or "Sharon." "Sis" and "Sweety" are when I'm either waking up, going to bed or during his meal critiques. "Sharon" is when he is serious or I've done something wrong. "Sharon Penny" hasn't been said since I was a kid and did something really wrong. Which is good because I hate my middle name.
My mother must have been delirious when I was born, because she named me Sharon Penny Schwartz. (Maybe that’s why I’ve always had a problem with finances -- it must have somehow been a deep, psychological barrier for me.) I was the second child born to my parents. Richard Paul was their first, being born in November, three years before me. Daniel Mark would be born in September, three years after me. (Notice that my brothers have strong, biblical names. In my opinion, “Penny” should have been reserved for a dog or a cat.)
Friday, July 1, 2011
Getting Old
My mom is doing much better. She's actually walking with a walker now, with help, but moving about slowly, and hopefully at this rate, she'll be ready to come home soon. She's still in a great deal of pain, but that's partially because she still needs surgery on her left hip. She broke her left hip several months ago, she had surgery and it (putting in pins) didn't work. Then before her scheduled re-surgery on her left hip, she broke her right hip and had emergency surgery on that hip. After THAT surgery, it didn't go well and they had to go back in and replace the thing they put in her hip in the first place. That's what she is recovering from now, but she still has to have surgery again on her left hip eventually. She has really been through it.
I found out today that Jason and the kids are coming to visit on Monday - I'm very excited! He has the kids and the week off, so he wanted to come and see his grandparents. I haven't told my mom - I want it to be a surprise. She will love to see her great-grandchildren, and this will be the first time she's seen Jade. And I can't wait to see my grandchildren! I only wish my Ashanti was coming too. But I'll see her in a few weeks at the end of July and I look forward to that.
I find it odd when I look in the mirror and I don't recognize who it is looking back at me anymore. I remember what I looked like when I was young and somehow the person looking back at me now looks so unfamiliar. It seems like it just happened one day and it's a very unusual feeling.
I have these ugly red blotches on my face that I'm told is Rosacea. I mean, it looks like I have the measles or something. And then there is a vacant circle the dermatologist froze off which was some sort of skin cancer, right next to my nose. It's white but there are tiny red spots around it so it looks like ringworm. Of course it's not, but it does look strange. Where did my clear complexion go? Albeit, that was over 40 years ago, but why couldn't it have stayed that way? And these awful brown spots on my arms just send me over the edge. They used to look like freckles, but now they're merging into one another and I have brown blotches all over (mostly) my right arm. I don't know why it's being selective, but I'm told they are "age spots." Great. Just another indication that I'm truly getting old. I could deny it as long as I want, but your body eventually shouts it out loud and clear.
But then, growing old isn't all bad. For me, it means I don't have to work any longer, it means that I have wonderful grandchildren to enjoy and not have to worry about supporting or raising, it means that I have friends and family I now have time to spend with, it means I can relax and choose to do whatever I want to do every day, and it means that I am just one step closer to heaven. Yeah, getting old can be a real blessing as well. I suppose it's all in the way I look at it...
I found out today that Jason and the kids are coming to visit on Monday - I'm very excited! He has the kids and the week off, so he wanted to come and see his grandparents. I haven't told my mom - I want it to be a surprise. She will love to see her great-grandchildren, and this will be the first time she's seen Jade. And I can't wait to see my grandchildren! I only wish my Ashanti was coming too. But I'll see her in a few weeks at the end of July and I look forward to that.
I find it odd when I look in the mirror and I don't recognize who it is looking back at me anymore. I remember what I looked like when I was young and somehow the person looking back at me now looks so unfamiliar. It seems like it just happened one day and it's a very unusual feeling.
I have these ugly red blotches on my face that I'm told is Rosacea. I mean, it looks like I have the measles or something. And then there is a vacant circle the dermatologist froze off which was some sort of skin cancer, right next to my nose. It's white but there are tiny red spots around it so it looks like ringworm. Of course it's not, but it does look strange. Where did my clear complexion go? Albeit, that was over 40 years ago, but why couldn't it have stayed that way? And these awful brown spots on my arms just send me over the edge. They used to look like freckles, but now they're merging into one another and I have brown blotches all over (mostly) my right arm. I don't know why it's being selective, but I'm told they are "age spots." Great. Just another indication that I'm truly getting old. I could deny it as long as I want, but your body eventually shouts it out loud and clear.
But then, growing old isn't all bad. For me, it means I don't have to work any longer, it means that I have wonderful grandchildren to enjoy and not have to worry about supporting or raising, it means that I have friends and family I now have time to spend with, it means I can relax and choose to do whatever I want to do every day, and it means that I am just one step closer to heaven. Yeah, getting old can be a real blessing as well. I suppose it's all in the way I look at it...
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