My dad has been watching this show that I find revolting, and it's causing me to jump up on my soapbox to vent a bit. The show is something about officers on the Mexican border that try to arrest people who are trying to cross the border. I'm sure I will no doubt offend someone with this blog, so you may want to stop reading it now.
I know very little about politics because I hate it, so these are just my personal feelings and viewpoints. How and when did crossing the border become a crime? I know, I know, they have been policing the Mexican border, in particular, for a long time, but what I mean is, why is this a crime? It's a simple question, with what I assume is a complicated answer, but I want to know. When my grandparents came over to the United States from Russia and Poland, it wasn't a crime; in fact, it was very common at that time because so many people immigrated here from all parts of the world. So why should it be a crime for Mexican men, women and children to want a better life for their families, by trying to come here? It shouldn't be.
I understand that there are "bad" people who smuggle drugs and arms and lord knows what into our country, but I'm not talking about them. Those guys have so much money that it's probably quite easy for them to come into this country. I'm talking about the scores of poor people who only want to provide for their families by taking jobs here that no one else wants. How many Americans do you see washing dishes in a restaurant or providing maid service at hotels, for minimum wage or even lower? Very, very few. Most of those who I've seen are Mexican and probably here "illegally" because the goverment has made it nearly impossible to get work Visas.
Now I know very little about this issue. What makes me so angry is that good people are being deprived the opportunity to come into the US to work because they can't find this economy in their own country. This is the same scenario it was for immigrants at the turn of the previous century. No different. They wanted to provide more for their families, so they immigrated here. So why is it now "illegal" for Mexicans to try and do the same? On this show, they treat these people as criminals because some idiot came up with the idea to make it illegal to cross into the U.S. from Mexico. Why?
The answers I've heard are:
"Because they take away jobs from Americans." They work jobs most Americans won't work.
"Because they smuggle drugs into this country." Ridiculous. ALL of these people are drug smugglers??
"We have too many people here now." Ridiculous. Give me a break. I told you, I would offend some of you...
"They get on welfare and drain our welfare system." That could be true, but not any truer than the millions of people who have descended from African, and European relatives who also drain our welfare system.
Any way you slice it, this whole issue makes me really angry. Angry - not mad - my mom says "only dogs get mad." I'm not saying just open up the borders and let everyone in the world in; but what I am saying is to stop making it criminal, and give these people a chance at a better life for themselves and their children; they're obviously not getting this in Mexico.
And now, as I descend from my soapbox, I hope you still love me as I still love you. We can always agree to disagree, as someone wise once told me. Who that was, I can't remember, but I like the phrase, so I use it often...
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Bedtime
My mom is doing something very annoying lately. She will get ready for bed and get all tucked in, having taken her medicine, done everything she needs to do and then we all say good night and I go on the other side of the house to my room and my dad goes into his office, which is next to my room. But, oh, about a half hour later, as I am sitting down with my laptop doing whatever I'm doing, my mom calls from her bedroom for one of us to come there. I just saw her. What could she possibly want now? The other night, she was hungry and asked me to bring her some cereal. So I told her to keep the box in her room so when she gets hungry, it's right there for her. She thought that was a good idea, so I journeyed back to my room. Last night, she called again, about a half hour after "going to bed," and this time I went over there and she said that my dad didn't put the walker close enough to the bed, so I pushed it over to the bed. I said, "Ok, mom, now go to sleep," half-kidding and half-serious. It's like the child that is constantly asking for something after putting them to bed - milk, having to go to the bathroom, etc. She and my dad have a walkie-talkie thing-a-mi-jig that she can talk into and my dad hears her if she needs him. So she does this every night after she is supposed to go to bed. My dad is getting really aggravated, so I am left to go over there to see what she could possibly need. Apparently, the sleeping pill isn't kicking in or strong enough and that's why she lays awake, probably wondering what she can ask for next.
This afternoon, I came into the kitchen and mom was making "her" dinner. I asked her what she was doing and she said that we have been eating so late that she would try eating earlier - it was an "experiment." I said that we would just eat earlier and my dad growled something from the den. Apparently, she woke him up to see if he was ready to eat. He wasn't. But since she insisted on eating earlier, I continued to make dinner for everyone. Her theory was that if she eats dinner earlier, then there is more time from when she ate until when she goes to bed, and maybe that will help her fall asleep better. Whether her theory is right or not, it's silly and a pain for me to have to make meals twice, so I said we're all going to eat at the same time. So we all ate together and boy, was that a joyous moment. My dad was particularly unhappy about being woken up and was very crabby at the table. He kept yelling at Kita which I was getting mad about, so I quickly ate and cleared the table in lightening speed. He went back to his chair (where he wanted to be in the first place) and fell back asleep.
I have to figure out how to get both of their hearing checked - it's driving me crazy. Neither one of them can hear me, much less each other and I am constantly saying or asking the same thing twice - as they are. Maybe I need my hearing checked too. I feel like an interpreter, telling my dad what my mom said and vice versa. I try to start out loud but that doesn't always work either. I'm learning that if I say "Dad" first before the sentence, then I have his attention and can continue on, although he still doesn't always hear me. But I also think he has selective hearing because he hears things he's not supposed to hear when I'm whispering to my mom. My father refuses to go to the doctor, for any reason, so that's a wash right there. My mom would go, but that just means another doctor appointment I have to schlep her to.
Surgery on her left hip is now scheduled for September 14 and the pre-op is a week before that. In addition to all of this, she just found out she has Vertigo, which is a disorder that causes you to be very dizzy and she finally got medication for it. For a woman who was extremely healthy her whole life, my mom is sure acquiring a lot of problems. I guess that is inevitable as you age, though. Hopefully, after she heals from this surgery, she'll feel well once again. If that does become the case, I figure, my work here will be just about done...
This afternoon, I came into the kitchen and mom was making "her" dinner. I asked her what she was doing and she said that we have been eating so late that she would try eating earlier - it was an "experiment." I said that we would just eat earlier and my dad growled something from the den. Apparently, she woke him up to see if he was ready to eat. He wasn't. But since she insisted on eating earlier, I continued to make dinner for everyone. Her theory was that if she eats dinner earlier, then there is more time from when she ate until when she goes to bed, and maybe that will help her fall asleep better. Whether her theory is right or not, it's silly and a pain for me to have to make meals twice, so I said we're all going to eat at the same time. So we all ate together and boy, was that a joyous moment. My dad was particularly unhappy about being woken up and was very crabby at the table. He kept yelling at Kita which I was getting mad about, so I quickly ate and cleared the table in lightening speed. He went back to his chair (where he wanted to be in the first place) and fell back asleep.
I have to figure out how to get both of their hearing checked - it's driving me crazy. Neither one of them can hear me, much less each other and I am constantly saying or asking the same thing twice - as they are. Maybe I need my hearing checked too. I feel like an interpreter, telling my dad what my mom said and vice versa. I try to start out loud but that doesn't always work either. I'm learning that if I say "Dad" first before the sentence, then I have his attention and can continue on, although he still doesn't always hear me. But I also think he has selective hearing because he hears things he's not supposed to hear when I'm whispering to my mom. My father refuses to go to the doctor, for any reason, so that's a wash right there. My mom would go, but that just means another doctor appointment I have to schlep her to.
Surgery on her left hip is now scheduled for September 14 and the pre-op is a week before that. In addition to all of this, she just found out she has Vertigo, which is a disorder that causes you to be very dizzy and she finally got medication for it. For a woman who was extremely healthy her whole life, my mom is sure acquiring a lot of problems. I guess that is inevitable as you age, though. Hopefully, after she heals from this surgery, she'll feel well once again. If that does become the case, I figure, my work here will be just about done...
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
DNA
Ok, so I'm browsing the internet when I happen upon an article on sweat, believe it or not. Seeing that we've already discussed this subject at length, I thought I would copy and paste a portion of it here because I thought it was interesting:
Perspiration may be biologically useful, but it also tends to pour from your pores at inopportune times. We tell you how to stay dry.
Perspiration may be biologically useful, but it also tends to pour from your pores at inopportune times. We tell you how to stay dry.
The Basic Biology
"Bodily functions such as digestion and muscle movements generate heat, and we perspire constantly to keep things chilled. So while you're busy patting down your sweat 'stache, your system is on AC overdrive, sending and fielding a complex network of cooldown codes. Here's what's happening in your body:
1. In response to scorching temps or frazzled nerves, your brain fires a sweat signal down your spinal cord, triggering the release of a chemical called acetylcholine.
2. The acetylcholine shoots from your spinal cord into thousands of nerves that travel to your legs, arms, chest, face, and back.
3. The acetylcholine arrives at your 4 million eccrine glands (wedged between your fat and skin layers) and prompts them to start filtering fluid from your bloodstream to produce sweat.
4. Your eccrine glands then pump out the stuff—99 percent water, 1 percent salt—through your skin's millions of pores.
5. The released sweat helps regulate your core temperature, much like splashing yourself with cold water helps you cool off. Most sweat starts to evaporate immediately, but if your glands are working overtime, it'll pool up on your skin. Or, if you’re dressed, it’ll seep into your clothes.
Ways to Stay Dry
Even people who think they're as dry as a desert are constantly losing water, says Dee Anna Glaser, M.D., a professor of dermatology at Saint Louis University School of Medicine. "Just the act of breathing makes us sweat." On average, we perspire enough each day to fill a shot glass (1.5 ounces), and that's before working out or otherwise exerting ourselves. Because the highest concentrations of sweat glands are in our armpits, forehead, soles, palms, and scalp, those tend to be our dampest parts. If you're a real drippy mess, you can thank Mom and Dad; DNA regulates the actual amount we sweat, says Glaser."
"Bodily functions such as digestion and muscle movements generate heat, and we perspire constantly to keep things chilled. So while you're busy patting down your sweat 'stache, your system is on AC overdrive, sending and fielding a complex network of cooldown codes. Here's what's happening in your body:
1. In response to scorching temps or frazzled nerves, your brain fires a sweat signal down your spinal cord, triggering the release of a chemical called acetylcholine.
2. The acetylcholine shoots from your spinal cord into thousands of nerves that travel to your legs, arms, chest, face, and back.
3. The acetylcholine arrives at your 4 million eccrine glands (wedged between your fat and skin layers) and prompts them to start filtering fluid from your bloodstream to produce sweat.
4. Your eccrine glands then pump out the stuff—99 percent water, 1 percent salt—through your skin's millions of pores.
5. The released sweat helps regulate your core temperature, much like splashing yourself with cold water helps you cool off. Most sweat starts to evaporate immediately, but if your glands are working overtime, it'll pool up on your skin. Or, if you’re dressed, it’ll seep into your clothes.
Ways to Stay Dry
Even people who think they're as dry as a desert are constantly losing water, says Dee Anna Glaser, M.D., a professor of dermatology at Saint Louis University School of Medicine. "Just the act of breathing makes us sweat." On average, we perspire enough each day to fill a shot glass (1.5 ounces), and that's before working out or otherwise exerting ourselves. Because the highest concentrations of sweat glands are in our armpits, forehead, soles, palms, and scalp, those tend to be our dampest parts. If you're a real drippy mess, you can thank Mom and Dad; DNA regulates the actual amount we sweat, says Glaser."
That's it? They said they would, but they didn't tell us (me) how to stay dry! That's probably because they have no idea. Or maybe they are suggesting that I carry a shot glass around with me so I can "fill it up" after a good day of sweating. I've determined it's a plague for only some people, although it is clear by this report we all do sweat. But not all of us show it. Some people sweat quietly, lady-like and refined. But I have to sweat with a loudspeaker, like a construction worker under the hot sun.
Thank God for DNA. It proves people are either murderers or innocent, and look - it also determines how much we will end up sweating. Now that's really profound scientific knowledge. So the next time someone looks at me strange when there is water dribbling down my head and creating puddles in my neck area, I will just blame it on my parents.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Revelation
When I came out of the pool today, I sat in the warm sunlight and the wind was blowing. I smelled something familiar and closed my eyes to think of what it was. It was a memory of when I was a kid, and it all came back to me in that moment. It was right before dinner, I was at the park, playing basketball with the boys. I remember the weather was warm and the wind blowing and I could sense the same feelings I felt when I was at the park. The sun was still high in the sky, but you could tell it was getting around dinnertime and I would have to be leaving soon to walk back home. But I would get in all the basketball I could before having to go home. After dinner, I would run right back to the park and play until it got dark. That was the sign that I had to be home. But for that moment this afternoon, I found myself back when I was 11 or 12, enjoying the weather just like I was today. It's so hard to believe that was 45 years ago. A lifetime has happened between then and now.
The other day, I took a survey in a magazine about being happy. The article began by asking the question, "Are you happy?" Well, since I was curious, I took the survey, I got a score in the area where I was labeled "Happy." I smiled and thought about it for a minute and I realize that I really am -- happy, I mean. I don't think there's a time in my life from the time I was a kid playing basketball at the park until now, where I can truthfully say I was happy. I don't know particularly why I wasn't - I just wasn't. When I was teenager, I was suicidal and when I was a young woman, I was busy with my children, and frustrated and unhappy because I always wanted a complete family - a husband and father for my children. But then when they became grown, I still longed for a husband/companion and since I had none, that also made me unhappy. I worked for what seemed like forever that paid the bills and helped me raise my kids, but I was still unhappy - it wasn't what I wanted to do with my life, but it was what I ended up doing because that's all I knew. I grew so physically and emotionally exhausted because of all of the pain in my body, I could hardly function these past couple years, and that left me with feelings of unhappiness and hopelessness.
And now here I am caring for my parents and caring for myself at the same time, and I can finally say, I am happy. I didn't need a magazine to tell me that, but it just confirmed what I already knew. I'm still without a companion, I miss my kids and grandkids terribly and I'm still in a great deal of pain, but I am content for the first time in my life that I can ever remember. I am content and happy to know that I am helping my parents live their lives, as well as my own. It's a personal revelation for me, to know and finally feel this way. It's my testimony to my faith in God. I thank Him that He has brought me to this point, for without the endless strength and love He has given me, I would have given up a long time ago.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Rice
My dad's little world consists of sitting and sleeping in his chair and eating in the den while watching tv, going to the bathroom which is adjacent to the den and monkeying around on his computer in his office which is adjacent to the bathroom. I call it "The Schwartz Triangle." Thankfully, no one gets lost going or coming from that area. And he is very content with this. I've been trying to get him out in the pool, but he refuses. He said one day he may surprise me. I want him to exercise his legs because they look like potato sticks. He has the normal bump where the kneecap is, but the rest of his leg, all the way up to his hip, looks like skeleton legs. I think if he walked around in the pool, that it would bring some of his muscle mass back, but I can't get him in the pool. Once my mom can do the steps, she'll come in the pool and it will do her a lot of good.
We are waiting for the doctor to call us with the date of her next surgery on her left hip, which has been bad all of this time. The implanted pins in her hip have slipped and are poking out of her bone, so she's in constant pain. Surgery has been delayed all of this time because of her other hip surgery, and then we were waiting for the Mersa to go away. The doctors have told us its gone, so now we're just waiting for them to schedule the surgery. These clinics down here really take their time doing things. It's very annoying. But then I'm not the one with the pins poking out of my bones; my mom has much more patience than I do.
It's getting to the point that when I make dinner, I hold my breath to see if my dad will like it or not. I mean, he critiques every meal and so I am getting used to his saying that "This is good, sis." He has a couple of times said, "I really don't like this. Could you have done something different with it?" I'll either say I didn't like it either or yeah, I missed something. Funny, but he's usually right. So I made chocolate chip cookies this afternoon, which he really likes, but this time they didn't turn out right. They were puffy and gross, with not a lot of flavor. I couldn't figure out what I did wrong. My mom said maybe the margarine wasn't right, and for sure, that's what it was. I should have used butter, but even if I used margarine, I would need to use the stick kind - not the kind in the tub, which is what I used. Oh well - we stick everything in the freezer here, so that's where they went too. When they're frozen they're really not that bad.
We had enchiladas that I found in the frozen section at the store tonight. They were very good, but the funny thing is they were filled with rice. My dad hates rice, and when he began to eat, my mom and I just looked at each other with sly grins, waiting for my dad's critique. After a minute, he said, "I like this, but it's really not that spicy." I don't know how he can tell with all the BBQ sauce he dumps on it, but that's ok - he ate it. And he didn't even know there was rice in there because the sauce disguised it. I don't know what he thought he was eating - maybe some mysterious Mexican ingredient. My mom and I laughed about it after dinner. Now I'm going to get more courageous and see what other rice dishes he won't be able to recognize, because my mom and I both like rice. I love it, but I haven't made it since I've been down here.
My mom is growing really attached to Kita, and I think it's doing her wonders. Now I know why people bring dogs into nursing homes and hospitals - they're very therapeutic. I'm glad that she's being more than just a companion for me. Sometimes it's the small things in life, like the love of a dog, that we overlook or take for granted, but end up meaning so much.
We are waiting for the doctor to call us with the date of her next surgery on her left hip, which has been bad all of this time. The implanted pins in her hip have slipped and are poking out of her bone, so she's in constant pain. Surgery has been delayed all of this time because of her other hip surgery, and then we were waiting for the Mersa to go away. The doctors have told us its gone, so now we're just waiting for them to schedule the surgery. These clinics down here really take their time doing things. It's very annoying. But then I'm not the one with the pins poking out of my bones; my mom has much more patience than I do.
It's getting to the point that when I make dinner, I hold my breath to see if my dad will like it or not. I mean, he critiques every meal and so I am getting used to his saying that "This is good, sis." He has a couple of times said, "I really don't like this. Could you have done something different with it?" I'll either say I didn't like it either or yeah, I missed something. Funny, but he's usually right. So I made chocolate chip cookies this afternoon, which he really likes, but this time they didn't turn out right. They were puffy and gross, with not a lot of flavor. I couldn't figure out what I did wrong. My mom said maybe the margarine wasn't right, and for sure, that's what it was. I should have used butter, but even if I used margarine, I would need to use the stick kind - not the kind in the tub, which is what I used. Oh well - we stick everything in the freezer here, so that's where they went too. When they're frozen they're really not that bad.
We had enchiladas that I found in the frozen section at the store tonight. They were very good, but the funny thing is they were filled with rice. My dad hates rice, and when he began to eat, my mom and I just looked at each other with sly grins, waiting for my dad's critique. After a minute, he said, "I like this, but it's really not that spicy." I don't know how he can tell with all the BBQ sauce he dumps on it, but that's ok - he ate it. And he didn't even know there was rice in there because the sauce disguised it. I don't know what he thought he was eating - maybe some mysterious Mexican ingredient. My mom and I laughed about it after dinner. Now I'm going to get more courageous and see what other rice dishes he won't be able to recognize, because my mom and I both like rice. I love it, but I haven't made it since I've been down here.
My mom is growing really attached to Kita, and I think it's doing her wonders. Now I know why people bring dogs into nursing homes and hospitals - they're very therapeutic. I'm glad that she's being more than just a companion for me. Sometimes it's the small things in life, like the love of a dog, that we overlook or take for granted, but end up meaning so much.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Schizophrenic Dynamic Relationship
Mom asked me this morning how to punch in 2 minutes on the microwave to cook her oatmeal. I looked at her thinking she was kidding, but she wasn't. Ok, so I told her what it was and moved on, but realizing that she really is getting dementia. I hate this and Alzheimer's disease. When my mom's mom, my Nana, got older, she came to live down in Florida near my mom. She had Alzheimer's disease when she moved down here and she went into a nursing home that specialized in that. Every time I came down to visit my parents, I would visit my Nana and every time she grew worse and worse. In the beginning, she would laugh and talk but wouldn't make much sense. After that, she would laugh but it was a nervous and misplaced laugh and you didn't know what she was laughing at and she didn't recognize me any longer. Next came her holding a doll and stroking it's fake hair, and not recognizing anyone, including my mom. Near the very end she would just stare past me, with no expression on her face at all. It was an obvious progression into oblivion, where only she knew where she was. I tried to talk to her every time I went to visit her, but I got nowhere, and I would end up leaving and crying on the way back to my parent's.
I remember it was my mother's birthday, August 14th several years ago, and she had just come back from visiting my Nana. I had bought her an outfit and I wanted her to try it on, which she did. She came out to show my dad and I what it looked like and then all of a sudden, she broke down in tears. She cried and said that her own mother doesn't know who she is and it was her birthday. I just sat there feeling very awkward, and my dad got angry - his usual response. I forced myself to get up and hug my mom and tell her everything would be all right, even though I knew it wouldn't be. She gathered herself together quickly, because my mom doesn't exhibit her emotions like that normally, and went to her room to take her new clothes off. I felt really sorry for my mom, as I thought it must be terrible for your own mother not to know who you are. And now this just might happen to me. I guess that means that we need to live our lives, holding our loved ones as close as we can, for as long as we have, because no one can predict the future.
My dad screamed out, twice, in his sleep again last night. It woke me up and I was confused and at first thought it was some guy in the street, then I realized it was too late at night for anyone in this neighborhood to be out in the street. I waited to see if I should go out and help him, but I didn't hear him so I assumed he went back to sleep and then I fell back asleep. He said this morning that he's never done this before, and now it's happened twice since I've been here. I ask him if he remembers what he's dreaming about and he says no. This is really bothering me, as it is like a howl, an agonizing howl coming from a man who never shows emotion except anger.
I hope my dad doesn't sleepwalk and go into the living room. That is where Kita has decided to do her duty as she refuses to go outside. So I put a big sheet down on the living room floor, but don't ya know, she poopoos right outside the edges of the sheet. I'm hoping the peepee is on the sheet, but I can't readily see that. No one ever goes in the living room, so if my dad were to unwittingly walk in there and step in her doodoo, he would be livid. My mom is my spy and tells me when Kita has done her duty, which kicks me into action of quietly disposing the evidence. Kita wags her tail as if to say, "Good mommy, good mommy," and I glare at her, as if that will do any good. After all is said and done, my parents are really enjoying her, as she jumps into their laps and gives them kisses, and they get to talk to her like she's a baby. Even my dad, with his strict, military demeanor melts when she jumps into his lap - unless of course he's sleeping. Then everyone gets to hear some choice words of disapproval.
Kita likes to take one morsel of food and bring it to another place, like under the dining room table or on a chair - you know, a more comfortable place to dine. Yesterday, she took her morsel to one of his chairs and he went a bit off. He said, "Sharon, you have to stop her from doing that," and I said, "How would I do that, dad? It's not hurting anything - she eats it all up." He just smirked and we continued eating, but sometimes I don't think my dad is happy unless he complains about something. Then it's, "Get down, get down, I said get down!" when she is jumping up on his legs at the dinner table. I told him, "She doesn't understand "get down," but will probably jump even more thinking you're playing with her." So dinnertime has become a circus with Kita jumping up and down, my dad yelling at her to get down, the tv is blasting about what the stock market did today or the loud monotone voices of PBS newscasters, me telling my dad to leave my dog alone and my mom sitting silently eating, seemingly oblivious to it all.
The thing about my family, though, is we can be really angry with one another one minute, then the next minute, we're just fine. It's a schizophrenic dynamic relationship, which I just made up. How else can you explain such nonsense? I love my parents, and I know they love me, but oy vay. We most defintely have a schizophrenic dynamic relationship, in the purest sense.
I remember it was my mother's birthday, August 14th several years ago, and she had just come back from visiting my Nana. I had bought her an outfit and I wanted her to try it on, which she did. She came out to show my dad and I what it looked like and then all of a sudden, she broke down in tears. She cried and said that her own mother doesn't know who she is and it was her birthday. I just sat there feeling very awkward, and my dad got angry - his usual response. I forced myself to get up and hug my mom and tell her everything would be all right, even though I knew it wouldn't be. She gathered herself together quickly, because my mom doesn't exhibit her emotions like that normally, and went to her room to take her new clothes off. I felt really sorry for my mom, as I thought it must be terrible for your own mother not to know who you are. And now this just might happen to me. I guess that means that we need to live our lives, holding our loved ones as close as we can, for as long as we have, because no one can predict the future.
My dad screamed out, twice, in his sleep again last night. It woke me up and I was confused and at first thought it was some guy in the street, then I realized it was too late at night for anyone in this neighborhood to be out in the street. I waited to see if I should go out and help him, but I didn't hear him so I assumed he went back to sleep and then I fell back asleep. He said this morning that he's never done this before, and now it's happened twice since I've been here. I ask him if he remembers what he's dreaming about and he says no. This is really bothering me, as it is like a howl, an agonizing howl coming from a man who never shows emotion except anger.
I hope my dad doesn't sleepwalk and go into the living room. That is where Kita has decided to do her duty as she refuses to go outside. So I put a big sheet down on the living room floor, but don't ya know, she poopoos right outside the edges of the sheet. I'm hoping the peepee is on the sheet, but I can't readily see that. No one ever goes in the living room, so if my dad were to unwittingly walk in there and step in her doodoo, he would be livid. My mom is my spy and tells me when Kita has done her duty, which kicks me into action of quietly disposing the evidence. Kita wags her tail as if to say, "Good mommy, good mommy," and I glare at her, as if that will do any good. After all is said and done, my parents are really enjoying her, as she jumps into their laps and gives them kisses, and they get to talk to her like she's a baby. Even my dad, with his strict, military demeanor melts when she jumps into his lap - unless of course he's sleeping. Then everyone gets to hear some choice words of disapproval.
Kita likes to take one morsel of food and bring it to another place, like under the dining room table or on a chair - you know, a more comfortable place to dine. Yesterday, she took her morsel to one of his chairs and he went a bit off. He said, "Sharon, you have to stop her from doing that," and I said, "How would I do that, dad? It's not hurting anything - she eats it all up." He just smirked and we continued eating, but sometimes I don't think my dad is happy unless he complains about something. Then it's, "Get down, get down, I said get down!" when she is jumping up on his legs at the dinner table. I told him, "She doesn't understand "get down," but will probably jump even more thinking you're playing with her." So dinnertime has become a circus with Kita jumping up and down, my dad yelling at her to get down, the tv is blasting about what the stock market did today or the loud monotone voices of PBS newscasters, me telling my dad to leave my dog alone and my mom sitting silently eating, seemingly oblivious to it all.
The thing about my family, though, is we can be really angry with one another one minute, then the next minute, we're just fine. It's a schizophrenic dynamic relationship, which I just made up. How else can you explain such nonsense? I love my parents, and I know they love me, but oy vay. We most defintely have a schizophrenic dynamic relationship, in the purest sense.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Weather
I love the sky and the clouds down here. I think because Florida is so flat that you can see a huge sky with huge clouds. You can see way off in the distance where it is raining, even though it could be sunny where you are. Every day, it starts off sunny and clear in the morning, and then as the day goes on, clouds start creeping across the sky until they become dark and full, and then it storms. This happens every day. Maybe it's the rainy season or something, I really don't know. But it will be weird for me as Fall approaches and it doesn't get a whole lot cooler here. I love Fall - it's my favorite season. I love to see the leaves turning colors and the cool weather. But I guess that won't happen down here. I will be back in Madison for a week in October, so at least I'll get a little bit of Fall in me then. What I won't miss is the winter with the cold and snow. Funny - I used to love snow, but I sure don't any more.
When we were kids, we would make caves out of the snow and I remember a particularly bad year, it was 1967 or 68, where we had a blizzard in Chicago. Everything shut down and we were stuck at home for a few days. Of course, we loved it because we didn't have to go to school and we could play in the snow. It was then that my brothers and I made tunnels and caves in the snow in our front yard. The snow fell so much that when it was shoveled and packed, it was higher than I stood. We wouldn't come in the house until we absolutely had to, and then our cheeks were red and frozen and our hands were too if we weren't wearing our mittens. Sometimes my mom had hot chocolate waiting for us, which we drank down and went right back out into the snow. We had a blast.
But it was when I got older and started driving that I began to dislike the snow. Driving in it is just a drag. I don't mind watching it fall and especially on Christmas to see clean, white snow -- but in rush hour and when there is ice, it's a real pain in the neck. When Jason was just a baby, I lived in the city and there were few parking places on the streets in front of your apartment; so when I got one, I tried to stay there so no one else could take it. One year, the snow was so bad, that when the snow plows ran through the streets, they buried our cars that were parked at the curb and we had to literally dig them out. It seemed impossible at the time, but with Jason in a carseat waiting patiently, I dug out what I could and then drove back and forth, back and forth to rock/ram my car through the snow only to race to the daycare provider and then race to work. Needless to say, there were many of those days that I was late for work.
The first year I lived in Madison, I experienced an ice storm for the first time in my life. I was on the beltline coming home, and I lived on Simpson Street at the time. Everyone was driving at a reasonable speed as it was raining, but turning to sleet, I thought. I first saw it on the light poles, that they began to shine and then I realized I was skidding and not driving at all. I looked around and everyone else was breaking and it freaked me out that I naturally slammed on the breaks too, when that is the opposite of what I should have done, and my car began to spin. Fortunately, I got it under control and went very slow the rest of the way home. Cars were crawling, it was so slippery, and it was a miracle that I made it home. I'll never forgot the phone lines and the street lamps, that they were so beautiful as they glistened from the ice against the light. Beautiful but deadly at the same time.
Now I hear that there is a hurricane approaching the U.S. and originally the forcasters thought it would hit Florida, but now it won't be. A few days ago, people were talking about "the storm" and saying what they needed to do to be ready for it. My physical therapist even cancelled my appointment on Saturday because of it. I was amazed, but my mom said that places always shut down when a hurricane might be coming their way. I guess they do that everywhere. All I know of is tornadoes and there isn't a whole lot of warning for those - they just hit and there's not a lot you can do when they hit. I guess there also was an earthquake on the east coast a few days ago, which is really strange. I didn't know they get earthquakes.
All of these strange and continuing weather patterns, gets me to thinking what the Bible says about weather and the "last days." What does it say? In all honesty, I can't remember which scriptures it is, but if you dig yours out, dust if off and begin reading, you'll find it too.
When we were kids, we would make caves out of the snow and I remember a particularly bad year, it was 1967 or 68, where we had a blizzard in Chicago. Everything shut down and we were stuck at home for a few days. Of course, we loved it because we didn't have to go to school and we could play in the snow. It was then that my brothers and I made tunnels and caves in the snow in our front yard. The snow fell so much that when it was shoveled and packed, it was higher than I stood. We wouldn't come in the house until we absolutely had to, and then our cheeks were red and frozen and our hands were too if we weren't wearing our mittens. Sometimes my mom had hot chocolate waiting for us, which we drank down and went right back out into the snow. We had a blast.
But it was when I got older and started driving that I began to dislike the snow. Driving in it is just a drag. I don't mind watching it fall and especially on Christmas to see clean, white snow -- but in rush hour and when there is ice, it's a real pain in the neck. When Jason was just a baby, I lived in the city and there were few parking places on the streets in front of your apartment; so when I got one, I tried to stay there so no one else could take it. One year, the snow was so bad, that when the snow plows ran through the streets, they buried our cars that were parked at the curb and we had to literally dig them out. It seemed impossible at the time, but with Jason in a carseat waiting patiently, I dug out what I could and then drove back and forth, back and forth to rock/ram my car through the snow only to race to the daycare provider and then race to work. Needless to say, there were many of those days that I was late for work.
The first year I lived in Madison, I experienced an ice storm for the first time in my life. I was on the beltline coming home, and I lived on Simpson Street at the time. Everyone was driving at a reasonable speed as it was raining, but turning to sleet, I thought. I first saw it on the light poles, that they began to shine and then I realized I was skidding and not driving at all. I looked around and everyone else was breaking and it freaked me out that I naturally slammed on the breaks too, when that is the opposite of what I should have done, and my car began to spin. Fortunately, I got it under control and went very slow the rest of the way home. Cars were crawling, it was so slippery, and it was a miracle that I made it home. I'll never forgot the phone lines and the street lamps, that they were so beautiful as they glistened from the ice against the light. Beautiful but deadly at the same time.
Now I hear that there is a hurricane approaching the U.S. and originally the forcasters thought it would hit Florida, but now it won't be. A few days ago, people were talking about "the storm" and saying what they needed to do to be ready for it. My physical therapist even cancelled my appointment on Saturday because of it. I was amazed, but my mom said that places always shut down when a hurricane might be coming their way. I guess they do that everywhere. All I know of is tornadoes and there isn't a whole lot of warning for those - they just hit and there's not a lot you can do when they hit. I guess there also was an earthquake on the east coast a few days ago, which is really strange. I didn't know they get earthquakes.
All of these strange and continuing weather patterns, gets me to thinking what the Bible says about weather and the "last days." What does it say? In all honesty, I can't remember which scriptures it is, but if you dig yours out, dust if off and begin reading, you'll find it too.
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