Observing Veterans Day

This just seemed appropriate today.

Bittersweet

This week, one of the boys (young men) I work with graduated from our program. He is probably one of my favorites (yes, I know I shouldn't have favorites). I have very mixed feelings about this. This is how it is supposed to work. Very troubled young men come to our program (usually by way of a court order). We provide counseling, training, mentoring and lots of supervision, they progress and then they leave us to go on to bigger and better things. That is not how it always works, some of these boys (they are young enough to be my sons, they are boys) will never acquire enough skills or self-control to move on. They are manipulative, they are lazy, they have mental health issues going on, they are very angry young men. Others will leave and then mess up and return to us. Some will learn what they need to learn and will be okay.

This particular young man calls me drill sarge, he has tested me time and time again. He has threatened me, cursed at me, confessed to me and tried to shock me. He is Eddie Haskell, but more sincere. He hates the program, but he knows that I care. He pushes and I push back. He is an extremely talented person. Lately, he has done really well, he has tapped into his talents. He has dared to dream and to form a plan to achieve it. He also has very little support network outside of our program. I hope he can hold it together, I hope he can keep his focus. I hope he keeps in touch. I hope he makes it.

I know I am Mom to many of these young men. I don't encourage it, but I know it can't be helped. Most of them need a mom. All of them need someone to believe in them, but also hold them accountable. Some of them I am quite fond of, some of them I think are punks. I try to put my personal feelings aside, I act professionally, I try to be fair. I also know that fair is not necessarily everyone getting the same thing, but everyone getting what they need. Sometimes though, I do feel like Mom. I feel that way, when they bring in torn clothes and ask me to sew them. I feel that way, when they expect me to bake them a birthday cake. I feel that way, when I call them on the carpet and they answer, "yes ma am." I have also felt that way after they are gone, when they have moved on. Yet, they call from a hospital bed after emergency surgery, or when their brother dies in an accident, or when they just show up and ask me if I would still sew something up for them.

Today, I wanted to tell my Eddie Haskell, don't forget to call me and let me know you are okay. I wanted to tell him not to forget that I cared about him. What I said was, "Good luck, stay out of trouble and don't let me see you back here." He said, "I'll see you around, Drill Sarge."

Finding my way back to gratitude

It has been almost a month since I posted anything on either blog. Things have not been bad, but I have been indifferent. Many days, my life has been a mere existence. I have been tired, going through the motions of everything I have to do. Time has been speeding past, minutes turning into hours, turning into days and weeks, with little being accomplished or even appreciated at times. I operate on auto-pilot, telling myself I will do this or that after this or that occurs. You know...I will _____, when I have more time, more money, more energy...when the weather is warmer or drier. Anyway, you get the idea. The problem with this 'treading water' type of existence is that I have lost my gratitude. Without realizing it, I stopped influencing my surroundings and let them influence me.

We all make a choice regarding our happiness. We make choices to use or to neglect our potential and our resources. I have been neglecting mine. Every day, we have the opportunity for joy. Our actions and our words can affirm and build up (both ourselves and others) or they can chastise and tear down. We can be proactive or we can be reactive. Today, I have chosen to be proactively joyful. Actually, I didn't really choose this, I encountered some things which shook me awake. I was pulled from my complacency and my slumber into a place of gratitude. I became recommitted to living and living well. I am grateful for all of the small things which I take for granted. I am grateful for all of my friends and family, even when they are demanding and annoying, for they provide me an outlet for my love and they trust me enough to be demanding and annoying. I am grateful for my aches and pains, they are not debilitating or terminal and I am alive and breathing. I am grateful for the the demands of my job, they show I am needed, I serve a purpose, I have stable employment in these times of economic turmoil. I am grateful for my home, I am blessed to have a comfortable dwelling to reside in. I am grateful that I have the ability to care for myself and others, that I am able to cook and clean and work. I am grateful for my mind, for my ability to think and process and conclude certain truths (at least as I see them). I am grateful for the food we have in our home, that I can feed myself and my family and even the pets. I am grateful for the messes I have to clean up, for it means that life goes on in this house and I am physically able to deal with it.

I can dwell on the lack in my life or on the abundance. I can speak of my complaints or of my blessings. My attitude and my focus determines my outcomes. I can live peacefully or in turmoil. My words and my actions determine not only my mood, but also my results.

These are some of the things that have blessed me today and directed me towards gratitude:

A Holy Experience
Her words touch me and sooth me. Even if you do not embrace her beliefs, her loving and gentle spirit is apparent in her messages.

NieNie
She was also recently on Oprah, watch the clip here.

The dogs were surrounding a spot in the grass this morning, they were all alarmed and barking. I went out to see what the commotion was about and found this (image found on Google, but this is exactly what it looked like)

It was very humorous to me to see my three dogs (ranging from 45 to 100 pounds) being so intimidated by a crawfish that was less than three inches long.

The sun is out and it is the weekend. I am feeling well. I will see J in a few days. I cleaned up a huge mess in the kitchen this morning, because my son cooked an excellent dinner for me last night. I am listening to beautiful music that makes my soul soar. My gratitude and joy have chased away those unwelcome squatters that are fear and anxiety. I danced with the dogs while cleaning the kitchen (both my grandchildren and dogs love dancing with me...yes, we are silly).

Hope and Change...Part 2

If you read here, you already know that I voted for Barack Obama. Obviously, many people did...he is the President you know. Since he has been in office, he has been fiercely criticized. What people forget is that he faces the insurmountable task of getting the country back on track. He has been criticized for spending too much, for reneging on campaign promises, for being a Socialist (not a bad thing in my view). Then there are those who question his citizenship, who question his motives, who question his loyalties. The attacks on him used to bother me, I thought people should give him a chance, I thought they should be more supportive. I am rethinking that, not because I no longer support him, but because at least people are talking. People are engaged. Love him or hate him, people are listening, they are debating, they are (seemingly) caring about what is happening in the country. He inspires people to take a stand (whether for or against him). He inspires people to passion. He is good looking, he is well spoken, he is intelligent (yea for intelligence in the White House!). So, whether you think he is Satan or Jesus, I think it is wonderful to have a smart, witty, and entertaining President.

In case you have forgotten how far we have come...



And how very cool is it that our President appeared on David Letterman (another smart, funny and sometimes controversial man)?



So, I encourage everyone to keep talking, keep debating, keep listening, keep caring. Take action, protest, write letters, make phone calls. Wherever you stand on the issues, just keep taking a stand. Keep being inspired and appreciate that our President is exciting.

Hope and Change

It is a rainy fall day here. The house smells faintly of wet dog and play-doh. Soon it will smell much better, I am about to start on the Bolognese sauce for dinner. I'm not sure where summer went. The grandkids are back in school, the dogs are once again obsessed with their quest to rid the world of squirrels, rainy days mean mud-tracked floors and dirt. One of my lost boys from the past, is now back in my home for the time being. I suppose everyone needs a refuge they can return to when life becomes too hard. My last post was over a month ago, it is not from a lack of thoughts, I'm just not sure I have anything worthwhile to say or that I have too much to say to condense into a manageable read. So I will resort to a rambling, disjointed myriad of what is on my mind.

The recent months have produced a list of celebrity deaths. My last post was about Ethyl Kennedy, shortly after we lost her brother Ted. Patrick Swayze succumbed to the cancer he valiantly fought. Mary Travers lost her battle as well (a much less publicized battle). I know there have been others, but these most readily come to mind. It makes me reflect on the gifts they left us. Not just the gifts they gave us in life, but the gifts of their deaths. Ted and Patrick are foremost in my mind. They faced and dealt with dying (and living with impending death) in the public eye. They did so with courage and grace. I hope that I can be half as dignified when I face my own demise. They embraced the life they had left, they refused to slip quietly into the night, they fought bravely and they accepted their fate. It gives me pause in this hurried and harried life. It makes me thankful for what I have and accepting of what I do not. It makes me reach out to family and friends. For whatever we have (and do not have) today, can all change in the blink of an eye.

I have been feeling very domestic lately. I have been in a nesting mode. I have also been evaluating the things that I want to accomplish. I few years ago, I felt I had plenty of time. Now time seems to be speeding along at warp speed. My goals haven't changed, but some things have happened that changed my path. I was supposed to finish my degree this past spring. The lack of transportation and available funds delayed that. I am now on plan B. I haven't abandoned that goal, but I have had to change boats in midstream. I know it will happen, I'm just not sure when. Occasionally, I feel a twinge of regret and resentment over the circumstances that have curtailed my plans. Then I acknowledge that I am not in control, that I will have to work within the happenings of the Universe. Overall, I am content. The lack in my life has made me appreciate what I do have. It has afforded me empathy and has made me resilient. I see my sons learning this same lesson, not as patiently and accepting as I have been, but they are learning. My whole life has been about change and having to drop back and punt. I am glad that things haven't been easy. I would not be grateful for easy.

In all of this, I have hope. I hope for a better world for my grandchildren. I hope for a life of continued learning. I hope for equality and fairness for those who have been denied it. I hope that people will be able to look beyond their own circumstance and problems and know the truth. I hope that the leaders of the country will put aside their differences and join together for the good of their constituents. I hope that people of all belief systems will be able to embrace the love and compassion that is the basis of most of those belief systems. For being a realist, I am also a hopeless romantic.







The more things change, the more they stay the same.

We lost a hero today

Eunice Kennedy Shriver died today. It was not unexpected, it has been reported that she was in the hospital and the family had been summoned. We tend to hear a lot about the Kennedy men, but not so much about the women. I do know a bit about Eunice Shriver. I work with adults with developmental disabilities, she was a champion for them.

I hold great respect and admiration for her. The world has truly lost a hero today. She worked her entire life to ensure equal opportunities and experiences for handicapped individuals. She was the first of the Kennedys to speak openly about her sister Rosemary. She used her influence with John to establish a research center for the mentally handicapped. She was a social worker. She worked for the government, helping prisoners of war readjust to civilian life. She founded the Special Olympics and worked to obtain treatment and opportunities for special needs children all over the world. She never stopped working for the causes she believed in. She was an exceptional woman.

Responsible

I am tired, tired of being responsible. Responsible for myself, responsible at work, responsible for my adult children, responsible for everything. I am angry at myself, I forgot to do some things today. I forgot to pay a bill, I will do it tomorrow, but it will cost more. I have done this to myself, I have put myself in this position. I have tried to pull away, to say "it's your deal, not my problem," but I can't. Ultimately, I let it all be my problem, I feel there is too much at stake. Some times, I wish I could just not give a fuck, but I can't, I guess it just isn't who I am. I want to be irresponsible, I want to let everything lay where it falls. But I can't, and picking up the pieces is harder than holding it all together.

I still miss him

Yesterday was Father's Day. I let it pass with little thought, there are no fathers in this house. My own father has been gone for seven years, it is now just another day, nothing to celebrate. Today, I was reading blogs, I read this on Selkie's blog. After I read it I cried, no sobbed. With impeccable timing, J called me in the midst of my little jag. He offered me comfort, his presence. He let me cry and he made me laugh. He made me realize that maybe now, seven years later, it is time to allow myself to cry and grieve, I certainly didn't allow it at the time.

My father and I had a rather tumultuous relationship at times, especially during those years of my teenage angst. I never appreciated him when I was young. There were times I resented him, even hated him, though he did nothing to garner my wrath. I saw him as being closed minded, stubborn, opinionated, pious. While he may have been many of those things, he was never pious. In fact, my father was a really good man, I just never knew that until I had met men that showed me how bad men could be.

My father was an engineer, he was smart, logical, methodical. Though, when it came to relationships he struggled. He struggled the most with our relationship. I was his antithesis. I followed my heart and not my head, I broke rules, I was a dreamer, I was unreasonable. Yet, I was very much his daughter, just as stubborn and opinionated as he was. He didn't understand me, but he always loved me. Looking back, I can see that my father also struggled with his sense of worth. He saw things in black and white, so all of those gray areas in his life, he saw as failure. I was probably his biggest gray area, I am sure he thought he had failed me.

I did not develop an appreciation of him until I was dealing with my own rebellious children and trying to cope as a single mom. He didn't interfere, but he made sure we never did without. Florida to Ohio was a long way, but when they visited he took care of things. Always practical, he bought us things like shoes, tools, cleaning supplies, oil for the car. When my home was in disrepair, he instructed me how to fix things, or sometimes he sent a check. I remember long distance phone tutorials on how to change water heater elements, how to put in a new electrical plug, how to unclog a disposal. Every summer we would drive to see them. I never had the money to stop at a hotel, so I would drive straight through. It was a long (13 hours) but doable trip. My father would always slip me money, just in case, enough for a room on the way home if I became too tired.

I remember Mom's call, seven years ago. Dad was in surgery, his cancer had spread, his kidneys shut down, he could die. He didn't die, he was a fighter. He called that week, to tell me he was okay and not to worry. He also gently hinted that he might only have a few months. I didn't want to believe it, I argued (a common thread in our relationship even then). "The doctors said this wouldn't kill you, they said that you would beat it." I told him I was coming, that week, I needed to see him. That marked the beginning of bi-weekly trips to Florida.

Driving Thursday or Friday to get there and driving Sunday or Monday to get home. I sat with him through meetings with Hospice, filling out the paperwork, including a DNR order. I sat with him at his computer, as he got his affairs and finances in order, watching it take hours for him to do what used to take minutes. I listened to him tell me what songs he wanted at his funeral. He admonished me to take care of Mom. I cooked for him, anything he wanted, while Mom would tell me I was wasting my time, because "he won't eat it anyway." The few bites he would take were my reward. I watched his weight dwindle and his step stumble. He still insisted on getting dressed when his clothes hung on him. My mother chastised him for not just wearing his pajamas. I went to Goodwill and bought him pants, several sizes and different styles, then I slipped them into another bag, because I knew he would never wear anything from Goodwill. I dutifully did chores he could no longer manage; "trim that tree back, it's hanging over the pool, sweep the pine straws off the driveway before they stain it."

Watching this slow demise, cast a light on my parent's relationship. I saw my father, devoted and adoring as ever to my mother. I saw my mother, resentful, angry, passive-aggressive. I realized that she was my ally in my teen years, because I expressed the anger that she felt toward him. I realized that I had always taken my father for granted, in part, because she always had. I cannot blame our conflicts on my mother, but in those final months, I strove to be his perfect daughter. I processed the truth of this new reality as I watched the disease ravage his body.

One day I called, to talk to my father, a daily routine, when I could not be with him. My sister answered and curtly told me, "we can't talk to you now, Dad just died." That was it, it was over. I was empty, a part of me was gone. I couldn't cry. I could hear him telling me, "be strong for your mother." I was glad that he never glimpsed the reality that I saw. That was seven years ago, I am no longer alone, I no longer have to be strong, I think it is time to grieve.

and on I read
until the day was gone
and I sat in regret
of all the things I've done
for all that I've blessed
and all that I've wronged
in dreams until my death
I will wander on
~Like a Stone - Audioslave

One Minute Writer

There are times I do not post because I feel I have nothing to say. Other times, I simply do not have time...until now. I came across The One-Minute Writer. It is a writing prompt site, but it limits you to only writing for one minute. Today's prompt was hindsight, it touched a chord in me so I am going to try it.

Since "hindsight is 20/20," I now know that...I would never want to go back and try to do it all again. It wouldn't matter, I would do things all the same or make an even bigger mess of things. And despite all of the mistakes I have made, or the bad things that have happened, there are some wonderful things I would never want to give up. I do not want to go "back to the future" and risk screwing up the gifts and lessons that I have gleaned from all of this.

Okay, one minute is a lot shorter than I thought it would be. So...I am going to finish up some thoughts. The hindsight of looking over the past, makes me like who I am now much more. It reinforces to me how blessed I am and how much I have grown. It makes me realize that some of the worst things that ever happened to me were really the best things for me at the time. It tells me I am not done growing yet, it makes me yearn for more knowledge and more experiences. It lets me know that I will never be too old to gain either one.

Dog Photographer

I have just discovered my new, absolute favorite blog. I have also discovered my new (at least for the next 10 minutes) dream profession.

Erin Vey/Bark

Now, I just need to get myself a camera!


Picture not taken by me or Erin Vey...found on Google, but sure looks like Tucker.

It's my birthday!

I really haven't dropped off the face of the earth. I have just had my ass whipped at work lately. The past few weeks I have come home exhausted and brain dead. Of course, it is also summer and my deck has been calling to me more than the computer.

Today is my birthday, I am celebrating by indulging all of my vices, eating, drinking and smoking (okay, all my vices when J is not here). I have done a little around the house today, but then I cooked myself a nice birthday dinner (accompanied by several glasses of wine). I just pulled a cake out of the oven, I will dig into that as soon as it cools. (Pineapple upside-down cake, not necessarily my favorite, but certainly the easiest when baking your own birthday cake.) J is out of the country this week, and due to an unfortunate chain of events (okay, just one unfortunate event) he has been out of the realm of communication for most of the week. Always on top of things, he sent my birthday gift prior to his trip. His birthday is soon and hopefully we will be able to celebrate both our birthdays before too long. By then, he will owe me my birthday spanking and his too.

After my silence lately, I would love to write a witty and relevant post. However, two glasses of wine renders me stupid and witless, so you get to read my pointless, self-indulgent drivel. In recapping my birthday weekend, there hasn't been much in way of celebrating, but that is not so important anymore. Last night we had severe storms and tornadoes, I probably should have taken residence in the basement, but I love storms and stood at the window watching. My son did mow the grass today, so I was happy. I also have been waiting to find out the results of Britain's Got Talent. We cannot watch it here, but I have been following Susan Boyle, along with the rest of the world. I was disappointed for about a minute, when I discovered she hadn't won. Then I saw the video of the winning dance group. All I can say is that Britain really does have talent, these guys are amazing. Here is their final performance, at least until it is no longer available (I'm sure this is probably some kind of copyright violation).



This was the final, but all of their performances were at least this good. The choreography is relevant, funny and intelligent. Their dancing is amazing. These guys are ages 12 to 25 and come from all walks of life and professions. That's enough gushing, but they really are worth a Youtube search to watch the rest of their acts.

All I really have to say is Happy Birthday to Me!!! And with that, I bid you adieu.

A little postscript edit here...since I was right and the video is no longer available, the name of the group is Diversity. You can watch their final here and their audition and semi-final here and here.

Courage

I will never understand how and why the Religious Right (who on one hand preaches love and forgiveness) feels they are justified in dictating and legislating morality and lifestyle. The tenets of Christianity are love, acceptance and forgiveness. Where are the love and acceptance here?

Love and commitment in relationships can take many forms. They are not limited by gender, race, religion, lifestyle or even a number. To deny people in loving, committed, consensual relationships the right to legalize their unions by marriage is shameful. Worse yet is to nullify already existing marriages, because they don't fit into one's idea of acceptability. People in these unacceptable relationships (whether LGBT or Poly) have already shown a greater level of commitment, courage, and problem solving than most mainstream couples. They epitomize the definition of what marriage should be. Perhaps Ken Starr and his followers should be more concerned with their own unions and the high rate of divorce among them. The prejudice and persecution of those in alternate lifestyles violates the freedoms that our country was founded on. It perpetuates falsehoods and stereotypes that breeds hatred and exclusion.

I know that this is an issue that has been going on for awhile. You may feel it is old news. Yet it continues. The battle is being played out in different states across the nation, for every step forward, there are two steps back. This is a battle that will be won, the only question is when. Whether this is being fought in your state or whether it directly effects your lifestyle, it effects us all. When the law can dictate who we love, live with, have sex with it is archaic and wrong. When people who love each other cannot care for each other, own property, provide benefits, make medical decisions, raise families it is immoral in every sense of the word. If you want to legislate morality, then let love win.

Like the song says...It breaks my heart. For more information on this issue check out the Courage Campaign.

nesting

For a few months now, I have been in a serious nesting and domestic mood (and no...I am NOT pregnant). I am not sure what the impetus for this has been and I have only been minimally acting on it, due to time and energy constraints. I have found that it is feeding into my levels of energy as well as my level of contentment, so I am going to have to make time to indulge it more.

This basic instinct and longing has been fueled by hours of time spent looking at food porn and craft and domestic sites. Most of my actions to satisfy this urge have been of a culinary nature. I do love to cook. I find that I have also been bitten by the gardening and quilting bug. My desire to dig in the dirt has been curtailed by too much rain and a lack of funds to buy seedlings and gardening supplies. I am sure it will by indulged, but on a scaled back endeavor from that of my grandiose imagination.

The quilting projects are quite another thing. What you all don't know is that I have a serious fabric fetish. Over the years, I have squirreled away an obscene amount of material, everything from yards of fabric, to fat quarters, to scraps. Many years ago, I started a Cathedral Window Quilt, which is very work intensive and a bit self-indulgent. The origin of that project has been laying dormant in my sewing box, patiently waiting for my return. My thought at this point is to make it into a lap size quilt for my granddaughter. Which means the completion of two other small quilts will be required (as to not leave out my two grandsons).

I learned to quilt from my grandmother, who mostly did applique. I have very fond memories of cutting, pinning and sewing small shapes of fabric to make beautiful pieces of art. Though my leaning has been more towards patchwork. Piecing together little scraps, that might have been otherwise discarded, in order to give them a new purpose and life. The combinations of colors and patterns seem to indulge my eclectic tastes.

Indulging in these domestic urges lately is my bliss. It also makes me feel very connected to the important and influential women in my past. I wonder if they knew how often my thoughts would turn to them in warm remembrances?

Mothers and Sons

I have been reflecting about the changes in my relationship with my sons. As we go through different stages in our lives, the parent/child relationship transitions and evolves. For almost all of my boys lives, I was a single parent. Their fathers were not ever very involved (one of them marginally and the other not at all). I would like to say that I was a model parent, a super-mom, but that would be lying. I made more than my share of mistakes, but I did try to be a constant and stable presence in their lives. I functioned as both mother and father. I made sure they had male role models and mentors. I was involved in their activities, we did family things constantly, I encouraged them and stood up for them. We had wonderful times and we had turbulent times. I always did the best that I could at the time.

Single parents get a bad rap. Whether someone makes a choice to parent on their own, or they are thrown into that role unexpectedly, it is not easy to fill two pairs of shoes. Parents may be pros at playing the guilt card, but parenting comes with its own heaping of guilt. It is filled with what if's and second guesses. As a single mother, I shouldered plenty of guilt. Guilt over their fathers (if I had chosen differently, they might have been present), guilt over working too much, guilt over being too strict or too lenient. My shoulders sagged from the guilt that I carried. I finally reached a point where enough was enough. I couldn't go back and change things, I didn't choose the circumstances, all I could do was accept and move on.

I always thought that as the boys grew up and pulled away, I would be the one to have trouble letting go. I will admit that the sense of responsibility for them is hard to overcome. I have always tried to be supportive and available. I now wonder if I have been too supportive and available. They are both now adults, but they don't always act like it. It is not as if they are under my roof and will not leave. My youngest son (age 21) does still live here, but he holds a job, has his own friends, and is rarely here. It just seems that when things become difficult for them, they call on me (before they have really tried to figure it out on their own). Lately, I have been telling them both just that. I have been closing that door (slowly), but I am about ready to change the figurative locks.

Don't get me wrong, I would lay down my life for my children. I would never let them do without the necessities. I don't want them to be homeless or starving, I just want them to be adults. Normally, my sons are loving, considerate and helpful. I do at times ask them to do things for me and they usually comply. There are times though, that they ask me for things (maybe money, my time, a task) which they know will require a sacrifice for me. I used to do everything within my power to fill the request. Lately, the answer has been no, more than it has been yes. I am not sure why they think that I (in my 50's) am more capable of doing certain things than they (in their 20's) are.

I am wondering if we all tend to take our parents for granted. I suppose that it depends greatly on the relationship that we had/have with them. I know I took my parents for granted at times, but I don't really remember a request I made of them (as an adult) that required a major sacrifice on their parts. In fact, my mother has never had a problem saying no, even when it didn't require a sacrifice. I wish saying no, came a little more easy (as it has always seemed to from their fathers). Well, practice makes perfect and I'm getting more and more practice. At least I manage to give a yes or a no with no strings attached to it. I do fight the urge to manipulate the situation into something more acceptable to me, because that that would benefit no one in the long run. I do wonder if this all is as difficult for them as it is for me?



I used to think this was a song about a couple, but maybe it is about a far too dependent child. God...I hope that I'm dead by the time they're 64!

Choices

I have a routine. Monday through Friday, I get up, take my shower, get dressed (including my shoes), go downstairs, let two dogs out, make coffee, feed the cat and take the third dog for a walk. When I get back, I let the dogs in, pack my lunch and go to work. The weekends are different. I sleep in a little longer. When I get up, I go downstairs (still in my pajamas), let the dogs out, feed the cat, make coffee and try to keep an eye on the dogs (since Tucker is an escape artist). Sometimes, like this morning, that doesn't work out for me.

I looked out the backdoor, just in time to see Tucker climbing over the fence. I ran through the house, grabbing the leash (which is strategically placed just for this scenario), and out the front door to make chase. Of course, I was still in my pajamas, unshowered, sans my morning coffee. So, yes, I probably looked a fright. It usually only takes me a block or so to catch him. I realize that this is his way of sticking to our routine of the morning walk. Today, however, he was off on a full run. Which meant I was at a full run after him (cursing under my breath). After about a half a mile, he was still ahead of me and passing a jogger. I yelled to her to please grab him for me. She stopped and turned, just as he squatted to take care of business. "Uh, he's all yours" she told me, as I caught up to him and secured the leash. Then she looked at me (in my pajamas and out of breath) disdainfully, and asked me if I wanted a bag to clean up after him.

I really am a responsible pet owner. I do clean up after my pets. I do not take the time to grab a bag when I am chasing a runaway. Apparently her house was right there, I gratefully accepted her gift of a grocery bag, and picked up after my dog.

As I was walking back home with him...trying to beat the rain and badly needing my coffee and a cigarette (yes, I know they are bad for me). I considered what she probably thought. Then I decided that I didn't care. After all, our routines weren't that different. We were both out on an early morning jog (albeit, with different motivation).

This week has been hectic, I have found myself being much more reactive than proactive. I did have a plan, it just didn't go according to schedule. I have been a bit anxious and unorganized. I have been trying to get ahead of the game at work and at home, planning for my upcoming vacation. Unfortunately, most of my efforts have been derailed by mini-crisises that have arisen all week. Sometimes, life just happens. I am good at activating plan B and adjusting to the curve ball. Though, there are times when I envy people whose lives always seem to go according to plan A. I could make some changes to ensure things followed my plan. I could be more organized, I could get completely dressed first thing on Sunday morning, I could choose not to own rescued dogs (who won't be deterred by fences and commands), I could choose a more conventional profession, I could tell my sons, now that they're adults, they're completely on their own. Without the dogs and cat and children and grandchildren, I would have more money, more time, less stress and a cleaner house. This certainly isn't the life I envisioned when I was 20. This is the life that I choose, over and over again.

Do I have regrets? Occasionally, but they don't last long. There are times when I feel a fleeting twinge after passing on new clothes and shoes, so my grandchildren will have new clothes and shoes. When I pass on a haircut, so I can buy dog food. When finishing my degree and having a running vehicle is put on hold (again), for a myriad of other needs and causes. Then I feel gratitude. Gratitude that I have good friend that allows me to ride to work with her every day. Gratitude that I feel each day on my arrival back home, seeing three furry faces at the window. Gratitude that my grandchildren are happy and healthy. Gratitude in knowing that my plans will eventually come to fruition (and it doesn't matter if I am 55 or 60 when that occurs). Gratitude, that in this economy, I have a home and a job and health insurance. Gratitude that I can be happy living out plan B.

The escape artist, after the great escape.
How can I be mad at that sweet face?

Happy Easter

I have been away for awhile. Not literally, but away from here. Between the busyness of life and some computer problems I had, I have missed writing. Though the few times I had a moment, I found myself with much to say, but not enough time or words to express it.

I have been enjoying the Spring, the renewal and newness of the world around me and a renewed mood and hopefulness within me.

Today, I wish all of you a happy Easter, a glorious spring and whatever celebration of hope that you celebrate.

It's Monday and I got nuthin'

I know we all get the same e-mails that get forwarded around the world (or at least the cybersphere) a million times. So...you may have already seen these, but I thought they were cute. At least they kept my interest for a minute.

Gardening Rule: When weeding, the best way to make sure you are removing a weed and not a valuable plant is to pull on it. If it comes out of the ground easily, it is a valuable plant.

The easiest way to find something, that has been lost around your house, is to buy a replacement.

Never take life too seriously, because nobody gets out alive anyway.

Health is merely the slowest possible rate at which one can die.

Life is sexually transmitted.

The only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth.

In the 60's people took acid to make the world weird. Now the world is weird and people take Prozac to make it normal.

How is it that one careless match can start a forest fire, but it takes a whole box of matches to start a campfire?

Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog's face, he gets mad at you, but when you take him on a car ride, he sticks his head out the window?

Whenever I feel blue, I start breathing again.

I hope you have a wonderful week. I wanted to post this video, it just shows how much you can do with so little. This is Ilana Yahav, she is a sand artist and creates pictures on a light box using only sand and her hands.

Daddy's Girl

I have mentioned my father here before. I don't think that I have really explained our relationship though, I grew up as a daddy's girl. If you don't believe me, ask my siblings. They will tell you, I was the favorite. I don't say that as a matter of bragging, it is just a fact. Don't get me wrong, he loved all of his children. He was a good father to all of us. He provided generously for his whole family. But he and I? We shared something more.

I am really not sure why, but I can postulate a number of reasons. My mother was almost forty when she had me. She had miscarried two previous babies. When she became pregnant with me, her youngest child was eight. The doctors told her that she would miscarry this baby as well. She was confined to bedrest for most of the pregnancy and low and behold, she delivered a perfect baby girl. I was a miracle in my father's eyes. Then, at age two, my trachea was severed in an accident. Again my parents were told that I might die. Again, I was a miracle. I was also the baby of the family. And in many ways, I am the most like my father.

I am certainly not perfect nor am I a miracle. During my teenage years, my father quickly realized this. At times, I was the bane of his existence. I was the only one of his children that ever spoke back to him. I snuck out and came home drunk. I saw boys he disapproved of behind his back. I smoked dope. I was defiant and argumentative. I dropped out of college. I was a Democrat. Despite all of this, he loved me. He was always there for me, even if he never understood me. He never gave up on me. At the height of my rebelliousness, we still did things together. We went camping, we rode horses, we sailed, we worked on cars. He taught me how to fix things. He taught me how to manage money. He taught me how to be a parent. When I was in an abusive marriage and finally decided I'd had enough, he got me out. He took me to a lawyer, he bought me a car. When I was struggling as a single mother, he bought us groceries, he bought us shoes. He told me he was proud of me, when I didn't have much pride left. My father died several years ago. I miss him. Lately, I have been missing him much more. I have been thinking about him. I don't know why, except it just hits me now and then. My father's birthday was earlier this week. I didn't even remember it until last night. When I did remember, I went to bed and cried.

I thought about how he would be proud of my boys. I thought about how he would love my dogs. I thought about how much I just wanted to be able to talk with him. I thought about how we never really understood each other, but how we would probably understand each other now. He would understand my tendency to take in strays. I would understand why he always worried about me. Though we never saw eye to eye on religion or politics, we would share a caring and compassion for all people. We would agree that sometimes people need a little help changing their circumstances and we would offer it if we could. We would agree that everyone deserves a second chance (and sometimes a third), even if they are a criminal. I know we would agree on those things, because those are the things he taught me. He didn't teach them with words, but with deeds. I think that it would please him to know how much I miss him, but he would tell me that I am fine and I am strong. He would also tell me to take care of my mother and to be nice to my sister, because they need me. Then he would tell me to stop crying and to quit sharing all this personal stuff on a blog, because it's nobody's business.

I love you Dad. I wish I could tell you that one more time.

Life is not for sissies

I am still around and I really am okay. I have just been feeling quiet. I want to write, but then I have no idea what to say. I am feeling better, but a complete recovery seems to be a bit longer in coming. I will admit that I haven't been taking very good care of myself, I suppose that I thought that a little pill would just do it. This week, I have started eating better, making myself go to bed earlier, being more careful about all of my medications and also my vitamins. I can tell a difference, my body is coming around (slowly).

At work, I have caught up and taken charge of things again. Good thing too, lots of drama and conflict are going on there. It has been leaving me drained in the evenings. I am finding irritation in many things that I normally would just sweep under the rug. Perhaps there is too much already under the rug. In some ways this has been good, I tend to always fix things. Lately, I have been handing things back for people to fix for themselves. J is my saving grace, he has been an anchor to me. He gives me strength and is often a voice of reason. He has kept me from slipping too far into this funk. My mind has been clinging to him, holding my head above water. I am only now climbing back out. I long for Spring, there have been many days that have teased me, sunny warm days, I need that.

I have begun so many posts, only to decide that they were just whiny and depressing. I have a no whining rule, but today I am breaking it. I am determined not to delete another half-finished post. Sorry, I will absolutely understand if you don't finish reading. Not all is bad, I am not crying, depressed and curled up in a ball, I am just quiet, reserving my strength. I am aggravated with myself, I am not on top of things the way I want to be. I remember when my mother-in-law began developing Alzheimer's, she still had many lucid moments and she would get mad at herself. She once told me, "I never had patience for stupid people, now life is enacting its revenge and I am one." Perhaps Karma is doing the same thing to me. Except, I am still aware of the blessings that I have, many blessings. So that is what I have been doing, reserving my energy and taking stock in my blessings. Trying to embrace the changes, trying to be accepting.

Those changes are occurring all around us, yet the more things change, the more they stay the same. I know the changes have to come from within. Even more than enacting change, I must be accepting of what is. Those are my own thoughts, but here are some from Ghandi, I need to meditate on these:

You must be the change you wish to see in the world.

A man is but the product of his thoughts. What he thinks, he becomes.

And finally, from the great philosopher, David Bowie...

If it sounds to good to be true...

it probably is, except for my Blueberry Coffee Cake.

I am coming back from the dead and not as a zombie! After being on a higher dosage of medication for a week, I am feeling fairly normal. Still tired, but that might be normal. This has been a week of ups and downs. My youngest son had more car problems (he is extrememly hard on cars, need I say more?), that was a down. J was here on Tuesday and spent the night, definite up...absolutely the week's highlight! My oldest son has fallen prey to a secret shopper scam (I did try to warn him, but he didn't listen). This is a down, though more for him than me. He was sent a cashier's check, which they deposited. I won't relate all of the details, but it was supposed to be a quick $300.00. He kept saying that if it was a scam, he would know before any harm was done. As of last night, their account showed a $1,000,000.00 overdraft. Yes, that is one million dollars. Monday is a holiday, so Tuesday is the earliest that they can try to straighten this out.

The one good thing that has come out of my whole hormonal imbalance, is that I have just been too tired to be super mom. I have been pulling back from the boys over the past year. My resources and my energy have not been able to stretch far enough to cover both my needs and theirs. I admit that I have not completely cut them off, but they have learned to be much more independent. Of course, where the grandchildren are concerned, I still put them ahead of myself. I just have too hard a time seeing my grandchildren go without. I also have decided that it is easier and cheaper to help out sometimes, than to face the possibility of having everyone move in here, should they lose their house.

I have to keep reminding myself of what I was doing at their ages. I also never called my parents for help, unless it was a dire emergency. (Of course, their fathers have no problem saying no...actually their fathers are not above asking them for help.) It is sometimes hard to find a balance as a parent, but I am finding my way.

The good news is, I am going to give you my recipe for Blueberry Coffee Cake. I adapted this from Cooking Light, no this is not the light version. I was able to buy blueberries for $1 per pint, everything else I had on hand. Bear with me, this is my first recipe post. Also feel free to ask for clarification if I leave anything out.

Ingredients

1 and 1/2 cup of all purpose flour

1 tsp. baking powder

1/4 tsp. baking soda

1/4 tsp. salt

1 cup granulated sugar

1 stick (8 Tblsp.) of butter, softened...real butter NOT margarine

1 tsp. vanilla extract

2 large eggs

1 and 1/3 cups of buttermilk

2 cups (one pint is close enough) fresh blueberries

1/4 cup of turbinado sugar (or brown sugar will work just fine)

Preparation

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

In medium bowl combine flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt, stir with whisk.

Cream together butter and granulated sugar. Add in vanilla and eggs, mix well. Alternately add in flour mixture and buttermilk (about a third each time) mixing each time after adding.

Grease and flour a 9 inch deep dish pie pan (or other deep 9 inch baking pan), or use a baking spray.

Coat blueberries with a few tablespoons of flour, this will keep them from sinking to the bottom.

Spread half of the batter in the pan. Evenly place half of the blueberries over the batter. Cover with other half of the batter. Place the rest of the blueberries on top. Sprinkle the turbinado (or brown) sugar over the top.

Bake at 350 degrees for one hour, or until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean.

Cut into wedges and serve warm. Yum.

So...it's not just because I'm getting old

I received the results of my lab work in the mail today. I have been recovering from being sick, but slowly. I have also been feeling pretty terrible, which I thought was from being so worn down due to being sick. The letter from my doctor showed that all of my lab work was good, except my TSH results. The high end of the normal range is between 3 and 4.5, my level is 12.9.

TSH stands for thyroid stimulating hormone, it is released by the pituitary gland. Its purpose is to stimulate the thyroid to make hormones which control your metabolism. I do not have a thyroid, but my pituitary gland doesn't know that. When my medication levels are too low, more TSH is released to try and stimulate my absent thyroid. Obviously, my body is trying very hard to correct the problem (which it can't). The bottom line is that I presently have an extremely low metabolism. Symptoms include: extreme tiredness, swelling in extremities, dry skin, brittle nails, difficulties concentrating, memory loss, joint pain, cold intolerance, weight gain, and decreased resistance. I have all of these symptoms and a few more. Tomorrow, I will get my new (higher dosage) prescription filled and, hopefully, correct the problem.

I will admit to not feeling quite this bad since I initially went through my cancer treatment. I am also a bit relieved to discover the reason for all of my symptoms. I had suspected (as did my doctor) that my levels were off, but I had no idea they were so far off. After being on the medication for this long, I only have my lab work done once a year. Some of my symptoms started in November. I am ready to begin feeling better.

I know I have been writing less frequently. That has been greatly due to not being able to concentrate. Not being able to think clearly has been the worst symptom to deal with. I absolutely hate not being able to remember things or think well. I am hoping that will be the first thing to clear up. For right now, I am going to bed.

Sick and Tired

Perhaps I jinxed myself by stating that I wasn't sick, because I am now. Not deathly ill mind you, but pretty miserable. I am sure it is just a head cold, but it has made my asthma kick in. I am feeling out of breath, exhausted, and heavy. I feel like my head and extremities are made of lead, I can hardly lift them. Today, my ribcage is also sore from coughing.

It is funny to me, how things can be going very nicely and then everything begins to snowball into that avalanche of not so good. That is what happened this week. My youngest grandson went to the hospital with pneumonia. He is doing much better now and he should be fine. Though my son and his family are currently unemployed and uninsured. Prescriptions and medication cost money, which I contributed to the cause. My youngest son has been having some car problems. His windshield cracked in the ice storm and he had a flat tire a few days later. I do believe that it was all due to the weather, but he is also very hard on cars. He is employed, but never has any money saved for the unexpected. At least the money I gave to him, will probably be repaid. On Friday, I also realized that I had not purchased the dogs' licenses yet, I had to get them that day or pay double for late fees later (so I paid out $47.25 for my three furry children). I have commented to J, that I would be rich (or at least very solvent) if I had no children or grandchildren (the dogs being in that same category). Though, I wouldn't be as loved and fulfilled as I am having all of them.

Money notwithstanding, I just didn't feel up to all the problems this week. Not my problems, but problems for those I love. Believe me when I tell you that my sons are very good at asking, "What should I do?" That is because I am very good at telling them. Raising the boys as a single mother, with no outside help and very little involvement of their fathers, led to an "us against the world" mindset. Now they are adults and it is time for them to stand on their own. I have gotten better over the past year of pulling back and setting up boundaries, but I need to do more work there. This week, I wanted to reply, "Do you know how sick I am?" It just seemed very timely that Shannee wrote a post on trust, self-care and setting boundaries. It was wisdom that I already knew, but needed to be reminded of.

All in all, the week's problems didn't upset me too much. Maybe I was too sick to care or maybe I have come to realize, "It's always something."

What's up Doc

I saw my doctor today. I'm not sick, this was for my yearly labs and check-up. My doctor and I have quite a history, we have known each other for a long time. He found my cancer, watched me cry and got me through my treatment and recovery. He watched me cry and counseled me through my father dying. He watched me cry and counseled me through my son's addiction. Let's just say, he has watched me cry a lot, even when I never cried (at least outside of his office). Well today, he basically told me I am getting old. Okay, not his exact words, but that was the gist of it. He gave me a list of tests and extra bloodwork he wants me to have done and then proceded to tell me that "many women your age blah, blah, blah." Of course, he also told me that my medication may need to be increased. Maybe that is why I am tired and having trouble concentrating. (Or maybe I am jusy getting old.) I think he is projecting. We are the same age. A couple of years ago, he had a heart attack and then lectured me on my lifestyle choices. Today, I wanted to tell him that I feel young, maybe he is getting old.

And now for something completely different...

Not really, I was always a Monty Python fan and I just wanted to say that. However, given my silence of late, a new post might be considered completely different.

I have been in a quiet, reflective, nesting mood. I have been cooking, doing things around the house, enjoying the company of family and friends. I have been recovering from the holidays, trying to get back into my regularly scheduled life. I am hopeful for the present and future of our country. I do not envy Barack Obama for the challenges that he faces, but I am confident in his ability. For now, I am content. I am comfortable with my life, I am satisfied with how things are going at work, I am pleased and grateful for my relationship with J. There is enough good in my life to greatly outweigh the worries and to keep me optimistic. I find joy in many things.

I saw this video this week and it made me cry. I am a big sucker for four legged critters though. My hope is that humans can be as caring and compassionate.

Just another Monday night

Work was really great today. We were busy enough to keep the guys occupied, but not too busy to be able to sit down and have a little fun. I had forgotten what it was like to have a co-worker who actually carries some of the workload. I was able to finish up December's paperwork (yes, I know it is January 12th) and to ship some of the contract work the guys have done.

Since being home for two weeks and then returning to working full days, the dogs will not leave my side when I get home. Wherever I am, they are right there at my feet (or under them). This evening was no different, while I was cooking dinner, I had to constantly watch, so not to trip over them. Tonight was clean out the refrigerator night. That means that I do a quick scan of everything that needs to be used or pitched and make something out of it. Sort of a skillet dinner ala Alice. It usually turns out quite tasty, the downside is that it is a one-time meal. I will never fix it exactly the same way again (though, that is sort of true, even for recipes). Dinner was a spicy Mexican number. It was going to be Italian, until the fresh basil was not so fresh and I decided to use cilantro and sour cream instead. About 20 minutes from fridge to table. I am amazed by the number of people who rely on take out or boxed dinners to feed their families. I certainly could not afford carry-out very often and I hate those dinner kits that come in a box. Everything they include, I usually have in my kitchen (only fresher, without being processed and preserved).

If I had a digital camera, I would absolutely have a cooking blog. Because, what I need is another blog to have to post on.

Welcome to 2009

We are now more than one week into the new year. I have worked a full week in 2009, after being off for the last two weeks of 2008. It seems that much has happened and the year is barely begun. Upon returning to work last week, I was told by my supervisor that I am never allowed to take a day off again. Yes, she was kidding, sort of. My worthless, piece of shit co-worker is permanently out of my group (and will probably be terminated). I will not go into details of what happened, but it was a series of things (one of them being pretty serious). Now, considering the terms of endearment that I have used referring to him, one would think that I would be happy, but I am not. It is not that I miss working with him, it isn't even that I feel he shouldn't lose his job, I just hate to see anyone lose their job, especially in this economy. I parade around like a hard hearted bitch, but underneath that hard candy shell, I melt in your hands. Oh, sorry that is M&Ms, but anyway, I am a big softy when it comes down to it. I am just glad that I was not around to be caught in the fall-out.

I am feeling pretty good today, but the past week I have been exhausted. I could blame all sorts of things, staying up late, returning to work, and all of them probably contributed. The real reason is that I ran out of my medication (for nine days). Whoops. I have no thyroid, none at all, which means my metabolism is contained in, and regulated by, a little tiny pill that I take everyday (except for the past nine days). This predicament was not entirely my fault. I was out of refills, so I had to contact my doctor's office, which was closed on New Year's Day. The next day I forgot to call and then they were closed again for the weekend. Then, the pharmacy lost my refill request, not once, but twice (or at least their automated phone system did). So about half those days were my fault, the other half, not so much. I will just say that by Friday, my body was telling me that if I didn't medicate it tout de suite (or toot sweet, if your a Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang fan) it would not rise out of bed another day. Lucky for me, I got my pills that afternoon. I hate when my body gives me an ultimatum.

It was also on Friday when my friend Bonnie (and my ride to work) mentioned that we should join the gym and begin stopping on the way home from work. This is not an appealing prospect to someone who has NO metabolism, but I may tell her yes, tomorrow. I used to belong to a gym, I looked better, felt better (of course, I was much younger then too), but now I am lazy. I don't like to exercise. I hate to sweat for anything other than sex. I do know the benefits will outweigh the hassles, so maybe. The other reason that I should join the gym, is my new vice. Cooking blogs! I love to cook, but I don't so much anymore, because it is usually just me home for dinner. However, on my vacation more people were around, and even when they weren't I had more time, so I cooked. I tried new recipes, made old recipes, made stuff up. Then I ate it. As if Thanksgiving and Christmas weren't bad enough, I ate my way right up to the new year. The damage is somewhere between 7 and 10 pounds. I would be more accurate, but being off my medication has caused me to retain water (even more than just being a woman) and my weight has been fluctuating. That might not sound terrible (yes, it really does), but that is a pants size and now all of mine are tight. So, as tempting as it was to just spend the entire week in sweat pants, I did eat better and made myself move (which is what I call exercise, since I hate exercise).

Below is my tribe of wild indians. Certainly chasing them around will take some weight off. Forgive the slightly out of focus pictures. They are taken with my webcam (not the best to begin with and I am still getting the hang of it).



I hope you all are off to a fine start in 2009. Thank you for listening to me ramble and whine through an entire post.

Worn out

Apparently, having the grandchildren for two days wears us all out.

It's all fun and games until...

My grandchildren are here for two days, they arrived last night. I had planned on their whole family being here for dinner (parents included), however plans change. As soon as they were in the door, my son asked if I would be upset if he and his wife didn't stay. "We just want some adult alone time." Never mind that they were going to have the next two days of adult alone time. Okay, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know this means, "Hey Mom, we really want to go home and have sex, lots of it, and we can't wait to get started."

The meal that I had fixed was soup beans, this was at my son's request (you know the one who chose sex over dinner). I also had cornbread, cheesy muffins, and chocolate silk pie on the menu. In the process of the children exchange, my son did manage to wolf down some beans, eat two muffins and lick the beaters from where I had prepared the pie. I am glad he wasn't going into his night of debauchery on an empty stomach.

The outcome of having less people than expected was leftovers. More specifically, one half of a chocolate pie. Today, after lunch, the kids asked if they could have pie. The result of three young children imbibing in sugary chocolate decadence, is three wild indians, running amok around my house. Complete with whoops and hollars and charging each other like mad bulls. "Settle down, before someone get hurt." The words had barely left my mouth when the whoops turned to crying. A head on collision, between the two boys, confirmed that the three year old, indeed, has the hardest head.