Category: Personal

Writing in the Raw: Shine Until Tomorrow

Some light streams in through the cracks between the blinds that cover my sliding balcony door.  The Winco is a 24-hour store, and the soft yellow lights of the parking lot mesmerize me at times.  I like the way the puddles catch the reflections, and send them off at odd angles on their way back up.  I’ve lost a couple hours watching this more than once…with a beer, sitting out on the balcony.  Every once in a while an occassional tire, shopping cart or shoe passes through those puddles and adds even more variables to the equation as I look on from my 2nd story vantage point, roughly 12 feet up and 10 yards out.

It’s 3:25 AM on a random weekday morning as I type this ‘intro’…and I find myself wide awake as usual at this time.  I’ve got work in a few hours, but if I can’t sleep anyway I might as well do something productive with the time.  I enjoy the night…the silence, and the lights off…I even see better this way.

See y’all in a couple weeks….

The latest report from mom is that grandma is still in the hospital getting IV antibiotics for presumed pneumonia so the plan will be for me to stay at grandma’s apartment to either be the family member hanging out at the hospital or to take care of her at home and give mom a break. I have to remember NOT to be the annoying psycho family member while I am at the hospital. When you are an RN, and a family member or friend is in the hospital you tend to be overly protective. The report from mom is that the nursing care has been alright, she has somehow missed the doctor and the social worker and the physiotherapist have been rather patronizing. This may not be an accurate perception but one laced with the stress and anxiety. In my job as a night supervisor, I often consult with social workers on the phone. Frankly, I do their job for them when social issues arise at night including when a patient passes. I do not have a favorable view of the behavior medicine staff at my institution. They tend to either be patronizing toward me, dismissive, or they more or less tell me they can’t do anything which in their defense is often true. My only crisis/intervention training has been my gut instinct.

This won’t be a “fun” visit, my poor grandmother will be fatigued and she is oh so fail though relatively mentally intact. It might be the last time I spend with her when she is not in a nursing home or gone to the big calico couch in the sky and I find myself already engaging in anticipatory grieving. There are possible unpleasant encounters with an aunt and uncle and some disappointed friends I may not see. I am hoping to squeeze in a visit to a local butterfly conservatory that I adore and take a few pictures with my less than fantastic “back up” camera since the other one went to mother Nikon to be repaired. I am aware I may return stressed out and sad. My dogs and cats who provide me with love and distraction won’t be there to make me smile. My poor mother is trying to remain on an even keel even as she fights sadness.

I am running around trying to do laundry and figured out what to take. I will probably be up late but I can sleep on the plane. I hope I am not in a middle seat stuck between tall people. Yesterday I had a dream after reading a book about Julia Child, that she was a customs agent who wouldn’t let me back into the US because I forgot my passport. My luggage always gets randomly searched and customs on both sides of the border are generally surly.

I can’t help but ask what will happen when my mother declines. I live a plane ride away and I am an only child. I have attempted to raise this issue with mom multiple times. She claims she will know when it is time to give up her house and 65 acres but i know differently. She won’t. I know my family. We are independent, we don’t take advice from one another well. Denial is a mode of communication. I made an effort to get my mother to downsize to a small house or condo and she said would end up killing herself. When I expressed a fear that she would have an accident while outside and die unable to get help, cell phones don’t work out there and she lives alone, she said she thought was was a good way to go. I don’t actually disagree. But it isn’t nice.

writing in the raw: it’s one fucking thing

It’s not about a class war. Or Iraq. Or terrorism. It’s not even healthcare or New Orleans or the next Katrina-like disaster. It’s not collapsing bridges or trapped miners. Not abortion or gay marriage, civil rights or liberties. Tax cuts for the rich and what’s left in the treasury going to Halliburton? No, not that either. Predatory lending and sub prime markets crashing? Loss of income? Fear of job loss? Loss of worker safety protections? No no no no no no no….

It’s simply this: Our governmental infrastructure is broken… it’s dysfunctional. Further, the government of the United States of America has turned its back on its citizens. Hey. I have a novel idea. How about stopping those causing the dysfunction? Yeah. Like an intervention called IMPEACHMENT. We must demand Congress does its job and uphold the Constitution. Restore our freedoms and Constitutional rights damn it! Start with, first and foremost, enforcing separation of church and state and creating an earthquake-proof secular government. Then let’s get rid of thought crimes straight away. And torture and spying on US Citizens.

Because really, I’m thinking a government that condones spying on its citizens and dismantling due process as it outsources military, education, medicare et al is a government of men and women not interested in health care or education or the military. They are interested in controlling us and giving all those private contracts to their buddies. Cha Ching. We need our equilibrium back. We need to restore our country by rebuilding our governmental infrastructure. Forget 2008. If we want health care and collapsing bridges repaired, then we have to find people to send to Congress who will start the hard work of restoring the functionality of the United States government.

falling in love… again

it’s funny. to fall in love. when you’re not free to do so.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAPS LOCK ON!!

SURPRISE!!

And just for you, because you are SOooo Special….

Not one, but TWO CAKES!!

One to wish upon…

Photobucket

and an ooey-gooey Yummy one….

Photobucket

We’ve just been waiting on YOU!

I’ve Got My Dance Card

The thing I’m continually learning is so simple: I define my life. I stand up or down. I say yes or no. I fight, go along, or give up. It comes down to just me.

The way I see it, this blip in time is mine.  But not for much longer, as I can imagine a time when humans, as we are now, probably won’t exist. The upside is that I’m sure some other type of earthling will evolve. Will they love van Gogh and Bach though? I don’t know.

I like to think these new earthlings will be as awestruck by star dust and sunlight as I…  that they will try to figure out a way to describe the thud and splat of raindrops and the whisper of wind through tall grass… that they’ll fall in love and have their own dance. I’ve stopped being sad that it won’t be mine in a million years from now.

However. That’s then. This is now and I’ve got my dance card. I can’t help it if George Bush is on it.  But fuck him.  

Photobucket

Pretty Bird Woman House: Please Donate for Me

Nine years ago this week  — it seems an eternity ago — I was sleeping next to my husband in my parents’ house on a Texas border island, at the end of the most miserable Christmas I have ever spent.

Seven months earlier, my husband and I had sold our house in Virginia, had sold most of the furniture in it, and had embarked on what I had earnestly hoped would be a new life.  He was a professional whose practice had failed, a functioning alcoholic who refused to acknowledge it, and an abuser whose abuse had emerged on the day we were returning from our honeymoon and had grown in spite and fury, and by leaps and bounds, intermittently, in the two years since.

Writing in the Raw: Shamrocks at Your Doorway

This apartment is too clean, too sterile.  Like it hasn’t been lived in enough, or at all for that matter…

De reir a cheile a thogtar na caisleain.

It takes time to build castles.

There are definitely some signs of life here, though…and in one case, remnants of a life.  I saved the orange “funeral” placard that was on my front window during the procession that brought my best friend from the wake to his final resting place, a little fenced-in Catholic cemetary in Union County, New Jersey.  Lots of trees, lots of green.  Lots of places to sit and think.  It’s best at night…the stars make no noise.  A respite from the nastiness of the world.

I spent most of my last day in New Jersey there. I sat there, and I thought about…

… Do not stand at my grave and cry-

I am not there… I did not die…

Okay, so we’ll leave there then, man.  We’ll go back to my place again, okay?

Let’s dig much deeper…

Personal Goals for 2008

About a month ago, I posted these words:

1. You can post 100 links to DocuD in a day

2. You can raise 20,000 dollars for Winter Rabbit in a week.

3. You can help a family get reunited.

4. You can fund a small community project in your home town.

5. You can tell 100 people about reducing their Carbon output this weekend.

6. You can host an Online Blogger’s Symposium with Guest Speakers.

7. You can decide the Veteran’s deserve another voice right now.

Let’s see how we did below the fold:

Happiness is…

I’m on my way to the train station to pick up my dutchman. and he has presents for me!!!

i’m happy. i’m sure i can infect others with my happiness. so here’s a sappy, sentimental, love-drenched short short short essay just about being happy.

you can laugh at me. go ahead. curse out George Bush. get riled over dopey democrats… talk politics.

i’m going to talk about how cute my dutchman is… and how excited i am to see all of my family. for us, Christmas will start tonight and go through Tuesday!!!!!!!

hey… we’re all getting together to go out for dinner tonight. NO DISHES… no fuss. no muss.

and Christmas is my birthday and i love my birthday… i’ll be 53 (well, somebody has to be 53) and look forward to another 53 years…

i’m listening to Christmas music (Gloria Stefan… fabulous btw)…

hahahahahahaha… life is great.

writing in the raw: making believe

____________________________________________________________________

Rummaging through ornaments, I pick up three of my favorites. A trio of polar bears, made from a kind of velvet elvis-like material. They all have this innocent hey lady, where’s the hot chocolate and cookies look when really, they’re eyeing the red-lacquered wagon. And they do it every year … ha! One bear climbs in as the other two take up positions pulling and pushing the wiggly little cart across the window sill. It’s a sweet little vignette until the “it’s my turn to ride in the wagon” starts. But we’ve all been there…

The snowmen, generally a more gentlemanly bunch, find a place around a sparkly tree on a quiet sill away from the bears. Greenery gets hung around my fire place (as much make believe as the polar bears and snowmen), and I light candles in its pretend hearth. The collection of Santas, with big bellies and spindly legs, have gathered around the wood-cut fir to admire the fine glass sleigh parked there and piled high with packages. Christmas music is playing and this year, snow surrounds my little place.

There’s nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child.  ~Erma Bombeck

I like make-believing. I especially like make-believing in Santa because he always has faith in what kids believe, seeing beyond wish-lists and into their innocent hearts. The right jolly old elf doesn’t just leave a doll or stuffed animal, but playmates who never tire of tea parties, building forts in forests, or turning sticks into swords . These rag-tagged companions never object to being dragged along on all the Lewis & Clark-like expeditions kids love to make.

      Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

___________________________________________________________________

it’s a wonderful life

Driving home from work overwhelms me if I let it. I see the hundreds of drivers in their solitary cars, some passengers, few passengers. I realize I, too, am alone in my car on a drive that could be achieved with far less stress and daily environmental angst if a decent light rail or a well-planned bus system existed in the Northwest metropolis I live in. It takes an hour and a half one way and three buses to attempt to public transit it to work from where I live, and a mere fifteen to twenty minutes by car. I have a car to drive, which is either a hybrid or a beater Nissan Sentra, both of which cost way too much of my income in insurance and gas costs with two teenagers at home.

You – you said – what’d you say a minute ago? They had to wait and save their money before they even ought to think of a decent home. Wait? Wait for what? Until their children grow up and leave them? Until they’re so old and broken down that they… Do you know how long it takes a working man to save five thousand dollars?

Load more