Goodbye 2007

When I think about 2007, here is what comes to mind:

• Mom moved in with us at the end of October.
  
  
• I started a part-time job at the end of November.
  
  
• I reached a long-time goal of taking a quilt class and I love it.
  
  
• I made some huge decisions regarding the house and the world did not end.
  
  
• I took the boys on vacation and we had a great time.
  
  
• I ended the year 7 pounds lighter than I started it.
  
  
• We went to see Jay Johnson’s Tony award winning “The Two and Only.”
  
  
• I know some really fabulous people.
  
  
• How many times my “sister” came through for me.
  
  
• My youngest went away for 3 weeks and didn’t really miss me.
  
  
• My oldest got accepted into the college of his choice.

It’s Great, but When Will I Use it Now?

I was given a great book light for Christmas. I was thrilled to receive it since my last book light had stopped working.

Then last night it came to me. When will I use a book light now?

I used to use one when Raymond was in the hospital and I couldn’t sleep. I wouldn’t want to use the reading lights in the ceiling because it would bother Raymond.

I would use them in the hotels in Houston because the only reading light was on Raymond’s side of the bed.

When I read in bed now I have a lamp next to me, sometimes the lamp stays on all night because I fall asleep reading, but it doesn’t bother anyone because I am by myself.

I don’t usually stay in a hotel on vacations. I try to rent a cabin or vacation home so we can do our own cooking. I always have my own room in those situations, so I don’t need a book light on vacations.

So here I am with this really cool book light and wondering when I will use it. I guess I will put it in my traveling bag and I will have it if I go somewhere and have to share a room.

It makes me a little sad.

Losing My Mind or Being Gaslighted

I really do not know if I am losing my mind or if my mother is gas lighting me.

The other day I was wondering about something new I had bought my mother. I had not seen it at all. Now it is not something I would buy for myself, so it was very distinctly hers. When I asked her where it was, she denied ever getting it. When I told her she definitely had it, she started looking all through her room for it, and I started out helping her. When it was obvious it was not in her room, I went into the other room to let her have privacy in her room. A few minutes later out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw her heading for my room. I thought it was curious since she never goes that way, but went on about my business. A few minutes later I got curious and went into my room and looked around. There in my drawer was what mom was looking for. I found another part of it in my cabinet.

Now the question in my mind was did the boys put it in my room thinking it was mine when they were cleaning up, or did she put it in my room because she found it in her room and wanted to prove it wasn't in there.

That is the thing. Mom’s memory is so bad, but she will not admit it, so she often denies doing things I know she did. She often denies having things in her room, and when I find them in there she accuses me of somehow sneaking it in there. After a while she is so convincing that I start to think it is me, and that I am losing my mind.

It becomes very disturbing after a while. Always doubting whether or not I did something, or she covered up doing something.

Most people that know my mother think she is so sweet that she would never do anything to mess with my head like that, but then she can bluff through her memory issues when she is with someone for a very short time. Only the boys and I really know how bad it is because we are with her all the time.

I can even understand her trying to hide how bad her memory has gotten. She is a very proud woman, who has gone through a lot in her life, so her memory loss is a hard blow for her to take. She has always been the strong one that took care of everyone, a severely handicapped daughter, her own mother, my father, my family when Raymond was sick, so it must be very difficult to be the one that needs help now.

I tell the boys all the time to pay attention because this could be our future together. My mind could go just as my mother’s has, it is a frightening thing to see everyday and wonder if that is what your days will be like in the end. Will I be gas lighting them? I hope not, but then again, I might just be losing my mind.

Wonderful Surprise

My gift from the boys came after Christmas this year, and it was a wonderful surprise.

The complete set of the "Six Feet Under" series. A set I have dreamed of since it came out, but wouldn't get because of the cost. This year I found it at a great price and told the boys I was going to save my Christmas money and finally buy it.

They ordered it for me, but it did not arrive in time for Christmas, so they told me Christmas Day that my gift would come later and that they had ordered me some books.

The day after Christmas I had enough money and went in to buy it only to find out the price had gone up slightly and I did not have enough saved. I was disappointed. I told the boys maybe next year.

Yesterday when I came home they had a box under the tree for me. I was expecting it to be books. I was so surprised to get my "Six Feet Under."

Of course I won't let the little one watch it with me, but my mom and I will enjoy watching all 24 dvds.

I Do Not Understand That Kind of Hatred

On Christmas Eve my oldest was reading the section in the paper entitled "Today in History" and he informed me that the Klu Klux Klan was formed on Christmas Eve in 1865. We then had a discussion of how much hatred those people must have had in their hearts to form such a horrible group on Christmas Eve.

Now I have not researched the early beginnings of the clan, the paper described it as "Several veterans of the Confederate Army formed a private social club in Pulaski, Tenn., called the Klu Klux Klan." One account stated that the original group was formed just to play pranks and was not originally formed against any "race." Still seems odd to me that you need to have a "private social club" to play pranks.

From my freshman year in high school until I moved to Texas I lived in a town with an active KKK. I had a good friend whose uncle was "Grand" something in the local KKK. They had meetings, they were active.

I remember my father coming home from work one day and talking to my mother in the kitchen, I don't think he knew I could hear him. He said that things could be getting bad in town the next few days and we shouldn't go into town unless it was necessary. He said a cross had been burned on a local family's front lawn. I remember being very frightened for that family, but I never heard any more about it or them. I didn't ask because I knew my dad would be upset that I knew. He always tried to protect me from bad news.

I just do not understand the hatred. I do not understand how this group could have been formed on Christmas Eve.

I'm not perfect. I have on occasion stereotyped groups and held things against them, just as I am doing now with the KKK, but I do try to teach my children to be better than I am and to be accepting of others and their differences. I pray that other parents are doing the same and that eventually there will be more love in the world than hate.

Christmas, Again

Well it was Christmas, again, without Raymond.

Yes, I cried many times, alone as to not to upset the family. Yet, these tears were more from remembering heart warming moments together. Very few tears were from heart break.

A new stage? Acceptance? I don't know. I still have so many times when I am angry.

It was a nice quiet Christmas and I think Raymond would have been happy with my choices for the boys. I know he would have loved the autoharp.

I saw a hawk flying several times up until Christmas day. He might have been there Christmas day too if I had left the house.

Now I just need to get through what would have been our 26th wedding anniversary and I will be set for another year.

A Nice Little Prayer

All I need is a forkful of faith, and a knife to slice through my fears. With a spoonful of God's precious mercy, I'll be patient and kind all my years.

My source, "Day by Day" by Delia Parr

I Did NOT Inherit the Magic Gene

Yesterday was a big day. I shaved my legs. I was going to see a matinee of Jay Johnson’s Tony award winning “The Two and Only” at the Majestic Theater and I needed to shave my legs. It was actually seeing Jay Johnson’s “The Two and Only” that made it such a big day, not the shaving of my legs.

I hate shaving my legs.

When I was child I was often told the legend of my paternal grandmother. She shaved her legs once in her life and never had to again because the hair never grew back. Now, I have no way of knowing if this was true or not because whenever I saw her she had on thick support stockings, or was in bed covered by a sheet, but everyone swore it was true.

I remember the first time I shaved my legs. I had been told so often that I was like my paternal grandmother that I just knew that I had that magic gene. The one that would require only one shaving and one shaving only and that part of my grooming life would be over. I was very, very careful. I did not want to miss any hair on the back of my legs because if I missed even one hair the magic gene would not work. Being the first time I shaved, of course there were many nicks and several pieces of tissue were required, but I did not think that had anything to do with whether or not the hair would grow back.

Well, I think we all know that I did not receive that magic gene since I started this great epic with the fact that I shaved my legs today. I was crushed when the hair grew back after that first shaving. I just did not understand why I did not have that magic gene. It was after that when I began shaving my arms because an aunt on my mother’s side did and I thought maybe I had more genes from their side than my dad’s, but that is another story.

I used an electric razor today because I have so many wounds on my legs from various activities of late. My mother asked me why I was bothering to shave my legs when I was going to wear pants. I explained to my mother that the pants I was wearing were thin knit and the hair on my legs had gotten so long that I was afraid it would stick out of the material. What would that be like? What if someone decided they liked the hairy knit pants and wanted to know where to buy some? What would I say? I would be too embarrassed to say “It is just my hairy legs.” No, I would have to say “At the hairy pants store,” and walk away.

So the legs are shaved. Jay Johnson was fabulous. Dinner at Taverna was terrific. The company was the best there could be. So all and all, I am glad I shaved my legs.

Someone Thinks I'm Awesome

My oldest told me tonight that his roommate thinks I'm awesome.

Here is the response when I asked why:

Oldest: Robert says you're awesome

Oldest: You remind him of his brother for some reason

[23:55] ME: Uh, OK. I'm glad he thinks his bro is awesome. That is good.

EDITED HERE (NOT ON TOPIC).

[00:03] Oldest: He says his brother is a really straightforward person and doesn't take crap

[00:03] Oldest: and is willing to voice his opinion

[00:05] ME: me to a tee, don't you agree

[00:06] Oldest: sure thing

I am really flattered by this comment from Robert. It is very nice to know that a teenager is paying attention to the adults around him. It is also really awesome to be considered "awesome" by a teenager.

ME Being Mom

Mon Nov 26 11:23:47 2007

[11:23] Oldest: ?!

[11:24] Oldest: What'd I screw up that I ended up with a 75 on the 3rd physics exam?

[11:25] Oldest: Doesn't matter, they're going to curve it, and I still have a solid A...

[11:31] ME: That is a huge screw up

[11:31] Oldest: grehhh

[11:32] Oldest: Why can't I have a week where everything goes right?

[11:33] Oldest: At least I got a 100 quiz average in History

[11:33] Oldest: all I had to do was get 60% of the points, though

[11:33] Oldest: because I'm in class with a bunch of morons.

[11:34] Oldest: and I didn't sleep well last night. This week has not started well.

[11:35] ME: Why should you be special and have a perfect week?

[11:35] ME: I didn't sleep very good either, went to bed at 2 a,m

EDITED HERE AS IT IS NOT RELEVANT

[11:36] Oldest: Other people have mostly perfect weeks.

[11:37] ME: No they don't. That is just your imagination.

[11:38] ME: Everyone has an itching butt, or a pimple, or family issues that no one knows about

[11:38] ME: Some people dump food in their laps or go to an interview with a big piece of food in their teeth

[11:38] ME: Some people just smell bad and ruin the day of someone else

[11:38] ME: It is human nature to have things go wrong

[11:39] ME: It is learning how to shrug off the small things and go on that makes the world think you are having a perfect week

[11:39] Oldest: yeah

[11:39] ME: see how wise I am

[11:40] Oldest: mhmm

This is part of an IM conversation I had with my oldest today. He is away at school. As the day went on and I thought back to the conversation, I got to thinking about what if we did have perfect days or weeks. How blah. We would never have the pleasure of a surprise. We would never have a smile just because someone did something nice for us when we were feeling blue. How utterly, horribly boring. I then got to thinking about King Midas. It would be like that only with emotions. YUCK!

No, we are not supposed to have perfect days or weeks. Perfect hours, now those are meant to be.

A perfect hour or so is playing games with your children, having lunch with your best friend, reading a book that you never want to end. A perfect few moments can be found in having your child sit in your lap, even when he is quite a bit taller than you, and telling you his thoughts (notice I did not say hours, my legs would fall off). A perfect few seconds if when your child jumps in the car after school and says he had a terrific day. There are so many perfects to be found during a day that would not be recognized as being so special if all days were perfect.

Weepy Tonight (or This Morning)

It is almost 1 a.m. and I am sitting in my chair watching old sitcoms and crying.

Raymond is so much on my mind tonight that my heart hurts.

Sometimes the flashes that come through are so real, but they are just flashes and I cannot grab on to them.

The other night the youngest did something silly that lasted for just a few seconds, but in that time Raymond's smile flashed through my mind and it was almost as if it formed on my face. It was if I was projecting his smile and approval onto my youngest. It was such a quick flash. I kept trying to make that smile appear again in my mind, but it was gone.

I worry all the time about things I have already forgotten. Raymond was the one that remembered everything about our dating life and our early years together. I cannot remember things like that. Oh, there are certain dates I remember, but not the way he could remember. He was our scrapbook of our life together. Now that scrapbook is gone.

There are pictures of course. Lots of pictures that Raymond could look at and tell the story behind. Me, I can only look at that back and tell you what it says on there about where we were and when. I hate that I cannot remember things like that about our early life together.

I do remember the first time I told Raymond I loved him. We had known each other for a couple of years and had dated on and off. Over the summer we had been dating pretty steady and we were going back to colleges. Raymond went to UK and I went to EKU. Raymond had taken me back to school for our senior year and was helping me set up my dorm room. He was putting together the bunk beds and the room was about 95 degrees. He was sweating so much he had to keep wiping his forehead off so he could see, the bunk beds were not going together like they were suppose to, and yet he was not complaining. I started thinking about all the things Raymond did for me without complaining. The more he banged on those beds trying to straighten out all the parts bent from years of dorm use, the more I thought about what a wonderful and special person he was. So just as he was taking a swing with the hammer I told him I loved him. He stopped and looked at me and asked me to repeat myself. I remember that moment.

I remember him sitting on a cot in my hospital room singing to our first born son "Your Cheatin' Heart." He sang that song because I love Hank Williams' songs and that was the one he knew. Raymond had a nice voice, but he did not share it very often. I remember.

I remember how he held the youngest one when we brought him home from the hospital and showed him the Christmas tree in the living room.

Yes, the most vivid of my memories of our life together are from after the boys were born. Maybe because I always wanted a family. Raymond and I together were just husband and wife, but the boys, they made us a family.

I hate that the boys do not have their father. I am thankful that they remember him. I hope they will remember him all their lives.

I hope I can hold on to all my memories of us together all my life too.

Totally Selfish

The commercial Christmas for me has always been about giving. I always want to watch everyone else open their gifts, especially my boys. I enjoy watching the joy in their eyes when they get something they thought they would not get.

However, when it comes to my receiving gifts, I will admit I was totally selfish about my gifts from Raymond. The anticipation, the excitement of what I would get. It was the same feeling I would have as a child and my brother would wake me up before dawn to see what Santa had brought us. It was because I knew that whatever Raymond bought me was well thought out and would be the perfect gift. It would be a gift from the heart and it would be an extension of Raymond's love for me.

As Christmas nears again and the Christmas ads begin once again, I start to get a lump in my throat thinking about past Christmas Eves with Raymond. We always open family gifts on Christmas Eve. Raymond always went out of his way to surprise me at Christmas. We didn’t buy surprise gifts for each other very often, but Raymond really tried hard to surprise me every Christmas. He would go through the house and see what I needed or would pay attention to things I had talked about and then find something to fill my needs.

One year Raymond bought me my dream mixer. He bought me other things, but the mixer was a huge surprise that he hid in the attic. Another year he bought me my annual favorite slippers and hid a diamond ring in them. It was a ring that I had I had told him I wanted for our anniversary (Jan. 2), but he had picked one out and gave it to me early so it really was a surprise.

I loved the year that Raymond went through my kitchen cabinets and made note of all the items that needed replacing. He replaced all my chipped glass measuring cups.

Another year he did a terrific job of picking out some special cooking tools when I was learning how to bake special cakes. (Yes, I liked to get gifts like that.)

There were several years where Raymond wasn’t able to surprise me because he couldn’t get out and shop without me. I am ashamed to say that on those Christmas Eve’s I would go to bed with a huge lump in my throat because I missed those special surprises. It wasn’t that Raymond didn’t buy me gifts; it was that the surprise was gone. No surprise represented one more thing the cancer took away from us. Another way we would not have our normal life back again.

I would beat myself up after my little pity party because I was so thankful Raymond was there to celebrate another Christmas with us. I would thank God for that year and pray that we would be together another year. I would ask God to forgive me for my selfishness.

Christmas 2005 Raymond surprised me again. The oldest was able to drive and Raymond and the boys went shopping for me. Raymond’s surprise was the first season of “7^th Heaven” on DVD. A television show that I got hooked on only after it had been on for years and I had not seen the earlier shows. Raymond and the boys did not like the show and would groan when I would watch it and make fun of me. So it was an extra special surprise. I went to bed that Christmas Eve so thankful to have had a year like the ones we had earlier in our marriage. Of course, I had no idea it would be our last Christmas with Raymond

I never mentioned to Raymond how much I missed the surprises. I did tell him how much the DVD collection meant to me.

Last year the boys did surprise me in a way. I took them to several stores and pointed out gifts I would enjoy getting and gave them a price range and then left while they shopped. On Christmas Eve, not only was there the surprise of what they bought, but also an extra surprise in that they had added to the gift. It wasn’t quite the same as what Raymond did, but I am hopeful that they will learn as the years go by and that the day will come that they will carry on their father’s tradition with their wives.

It is totally selfish for me to want my surprise each year on Christmas Eve, but that is what happens when you have a wonderful husband that spoils you for years and years. Nothing will ever replace a Raymond Christmas surprise. I am so thankful I had one more before he died. It was so nice to have that glimpse of the past and life before cancer right before we found out that there would not be another Christmas together.

Thank you Raymond for all those years of Christmas Eve surprises. You made me feel so loved by taking the time to find just the right gift.

Another Big Step

I take another big step on Monday, Nov. 26, 2007. I start a part-time job.

I have not worked outside the home, except in a volunteer capacity, since Feb., 1990.

I am very fortunate to have been hired for the job I have accepted. It is very close to home, and I will be able to come home and make my mom's lunch when necessary.

I will be averaging 20 hours a week, some weeks more, some less, and hope to fill a need for my employer and community.

A Blessing and a Losss

A man I knew died today. He has had Alzheimer's for years. I am glad he is out of his prison. I am sorry for his wife, but understand her relief.

My dad died from complications of Alzheimer's. He had it for ten years. It is a horrible disease. My dad once described it for my brother. He said it was like a curtain coming down. Some days he could peak under the curtain, but he always knew that some day the curtain would close for good.

My dad was a wonderful man. Yes, he had his faults like all of us, but most of those could be traced back to his background. His biggest fault was he was too trusting. Raised in a community where a handshake meant something, he was constantly being taken by business partners. It always seemed to be feast or famine in our home. It didn't matter to me because I knew love, laughter, and goodness, but I know that it was hard on my mother.

My dad never met a stranger. If someone admired something he had, he either managed to get one for them, or gave them his.

My dad managed to come back to life after dying on the operating table at least 3 times in the 70's. He survived colon cancer in the early 80's. e was just beginning to enjoy life and travel with my mom when the Alzheimer's struck. I remember thinking how unfair it was that after all he had been through this was his future. He died in 1998.

I remember someone saying to me when my dad died that I did not seem to be mourning. I told them that I had been mourning for 10 years. Now I was rejoicing that my dad was out from behind the curtain again.

I am glad that Kenneth is out of the prison that Alzheimer's had made for him. I will pray for his wife and that she is able to move on to the next stage of her grief, because I know she has been grieving a long time.

To everyone that is a caretaker of someone with Alzheimer's "Bless you." To those suffering from Alzheimer's - I am sorry. May you have many good years before the curtain closes.

Restless

I am very restless today. I am sick with a chest cold. It has been coming on for a couple of days and today it is a full blown hacking cough with burning in the lungs. I took some strong medicine and now when I stand up my head feels odd. The problem is that I am not sleepy. If I could just take to the couch and sleep all day, I would not feel so restless, but I cannot sleep and I want to be doing something, but when I stand up, I want to fall down.

Reading has not been successful because I have this burning desire to be doing something. I want to rearrange my bedroom, sweep the floor, something ... but I can't because of this odd sensation in my head.

Very frustrating. Maybe the medicine will knock me out eventually.

George Carlin's New Rules for 2008

GEORGE CARLIN'S NEW RULES FOR 2008

New Rule: No more gift registries. You know, it used to be just for weddings. Now it's for babies and new homes and graduations from rehab. Picking out the stuff you want and having other people buy it for you isn't gift giving, it's the white people version of looting.

New Rule: Stop giving me that pop-up ad for classmates.com! There's a reason you don't talk to people for 25 years. Because you don't particularly like them! Besides, I already know what the captain of the football team is doing these days --- mowing my lawn.

New Rule: Don't eat anything that's served to you out a window unless you're a seagull. People are acting all shocked that a human finger was found in a bowl of Wendy's chili. Hey, it cost less than a dollar. What did you expect it to contain? Lobster?

New Rule: Stop saying that teenage boys who have sex with their hot, blonde teachers are permanently damaged . I have a better description for these kids: 'Lucky bastards.'

New Rule: If you need to shave and you still collect baseball cards, you're a dope. If you're a kid, the cards are keep sakes of your idols. If you're a grown man, they're pictures of men.

New Rule: Ladies, leave your eyebrows alone. Here's how much men care about your eyebrows: Do you have two of them? Good, we're done.

New Rule:There's no such thing as flavored water. There's a whole aisle of this crap at the supermarket, water, but, without that watery taste. Sorry, but flavored water is called a soft drink. You want flavored water? Pour some scotch over ice and let it melt. That's your flavored water.

New Rule: Stop screwing with old people. Target is introducing a redesigned pill bottle that's square, with a bigger label. And the top is now the bottom. And by the time grandpa figures out how to open it, his ass will be in the morgue. Congratulations, Target, you just solved the Social Security crisis.

New Rule: The more complicated the Starbucks order, the bigger the *******. If you walk into a Starbucks and order a 'decaf grandee, half-soy, half-low fat, iced vanilla, double-shot, gingerbread cappuccino, extra dry, light ice, with one Sweet-n'-Low, and One NutraSweet,' ooooh, you're a huge *******.

New Rule: I'm not the cashier! By the time I look up from sliding my card, entering My PIN number, pressing 'Enter,' verifying the amount, deciding, no, I don't want Cash back, and pressing 'Enter' again, the kid who is supposed to be ringing me up is standing there eating my Almond Joy.

New Rule: Just because your tattoo has Chinese characters in it doesn't make you Spiritual. It's right above the crack of your ass. And it translates to 'beef with broccoli.' The last time you did anything spiritual, you were praying to God you weren't pregnant. You're not spiritual. You're just high.

New Rule: Competitive eating isn't a sport. It's one of the seven deadly sins. ESPN Recently televised the U.S. Open of Competitive Eating, because watching those athletes at the poker table was just too damned exciting. What's next, competitive farting? Oh wait, they're already doing that. It's called 'The Howard Stern Show.'

New Rule: I don't need a bigger mega M&Ms. If I'm extra hungry for M&Ms, I'll go nuts and eat two.

New Rule: If you're going to insist on making movies based on crappy old television shows, then you have to give everyone in the Cineplex a remote so we can see what's playing on the other screens. Let's remember the reason something was a television show in the first place is that the idea wasn't good enough to be a movie.

New Rule: And this one is long overdue: No more bathroom attendants. After I zip up, some guy is offering me a towel and a mint like I just had sex with George Michael. I can't even tell If he's supposed to be there, or just some freak with a fetish. I don't want to be on your webcam, Dude. I just want to wash my hands

New Rule: When I ask how old your toddler is, I don't need to hear '27 months.' 'He's two' will do just fine. He's not a cheese. And I didn't really care in the first place.

New Rule: If you ever hope to be a credible adult and want a job that pays better than Minimum wage, then for God's sake don't pierce or tattoo every available piece of flesh. If so, then plan your future around saying, 'Do you want fries with that?'

Thanks George, you are like an old friend. Raymond was reading your book in the pre-op room one day and they had to keep asking him to be quiet because he was laughing so hard. It is a fond memory.

Quilting

As I mentioned previously, I finally took a step to reach my goal of learning how to quilt. I have now had three classes, and I am loving it. The math to the cutting scared me a little at first, and I have discovered that I do much better at the cutting at home in my own space where there is not a lot of distractions, but as I get used to the rulers used I am able to cut and watch television.

I could easily fill my house with quilting fabric, but I have made myself a deal that I will not get ahead of myself. One project at a time, because I fear feeling overwhelmed by the planned projects, and then the guilt of having so many projects and so little time.

I am very pleased with my progress so far, and I am excited at the idea of completing my first quilt.

I am also very pleased with myself for signing up for the class and taking the initiative to reach a personal goal. It seems as if I spend a lot of time helping others reach goals, but seldom help myself reach goals. I am so glad I encouraged myself this time.

Life Takes Yet Another Turn

As I mentioned in a previous post, my life has once again taken a giant turn in a direction I did not expect to take so soon.

My mother has moved in with me. I tried to get her to move in with me last June before her lease was up on her apartment, but she insisted she wanted to continue to live on her own. I wish I had been more persuasive, but I was selfish enough to want to experience my new life with the boys without any extra complications a little while longer.

I had no idea that my mother was in the condition she is in. She has always been a great bluffer, and I believe she should get a doctorate degree in bluffing now at the age of 85.

I discovered all kinds of things about my mother as I packed up her apartment. One being she never gets rid of anything, the other being that she had not been eating most of the groceries we had been buying her. I found cans of food hidden in very odd places, and lunchmeat stockpiled in the vegetable bin. I don't think she was eating anything but breakfast bars and peanut butter on bread. Her memory is very bad now, but she also talks about how she believes another Great Depression is coming and how we must be prepared this time. She will spend half a day talking about how they never knew where their next meal was coming from during that time.

She has done some strange things since moving in with us. Some of the things have made me laugh, others have sent me into a crying binge because I feel so horrible that she has been living the way she was and I didn't know. Oh, I knew she was slipping, but not as much as I have witnessed lately. Like I said she bluffs, plus she has a nurse that visits her and she didn't notice either. Mom still gets up and showers daily and then dresses up complete with makeup and her costume jewels. She makes her bed, listens to her cds, putters around the house, etc., making it seem as if she just has a few memory issues, but once you are around her for more than a couple of hours it is apparent that there are major issues. I am glad she is here now.

The boys quiz her when they are home, testing her to make sure she remembers as much as she can. Sometimes she teases them with her answers, sometimes she really can't answer, but I would say that currently 80% of the time she can answer, and that pleases the boys. They have been great about making this adjustment, and it has been quite an adjustment.

Every bedroom has been moved around, and we still cannot walk around the rooms yet. The boys are currently sharing a room, but I hope to change that next month and get everyone a room to call their own, even if the closet spaces will be strange for a while.

I try not to worry about the future too much, but it is hard not to when you have been down this path before. I'm glad she is here because she seems so happy to be here. I am happy she is here as it is easier on all of us, but I will be happier when my home is back to some semblance of organization and I know that everyone has a space to call their own.

"The View From Mount Joy" More Than a Book

I just finished reading "The View From Mount Joy" by Lorna Landvik. As I closed the book I started thinking about my own views from "Mount Joy." (Sorry Ms. Landvik, but I have more than one.) One view in particular I thought I would return to one day, but it never happened.

My greatest view from "Mount Joy" was the one from the cliff where Raymond proposed to me. We went on a hike at Bee Rock in KY and Raymond proposed at the overlook. It truly was a "View from Mount Joy." I always thought we would hike that hike again, but the one time we were able to go back we were with a group of people and circumstances prevented us from hiking the trail. I did get a postcard of the site, but it wasn't the same.

We had another hike before he became ill at the Great South Fork in KY. There was one spot that was absolutely breathtaking and we stood there with our arms around each other enjoying a "View from Mount Joy." We talked of our blessings and how much we missed being in an area of such great beauty, but how we could never return.

After he became wheelchair bound we were still able to have a "View from Mount Joy" when we went on vacation to the Great Smoky Mountains and climbed (wheeled) the Laurel Falls trail, but it wasn't the view that made it a "Mount Joy," it was the fact that Raymond was able to participate in the hike with us.

I hope to have more views from a "Mount Joy" in the future, but so far it hasn't happened. The boys and I have hiked in some beautiful places and have seen some great views, but the joy hasn't been there for me without Raymond. Every time we come upon a great view I am saddened by the fact that he is not by my side.

My views of "Mount Joy" are very different from those in the book, but I believe that I get this same feeling in my heart as the character in the book.

Thank you Ms. Landvik for the memories.

Would Someone Please Explain

Would someone please explain to me the interest in the following:

1. Paris Hilton
2. Lindsey Lohan
3. Nicole Ritchie
4. Hannah Montana

and the list could go on and on and on.

We are really becoming a very shallow society.

Grief Weighing Me Down

I have been struggling all week with grief. My lost time with Raymond has been haunting me. I feel as if I can barely walk upright my heart is so heavy.

There has been a lot of tragedy in our community in the past month. Two mothers of children in our school district passed away. Children in another community lost their parents. A young mother died 12 days after giving birth in another community. I grieve so much when I know there are young children left behind in the wake of a quick tragedy. I worry about what will happen to them. Here they are with more than they can possibly understand and the adults around them are dumbstruck with grief. I worry about the children being lost.

I have been grieving for these children, which just leads to me to grieve for my own even more.

I feel so inadequate as a single mother. I lost my sounding board. How will these other families move on? What is the fate of these children to be left without their parent(s) at such a young age? What is the plan for their life?

My father-in-law was always telling me that God would not give me more than I could handle, it was not comforting at all. It just made me want to scream that anything that took Raymond from me was more than I could handle. Now I just want to scream for these children.

As I sit and think about these children and their grief, I start to think about all the children in the world that are suffering. Children that have not only lost their parents, but have lost their homes, and their villages. That grief is there, but it seems so remote in my soul. The grief for these children in our community and here in this area is so acute I feel as if my body will bleed with it. I then start to think about how wrong that is, as these children will be taken care of by the community, there are many children that have nothing, no one, and I am sure a sense of no hope. The grief for the children in the community then begins to feel like guilt.

Human emotions are hard. I miss my Raymond. He would listen to me talk about these feelings I have been having. He would understand like no one else.

Pray for all the children in the world.

Blind Submission by Debra Ginsberg

I have had a love/hate relationship with this book for weeks and I finally finished it.

I picked this book off the library shelf because I thought it looked interesting. When I started reading it, I decided it was anything but interesting and put it aside to return, only to have to pick it up again when it was the only book around when I needed something to read and was to lazy to get out of bed to search for something else.

After a little while there were parts of the book that I found to be intriguing, but for the most part it was a predictable, boring book. It got so I had to finish it just so I could see if the author pulled it out at the end with a surprise, or if it would just be a predictable ending.

No surprise ending, no characters that turned out to be engaging or someone you could cheer on, nothing.

I have completed the book, and I will take it back to the library today, but what a shame the author couldn't pull this book off with something to make it worth the read. This book could have given so much more to the reader.

Choose Laughter Over Bitterness

I was writing a letter today to a friend that probably does not have much longer to live. He is quite elderly and in very poor health, as his body is just wearing out. His wife of many, many years is extremely bitter, as is he about his health, and I find that sad.

Here they are spending what really could be their last few days together and all they can do is complain. Instead of thinking back about their wonderful sixty plus years together, they can only focus on the last two years and how his health has declined.

I can’t help but feel they are wasting precious moments together. Moments that she will want back after he is gone. Moments that could be spent in laughter and with tears of happy times remembered.

It saddens me greatly that they will end their time here together on earth in bitterness.

Raymond and I were bitter in the beginning, but we adjusted to our fate and did all we could to make the best of it. We really tried to set an example for our boys. I think we succeeded. They went with me to see this couple and I could tell from what the boys said afterward that they noticed the couple's attitude and that it really was not helping the situation. Maybe the boys will now understand why Raymond and I laughed at things most people would have found to be extremely disgusting or totally depressing. I can still smile at those laughs.

I pray that this couple finds peace with their fate and learn to laugh in the upcoming days, because it is what will get them through. I fear they will not find peace in the end if they continue on the path they are currently following. I also fear it will only make the wife’s grief more difficult for her and their family.

The Weight of it All Has Not Been Forgotten, the Weight Has Just Been Heavy

I have not forgotten my blog, I just have so much weight on my shoulders right now that I don’t have time to sit down and express my thoughts.

After many months of struggles with memory issues, scammer attacks, and safety worries, my 85-year-old mother has decided to move in with me. We were going to try to have her moved in by the first of December, but due to some very vicious phone scammers, I decided to move up the date to Monday, Oct. 22.

The hurried move was arranged in about 4 days, and would not have been possible without the help of my rock, and other friends. I am so blessed.

The move has not been easy, in more than one way. The move is not over. There are still a lot of things to take care of, but at least my mother is safe and we will adjust after a while.

I am also on several committees right now that take some time, and I have added to my volunteer responsibilities. All good things, just time consuming in my evenings, when I would usually be blogging.

I have reached a long time goal. I am taking quilting classes. I have always wanted to learn to quilt, and I finally took that giant step. I have completed my first square and I am looking forward to finishing my first block soon.

I miss writing my thoughts. I started a post the other night and fell asleep with the computer in my lap. In fact, it has taken me 20 minutes to type this post due to a couple of little naps.

I am hoping that I can get my mom moved in by the end of November. I hope I can keep my sanity in the process. She actually wanted to keep a very small Styrofoam ball that had a face painted on it, despite the fact that the back of the head was all mashed in and there was no body. I told her “no” and she was not happy about it. I think it will be a long month. I hope she will “forget” about a lot of things, and that I will have time to blog it out when she doesn’t.

Angels We Have Seen Up High

Sunday night, October 7, 2007, the boys and I were heading to Denton, TX around 6:45 p.m. and in the western sky there was an amazing sight - a very dark blue cloud in the shape of a mountain, with a pinkish/purple cloud on top shaped like an angel on a pedestal. What a beautiful angel she was. I say she because the head appeared to have long hair. Her wings were very wide and regal looking. The boys and I watched her and discussed her as we continued to drive west. As she seemed to grow larger and more real I started thinking about angels, how unapproachable this one seemed, and how that is not the way I think of angels.

I then started thinking about angel statues I have seen on tombstones and how some of them actually seem scornful and condescending, and that surely is a mistake on the part of the crafter of the tombstone. Maybe I have seen too many movies, and have read too many novels about angels coming to help people, but I like to think of angels looking like normal everyday people that are willing to help people through a tough situation.

Looking at this very haughty, yet beautiful, vision in the sky, I couldn’t help but be a little disturbed by the fact that angels might actually look that way, and therefore would seem unapproachable. Then something happened. The very regal cloud angel passed gas. I started laughing. I had proof that she was a normal angel putting on a façade. My sons asked why I was laughing and I told them to look at the little puff of cloud that had broken off the angel in a strategic spot. I said that the angel had tooted (only I used the word that teenage boys usually use). They laughed too, and then I said what my boys are always reminding me of when I say something irreverent – “I’m going to Hell.”

As the week has gone by, I have thought of that angel many times. There she was looking over the world in a form that was totally recognizable to anyone whether or not they believe in angels. If she had appeared in the sky in the form of a grandmotherly type would anyone have recognized her as an angel?

I am very sure it was important for that angel to be recognizable at that moment, whether for my family or another family. I know that I have not forgotten her.

Great Reading of Raymond's Favorite Poem

Raymond really enjoyed poetry. One of his favorites was "The Cremation of Sam McGee" by Robert Service.

There is a great reading of this poem on YouTube. ttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6lBkuz1TlVc

Goodbye Lisa - October 4, 2007

Lisa Moore died of cancer on October 4, 2007 in the Funky Winkerbean comic.

In they October 5, 2007 Funky Winkerbean, Les Moore is shown wondering if he had done everything he could have done.
http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/fun/funky.asp

Welcome to the world of a surviving spouse/caretaker Les. That is a question I ask myself on a daily basis. It is a question I will never be able to answer.

Channeling the Pigsty

I just spent the last 20 minutes cleaning up around my recliner.

When Raymond and I finally had enough money, and the kids were done with that spit up stage, we bought new furniture for our living room. Besides a couch and a chair rocker, Raymond bought a big blue recliner for himself that fit his stature, and I bought a smaller burgundy tweed recliner that fit my stature. They were always side by side with an end table between them.

The area around Raymond's chair was always a pigsty, especially after he became wheelchair bound. There would be books stacked all around, papers, magazines, projects, water bottles, cough drops, and anything that pertained to Raymond's latest hobby.

My chair would have a nice basket next to it with my magazines and books. Everything would be neat and picked up.

Sometimes Raymond's area would get to the point that I could not stand it and I would either ask him to clean it up or I would dig in and straighten everything up. Other times, it would get so bad he would clean it up himself. Believe me when I say it had to be pretty bad for that to happen, and it would usually follow a time when after he had been sick for a while and I had just left him alone.

The big blue recliner is gone now. The rocker chair sits on the other side of the table from my recliner. It is a change, but I have gotten use to it.

What I cannot get used to is the fact that the area around my recliner is now a pigsty. It is like I am channeling the pigsty that used to surround Raymond's recliner. Just tonight I recycled 8 water bottles, 2 months worth of TV Guide, school notices, old agendas from Council meetings, several pieces of junk mail that I thought I might want to read, but didn't, and picked up four books that I intend to read eventually. It is so weird for me to live like that, usually everything has a place, like the giant recycling bin in my laundry room.

Maybe this chair pigsty is just my way of keeping part of Raymond with me all the time. I don't know. I do know that there were other qualities of Raymond that I admired more than the chair pigsty, and I would rather channel some of those than keep making these messes.

Love This Bumper Sticker

God Bless Everyone, No Exceptions.

My Contract Says

The foundation repair work is done on my house. Overall, I am pleased with the work. The men cleaned up the job site each day, made sure that caution tape was over all the areas where it was necessary, etc. My biggest dissatisfaction with the overall project was that I was told that I would have at least one person on site that spoke English. There wasn't anyone on the job site that spoke enough English for me to understand what they were saying. Usually I was able to get my wishes across with a lot of pointing, but I still worried about whether or not either one of us understood the other.

When the work was completed the man that I assumed was the foreman of the project came to the door and pointed to where I owed him money and said check. I retrieved my contract and pointed to plumbing test and engineer's report and said "no check, not done." He smiled and we went through the whole thing about five times before he decided I really wasn't going to give him a check.

Today a lady called from the company and asked me if I was satisfied with the job and was there anything else they could do for me. I said that they could complete the plumbing test and the engineer's report. She said that she would make the necessary calls and see what she could do to make sure those were items were completed. She then asked when they could expect the final payment. I told her they could expect the final payment when they had fulfilled their contract by performing the plumbing test and supplying me with an engineer's report. She said thank you and hung up.

My contract says that I will get a plumbing test and an engineer's report. No check until that is done folks.

I have also made a contact with myself. My contact says that I will do my best not to get ripped off by any repair persons or service companies. I think giving them a check now would break my contract.

Why Do People Feel the Need to Change?

I know there are other bigger issues to think about in the world, but once a day I take the time to check out Dr. Tony Youn's blog. http://celebritycosmeticsurgery.blogspot.com/and wonder why people are compelled to change themselves.

Of course, I am sure people look at me and wonder why I don't change the way I look. The older I get the less I want to do to make myself super "presentable."

As the years have gone on I've have decreased the amount of makeup I were to a very bare minimum. I have changed my hair to a style that can be finger styled. I have two of the same shirt that is my favorite. I wish I had 14. I could wear one of them every day for two weeks before I would have to do my least favorite chore, laundry.

I used to have a really nice wardrobe. I worked in college and would drive to the big city of Lexington, KY, and shop at boutiques and have clothes that my friends envied. When I worked in Dallas, I always had very nice clothes that I bought at a little boutique in Plano. However, in the last five years or so I have decided that comfort should rule my life over fashion. If I find a shirt that feels good, looks good, and is reasonably priced, then I buy every color they have in that shirt. Same with jeans. I find a pair I like and I buy 3 blue pair for everyday and 2 black pair for dress. Now I do have dress clothes like skirts and tops, one dress, and several pair of dress slacks, so I can dress up if the situation calls for nicer clothes than what I wear daily, but I prefer my daily clothes.

I used to have at least 15 pairs of shoes at all times. My mother sold shoes through a catalog and was always ordering me really cute shoes to match outfits I had. I also had a favorite shoe store in my home town where I used to buy really nice dress boots and casual shoes from a family I had made friends with from when my parents would shop there for the family. Now, I have 7 pairs of shoes, three of those are sandals that I wear during the summer. Once I moved to Texas I discovered that I hate shoe shopping. I never had a chance to find that out growing up because my mom either ordered the shoes for me, or the family at the shoe store would call and say they had something they thought I might like. I was very spoiled when it came to shoes. Now I do the same thing with shoes that I do with shirts. I find a pair that are comfortable and fit, and I buy a brown pair and a black pair.

As I look at the people on Dr. Youn's blog and wonder about their body "revisions," I have to wonder about mine. Am I just being lazy, or have I just decided that life is too short to not be comfortable?

As I ponder the answer to that question, I think back to my "management" jeans. When I was in college I took a management class where I was paired up with an all male study group. We were required to meet outside of class once a week to work on certain projects. The guys in my study group were really cute, so I would spend a lot of time getting ready for study group "dates." I had one particular pair of jeans that always brought a lot of compliments my way, so they became my "management" jeans. They really were not comfortable. Even though I was much thinner in college, these jeans were still tight. I would go to these meetings and suffer for an hour and then go back to the dorm and put on my "fat" pants and enjoy myself so much more with my other guy friends. One of the guys in the management group finally did show some interest in me, and we got together on campus a few times without the others around. Turned out I should have just been comfortable at those meetings. He was definitely the cutest of the group, and the one I was most interested in, but when I found out he was barely a "C" student I lost all interest in him. Snobby of me, yes, but I knew I needed to have intellectual stimulation to stay interested in a guy. Plus he never once said he liked my jeans.

I know that I would never have cosmetic surgery to please another person. There are certainly parts of me that I wished looked different, but they are what I was given and quite frankly, if someone doesn't like how I look, then they can look some where else. Yes, I wish I was thinner, but that may never happen. I really wish I was taller, always have, and always will, but I know I will never be taller.

I guess what it comes down to is that I feel sorry for the people on Dr. Youn's site that have been compelled to change themselves, sometimes with frightening results. I don't know why they felt the need to change themselves, but I hope it made them happier in some way. I know that I am glad that I no longer feel the need to wear "management" jeans.

Some nights as I am looking at Dr. Youn's site I wonder if I just use the comfort issue as an excuse to not have to make an effort. I start wondering if someday I will be that old "toothless" woman that sits around in her rocking chair on the front porch braless in an old flowered cotton mu mu with her hair standing on end yelling obscenities at the kids walking home from school, but then I remember that I really don't look good in a flowered print.

WARNING – DEFINITELY A EWWW!!!!

Quite by accident last week I came across the term “anal bleaching.” I thought it was a joke until I started researching this “trend.” It was not a joke. People actually do this. You can have this done by a doctor, a spa, or do it at home. I also found out there were other areas of the body that could be bleached that did not necessarily involve hair. EWWW!!!!

I don’t know why this has stuck in my mind so much, but I can’t help but wonder “how did we get here?” I know that throughout the ages there has been behavior by some that would not be considered mainstream, but it wasn’t so publicized.

Maybe the internet has made this information more available to everyone. Maybe reality shows have made everyone want to be a star and in doing so they want to be “trendy.” Maybe the media that publishes pictures of young stars out partying without their underwear has something to do with people wanting certain parts to look “younger.” Whatever the reason, EWWW.

I do not understand some of today’s trends. I do know that if these types of procedures are what make you trendy – then I will never be “trendy.”

Raymond Would Have

I got up at 4 a.m. one morning last week to watch the lunar eclipse with my youngest. We watched for a little over an hour. I was so thrilled when total eclipse was reached and he decided to go back to bed instead of watching the rest of the process.

At first, I told my youngest that I was not going to get up with him, but then I surprised him by setting my alarm and going out with him. What made me decide at the last minute to set my alarm and go outside to be a feast for the mosquitoes? Raymond would have gotten up to see the eclipse if one of the boys wanted to see it

“Raymond would have” has been my test for a lot of things I have done since I have been making decisions on my own, especially when it comes to the boys.

Raymond would have gotten up whether or not he was interested in the eclipse or not. Of course, Raymond would have remembered to set up the telescope while it was still daylight instead of in the dark at 4 a.m. in the morning. Raymond also would have known how to work the telescope.

I’m glad I got up with my youngest. My oldest watched it in another city. I hope Raymond had a chance to see it too.

I Hate School!

I just returned from dropping the youngest off at school. We left early to avoid the horrible first day of school traffic. It worked getting there, but getting out was a mess.

I hate that school is back in session. I really enjoyed having my boys here with me. We have so much fun and so many laughs.

I had that lovely three week break from them this summer and that was enough. They could stay home a few more months before I would be ready to get another break.

The other thing I hate about school starting - the bureaucracy of it all. I hate the specific school supply list, the sports meetings to relay information that could have been covered in a one paragraph email, and the endless busy work projects that take up my son’s time when it would have been just as easy to assign a project where he would have been able to better his research skills.

If that wasn’t a long enough list of what I hate about school starting, there is something else I hate even more - the teacher that grades in an arbitrary and capricious manner. He had a teacher last year that based grades of projects on the ones that were most elaborate. It did not matter that he had met every requirement on the assignment, if someone put one out that looked as if they had a Master’s in Art, then they got an A and all others were based on that project. It was very discouraging to him. Could his projects have been more elaborate, or course, but the assignments did not justify spending that much time and extra money on in order to top all the others. He took his only ever B, despite having made high A’s on every test, and learned another life lesson.

I hate school!

Purple Haze

Went to Denton today to see the oldest. Enjoyed listening to Brave Combo's "Purple Haze - The Jimi Hendrix Polka" on the way up. Also listened to the "Spamolot." The youngest would rather I not listen to "Spamolot" since I like to sing along, and, since I have a tin ear, I imagine it must be awful for him, but too bad, I was having fun.

Dagwood Dagger

Meet Dagwood Dagger, the Ornate Wood Turtle that joined our family tonight. He is beautiful!










The markings on his back look like a dagger. Very personable, and a great climber.

Van Teen Talks

I discovered a long time ago that the best place to talk to my teens about sensitive subjects is the van. Sex, peer issues, or any other subjects that can bring embarrassment to either the boys or me is best discussed with my boys when they do not have to look right at me.

I try to be very open with my boys about sex and the consequences of premarital sex. I also talk to them about their responsibilities if they choose not to abstain until marriage. Sometimes what I say makes them scream. Sometimes the questions they ask make me want to bury my head in my arms and cry. However, since we are driving down the road, those options are not available, and we end up with an honest conversation.

Yesterday, circumstances allowed me to drive my oldest an hour back to school with just the two of us in the van, and we were able to have a private lunch together. We had a wonderful conversation, and yes, there was some discussion regarding personal relationships, but most of the discussion was about religions, and how did he see the afterlife. It was fascinating. I loved his view of things.

Since we were discussing the afterlife, we finally had a short discussion about Raymond. My boys do not discuss their father very much, and when they do it is usually a very funny memory. Yesterday, my oldest and I were able to briefly touch on Raymond, and I was able to answer a few questions for my son. It gave me hope that we will be able to discuss Raymond more and more as the boys deal with their grief.

I look forward to my next van ride with either or both of my boys.

What a Blessing

I moved my oldest into his dorm room yesterday to start his senior year of high school at college. It was very bittersweet.

This morning I took my youngest to orientation to begin his school year on Monday.

Needless to say the emotions started to swell, along with the questions. I am constantly questioning myself as to whether or not I am doing right by the boys. As I drove down my road, a young hawk took off from a neighbor’s fence and flew right next to my passenger’s window all the way to my driveway. It was such an amazing and glorious sight.

I have mentioned many times that I think Raymond comes to me as a hawk. Today Raymond let me know that he was still with me. He was letting me know that he is right in the passenger seat next to me, helping to guide me through raising the boys.

It was such a blessing. I could feel my thoughts start to ease immediately. My heartburn went away, and a peace flowed through my whole body.

The Peanut has Grown Up

My oldest leaves for school tomorrow. I am folding his laundry for him while he is at work. Several of the t-shirts were Raymond's from when he ran in 5k's and participated in bike events. I folded one that had the date of 1986 on it. It is still an ok t-shirt to wear around the house, or to work in the yard. No holes, tears, or stains.

It is hard to believe that the little peanut that Raymond used to carry around the house every night after work, and sit up with when he had colic, is a senior in high school, and wearing Raymond's old clothes.

I'm very proud of him. I know Raymond was proud of him.

I Love a Good Sunset

Sunset on August 19, 2007, Lucas, TX



I love a good sunset. Last night's was pretty.


As I turned to come in last night, I almost stepped on a bunny rabbit. He had come up from behind me and stopped right next to my shoe. Guess he likes sunsets too.

Raymond Approves

I was here alone yesterday afternoon, carrying in groceries from the store. As I would walk in from the carport I would pause to listen to my chimes. They were all tingling so lightly and giving me such a sense of peace.

I paused to put away some of the frozen food and noticed that all the turtles (16) were being quite noisy. As I started looking around at all of them, it came to me that I had lost my mind.

Why on earth did I ever agree to allow all these turtles to inhabit my kitchen and living room? Me! The woman that used to believe everything has its own place, and everything belonged in its place. I was the one that used to say the kitchen was my room and everything in the kitchen belonged to me. It was the one room that everything in it was there because I placed it there.

Now there is a 75 gallon turtle tank and a small 3 gallon turtle tank in my kitchen. There is a huge eight foot by almost 3 foot turtle table in my living room, along with two twenty gallon turtle tanks.

Turtles smell. My youngest keeps the tanks clean, but they smell. Especially musk turtles and snapping turtles and I have them right in the door as you enter my living room.

As I was carrying the last of the groceries in I started analyzing having so many turtles. I was wondering if I was doing the right thing by allowing my youngest to explore his love of turtles. I was questioning whether or not I was letting my youngest have all these turtles because I was trying to give him something to smother with love since his father wasn’t here to be smothered in love. Was it alright for my son to have all these turtles? Was it good for me to allow so much space to be dedicated to turtles?

Then it happened. The wind bell, which has been silent since the last time I felt Raymond send me a message, started clanging. It went crazy. While the other chimes were gently tinkling, the wind bell was moving violently around in its space. I stopped to watch. I listened to it clang, and said “okay, I get it.” The wind bell stopped.

I came in and sat down thinking about the turtles and Raymond. When Raymond was alive we had three turtles. They were located in the kitchen. A musk hatchling on the counter in a small tank, and two sliders in a 20 gallon tank along the wall. Raymond would often wheel up to the bigger tank and watch the turtles and talk to them. The hatchling came after he was bedridden, but we showed it to him. He enjoyed talking to the turtles and watching them. He was fascinated by our son’s interest in learning about the turtles.

No, I am not doing the wrong thing. Yes, it is a lot of turtles, and we will be getting number 17 today, a rescue turtle. We have agreed he will be our last, but I doubt it. We love all of our turtles; they are part of the family. They are not a love replacement for any of us, they are our pets

Raymond approves.

NO, I AM NOT OVER IT!!!!

I was at a gathering last week where I saw some people I had not seen since sometime in May. Also in attendance was a woman that I admire a lot and have always had a little bond with because of similar situations in life. I was very happy to see her and enjoyed catching up with her life.

At one point in the conversation, she asked me how I was doing. It just so happened that the previous evening had been particularly rough for me. I was really missing Raymond. I told this woman that I was doing better, but that I still had some really bad days and nights because I miss Raymond so much. Her response was “I thought you would be over that by now.”

I was more than a little shocked. I thought of all people she would understand the feeling of loss that I am experiencing on a daily basis. I mumbled a reply about how I was not over it and moved on to another topic.

As the days have gone by I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her comment and my response. I wanted to shout “NO I AM NOT OVER IT!!!!” as loud as I could at her, but it would have been very inappropriate in the setting we were in. In fact, the other day when I was alone in the house, I did shout it several times just to express how strongly I felt about my answer.

Then, as always, I started doubting myself. Am I supposed to be over it? I know that Raymond asked me not to grieve for too long, and maybe he wouldn’t have if it had been me that died, but I still miss him.

There are so many things that I would like to ask him about when it comes to guiding the boys. I know he would have read “Cataloochee” and enjoyed it as much as I did. Then we could have discussed our favorite parts of the book. In fact, that book was one of the reasons I was missing him so much that night. I was grieving about all the books he would never read.

I think I am leading as normal of a life as I can under the circumstances. The boys and I are able to laugh and have a good time together. We are doing okay, but I am not over it. I don’t think I will ever be over it.

In my mind, being over it would mean forgetting the life I had with Raymond. Why would I ever want to forget our life together? How could I forget the life we had together?

NO, I’M NOT OVER IT!

Cataloochee by Wayne Caldwell

I have a passion for books that have their main setting in the Appalachian region of the United States. I don't know if it is in my blood because of my heritage, or if I lived there in another life, but some of my happiest "reads" are books about the lives and times of people in Appalachia.

I was very fortunate to have run across a new book in the library called "Cataloochee" by Wayne Caldwell. The story covers six decades of life in Cataloochee, North Carolina, an area that is eventually taken over by the government to make the Great Smoky Mountain National Park.

Mr. Caldwell is a great story-teller and I was so sad when I finished this book. Bravo, sir. Thank you for taking me back in time and letting me live life with the Carters, Wrights, and even Ezra Banks.

The Beach Boys - "Not to Old to Rock 'n' Roll"

That is the headline on the GMA website today.

My friends know that I love to watch GMA in the mornings. This morning the Summer Concert Series features the Beach Boys. They are singing songs off of their new album. I am sorry, but these men need to give it up. They really are too old to "Rock 'n' Roll." There were times when I actually had to cover my ears because it was so horrible.

I find it so sad sometimes when these older bands or solo singers from twenty or thirty years ago or more are trying to promote new songs and albums. I wouldn't mind if their voices were different, but often they are just shot, or gone. Then I have to sit and wonder if they are broke and are trying to make it until retirement.

I don't know why the Beach Boys have a new album, but they should have hired someone else to do the singing.

AHHHH they are trying to sing "Kokomo." I really think the way Mike Love is mumbling that he forgot some of the words.

At least the audience seem to be enjoying themselves. Maybe it sounds a lot better in person.

Saying all of that, I would still go see the Moody Blues in concert. (Of course, the concert would have to be within ten miles of my home and free.)

Today's Thoughts

I found out a couple of weeks ago that my dad was actually a year older than we thought. He said he was born in 1920, but we found his army I.D. and it said 1919. I then went and located his birth certificate and it said 1919. We have been trying to figure out why he said it was 1920, or if someone told him different at one time and he thought it was 1920. It really doesn't change anything, it is just another small mystery that cannot be solved.

My mom's memory was really not there today. Why is it worse on some days than others? How much longer can she live on her own?

Raymond had the most beautiful skin on his feet. Even up until the day he died. He never did anything special, but the skin was so soft and free of cracks or blisters. I was looking at my boys feet tonight as they were sitting around with them barefoot while we were playing a game. They have Raymond's feet. I'm so glad they didn't get mine. I always admired Raymond's feet.
I have noticed that parents that do not respect their children, do not get any respect back.

My oldest goes back to school in 11 days, and I am going to miss having him around.

The youngest goes back to school the end of August. I hate that. I do not want to go back to the school stuff. The meetings, the booster clubs, the constant irritation of things that go on during the school year. We lead such a peaceful existence when school is not in session.

I still miss Raymond so much. My life is so incomplete without him.

I'm mad at Raymond. He left letters for the boys. He did not write a letter to me. I needed a letter. Something to hold. I know he did not leave me a letter because he thought I'd remember all he told me, but I want a letter to hold. Something to hug to my heart.

My mom keeps talking to be about remarrying. I can't imagine that. She says she dreams all the time that I have remarried. My friend says she probably just doesn't want me to be alone. My mom was proposed to by two different men when my dad died. She never wanted to marry again. I don't know why she thinks I do.

We saw a very pretty Cumberland slider turtle at Petco tonight. He is still there. We decided 16 turtles are enough.

Just Taking a Minute to Look at my Priorities

I have so many unfinished projects. I want to strip and repaint my porch chairs. They look awful to me because there are rust spots, and the cushions are faded. I am embarrassed because I have had the stripper and paint for months, but I haven’t worked on them at all.

Monday, we had two families over to swim. The kids were in the pool and the adults sat on the breezeway catching up with each other and what was happening in the community. Not once did anyone say, “Gee, you really need to paint these chairs,” or “When are you going to buy new cushions?” What they did say was: “I had so much fun today; I hope we can start getting together more when school starts,” and “Thank you so much, I really enjoyed our day together.”

I want to make and paint new numbers for my mailbox. I have the wood, I have the paint, and I have a definite idea of how I want them to look. It is driving me nuts that I have not completed this project. Every time I walk by the supplies I mentally kick myself for not working on the new numbers, as it will probably only take 4 hours to complete and paint the new numbers.

The mailbox project is one I decided had to be done. I ran out and bought the supplies and that was as far as I managed to get. The mailman did not say “Gee, you need new numbers.” Emergency services have not contacted me to say “Your current numbers are in violation of the code.” No one has missed my house because they could not see the reflective numbers currently on the mailbox. This is simply something I wanted to do for myself and my family. I haven’t mentioned this project to very many of my friends, so they are not expecting anything new to appear on my mailbox, so why am I beating myself up over not having new numbers?

I have a birdbath to paint, I need to completely tear down my pond and start it over, I need to have the bigger pond installed, I need to organize all the kids awards into different books, I need to … the list goes on and on.

Who says I need to do any of the things listed above? Only me, no one else but me really cares if any of these projects are ever completed. Do I really need to complete the list of my projects, or do I just want to do these projects some day? Maybe I need to look at the list again, it could be I do not need to do some of them at all. Maybe I need to replace the word need on my list to the phrase "some day I would like," or, "it would be nice to have, but certainly not necessary." As in, "It would be nice to have new mailbox numbers, but it is certainly not necessary because the ones I have are just fine." Or, "Some day I would like to have new cushions for the patio chairs, but the old ones are still comfortable, and because they are faded I did't mind when the oldest accidentally painted the corner of one."

My kids do not care about the mailbox, the chairs, or anything else I have on my list. All they care about is whether or not I’m available to talk to when they have a problem, play a board game before bed at night, and drive them to their commitments. They have not put any demands on me to complete any projects.

My friends do not care about any of the projects I have not completed. They just want to know that I will be there if they need a shoulder to cry on, an ear to rant into, or a helping hand.

So in the end, I have to ask myself: Does it really matters if I paint the chairs this year, or next? Does it matter if the numbers on the mailbox are bought ready to apply at the store, or hand designed in my shop? Will the boys stop loving me because I have not placed all their certificates in chronological order? Will I lose all my friends just because I have a list of unfinished projects, or will my friends keep appreciating me for being me?

How do I want the boys to remember me? As a mom that was always ready to stop what she was doing to play a game or listen to what was happening with them, or as a mom that was always working on a project?

I would love to be remembered as the woman that did it all, but I know that I am not really capable of being a “super mom/woman.” It just took one time of telling my boys that I needed to finish something up instead of playing a game to realize I did not want to be that kind of mom. I realized I would rather spend four hours playing a game than working on numbers for my mailbox.

I was in the middle of a project the other day when a mom called and said she was having a problem with one of her kids and wasn’t sure how to handle it. I stopped what I was doing and spent two hours on the phone listening and talking about possible solutions, and when we finished the call we both felt better because we shared our concerns about our children. The project I was doing is still not done, but it will get done some day soon.

Just by taking the time to write this I realized that I need to stop berating myself for having so many projects in limbo. It is not healthy for my mental state. Sometimes I just need to take a minute or so and remind myself of my priorities. Perhaps, if I start taking that minute or so more often, I can end hours of mentally abusing myself for not having marked a project off my list.

I am not Prejudiced Because of the "Frito Bandito", but I am Prejudiced

I have been humming the “Frito Bandito” song all day. I loved that little guy. I had “Frito Bandito” erasers for the ends of my pencils and I would use them as puppets as I sang the song. The “Frito Bandito” was to me at the time just a cute little character with a catchy tune that loved Fritos. I never actually connected him to any particular race, or considered his song to be insulting to others. I just thought he wanted to steal Fritos from people because he loved his Fritos, like the rabbit that was always trying to steal Trix cereal from kids.

Of course, I really did not understand prejudice and stereotyping when I was growing up with the “Frito Bandito.” If that ad campaign was introduced today, I would be just as outraged as the groups that protested the “Frito Bandito” years ago because they felt the character stereotyped their race and culture.

I cannot say I don’t have prejudiced thoughts, I think everyone does. I can say that I really try very hard not to judge people by their race, color, religion, or disabilities, with the exception of certain Southern Baptists. My prejudices go more towards people making idiotic decisions, and people that seem to embrace being bigots.

One example of my prejudices was a comment I made tonight. My boys and I saw a truck in front of us as we drove into town. The truck had several bumper stickers on its back window. I found the bumper stickers offensive because they were represented prejudice against a certain race of people. He also had a bumper sticker that said “my dog is smarter than your honor student.” I made the comment to my boys that his dog was probably smarter than him if his other bumper stickers were any indication of his intelligence. That was bad enough, but when I decided to change lanes to lower my blood pressure from the anger I felt after reading his truck, I ended up next to him at a stop light. He looked over at us, and since I had already formed an opinion of him, I told the boys that not only did he show ignorance by his prejudiced bumper stickers but he had the look of someone who had had an anvil dropped upon his head. My oldest son laughed, and then told me we were all going to hell for having such thoughts about another person.

The “Frito Bandito” character did not make me believe that all men from Mexico were thieves. However, I do believe that people that display their prejudices proudly are ignorant. These ignorant people come from all regions of the world, they do not practice one particular religion, and they can have no education or have the highest education degree possible.

There are times when I find myself laughing at things that show prejudice in television shows or movies, but so often those are to show us how wrong it is. Sometimes, after I have been on the phone for over an hour trying to solve an issue with someone reading from a script because the company I am dealing with has outsourced their customer service to some other country where the person can barely understand my English, and I definitely cannot understand theirs, I have some thoughts that really stereotype that person, but I also realize that it is not their fault they have that job, they are probably just happy to have a job. The frustration I feel should go more towards the company that has put me in the situation where I am having so much trouble solving my complaint.

I would love to believe that some day prejudice will not exist in the world, but I don’t believe that will ever be possible. I do know that I have taught my boys it is wrong to be prejudiced, as did Raymond. I have seen examples of them not showing prejudice when we have been out in public. We have long talks that also make me to believe they are trying to not form prejudice beliefs. Of course, they both felt the same way I did tonight about the truck and the bumper stickers, so I guess I have not been entirely successful as they seem to be just as prejudiced against ignorance as I am.

Some People Have Wings on Earth

When the boys and I were out shopping tonight, we went to Petco. There was a parking spot right out front because it was so late. I looked through the window when I parked and there was a man that I consider to be an angel on earth. He was the friend that was here for us when Raymond went into hospice. He was the friend that was here when Raymond died.

I was so glad to see him. I really don't think I know a better man. Raymond was a good man, but this man is in a different class, even Raymond agreed with me.

We talked for a while and then we parted ways. I told the boys when we left that he deserved much more than he has received on earth.

I love him and his family and I will pray that things get better for them. They do so much for others, and never ask in return. Bless him and bless his family.

Rube In the City

I love local politics. It is like having a soap opera in my own back yard. I find Council meetings quite entertaining . It is an excellent opportunity for people observations and everyone that knows me knows I love to people watch.

I don't know if my regular readers have noticed that I have a new link I like called "Rube in the City." It is a "fictional" account of politics in a small Texas city. If you are not interested in small city politics you probably won't find the "Rube" blog interesting, but if you have any experience at all with city politics I bet you will recognize the behavior in the "fictional" city as close to those in your city.

My Earliest Memory

My earliest memory is being in a playpen in the front room of a house and seeing the front door open to allow a group of people to enter. They are noisy. There are two older women in the group. One of the women is wearing a fur looking hat, and she reaches into the playpen and lifts me into the air. That is the entire memory.

When I asked my brother and mom about it several years ago they were pretty sure that was when we lived in the house we lived in when I was born, and the woman was either Freda or Viola, my uncle’s aunts. I find that weird because I have no memory of ever living in a house before the one on Blueberry, but I know that the house in my memory is not the Blueberry house as the layout of the room is wrong. I also do not remember Freda and Viola, even though I have heard stories about them my whole life. I know they were at other parties throughout my life, but I cannot remember anything about how they looked or ever having had a conversation with them in my later years.

I have many memories from living in the Blueberry house, even though we moved from there when I was six. I may not remember what the front of the house looked like, but I certainly remember the back yard, the fence, the color scheme, the entire layout of the house and the furnishing in all of the rooms. I also remember a lot about the neighborhood. I remember what it felt like to walk down the sidewalk, as well as the games I used to play on the sidewalk.

As much as I remember about living on Blueberry, my memory is nothing like my brother’s. He can remember the address of every house we ever lived in. He remembers details of certain events that I vaguely remember happening. I am always amazed at his memory.

I often wonder why I have this memory of being lifted from the playpen over other memories. Maybe the hat scared me the memory into me. Maybe it was because my aunt and her family never entered a house without making their presence known. It could be I was almost asleep and noise of them entering the house startled the memory into me. I could understand having the memory if when I remembered it a certain emotion flashed through me as well as the memory, but that does not happen. It is an emotion free memory.

It bothers me that I have this memory, but memories of more recent events seem to be fading. I can’t remember my first roommates name in college, in fact, I can’t remember the name of most of the girls on my dorm wing, even though we spent hours together every day for two years. I have trouble recalling a lot of names these days.

Another thing that bothers me is I’m afraid my memories of Raymond will fade. He was always the one with the memory. He could remember where we went on certain dates, vacations, and all the little details about our life together that seemed to disappear from my mind after a couple of days. I don’t want to lose my memories of Raymond, especially his smile. It aggravates me that I can remember being picked up from my playpen but not the last real conversation Raymond and I had before he went into hospice.

The boys and I watched “50 First Dates” tonight, the movie where Drew Barrymore’s character has suffered a brain injury and can only remember things up until the day of her accident and she starts that day over and over again. Adam Sandler’s character has fallen in love with her and tries to get her attention day after day. That reminded me a lot of the weeks before Raymond died. There were many days when the drugs he was on kept him from remembering why he couldn’t get out of bed and into his wheelchair. He couldn’t remember he was dying, which is why I believe he was here with us for so many weeks after the final diagnosis of terminal, but he never forgot my name, or the boys, or his friends. He might forget what day they visited, but he never forgot that they had been there.

My earliest memory of Raymond is of him as a guy in my community college Freshman English Comp class that kept staring at me. I thought it was because I was always getting into arguments with the professor. That was in the fall of 1977. We got married in January, 1982. Not all of the years in between 1977 and 1982 are full of memories of Raymond. At first I wouldn’t date him, and then when I finally went out with him there was almost a year between our first and second date. I wish I could say that all the memories of our life together are really sweet ones, but we were married over 24 years so anyone that had ever been married that reads this would know that would be a lie. Fortunately, I can say that there are more sweet memories than bitter ones.

If I keep that early memory of being lifted from the playpen, I hope I can also keep the memory of the first time I told Raymond I loved him. I also would like to keep the memory of his smile, and how it felt to have his arms around me.

If I am destined to forget any of my memories of Raymond, then I pray that my boys will always have some memory of their father, if not what he looked like, then his courage, his morals, and his ability to love his family will all his heart, and may they pass those memories on to their children with not just their words, but their actions.