Pay it forward?

The past few months have been really tough for Greg and I.  We’ve been struggling, barely keeping things together.  Sometimes, it would be very easy to get very depressed about it all.  But then, I stepped back and thought about what was going on.

It’s not that we have failed, but rather I see it as a lesson we needed to learn.  Maybe me more than Greg, to be honest.  It’s a lesson in humility.  I was arrogant and reluctant to let people help me, even after becoming disabled.  I kept on insisting I could do it on my own, even when it was becoming blatantly obvious that that was not a true statement.  Still, I refused to admit defeat and give in, accepting help.  It was hard to even ask Greg to help me when I couldn’t get dressed or undressed.  To let someone else see that I was struggling was unthinkable.

I thought I was better than that, it seems.  That’s a risky thing to do, because when you don’t learn your lessons, they just get harder.

That’s what the universe did to me, it seems.  I wasn’t getting the lesson with just the physical aspect, so they delivered a secondary version.  It’s like those Ladies of Fate looked down at me and frowned, saying she didn’t get it the first time, let’s hit her in the pocketbook this time!

And then they cackled.

Okay, so I have a wild imagination.  Even so, I am convinced that they did in fact cackle.

So the financial woes hit, and as we navigated those rapids on the river of life, apparently, I wasn’t learning fast enough to suit them.  So then, Greg has his heart attack.  While he could have died, he didn’t, for which we’re both very thankful.  But it scared me and scared me good, as well as put him in the hospital for a week, leaving me to cope on my own.

It was like watching a house of cards when a stiff breeze struck them.  It all began to fall apart for me.  Greg has no idea how fragile my world suddenly became–he missed those melt downs.  I had no idea how I would cope, with anything.  The stress was killing me.  The fear was paralyzing me.  All I had was a fragile thread of hope binding us to manage to get through this somehow.

And people helped me.  Some of it was financial, some of it was emotional, and some of it was very intangible.  Even the rude people who upset me and made me angry actually were helping me, because then I had at least anger to help keep a stiff spine and keep on going.  When Greg got out, we managed to find more help to get over those first weeks as we tried to figure out how on earth we were going to get by.  Family helped too.  It seemed to be strings of minor miracles coming together, creating a ladder that looks like we might actually survive it all after all.

And I learned.  At some point in our lives, we all need help.  This is important because if we fail to accept those times, we’re also depriving someone else of their own lesson.

Because at some point in our lives, we need to help others.  It might be a small thing, it might be a bigger thing, it might even be a huge thing.  It doesn’t matter what the size is, the whole point is that by helping someone else, we’re learning how to be a little less selfish and a little more giving.  Like the Grinch…our hearts can grow a size larger.

And then, at some other point in our lives, it’s time to pay that debt and pay it forward.  I’d already been in that position.  Long ago, on several occasions, total strangers helped me, for no reason at all.  I hadn’t asked for it, even though I really desperately needed help.  I did manage to accept it graciously and thankfully.  Since I don’t even know who they were, there is no possibility of ever paying them back for that help.

Or is there?

To me, it was a case of paying it forward.  Random acts of kindness to others doesn’t hurt.  It doesn’t even cost a lot usually.  It might take a bit of extra time, a bit of extra attention, a dash of true consideration…but that’s a small price to pay really.

Because you never know when you will be suddenly thrust into walking in their shoes for a day or longer.  You never know what life is going to dish out to you, and suddenly leave you in a position of desperation and loss of hope.

I know most people get on the bandwagon for donating time and money around the holidays.  That’s really nice.  The fact is, there are people in desperate situations every single day of the year.  Get up, go and do something.  It’s like making a deposit in  your karmic bank account–and you never know when you’ll need to make a withdrawal.  Finding a cause is great, but it doesn’t have to be something that well defined.  Maybe its giving a ride to a neighbor, buying a package of diapers for a young family, a box of groceries for an elderly person, or a donation to the local food bank.  Even something as simple as carrying in a trash can for an aging neighbor might do more than spare them the effort–it might restore their faith in humanity and make them feel like someone cares.

Make a difference, somehow, to someone.  Make someone’s day a little brighter, not so that they will like you or do something for you, but just to see them smile.  You might be really surprised at the side effects that it will have on  you.

Most people are liars?

How often do you hear someone ask you “How are you?”

What do you say?  Do you honestly answer them or just respond with the expected “fine” response?  Better yet, do they really care at all about how things are going for you or how you are feeling?

I don’t think they do.  They don’t want to hear about your problems or worries, challenges or defeats.  They MIGHT (and that’s still up for debate) want to hear about some spectacular triumph, but definitely, they don’t want to hear your honest reply about your woes or defeats.

The same thing goes when something horrible happens, people say “Oh, be sure and let me know if there is anything I can do for you!” or ask “Can I help?” While some of the offers are genuine and heartfelt, the vast majority are empty words.

So why is this kind of lying socially acceptable if not expected?  Why do they go through the lip service when there is no intentions on even listening to the response, let alone taking any kind of action?  What motivates them?

I”m not sure.  I avoid making promises that I can’t keep, and when the offers of help are made, it’s genuine, and the one that receives the offer usually knows me well enough to know what I can, or can’t, do to help them, and is expected to realize those limitations.  Is that true of family, acquaintances, etc. when they make these offers too?  Are they expecting us to realize that it is merely lip service?

How many times have you gone out of your way for someone, whether it’s to help when tragedy has struck (from car break down to something more profound) or to merely be an extra set of arms when they are moving, only to have those same friends/family members ignore your own requests for similar help later?  How many times have you had someone who has given help, whether or not you had previously assisted them, only to have them use it like a dangling guillotine over your head for eternity afterwards?

It’s easy to be generous, and then after repeatedly being left standing alongside a dark road in the rain, figuratively speaking, to become cynical and unwilling to help others. It’s that old “once bitten, twice shy” routine.  We learn by their later rejection that our efforts to assist will not be reciprocated.  It happens too often too, whether from our so-called friends or less-than-loyal family members.  Bitterness, however, does not improve your own  emotional state, nor will it improve your “karmic bank balance.”  It’s just plain not good for us.

When it happens, do we need to forget it ever happened and then the next time they ask for help, go ahead and offer it freely, knowing there is no hope of “return on investment” in the relationship?

Probably not.  Sometimes, we try to teach by example.  With those people who are only concerned about what they are getting, versus what they are giving, they aren’t going to ever get the message or lesson we are trying to share.  So should we do it at all?

Help should be freely given, without expectation of anything in return, and done with a cheerful heart.

That’s something my mother has tried to teach me.  I’m not sure I’ve totally got the lesson down pat, but…it does go a long ways towards maintaining my own contentment.  It’s still hard to accept the rejection of a plea for help, and I’ll admit–that hurt doesn’t magically disappear, but it also won’t kill me.  I’m a lot tougher than that.

The whole deal of helping others is sort of the idea behind the concept of paying it forward.  I’ve had total strangers freely offer me badly needed help, on the spot.  I often didn’t know their names and never found out.  There is no way to repay those people for the kindness they showed by putting their backs into making a bad situation better.  Therefore, by my own rules, the only way to repay those people’s kindness is by paying it forward, and random acts of kindness to strangers is one way to do that.

Okay, I’m not wealthy, and I can’t do amazing things.  Sometimes though, it is the little things that make the difference to someone.  Like giving a loaf of bread to a homeless guy, or a few dollars to someone who’s in a jam and will never pay it back.  Maybe it’s used clothing donated to someone, just because they needed something more.  Maybe it’s a ride to a guy with a flat tire and no spare, or a quart of oil to someone at a rest area.  It might be donating food or my labor to a church or organization to prepare a holiday meal for those who may not have one otherwise, whether due to living alone or lack of funds to buy the food.  It might be herding stranded travelers to an impromptu shelter at a local building.  It doesn’t matter–as long as it is help that I give freely.

You have to care.  Even if its a plate of cookies to your neighbors for Christmas, you have to put effort into it.  The gift of a smile to a stranger might be the only thing they are given all day, so why not make it yours?

Don’t promise what you won’t give.  Do more than what you think is “necessary” to make your world a better place.  If every single one of us donated just 24 hours in a year to making our communities better, we’d all be living in a world that looked a lot more like paradise.

Stop being so self-centered and selfish.

The truth is, he who dies with the most toys won’t win a damned thing.  So, what are those “toys” doing for you?  Is your fancy McMansion a happy home, filled with laughter and love?

Think about your own life.  All too often, we will look back and realize that our happiest times were often the times we thought were the “tough” times, when money and material goods were nearly non-existent and we were able to experience life with family and friends without worrying about our wallets or our toys.

Love life as it is.   Pay it forward.  Share your “toys” with others.  Life is an amazing thing when we’re no longer concerned about whether we’re going to be “wasting” our time and effort helping others.  Maybe it will make the difference to them, and maybe it won’t…but in the meantime, it will make a world of difference in the person you are now, as well as in the future.

 

The heart attack

I have not been posting as often as usual.  I’ve been a bit busy, which sounds like a very trite excuse.  For those who don’t follow me via my radio program or Facebook, I have decided that I had best explain myself.

A couple of weeks ago, my husband had a massive heart attack.  We did everything wrong, starting with not recognizing it as a heart attack and not seeking immediate medical attention.  When we did seek medical attention, we never did get a clear answer on whether it was another one or the aftermath of the first that caused Greg to become unable to breathe easily, but that was the symptom that sent us to the local ER.

Fortunately for us, especially Greg, he survived, despite our mistakes.  The bad part is that the longer it takes to get medical attention, the worse the damages to the heart are.  He had complications, and despite angioplasty and stents being put into place, his heart wasn’t going to magically repair itself.  He had a very large blood clot in the apex of his heart where the blood had pooled when the artery was clogged and the flow of blood stopped.  That required a week of heparin drip, as well as starting him on a blood thinner to prepare him for release.

What didn’t get prepared was our minds.  Greg wasn’t in a high risk group for a heart attack, and we weren’t prepared for the changes that it has brought to our lives.  I am already disabled and limited in what I can manage physically.  Compared to Greg now, I’m the able one.  I had to figure out how to do things that he had done before, somehow. I still haven’t gotten the trash cans out for our trash pickup.  That’s for tomorrow night!

Then, there were the dietary changes.  We already ate mostly low sodium meals, and we did monitor fat content, but suddenly, all of that became more critical.  In addition, I soon learned that our vegetables were all “high” for Vitamin K, and as a result, needed to be restricted as much as the sodium or fat content.  In fact, it was perhaps more critical for the short term because it directly and immediately  interferes with the blood thinner.  Now, grocery shopping was a huge undertaking, as was meal preparation.  I’m a very skilled cook, but this was a new facet and I found myself seeking out recipes online that would serve as starting points to create the foods that we could enjoy eating.

Greg isn’t “out of the woods” as the saying goes.  He’s still adapting, and there are concerns about his physical well being.  Even more important, is the non-physical aspects of his recovery.  He seems to have lost the optimism that always was his trademark.  His temper is often on a hair trigger, and inanimate objects seem unusually capable of causing a melt down.  His chivalry is assaulted daily, as I struggle to do things like carry in groceries, laundry, or whatever physical task I’m tackling.  I have to argue with him, and it isn’t a quick argument, since I have to break it down into smaller steps, usually requiring many trips rather than one or two.

It isn’t possible for him to reasonably help with daily routine activities.  He’s exhausted by the simple things, like walking from the house to the car.  He doesn’t want to go anywhere, perhaps because of the exhaustion that the trip would result in.  Last week, we had a relatively simple appointment to keep, which required an extensive wait in a reception area.  We followed it with a short stop at a small grocery store.  The result was he was so exhausted that his speech was slurred and he staggered as he walked from the car to the house.  It’s as though his brain starts shutting down too, and he then becomes quite childlike at that time.

For those who know Greg, that’s a shocking change in personality.  As his wife, I find it more than merely shocking, it’s horrifying.

I had talked to his cardiologists assistant last week about his medications and expressed some concerns about his physical well being, particularly the level of exhaustion that was resulting from even below the approved level of activity.  (His restrictions were to walk around the house, short store trips, and to lift nothing over 25 lbs.)  We haven’t tested his lifting ability–it’s pointless when the house walking exhausts him.  Sitting in his chair at his desk exhausts him, and where he used to work for hours there, now, he is forced to retreat to bed, where he can recline and use his laptop.  The assistant said it could be adjusting to the medications, but to continue monitoring his activities and responses.

Some things, I know are exhausting.  Showers and baths, once accomplished so easily, are always difficult when confronted with physical disabilities.  In my own case, I know that I can’t jump out of bed, into the shower, and then run off to a long day of driving, shopping, and appointments.  Once I considered that normal, even desirable.  Now, I’d be in trouble at the jumping out of bed portion.

Since I had my accident, I had not driven much, and avoided distances of any kind, usually just driving locally if I was “going solo.”  Now, I don’t feel Greg is up to driving himself, because the exhaustion is as hazardous as being impaired by medications.  I know which medications I use that cause me to be less attentive than usual, and on the days when I drive, I don’t take them.  Granted, this results in some discomfort, and I do have alternatives to help take that discomfort down a notch, such as a very expensive topical NSAID my doctor prescribes for me to use.  I do the driving, and the used SUV we bought last year has features I need to make driving safer and easier for me, such as most of the controls in the steering wheel, good visibility, easy access in and out, and easy to operate doors.  I’m very glad that I annoyed the car salesman that day with my insistence that I tried every single door, got into the back seat, laid down the back seat, put it back up, tried the hatch several times, and then did a test drive to check the visibility and ease of operation.  I was having a hard time with our wheezy old mini-van, with everything from visibility to getting into it, and found the back doors and hatch almost impossible to manage.  While we still have the van, it hasn’t been anywhere in a while, and I have no intentions of trying to drive it now.  It’s sort of a “back up plan” more than a used vehicle now, especially with Greg out of commission.

Our lives have changed.  I’m not going to say for the worse, because change doesn’t always come down to good or bad, and trying to decide that while you are still adjusting is just not the brightest idea.  We’re having to learn how to ask for help.  Nobody likes to do that, especially when they have a lifetime of self-sufficiency behind them.  Now, we’re struggling with everything from financial difficulties to difficulties doing yard work, house work, and repairs on the house.

Usually, when our son in law and daughter come to visit, we’re at a loss for what to keep him busy–he’s somewhat hyper and becomes bored if we don’t have a project to complete.  Now, I have a list of things for the next visit, ranging from replacing a light fixture to some digging and trimming I need completed outside.  The real trick will be keeping Greg from trying to help, something that is apt to result in disaster right now.

I have to take a more active interest in everything from his medications to his activity levels now.  We had always had a somewhat independent view of each other, supporting each other but not interfering.  Now, I have to interfere and nag, and the nagging is something I really don’t like having to do.  I’m going to also have to take a more pushy attitude towards interacting with the doctors, including calling tomorrow to ask for an explanation for why he cannot do the walking he is supposed to be doing, and double checking the levels of his prescribed medication compared to that of what the assistant thought they were.

So yes, I have been busy.  I’ve also been scared and worried.  I’ve been concerned, and I’ve gone through every other emotion that a person can experience.  We’ve had to change everything from dreams  to hopes to our present reality from what it had been even a month ago.  We’re still adjusting.  At the same time, we’re still trying to keep doing the things we had always liked and enjoyed.

Greg missed one radio show (he hosts Voice of the People on Saturdays at 6 pm Central)  while he was in the hospital.  The first show after his release was the first Saturday he was home.  He intends to keep doing them too.  Yes, it did leave him exhausted.  Even so, I had beat him on exhaustion level, as I had planted 1 blueberry, 8 peppers, a rosemary plant and 2 tomatoes yesterday, as well as preparing two meals.  I’ll confess, after we ate dinner (after his show), I passed out trying to watch some program.  I  think it was something about ancient Alexandria.  I slept for two hours, and felt much better afterwards.  Of course, a late “nap” like this meant I had trouble going to bed, which then rippled out even further to a late start the next morning.

For now, its just a case of adapting to the things we can’t change.  It’s also a case of exploring the parameters of these new restrictions, and identifying permanent and temporary ones.  Maybe it is always a case of your point of perception.  I have decided that it isn’t so much a case of “can’ts” as it is a case of “how”?  It’s a new experience, and the things we learn can help expand our own world as well as be shared with others to help them escape things that can be so restrictive.

I love Greg, I want him to be as healthy as possible, I want him to live as long as possible, and I want to share the things that make us both happy with him.  We aren’t giving up dreaming, but we may adjust those dreams to deal with the people we are now and the ones we will become in the future.

Nobody enjoys lessons in humility, and perhaps that’s what we are now experiencing.

Happy…something? At least TGIF!

Well, it’s the Winter Solstice.  It’s almost Christmas.  It’s the Mayan Apocolypse Day, but I’m not too convinced that even they actually thought the world was ending today.

I would rather it didn’t end today.  I’m having cocoa with my granddaughter.  She’s feeling much better after being left behind when her mother and great grandmother went to town, despite the fact she had put her watch on.  I’m not sure why a watch meant she should be going somewhere, but she has held it up as proof that the universe was all wrong at least a hundred times.

It’s nice when a few hugs, some hot cocoa, and a cartoon and the world is all right again.

We’re getting down to the wire though.  It’s almost Christmas, and we do it kind of weird.  We’ll have Santa Claus and Christmas dinner like everyone else, but we won’t exchange gifts until January 7th.  I guess we’re not too big on the lavish gifts and going-into-debt-thing though.  We do it pretty simple.

Today may not be the official apocalypse so many people have been predicting and waiting for, but…it’s cookie baking day.  We’re going to make sour cream sugar cookies for a two year old to decorate.  This should be very interesting.  Once in a while, she still remembers she got left behind…despite the magical pink digital watch.

I think her Grandma needs another one of those magical pink digital watches.  They seem to have amazing powers, even if their success rate isn’t perfect.

Christmas lights, sugar cookies, two year olds dreams, and a long winter’s night…all are coming together to make a rather magical effect.  She had her first “real” Santa Claus pictures, and they came out beautiful.  Not that her grandma is prejudiced, right?  It’s the first year she has a bit of understanding of what is going on, even if she refuses to not open a present put under the tree.

Apparently, two months ago when she turned two, we did a very good job of teaching her how to open a present.  Maybe too good.  She certainly wants to practice.

Sometimes, it’s a very good thing to connect with our inner two year old, it seems.  It reminds us that if we have the people we love, our own blanket, and a cup of cocoa…that life is just plain good.  A two year old doesn’t worry about ancient civilizations, apocalyptic events, or whether we are keeping up with the Joneses.  Our inner two year old is a much easier to please character, but perhaps it’s also a version of ourselves that is more honest and more in connection with the here and now than we’ll ever be again.

I mean that seriously.  A cake pan can be a hat, a drum, a swimming pool, a foot bath, a shoe, a chair, and a hundred other things too.  A wooden spoon can be a drum stick, a sword, a spoon, and so very much more, especially with that cake pan.  Those two items can entertain us for hours, and then become the items that those of us who have grown up and become altogether too serious have designed it to be.  That cake pan and spoon may be discarded items from someone’s cast off heap, but when we’re two years old, that doesn’t matter.  It’s magical.  It will stay magical for a few years before that two year old learns about materialism and consumerism and a few other beginning isms and becomes a proper child on the treadmill to adulthood.

Yeah.

Being two is pretty magical, isn’t it?

What can you say?

Today is my brother’s birthday.  Unfortunately, it’s also the anniversary of my father’s death, which really probably puts a damper on my brother’s celebrations.  It also happens to be a milestone birthday this year for him.

He’s reached the big Five Oh, as they say.  I remember when thirty was practically retirement age, at least in my opinion.  Forty was really ancient, and fifty, well…you were just occupying space until you died.  After all, what could you do when you were half a century old?

Little did I know then, right?

You can do a lot after fifty.  Most of the nation’s population is now at that age, and we’re doing a lot of stuff.  We hike, bike, backpack, tour, write, read, make movies, do business, create, innovate, and a lot of other things.  I’m now suspicious of those without a few gray hairs, because after all, what can someone without a bit of experience under their belt possibly have to offer me?

What can you say?

It seems I suffer from prejudices.  Pretty arrogant of me to not want to admit it too, actually.  It takes a two year old, or rather an almost-two-year old, to remind me of the things that youth has to teach us.

Like in the purely sensual pleasure of taking a mini cupcake frosted with luridly colored “buttercream” (it actually contains no butter and way too many chemicals to possibly pronounce) and licking it with a rapidly flicking tongue as though you were a lizard is pure delight.  You don’t notice the greasy texture of the frosting, but your tongue will positively spasm with delight at the sweetness.  It takes a good fifteen minutes to enjoy that tiny bit of frosting that way, compared to the two bite “adult” way of eating a mini cupcake.  Then, you still have the cake to enjoy too.

You don’t have to worry about what to say then either.  She isn’t into verbalization much, it’s all about sound, facial expression, and tactile expression.  Jabber a bit, laugh a lot, smile more, and give hugs and kisses with total spontaneity, and hey…life is good.

What can you say about that?

Grief.  There are no words to ease that pain.  I know that, I’ve been there.  I’ve mourned a lot of people, from childhood friends to my son, to my father and all of my grandparents and great grandparents.  Aunts and uncles, cousins, co-workers, acquaintances…I’ve lost them too.  It hurts, and it’s different each time.  With the intensity of the grief, people are under the misconception that it gets better over time.

Hogwash, total hogwash.

About all I can say about it is that you get used to it.  It’s like a scar, it’s always there, you never forget it is there, and it never goes away.  You just get used to looking in the mirror and seeing it.  When my son died, it felt as though I had this massive hole through the very center of my being, and part of me was shocked that the sun still shone, the birds still sang, and I still breathed.  How could that be, when my world had ceased to be?

Now, it’s been over ten years.  Longer than I got to have him, I have grieved for him.  I still feel tears well up sometimes when I think about it, and we still talk about him, as well as talk about “That Day.”  I still will cry, and I still remember him, every day, not just on the anniversary of his death or his birthday.  I still miss him.  We still laugh about some of the things he did, as well as some of his idiosyncrasies, and that’s good too.

I grieve for my father too.  Not in the same way, for we know from childhood that our parents are probably going to die before we do and that we’ll have to grieve for them then.  Part of my grief with my father is over our rocky relationship, which we had managed to repair in the last years of his life.  I grieve for the fact that there were so many missed opportunities, so much more that the relationship could have been, if only things had been different.

Grief comes with guilt too.  You second guess yourself, you wonder what you could have done different over time, if you could have changed some of the worst parts of the relationship in some positive manner if you had been that perfect person we all strive to be.  That’s normal too.

But it’s also normal to be normal and not that perfect person.  I think the perfect person, the one that I hold as a mental image of who I’d like to be, would scare me half to death.  Who could be that calm, that rational, that loving and considerate, and not have angel wings and a halo?  Most of us don’t interact daily with angels, and if I suddenly became one…well, I’m not sure anyone would see me or even admit that they had seen me.

Come on, what would you say if you saw an “angel” walking down the street or shopping in the local store?  What could you say that didn’t have your family wanting to lock you up?

That doesn’t mean we should quit striving for the impossible goal of becoming that perfect person we’re striving towards though.  I may not be an angel, but sometimes, you don’t have to be perfect, don’t have to have a halo, and you don’t need angel wings to make a difference to someone else.  Angels come in many forms, you know.   Sometimes, they are a middle aged woman bringing groceries to a single mother who is struggling to feed her children.  It might be coats for someone who can’t afford to buy coats that actually fit their kids.  It might be stopping to help someone change a tire on a summer Sunday morning, getting dirty and making yourself late for church in the process.  It might be helping a neighbor move in or out.  It might be giving some bread to a man standing on a corner begging, or to a young homeless couple that is probably addicted to drugs.  It might be helping an old woman get her groceries from her car to her door.  It might be hiring a guy who has been looking for a job so long that he has nearly given up daring to hope that his application will ever get any attention.

All it takes is to care actually.  To do more than merely go through the motions.  Sometimes it means not only doing the letter of our “job” in the course of the day, but actually putting real effort into it, going an extra inch or two to help someone.  Other times, it cuts into our “play” time, or means giving up something that we’d rather be doing in order to make someone else’s journey a little bit easier.  Other times, it may be as simple as reaching into the groceries that you just bought, and taking out the bread you don’t really need…and handing it to someone outside the store that does need it.  Another day, it might mean that you simply do your best to solve your own problems.

Sometimes, it is also a case of minding your own business instead.  That is especially the case with gossip.  Too often, gossip is mostly fiction, but presented in a manner that makes it sound perfectly plausible.  It may seem innocent, but the problem is…it can seriously damage someone’s life and cause them a great deal of problems, all for something they never did or said.  It can lead to real financial hardship on occasion as well.  I know in my own case, I was once upon a time merely amused about gossip about me, never realizing the damage it was doing and would continue to do even years later.  (Gossip had my life far more interesting than reality ever was!)  Ultimately, it almost cost me my job, and had repercussions that pursued me for over a decade, and the truth is…none of it was even based on truth.  I was judged guilty, plus never had the “fun” of committing the acts!

What can you say?  Your mother was right.  If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.  If you don’t know that it is true, don’t repeat it.  In addition, sometimes, things aren’t exactly what they appear to be.  Be kind.  Be considerate.  Try walking in the other person’s shoes.

If all else fails, along with words, there is always the option of opting for non-verbal communication too.  And no, I don’t mean giving someone “the finger”, but rather a smile.  Don’t wait for Washington to bring us change, be the change yourself and be the change.

It takes something, someone, some act to be the catalyst for change.  It can be you.

New season, new phases…

It’s September, and this summer has practically passed in a flash of mosquito bites and sweat.

Not that the day-to-day portion seemed to go that fast, but we were frantically busy between family and house hunting, and now, it’s fall and we’re frantically busy finishing moving.

We found a house!

In all of Mississippi, I never anticipated the woes we had in finding a house for our budget.  We saw some absolute wrecks that I couldn’t believe that anyone, let alone a real estate agent, was calling a “house.”  Ruins were sometimes a term that was overly optimistic about some of them.  We also encountered some less than wonderful agents along the way, but…not all of them were slimy snakes-in-the-grass.  Some were some genuinely NICE people who were really trying to help us find a house that we could live with, whether it was one they were selling or not.

So, we’re now the proud owners of a small house in Laurel, Mississippi…a town I’d never visited before we looked at the house.  We’d always just driven THROUGH Laurel, never stopping except for a horrible experience at a Huddle House.  It was my first, and likely last, “dining” experience at a Huddle House.  (We never saw the waitress after she delivered an appetizer we’d ordered, nor got a second cup of coffee.  NOBODY in that place would even look at us, once they realized we were waving and wanting something!)

I like it, so far, and since it’s a permanent relocation…we better continue liking it.  Liking it doesn’t have anything to do with the problems we’ve encountered.  They also don’t have anything to do with the location.

It started with trouble finding an insurance company, a problem that plagues many in the South.  Insurance was high when we finally did, a problem caused by the age of the house, as well as the potential for wind damage from both hurricanes and tornadoes.  Next, it was a refrigerator that came with the house still containing food…and the plug had come out of the wall some time between our tour of the house and the closing.  The aroma was something that no one wants to smell, and it brought back not-so-fond memories of those first few weeks home to Greater New Orleans after Katrina to me.

The refrigerator situation was awful.  I couldn’t even walk into the kitchen, let alone think about how we were going to get it out.  We didn’t know a soul in Laurel, and this was a HUGE old side-by-side refrigerator.  (I’d seen smaller compact cars, I’m sure!)  How could we get rid of it?  The smell in the house was so bad there was no way to just work around it until we had help.

An angel appeared in the guise of a man who was stopping by to give someone else an estimate for some work on the house.  Out of the blue, I asked him if he would be interested in an old refrigerator.  He asked if he could see it.  I obligingly led him through the chaotic house (it was bought from an estate and came complete with a lot of junk) to the kitchen.  There it stood, in all of its burnt brown glory, in the center of a massive puddle of stinking goo with mold floating on top.  I couldn’t even enter the room, but he bravely marched up to the front of it.  I quaked in fear that he would ignore my rule that he was NOT to open the doors, but the man turned to me and said,

“How much?”

I couldn’t believe it…couldn’t he SMELL that stench?

I calmly responded with a smile, “If you come get it before 5 pm, you can have it.”

He nodded and headed out the door, telling me he’d be back with a truck and some help.  In about fifteen minutes, our angel had returned, with a truck and two men to help him.  I repeated the do not open the door rule, and they went trooping in after Greg to retrieve his prize.

Now the angel we’d made the bargain with repeated the don’t open the door rule to the two men with him, but there is one in every crowd, that guy who just can’t resist defying a “don’t” with an “I’m going to do it anyhow.”  There was one with him too, and the smell amplified so intensely that I had to evacuate the opposite side of the house for the outdoors to escape the stench.  It was so thick, I would have sworn it was colored green and could be cut with a knife!

There was some discussion as they wondered whether the compressor was bad, and I became afraid that they’d opt to NOT take the refrigerator.  I had $5 in my pocket, and I handed it to Greg, telling him to tell them the money was for their gas if they’d take it as-is and not bring it back.  They’d win, whether it worked or not, and I’d be rid of the foul smelling thing.  They hauled it out of the house, thinking they had a great bargain, and I was equally sure that I had a great bargain at getting rid of it without Greg & I killing ourselves with something too large and too heavy for us to handle.  (Not to mention the smell was sure to result in me being very sick.)  Problem solved, total cost of only five bucks, right?

No air conditioning was another problem, and we had the attic fan running and every window we could unstick open to help air out the smell.  The refrigerator was barely gone when the cable guy arrived to install our internet connection.  Poor guy had just eaten lunch, but he bravely entered where few utility men would dare to go while Greg was cleaning up the puddle of moldy ooze mess in the kitchen.  We gave him a model airplane and a talking fish for his agreeable nature.  (We had no need of either one!)  He was thrilled, and I was thrilled that we had one more thing accomplished with the house.

It was hot, we were tired, and the entire situation was overwhelming, so we opted to call it a day and head to our daughter’s house for a shower and rest.  We did that for a few more days before deciding that ready or not, we were going to have to start camping in the house.  The big thing was the window air conditioner…it was the end of the season, and the selection was less-than-wonderful at the local retailers.  We knew what size we needed and we knew we wanted an Energy Star model, but there were none to be had, resulting in me ordering it from Sears, with delivery in Hattiesburg.

Of course, that interrupted our day, but with the women heading to pick up the air conditioner, the men doing what men do…we managed.  Installation didn’t happen that day, but soon…it was in place, and the temperatures went from suffering sauna to tolerable cool.  With that addition, it was possible to stay the night in the house.  We could really get to work then, without the expense and time of commuting over two hours a day.  Paint is a first step, followed by trying to get things ready to actually move in.  Lots of cleaning–buying it as is saved us money, but meant a lot more work.

We had chosen a date to do the deed, but then…the Ladies of Fate looked down on us and cackled.

Hurricane Isaac was coming to call.  The trucks were being moved away from the coast, and we were running out of time.  The big move was postponed, with just a single load coming on a small trailer behind our Trail Blazer.  Everything else, including our mini van, was staying behind to weather Hurricane Isaac.

Now Isaac wasn’t a big storm, and Mississippi wasn’t it’s target for landfall, but we did live just outside of Pascagoula, where the storm dumped incredible amounts of rain.  That meant flooding, not only from storm surge itself, but from the rain that had no where to go.  We’re assuming it didn’t invade the storage unit, and we know it didn’t bother the mini van or the travel trailer–it only got about six inches deep there.  But still, there was a delay, and now we had to wait until the ground dried out enough to get a truck in to pull the travel trailer out without bogging down in muddy, saturated soil.

Another day was selected, reservations made, and away we went again.  Greg went down to pack up things and bring back some items with him.  He had the trailer again, hitched behind the Trail Blazer.  It took him longer than planned, leaving me stranded afoot in Laurel, with little in walking distance.  Finally, after three days, he was on his way home again, only to call me at about two in the morning.

“I’m broke down,” he said, giving me his approximate location.

I half heartedly hoped he was joking to get a rise out of me, but that wasn’t the case.  A sensor had apparently gone out, leaving the Trail Blazer running but refusing to accelerate beyond an idle.  He called AAA, and we discovered I had purchased the wrong plan…the plan without towing included.  Well, it had three miles of towing, but he was about forty miles from home…with a trailer hitched behind the vehicle.  Thankfully, someone responded eventually–AAA’s service was less-than-stellar in this case, which was much different than previous occasions we had dealt with them during a roadside emergency.  Three hours later, a tow truck arrived, and he was home before dawn.    Greg was hot, tired, and hungry–it had been an unexpectedly long night for him.  I wasn’t exactly thrilled either–it’s not like I could just sleep peacefully while knowing he was stranded in the middle of nowhere waiting for a tow truck!

With the trailer and SUV parked in the middle of the front yard (the only place the tow truck could deposit it) we tried to get some sleep.  The phone started ringing though, and as I was dealing with the calls, I also had dogs that wanted out.  Much to my surprise, it had begun drizzling.  That meant hopes for sleeping in a bit were dashed–the tarp over the trailer was not going to protect anything in a serious rain.  We couldn’t move the trailer into the carport by hand, and we had no running vehicle to use to do it either.  That meant unloading the boxes and stacking them in the car port.  We still have to deal with that stuff, and we have a truckload arriving in two days.

YAY, right?

We’re stranded without a functional vehicle, we need to find out which sensor did the dirty deed and get a new one, then install it.  We also have to be on the coast on Wednesday morning to finish the move.

Thank goodness for daughters, right?

She’s our designated taxi cab for Wednesday morning.  She’ll make the hour drive, come pick us up, then drive the two hours to the coast where we’ll get the truck and pick up the van, giving us transportation again so we can fix the SUV.  That’s the plan anyhow, but we have yet to see how that plan will work out in the end.  It seems that Murphy’s Laws are applying to each and every step we take during this move.

Back at the ranch…we’ve been working on yard and house, a bit at a time.  I’ve discovered that I can’t do a lot of things nearly as fast as I used to.  I’ve learned that I have to ask for help more often and not push myself the way I did when I was younger, stronger, and more agile.  I’ve remembered the joy of a hot tub of water laced with epsom salts too.  (It helps a lot with sore muscles and assorted aches & pains!)  The four steps up into the house have proven to be more than I was used to climbing a gazillion times a day, it seems.

We’re not done, not by a long ways, and we’re not moved in either.  We’re merely in transition, as they say.  We have a lot to do, and we run out of hours to do it in.  We have a lot going on, and a lot of problems to solve.

But that is life, isn’t it?

The Big C word

It’s no secret, I hit the big five oh in 2011.  I’m officially an antique now.  What I hadn’t anticipated along the way was some other things.

First, there were my own health problems cropping up.  While not life threatening directly, they have delivered pain by the buckets sometimes.  Other times, like the hypertension, they are silent, and the medication should (hopefully soon!) have it under control.

Then, there were friends.  Today, I found out that a very dear friend, one who I always felt I could pick up the phone and call to share my woes, worries, hopes, and projects with…has the Big C.  Breast Cancer.

I’m devastated.

I cry for her, for the trials she faces as she endures the chemotherapy, radiation, and surgery.  I cry for the energy and attention that it will demand from her and those who live with her as she works to heal and recover.  I’m grieving for her, even though I know it won’t help her one iota on this very rocky journey.

I know she’s a positive person, I know she’ll face this battle as she has faced each and every battle in her life, with quiet fortitude, a smile, and complete modesty.  She doesn’t think she’s tough, but to me, she’s a hero, and always has been.  She might be smaller and younger, but I have always looked up to her.  In a lot of ways, she has characteristics that I wish I did.  I also know she’d probably deny that, and claim that I had characteristics that she wished SHE did.  She’s like that.  She finds the best in almost everyone.  You have to really WORK to get animosity out of her directed towards you, she’s ever so much nicer than I am.

I adore her.

The funny thing is…we have never met in person.  She lives far away from anywhere I have ever lived, although I have visited not too far from the place she calls home.  We met a very long time ago in a chat room, and became friends from there.  Even without that face-to-face meeting, she’s still in my “Top Ten” people of the world.  We’ve had many cups of coffee together, we’ve cried over our kids together, and we’ve laughed over them too.

We’ve faced some tough things as we have talked over the years.  Grief, divorce, alcoholism, physical pain, attempted suicide, assault, betrayal, financial set backs, vehicular disasters, computer melt downs, strokes, hospitals, schools, dreams, and nightmares have all been the subject of “what is happening with me right now.”  Sometimes it was one of us, sometimes it was someone in our families, and sometimes it was someone close to us.

We’ve watched each other grow and become someone entirely new from the shy, small town women we once were.  It took years for our transition, but we are both just beginning to become what we could have been all along.

Cancer isn’t fair, did you notice that?

At the same time, it’s made me feel incredibly small and petty.  I think about the days I’ve sat and literally cried, thinking I cannot do this for another day, and I realize…I had a very small burden to carry.  It’s just pain, it’s not who I am, really.  It’s not even fatal, it just hurts.  So what if I can’t do much today…or tomorrow.  I have the day after that.

With cancer, you suddenly are faced with your own mortality.  Even worse, perhaps, is facing the mortality and frail nature of our loved ones.  Having lost someone important to me, in my case, a young son, I already know something.

It’s harder to be left behind.  It’s hard to pick up the pieces and keep on trudging down that path, suddenly with an empty spot alongside of you.  You want to quit.  You want to just sit down and cry until it’s done, until you too can go and quit trying to do this.  Living isn’t easy.  You also feel guilty because you are living.  After all, what did  you do to deserve this?

I feel guilty because I’m not the one facing the Big C.  It’s not fair that someone who is so wonderful should have to.  I’m not wonderful, I’m a continually struggling person who seeks wisdom and grace, and always falls short of the mark I have in sight.  I haven’t always been the best person I could have been.

Sometimes, our friends are like a flashlight.  They might not always be turned on and lighting up the world, but when you need them, they are there.

All I can say is that I hope my tears make it easier for her to slide through treatment and come out on the other side, as strong and delightful as she was when she started this journey.  I wish I lived close enough to bring her casseroles when she didn’t feel well enough to cook, and to hold her hand when she needed it.  I don’t, but my thoughts will still be with her.  The telephone and the computer will stay as our link, and I’ll pray for her in my own way.

Please get well soon, my friend.  The world needs your light too much right now.

Paula Deen, diabetes, obesity, and me

Paula Deen is getting dissed left and right via every news wire I encounter online.

Why?

Because she DARED to keep a health condition private.

What in the world is wrong with these people, seriously?  Do they think that everything everyone does as a public personality has to reflect the personality’s private concerns and opinions and behaviors?

Seriously.  It’s a no brainer why Paula Deen didn’t say anything–look at what is being said NOW!

“It’s her cooking that caused it.”

Bulls***.  Her cooking didn’t cause diabetes.  It didn’t cause obesity.  It didn’t make me fat either.  It also didn’ t give you diabetes or heart failure or fat cells.

Dunkin’ Donuts didn’t make me fat.  McDonalds didn’t make me fat.

Eating too much makes us fat.  It doesn’t matter what you are eating, at a certain point of that consumption, you WILL get fat.  It can be Paula Deen’s cooking, or that nasty food from the hospital cafeteria designed by a dietitian with no regards for taste and appeal, but it will still make you get fat if you eat enough of it.  To diss Paula’s cooking as the reason for any of it is just plain stupid.

It’s sort of like me claiming that the reason that I’m broke is because of the bank.  See how far that one will get you when you get an overdraft because you spent too much money.

So we all love high fat foods on occasion.  There is nothing wrong with that.  They taste good, we’re hard wired to LIKE them.  We don’t have to feel guilty about their consumption, but we do need to exercise reason when it comes to consumption.  I can’t eat chocolate bars for every meal, it’s just not healthy.  That doesn’t mean that chocolate is bad!

I have a great deal of respect for Paula Deen.  She is a woman who has made her mark on the world despite the cards being stacked against her.  She has done well for herself.  She has some impressive recipes, and she also has some that I just do not care for.  I’ve used some of her recipes as the foundation for creations of my own, mixing in and mixing out to create something I like and enjoy.

Just because Paula Deen does it one way does not mean that that is the ONLY way I can ever do it.  No one cooking personality has all of the answers.  No one diet has all of the cures.

If it was that easy, we’d have Man Kibble for Men, and Woman Kibble for Women, and we’d be done with it.  Federally mandated dietary allowances packed into one convenient bite sized chewable chunk, ready to eat, no cooking required, no possibility of obesity or other diet related illnesses.

From the way I’ve seen some of the Food Hitlers out there acting over Paula Deen’s announcement, I think that’s what they would like to see happen.

But that aside, I have to shake my head.  Paula Deen didn’t eat the foods she was shown cooking on television every day, I’m sure.  Just like someone who has a cake show doesn’t eat vast chunks of cake daily, I personally have found that if it’s something I’m cooking a LOT of and often…I sure as heck don’t want to eat it!  Now it is possible that Paula swung by Taco Bell on her way home for a Taco Grande (is there such a thing?  I’m not even sure!) and that was the problem.  Maybe it was a pound of chocolate bonbons that got her going–I have no way of knowing, as to my knowledge, I’ve never met Paula myself.

Even so, Paula is facing this problem head on, as I am sure she knew what kind of a stir it would cause.  I give her credit for that too.  It’s another “speed bump” of life she’s conquering.  She’s doing well, and that gives me hope too.

Yeah, me too.  I love cooking, good food, friends, I’m overweight, and I will develop diabetes some time in the next thirty years.  I think I’m going to blame it on Emeril Lagasse.  I ate at his restaurant in New Orleans once, so surely it’s his fault, right?

Happy New Year!

Welcome to 2012, folks, the year that has long been designated as the year of our demise.  Personally, I don’t intend that to be so, so we are gearing up for another year towards making this world a better place.

Greg and I have been working on a lot of things in the past three years, and our ideas are becoming more than dreams each day, with a “little help from our friends” as the saying goes.  We hope this year sees some of them becoming far more tangible and begin to bear fruit soon too.

So a few prayers, a lot of dreaming, and even more hard work will all come together during the coming year, regardless of what we do or don’t do as far as “New Year’s Resolutions” go.

What is up with those anyhow?  Does anybody ever pay attention to them past the 16th of January?

I’ve never heard anyone give an update on their New Year’s resolutions either.  From an informal polling of friends, here’s what I seem to get as the “Top Ten” of resolutions, if you are in need of inspiration.

1. Lose weight/go on a diet/get in shape/eat healthier
2. Save money/Pay off debt
3. Get a job/get promoted/get a raise
4. Change relationship status (married/divorced/single)

Okay, so they are only four for our top ten, but guess what?  Most of them aren’t “fun” things.  They are boring and stressful things.  So…I’m going to do it different.

1. Eat chocolate more often, like daily.
2. Avoid boring and confrontational people.
3. Kiss Greg a lot.
4. Kiss my granddaughter a lot.
5. Kiss my daughter even though she doesn’t like it much.
6. Laugh every day.
7. Do fun things at least once a month.
8. Go camping more often.
9. Go fishing more often.
10. Find a hobby I enjoy.

Okay, so they aren’t any of them “yucky” stuff.  Most of them are actually beneficial, actually.  The chocolate one…well, I’ll LIKE it anyhow!  Basically, I feel that I need more joy and laughter in my life, and less stress and aggravation.  It wouldn’t hurt Greg either.  I want the people I love to FEEL the love, and always feel secure in it too.  There is nothing wrong with that either.

For me, claiming to strive towards loving everyone is preposterous.  I don’t, I can’t, and pretending to do so is silly.

The kind of emotion I feel towards the masses cannot be described as “love” in any sense of the word that I understand.  I don’t love my neighbor or a stranger walking down the road.  I can, however, respect them, assist them, and treat them with courtesy.  I am no saint and never will be.

I’m a normal human being, and I have perfectly normal problems.  I also have the normal ability to feel emotions, including anger, disappointment, resentment, and misery.  Accepting the bad with the good is necessary, otherwise, we would never recognize the good!

With that said, I need to find some chocolate and go chill for a bit.

Have some chocolate…smile at something, and rejoice in laugh lines.  They look a helluva lot better than the frozen face syndrome anyhow!

 

 

Doing good, karmic bank balances, gossip, libel, and reality checks

Good deeds.  This is the time of year when we’re all expected to have done something good.  For all too many people, it’s a once-a-year thing.  Are you one of them?

Pat yourself on the back if you are, because you are among a too-large majority it seems.  Without photo ops and court assigned public service, many organizations wouldn’t have the volunteers they have.  But what does it really do for you or the world to save it all for an annual good deed or a photo op?

Then there’s the gossip, rumors and downright libel/slander on the flip side of the do-good issue.  Nasty remarks and gossip often are fueled by envy and jealousy, and can do a surprising amount of damage without the victim even being aware of it happening until it’s too late.  Then, there is the anger and desire for revenge on whoever perpetrated this terrible deed.  With social media, rumors, gossip, and other remarks can spread faster than wildfire.  No one is immune, from rich to poor, famous to unknown, but everyone can feel the sting.  Resisting the urge for revenge or retaliation is sometimes very hard, anyhow.  Falling into that routine can often be a trap that is stickier to extricate yourself from than a tar pit.  When sent with malice, words can be as damaging as bullets.  Sometimes, even casually uttered words can carry that kind of damage in their wake too.

All this positive versus negative action and inaction needs some imagery to make it a little bit more real, a little bit easier to comprehend and put into action.  Since I love imagery, that’s my obvious solution.

To me, it’s all about the Great Karma Bank and my karmic bank balance.  Positive actions create light or white deposits into my account, whereas negative actions create a dark or black debit from that account.  It’s very simple for me, the more white I can accumulate, the better.  Since it’s all happening in MY head, there is no real way to “cheat” either.  The one person that REALLY knows what’s really happened is yourself, so there’s no fooling the self, really.  We may lie and cheat our way through life, but we can’t fool the Great Karmic Bank.  At the same time, the Great Karmic Bank can’t cheat us and take away our deposits without warning.  And yes, you can be “overdrawn” and have a negative balance, if you don’t do what you know you should be doing.

Think about the last month and all of your actions and inactions, good and bad.  Where is YOUR karmic bank balance?

There are also no excuses allowed.  That includes problems such as your job, your relationships, your health, any of your problems, short or long term.  No matter how bad you feel or how much pain you are in, your karmic bank balance is no one’s responsibility other than your own.  No one can make a deposit for you, nor can anyone debit your account for you.  It’s all yours.

In a sense, it’s an unforgiving image.  In another, it’s a totally realistic view of how we need to go through life.  We all have moments when we’re less than the person we want to be, and we all have moments when we are exactly who we want to be.  Spending my days beating myself up for a grumpy remark to my husband for no reason isn’t going to help either of us, nor does a “I’m sorry” do anything to take away the sting of irritable words uttered carelessly.  My unforgiving karmic bank balance allows me to keep a reality check on the person I am versus the person I want to be.

Don’t think this is a holier-than-thou preaching session either.  I’ll assure you–I don’t have a vast amount of white in my account!  I’m far from perfect, and on a bad day, silence is often the best I can do.  I don’t always manage to do my best either.  But every once in a while, I have an opportunity open up to allow me to make that all important deposit into my karmic account.  It’s important to recognize those moments and take advantage of them too.

Those opportunities can be as varied as snowflakes, and sometimes they are just as short lived too.  It can be giving a smile to a child, answering a question, giving money to the homeless guy, donating my time to an environmental group, etc.  It’s more than money though–anybody can write a check, if they have money in their account, and while donating to various organizations and causes is a good thing, you don’t have to even have a heart to write a check.  Some people do it just to see their name listed among the donors, not because they want to help.  Karma, you see, knows the motives behind the actions.  Your bank balance may go up for that donation with desire for publicity, but…not as much as if you had given something of yourself without expecting publicity and appreciation.

Think about your karmic account.  Figure out ways to minimize your “debits” and maximize your “deposits.”  It doesn’t have to be big things–not everyone can go to Africa to care for AIDS stricken children, etc.  For most of us, our deposits aren’t going to be vast and impressive, but more like small and frequent.  That’s okay.  It’s our job, each and every day, to do the best we can with what we have.  My goal is to just have it well into the white on the day I draw my last breath.