Gentle on My Mind

 

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=aZ58YOgZi4M

Wow. I have been so inexplicably sad the last few days over the death of Glen Campbell. The wonderful videos of his talent floating around have given me that sense that I wish I had paid more attention. This video of his daughter makes me realize we can’t pay attention to everything, everyone, all the time. What a lovely legacy he left behind in this woman. In the end it’s all we can leave behind – our goodness, whether it be through our own children or the thousands of people we encounter in a lifetime.

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My Life is Apparently a Fraud

ADHD Exists And It Should Be Treated With A Combination Of Treatments And Medication

“So, as Kegan advises, instead of putting a child on drugs, find him a tutor to help him in school and spend time with him/her to help them overcome their obstacles since their earliest appearance.”

Oh gee, gosh darn it, if I’d only done and tried every possible behavioral
technique available before giving my child medication. Oh wait. I did.
As many years as it has been and despite that fact that my adult son in med school STILL suffers, I only wish I could just let this go. But it hurts to read articles like this. Deeply. We lived on an acre and a half of trees and hillside. He played outside, he ate well, we loved him, we got tutors, we sat with him during his night terrors – unable to touch him or he’d get worse and unable to comfort him. It wasn’t until, heartbroken, we decided to try medication. Not prescribed by a greedy doctor but by a developmental pediatrician who spent half an hour with my seven year old alone and came out to me and said “you know you have an exceptionally smart boy here. ” At which point I burst into tears. Yes. I did know.  That half hour wasn’t the end of the diagnostic process, just to be clear.  He didn’t flippantly prescribe meds for my son.

Maybe the human psyche has not evolved quickly enough to adapt to the fast paced world of technology. Maybe a kid on a farm would not be “diagnosed.”. If you want to say it’s not mental illness I would agree with that but to to say “there is no such thing” – forgive me doctor, but you are ignorant and I pray that you never have to watch a child struggle in frustration, breaking pencils, raging, and then, on a small dose of medication, sit down and write a paragraph at three grade levels higher than his grade, or finish a gingerbread house without having a meltdown because a piece of decoration fell off, and then read an article telling you that as a parent you have just not been good enough. Fuck. You.

Posted in Raking the Playroom, Rants | 2 Comments

I Think I’ll Call Mom

I find it fascinating that, for those who had close relationships with their mothers, there is a seemingly universal experience after one’s mother passes. For years my mom would tell me how my dad experienced it with his mother and how difficult it was.  It just happened to me on this beautiful lazy Saturday morning.

“I think I’ll call Mom.” Nothing in particular to say or talk about, although that happens too, but just thinking how she’s probably having a lazy Saturday too, sitting out on the screened back porch in Mundelein with a cup of coffee, or watering her outdoor potted plants. Perfect time for a phone call for both of us.

This is the truth and deep sadness of such a profound loss as losing a mother. It’s not that it wasn’t time for her to go.  It was. It’s not that I miss any second of the last three difficult years. I don’t.

It’s that suddenly memories of  the many many years of love and friendship and support are triggered by a bird’s song, the temperature of the air, by morning breeze on an already warm Saturday morning.  It evokes her voice, her touch, her essence.

And essence is all that is left.

Posted in Melancholy, Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Dream On?

A second night of crazed dreams. This time​​ the evil was not a person but an insane situation involving Mom’s stuff and how to dispose of it. Only
problem was it wasnt Mom’s stuff. It was more like a hoarder’s house including the likes of five kiddie cars like the kind clowns would ride, a Home Depot sized display of rolled up and stacked old and rotting bamboo shades, shelves full of free stuff you get from mail solicitations (how many dreamcatchers does one person need?) . AND we decided it would be a good idea to move it to a rental home for a short period which only made matters worse when we hit a deadline. If I did a dream analysis according to the “you are everything in your dream and analyze it from the perspective of the item in the dream” method I fear it would send me right over the edge. On the other hand. Kiddie Car: “Why am I hanging on this wall? Why haven’t I been in a parade for five years? How did I manage to stay so shiny and not rusted?”  Bamboo shades: “Can someone please unroll me and get me away from all these other shades and power wash me and let me get some fresh air and sunshine?” Dreamcatchers: “Girl, clearly you need more than one, what with the dreams you’ve been having lately.”

Hmmm.  Got a point there.  See, dreams ARE important and despite my long held belief that sleep is a waste of time and keeps me from getting stuff done in waking life – the folks who assert that it is an important and just as real part of living are probably right.  Dream on.

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John Barleycorn

“I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.”

― Jack London

I’ve had this hanging on my wall ever since I went to Sonoma for a weekend by myself. Family life had worn me down and I needed to find me again.  It was a wonderful weekend with the highlight being going to Jack London’s home and museum.  He lived a lot of life in his short time on earth.  John Barleycorn shortened his time here but his words still inspire me.

I feel I have become sleepy and permanent.  Maybe I am just getting older and slower.  I also think I have become cynical.  I’m too old for this or too old to start that or I won’t have enough time left to make that dream come true so why bother? I love to quilt   I’ll just do that forever.  It’s happy.  It’s safe.

So I leave my dreams behind   Or worse, I stop dreaming up new dreams.  What’s the point? If I haven’t time to make old dreams come true why frustrate myself with new ones?

I realize this day that John Barleycorn comes to shorten our lives in many disguises, not just alcohol.  He comes in depression, in cynicism, in grief, in fatigue, in anger.  He may not shorten it in months or years but shortens it in spirit.

It is time for me to remember what it felt like to have my life before me (and it still is!) and to make every atom of my being glow magnificently.

 

 

 

Posted in Middle Aged and Onward | Leave a comment

Eat Right, Exercise and Sign This…

Oh good lord here we go again. Periodically the posts about Big Pharma roll through Facebook, that encyclopedia of all that is indisputably true and right.  Fair enough. There are plenty of issues about Big Pharma that can and should be dealt with.  No argument there. At all.

It’s the comments from the whole “all we need to do is eat right and exercise and meditate/pray” crowd which make me need an antiemetic. I would be so happy if everyone who posts this naive crap would take a sworn oath to NEVER take a human created medication even if they have debilitating seizures every day, get diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease, or glaucoma, or essential hypertension (genetic, FYI, maybe due to my great great great great great grandma’s stress but not mine) or diabetes type I or ( insert here:  illness of  family member who died from said illness not created by lifestyle) all of which existed long before McDonalds, pesticides, sedentary lifestyle and Big Pharma which is busily spending money creating treatment resistant cancer mutations so that they can sell more cancer drugs.

In addition I would ask that they spend a minimum of six month in direct care of someone who deals with these illnesses painfully, hopelessly (even with available meds), and with as much desire to live to see their grandchildren as the next person.

Take the sworn oath and then, and only then, will I listen to YOUR ranting about Big Pharma.  All other rational thinkers, carry on.

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Invitation List

Note: This was my tribute to the 2016 election….

It is your only daughter’s wedding and you have to make some guest list decisions.  You want it to be the lovely, peaceful, joyful event you and she have always dreamed of. But oh those troublesome relatives.

You have one relative who is kind of sleazy: she borrowed money once from your father and didn’t pay it back, she gossiped about private family business and then denied it, and some have not forgiven her for that. She struggles when it comes to doing what is best for herself versus what is best for others.  All in all though she is gracious and does not cause scenes at family events.  Even the relatives who have not forgiven her find it easy to be pleasant if they are seated together and even a couple of times she has smoothed over disagreements in the family.  They don’t want a relationship with her but they don’t hate her. Everyone in the family has flaws of course, and at least she is a kind person and is, in fact, a bright and interesting table companion. You know you’d just as soon not invite her, but she is your sister-in-law and at least she won’t cause a scene on your daughter’s special day.

The other relative, your brother-in-law is known for causing a scene at every family gathering. The family never knows when he is going to start bellowing.  One time he marched right past your nephew in a wheelchair and used the handicapped bathroom stall ahead of him saying the young man shouldn’t have any “extra” rights.  Another time he called your niece a “fat pig” even though he knew she was pregnant and had been ordered to curb her activity for medical reasons, saying “that’s no excuse.”   No one wants to have their children near him because he spews hatred at the drop of a hat.  One time he loudly proclaimed that the husband of your cousin shouldn’t be allowed in the Catholic ceremony because he is a Sikh and wears a turban.  However, he’s really rich and gives fabulous presents at weddings so people tend to invite him despite his bad behavior, and he is your sister’s husband.

Some family members have told you they won’t attend if one or the other is invited.  You can’t really help that.  You and your daughter wonder, though.  Your daughter loves children and intends to invite them to the wedding as well.  She worries that her uncle will make fun of your 8 year old nephew with cerebral palsy who loves to dance at weddings.  She worries that he will be rude to your husband’s African American relatives on his mothers side.  You worry that he will simply ruin the wedding in ways you can’t even predict due to his lack of civility.

This is your daughter’s wedding. There are many weddings in a family  and yes they all survive when the blowhard is invited.

So you have to decide.    Do you want to  risk the legacy of your daughter’s wedding? Do you want it to be party that resulted in your family not being invited back to the venue?   Do you want your daughter’s married life to begin with an entire side of her new family left embarrassed and stunned by his racist proclamations?  That a little boy on the dance floor was shamed by a grown man and will forever avoid dancing in public?

Well sure, why not.  He can be funny sometimes and he isn’t afraid to say whatever he wants which is somewhat refreshing and gives really expensive presents.

Yes, he’s part of the family, and your sister will be mad if he’s not invited and won’t come herself.  So what’s the harm?

What would you tell your daughter?

 

 

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Harambe

Wish I could let this story go, but it’s haunting. It’s all so sad. Of course the mob was hysterical, that’s understandable. The zoo had to act fast – they did not have benefit of the video to analyze. That’s understandable. What I can’t agree with is the “it happens so fast with little ones” excuse for the mother. Have I lost a child? Yes. Do I get that they are little Houdinis? Yes. But I just cannot understand losing track of what we now know was a three year old at a zoo exhibit, and a dangerous one at that. After I had my second child I never went to the zoo without another person or people. We all watched each other’s kids, especially  the littlest ones.  If that make me a judgmental old lady then I guess I am.

I stand by my original observation that we live in a theme park world where people don’t think apes and bears and deer are wild animals and who think rushing rivers with waterfalls are turned and off with a faucet and “stay on the trail” signs in a canyon don’t apply to me.

Actually the whole damn situation blows. Heartbreaking, and I DO feel sorry for the mother of the little guy. I don’t think she should be shot, charged or otherwise made to feel like the worlds biggest loser. She made a terrible terrible mistake. I just hope that others learn from that mistake. Otherwise zoos will be forced to go back to what they were when I was a kid – animals in cages.

As far as eliminating zoos, I strongly disagree. For some people it is the only way they might learn the truth that greets you at the SF Zoo: “…but when the last individual of a race of living things breathes no more, another heaven and another earth must pass before such a one can be again.”
C. William Beebe

 

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IHTGTTB

How did we get here?  Never in my life did I think I would be put in the position of reading first person articles from people who look like/identify as other than their “birth certificate” sex and learning about the struggles they have – going to the BATHROOM.  Have we all gone insane? Who knew? I certainly didn’t.  Is this what we as a nation have come to?  People feel forced to plan how much fluid they can drink at a given function because they don’t want to have to face the trauma of using a bathroom and having someone give them shit about it? No pun intended? And now possibly being charged with a CRIME?

Some of the things going around the internet are funny – pictures of empty toilet paper rolls or someone peeking under a restroom stall with the caption “what women are REALLY afraid of in public restrooms.”  Which is the truth.  My personal favorite is the latch not latching properly and someone crashing in on me while I’m doing my business.  For my mother’s generation it was learning how to do the “hover” for obvious reasons.

But it’s not funny at all.  It is sad, pathetic, that with all the shit (sorry, the word just keeps coming up like a backed up toilet at a party) going on in the world and the universe THIS is what people feel they need to legislate?  Who goes to the bathroom where?

I ask you women – have you never said “fuck it” to the long lines and marched right into the men’s bathroom? Of course we try to make sure no one is in there but certainly if it’s just one room with a “guy” icon on it – I’m goin’ in. I’m sure maybe some of you haven’t, and I’m ok with that, but when it gets right down to it I had to go and didn’t really care where I went as long as it wasn’t in my pants.  I never even look at anybody in the women’s restroom.  I am too busy checking my vain self out in the mirror.

This time  I honestly think I’m losing my mind.  Maybe I’ve been living in California too long (no such thing, by the way) that I am so out of touch with some of the people in the rest of the country that I can’t wrap my head around this.  At all.  It’s like I’ve landed on some alternate reality planet on which the location of someone peeing and pooping is suddenly an issue and I don’t understand why or how or when or what or anything.

Who thinks this way?  Who thinks this way WITH them?  You go to the bathroom.  You leave.  What’s the problem? If there was ever an argument for greater services for the mentally ill, I think this must be it and if this nonsense continues I’m afraid I’m going to be the first in line for an inpatient bed.

I can’t even think of a way to end this rant.  Maybe I’ll just go to the bathroom and read for awhile.

 

Posted in Rants | 2 Comments

I Lost My Wedding Ring

I lost my wedding ring. Never thought those words would cross my lips. First reaction: “I am a complete idiot, knew that would happen, maybe it’s here, there or everywhere.” But it’s not. I know exactly what happened and it’s gone. I will put a sign up but honestly unless the person who might have found it was kind and honest enough in the first place to turn it in where I lost it I don’t much feel like giving a reward.

So all day I say:  It’s just a ring. This little wedding ring of Great-Aunt Helen’s that I wear is very sweet and actually goes better with the Christmas ‘engagement’ ring Al gave me around our 25th.  We don’t need no stinkin’ ring.

I make an insurance claim but high- mindedly state it can’t be replaced.  If I can’t have the ring I got married in I don’t want another just because I’m supposed to have a ring.

The day wears on.  I tell Al the Christmas ring means a lot more anyway because he gave it to me when the kids were all but raised and the brain surgery was behind us and it was kind of like a renewal.

Now it is tonight.  I keep looking at my finger.  My 34-year-old wedding ring is gone.  My pal that’s been with me through thick and thin for 34 years.  Suddenly I think I should not dismiss it’s importance as a symbol so easily. I think I should again have something on my finger that means Al, even though it’s not the original.

I’m a simple girl. Our first rings we bought at Service Merchandise for $120 for both of them.  They were simple gold bands with a milgrain edge.  When I grew into a larger woman and it couldn’t be enlarged anymore because it was too thin, we had a jeweler add another layer under the original ring – and threw in some diamonds around it to boot. Then when I had the Christmas diamond set into a ring  I threw a few more in.  Al had created a monster with that Christmas rock and suddenly I was all about the bling.

So it wasn’t really the same ring anyway.  But I’ll miss it. It was part of me for so long.. I had lived with it on my finger for longer than I had lived without it.  I have the “ring dent” on my finger.

I still will put up a sign, I suppose, and scour the car just in case, but don’t have much hope at all and I’ve decided it should be replaced.  I’m still a simple girl. Yeah, there will be some diamonds but not more than a couple hundred bucks worth.  Hopefully insurance will help.

I lost my wedding ring (she shakes her head…).

update – it was found on the floor at work

 

Posted in Mary Married | 1 Comment