Continuing the Tradition

When I decided to do a Christmas post last year, it became the third in a row, thus creating a line.  I'm trying to keep the line unbroken.

I've tried to make my Christmas posts uplifting and heartwarming.  I never expected to be writing my Christmas post less than a month after the death of my mother.

Mommy was sick for a long time, and suffered from Alzheimer's and ordinary dementia.  It was hard seeing her become less and less herself, but it was and is still hard now that she is gone.

I've been thinking about this post for a week, and have not really come up with anything.  So I am giving myself a pass, and my Facebook post will be a blog post from last December.

But for you, my blog readers, I'll be more honest.

I'm doing my best to celebrate this Christmas, because Mommy loved Christmas and that is what she would have wanted.

We have Christmas trees, and we drank eggnog.  We've watched countless Christmas movies.  We went to the play, Elf.  There are a few presents, and we're having a special dinner.

I'm forgiving myself for any lack this Christmas holds.

And there is the important message.  As I told my daughter last night, we can have Christmas any day.  We will pick a day in the future when we are together and call it Christmas.  We will eat special food, and play Scrabble, and laugh and remember.

Christmas, in the Catholic tradition, is about salvation.  It is about love, and ultimate sacrifice.  Christmas is about strangers offering comfort, gifts and escape from danger.  It is about a child born in poverty saving the world.

As much as I miss my mom, it is Christmas that gives me certainty that I will see her again.  It is because the Christ child was born that I believe I will be reunited with my mom and all my loved ones in Heaven.

At Mommy's funeral, one of the readings was from St. Paul's letter to the Romans, in part it read:

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor principalities, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord...

And since we are all one in the Body of Christ, I'm still with my mother.  And without Christmas, without the birth of the Savior, everything I believe that comforts and sustains me is gone.

So while the human part of me is struggling, the faithful, spiritual part of me is so very glad it is Christmas.  And that God sent His only Son so that we could all look forward to eternal life.

At the end of the long goodbye

Harriet Elizabeth Dunn was born June 14, 1927, the third daughter of Bill and Sophie Dunn.  Mary, their oldest was three, and Grace, their second child died in infancy.  After Harriet came Dorothy, and Frances, and finally, Bill, Jr..

Mom told me once that she thought when she was little that everyone put their flags out on her birthday to celebrate her, she didn't realize her birthday was also flag day.

Mom was an adventurer when she was a young adult.  She worked as an executive secretary for  Johnson & Johnson, and traveled by plane in an era when that was quite exclusive.

She married my dad, George, when she was twenty-nine and he was thirty.  They had four children, George Jr., Frances Claire, Anne Marie and Mary Elizabeth.  They lived on a tight budget until Mom went to work part-time, but we always had what we needed.

George and Harriet lived a great love story.  They were always happiest in each other's company.  They spent countless hours together as volunteers of one sort or another.  Cooking spaghetti dinners for fundraising, chaperones for drum and bugle corps and color guard activities; if there was a need and George and Harriet could help, they were always there.

They loved to host parties.  The house was small, but it always had enough room in it for another guest when there was a party.  A New Year's Eve Party, followed by a St. Patrick's Day Party, followed by a birthday party for Anne Marie and Mary, a Labor Day Picnic to celebrate Sophie's birthday, and a birthday party for George and Fran to finish out the year.  The birthday parties were great, but the New Year's Eve Party and the St. Patrick's Day Party were epic.

They always had something going on.  There was square dancing when we were small, and then Father's Club dances (Or maybe it was Holy Name Society), Chinese cooking lessons, American Irish Club activities; George and Harriet had an active social calendar.  And even though Daddy had Amvets and Holy Name Society and the Father's Club, and Mommy had the Rosary Altar society, most of their activities were together.

When we were small and money was tight, they would have date night at Arthur Treacher's.  I thought it was some fancy restaurant.  I was almost grown by the time I realized it was a fast food fish and chips place.

We played games as a family, and did crafts as a family.  Mommy made us girls matching dresses and matching pajamas.  We grew up in a loving home.

Dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in his early sixties, and Mom was his primary caretaker, with lots of help from my sister Mary.  We were very blessed that Dad was present for a long time, and there was only a few months when his quality of life was very poor.

Not the same for Harriet.  I believe she never recovered from Daddy's death.  She could get up for an event, but she was never the same after Daddy died.

In 2010, before her stroke, she was starting to get more confused, and more anxious.  After the stroke, the brain damage it caused combined with her existing dementia made it impossible for her to be without twenty-four hour a day care.

She spent the last eight years at St. Joseph's Senior Home, a truly remarkable gift for those of us in need of elder care.  She was loved and cared for at St. Joseph's better than I could have ever imagined.  The staff there truly treated Harriet like a beloved family member.

Each time I was there to visit, Harriet was less and less herself.  She would repeat series of numbers.  She couldn't have a conversation.  She spent quite a bit of time reliving difficult times from her past.  There were visits where she could be entertained with pictures, but most of the time in the past few years she just slept.

A strange thing happens when you lose someone to dementia.  As the person becomes less and less present, you miss them and mourn them.   But you still love them, and you still are comforted by their presence, even though you miss them while you are with them.  It can be hard to find memories of them when they were themselves, it is almost like your brain can't cope with the person you love being so different than they were in a different time.

After my dad died, I found my memories of my whole and healthy Daddy again.  I remember and treasure my Dad with Alzheimer's too, because he was so brave and loving despite what he was losing.  I'm hoping that the same thing happens with my mom.  That instead of being sad and thinking "poor Harriet" when I think of her, that I am able to remember more of the whole and healthy Mommy again, and remember her with a smile.

The most important thing about my mom that I never forget, and has never dimmed in spite of how much of her we lost to Alzheimer's, was her sincere and honest desire that no one ever feel left out or lonely.  She taught us to reach out to people, to be inclusive, to make sure that no one was alone outside the circle of love she created around her.

As people learn of her death and offer condolences,  so many refer to her kindness.  She was a kind and caring woman who tried hard to make the world a better place through her actions.  She loved my dad with an amazing love.  She loved her siblings and siblings-in-law, her children and grandchildren, her nieces and nephews, and her many friends, including her children and extended families friends.  She loved through action with kind words, food, visits, gifts and her company.

Mother-daughter relationships are complicated, and my relationship with Harriet was complicated for a long time.  But I was lucky that it simplified greatly as I got older, and learned more about myself from my own relationship with my daughter.  My relationship with my daughter allowed me to see my mother differently.  It allowed me to see how hard she tried to be a good mother, how all she wanted was for me to have the best life I could possibly have.  And just like all humans, sometimes she didn't get things right from my perspective.  But she always tried her hardest.

That is the Harriet I want to remember and cherish.  A flawed but wonderful human being who loved others with all her might.  A woman who loved God and her family and her friends.  A woman who tried, every day, to make things better for those whose path crossed hers.  I know I am very lucky to have had my mother share the earth with me for fifty-eight years of my life.  I know many don't get the gift of that much time.  So I will try to be grateful for what I have had and not be sad for what I have lost.

Rest in Peace, Mommy.  I hope you and Daddy are having a wonderful reunion.

Kindle Countdown Deal

A Kindle Countdown deal has started on Unexpected Blessings.  It is currently available for $0.99, and will go up a dollar at a time until the full price of $3.99 is reached.  If you've been waiting to read it - now is a good time.

Unexpected Blessings - Kindle Daily Deal

Problem solving

One of my favorite things about my job in safety was solving problems.  Digging through data, figuring out what went wrong, and brainstorming options to fix the problem so that it would not happen again.  I miss that about my old life.

I can create problems for the people in my novels, and figure out how to solve those, but it just isn't the same.

Doris Chan's crochet patterns give me problem solving opportunities.

I love Doris Chan's patterns.  The only problem I have with them is that all the pieces seem to be for people much smaller than me and my family.  So I always end up having to figure out how to make the garment work in a larger size.

It can be quite challenging, because often the garments have repeating patterns.  And I want that repeating pattern to stay true.  And not look like I made a mess of what is supposed to be a beautiful garment.

I am currently working on a tunic.  It is way too short.  I figured out how to lengthen it keeping the pattern and all I have to do is execute.

The sleeves were an entirely different matter.  I finally have them the way I want them, but I had to rework them four times.

Yep, four.  Stitches in, stitches out.  Repeat.  Put it together, take it apart, repeat.

I don't like rework.  I'm a little angry at the garment right now and am taking a break from it.   Which is crazy, but hey, I never said I didn't have crazy moments.

This tunic has been testing me since I started it.  It all started when I saw some really pretty yarn in Michaels, and purchased three skeins of it.  It sat in my yarn collection for about two years. 

I kept wanting to make something with it, and kept looking at different patterns.  When I saw this tunic, I knew that is how I wanted to use my yarn.  First hurdle.  The yarn is discontinued, and I couldn't get the rest of the skeins I needed to make the tunic.

No problem, I'll find a coordinating yarn and use two colors.  I looked and looked and finally found one that would work.  The two colors are hunter and wolf - which is totally cool in its own right.

Then I had to figure out how to use the two colors so that it would look good.  That took a couple of false starts.  Then the too short thing.  The sleeves didn't work thing.

This will probably end up being one of my favorite things I ever make because it has challenged me so.  And it gave me lots of problem solving opportunity.  And I think it is turning out to be a really cool garment.  I'll amend this post with a picture of it when I finish.

I'm going to plan my next project better.  Do something smart, like buy all the yarn in advance. 

But first, I have to get past my aggravation with the current garment and finish it.  Deep breaths - I can do it.

I hope whatever is aggravating you right now is small, like this tunic.  And that you can find your way out of it soon.

Thinking about things

I read a tweet this morning that really got me thinking.  The tweet referenced Joe Kennedy's appearance on the Colbert show, where he shared stories of Americans helping other Americans.

The tweeter pointed out that while those stories were nice, what would really be nice would be if America had a robust social safety net system so that people wouldn't need extraordinary acts of kindness to survive.

I want to make perfectly clear that I believe in social safety nets.  I think that any civilized society is only as healthy as the systems it has to care for its most vulnerable citizens.  I am a huge believer in a living minimum wage, universal health care, free public education to employment, elder care and youth care systems so that no one goes uncared for or hungry.

That being said, even if the very best social support systems are in place, there is still a need for compassion and generosity at the person to person level.

Unfortunately, many people on the tweet thread could only see either how sad it is that America's social support systems are woefully inadequate, or that it shouldn't ever be the government's job to provide social safety nets.

It makes me sad that it seems like so many people seek the extremes instead of the center.

In the center, you have great social safety nets, but you celebrate the wonderful generous people who supplement them.

You celebrate the people who volunteer as class mothers and fathers, and who chaperone field trips and dances.    You celebrate the volunteer coaches.  You celebrate the foster parents.  You celebrate the couple who stops to help the young mother change a tire.  You celebrate the woman who offers to hold a baby so that the mother can manage a melting down toddler in the store.

I worry that America is dying.  I know that many others do too.  If I am going to have the energy to try to save my country, I need to believe that there are people in it worth saving.

That is what the stories of ordinary Americans doing extraordinary things for other Americans does for me.  It gives me the energy to keep trying to make America a good country for all of its citizens.

If the only voices I hear are the loud and hateful voices on social media, I might throw up my hands and pray for a happy death for this nation.

So, I will keep fighting for a better America with the kind of social support systems that I think are the hallmarks of a great civilization.

And I will continue to recognize and celebrate the extraordinary acts of kindness by ordinary people that make America worth fighting for.

I know why Ernest Hemingway drank

I typed this title as I was reviewing my novella for publication.  Monday I received confirmation from the Library of Congress that my documents had been copyrighted.  So, it was time to get on the Kindle Direct Publishing site and make my books real.   I know you can over polish the stone, but each time I have thought that I had a perfect file, when I review the digital proof, I find a problem.  So I keep polishing the stone.  That alone would drive you to drink.

I'm going to ramble here.  Now that publishing is becoming a reality, the reality of people reading and criticizing my work is also real.  I know I write for me.  I know that everyone will not like my stories.  I know that I decided to publish and share them because I think that for some people, they will be a happy thing.  But Oh My Goodness, I hope my skin is thick enough to handle the negative reviews.  Or the total lack of reviews.

I know I am completely disregarding many truths about Ernest Hemingway.  The chronic pain from injuries, the adventurous lifestyle, the multiple wives, the cats.  He was a much more complex and interesting individual than I am.  But, I think all writers, all creators, experience incredible anxiety about our creations.

The other thing that is driving me to drink is the current state of affairs in the United States.  A couple of weekends ago, my husband and I went to a cruise night.  This is an event where people with antique, classic and specialty cars gather together to appreciate their car hobby.  There is typically music, and food and a lot of congenial conversation about cars.

That night the DJ played Lee Greenwood's "Proud to be an American"  followed by Toby Keith's "Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue (The Angry American)".

And it was like I was punched in the stomach.  I'm not proud to be an American right now.  The current administration has turned this country into something I don't recognize.  I didn't know whether I was more sad or more angry.

The line in the Toby Keith song, "Now this nation that I love has fallen under attack"?  We are under attack from within.  We are under attack from the xenophobic, misogynistic, racist administration that separates families and puts children in camps.  What have we come too?

On this July 4th, instead of feeling like I can celebrate a great nation, I am left instead mourning what has become of America, and fearful of how depraved we can get before the ship gets righted.

So I know why Hemingway drank.  And I hope that we can get out of this dark place.

Be careful what you believe

One of the things that people who object to any constraints on the Second Amendment like to say is that the first thing that Hitler did to gain absolute power in Germany was to take people's guns.

There is a partial truth here, which is a critical ingredient in luring people into believing an untruth.  After World War I, there was a total ban on gun ownership imposed on the German people, however; this law was never strictly enforced, and most Germans simply continued to own the weapons they had owned before the war.

In 1928, a law was passed that all weapons had to be licensed and registered, but this law too did not seek to identify weapons that were already in circulation.  Where the kernel of truth comes in is in the gun laws passed in 1938, which loosened the requirements for most Germans, but made it criminal for Jews to buy or own weapons or ammunition.  They also could not own "truncheons and stabbing weapons".  The Nazis had already begun seizing guns and ammunition from Jews.

As the Nazis marched through Europe, they seized the weapons of each conquered people.  That is pretty standard in war.

Do any of you know what the Nazis actually did seize in Germany as they started to gain more and more control and power?

They took people's radios.  The only radio that was allowed in Nazi Germany was a state issued radio that only received the state broadcast frequencies.  This happened in 1933.  This allowed the Nazis to control the narrative.  They censored books, magazines, theater and movies.  They only allowed the German people to hear what they wanted them to hear.

The increasingly pro-Nazi continuous dialogue worked.  People stopped thinking that there was any other way to live than the Nazi way.  Ordinary people became increasingly intolerant of whoever the Nazis told them to hate and fear.

Propaganda was  everywhere.  From cartoons and children's games to movies made especially to create and push forward a specific doctrine.

While many Americans are hoarding guns and ammunition for fear that the government is going to try to take them away, I see those same Americans happily giving up their right to information.

If you get all your news from only one source, you are making yourself available to be duped.  Even if you consult multiple sources, but all your sources lean right or left, you are making yourself available to be duped.

If you get all your news from social media?  Congratulations, you are totally informed by the propaganda machine.

What should you do?  Read multiple sources, including how other countries are reporting on what is happening in America.  Even if you only read English, you can read Canadian, Australian, New Zealand, South African and United Kingdom news sources easily.

Compare what you read in one source to what you read in another.  Ferret out the truth.

Fear is a well developed survival mechanism in our species, which makes fear a great way to manipulate people.  When you accept information from one source, it is always tainted.  None of us can help it.  Word choice changes how you perceive information.

Many news sources are trying to use fear to get you to side with them.  Don't fall into the trap.  Read, educate yourself, form your own opinions by using the contrasting presentations of fact.

The end of democracy doesn't happen because the government takes your guns.  It happens because you give them control of your mind.

Whataboutism and the search for your own morality

The newest trend in American behavior is a thing called "whataboutism".  "Whataboutism" is a practice whereby you never examine an activity or behavior on its own merits.  When faced with inhumane, or unjust or evil actions, you don't condemn them, you simply reply with "Well, what about this? Or what about that?"

The prevalence of this thinking and behavior is truly frightening, as I believe it allows for the emotional distancing from every situation that does not directly involve you.

Let me try to explain.   Have you ever cried at a book, or a movie, or even at a song?  Why?  Usually, we cry because we vicariously experience the emotion the song, book or movie is trying to convey.  We cry because we are open to feeling what the character feels.

When people practice "whataboutism" they never even think of the people in the situation as people, much less open themselves to think about or experience the emotions the people in the situation are experiencing.

Rather than listening and connecting to the thing that is happening in the world, they immediately go to rifling through their mental file cabinet to come up with analogies that refute the legitimacy of the problem.

I'll try a couple of examples.  "The police shot an unarmed teenager in Pittsburgh last night."  A whataboutist may respond, "Well, if black on black crime wasn't such a problem, police would have an easier job."

What?

Or, "It is inhumane to separate children from their parents just because the parents are seeking amnesty."

A whataboutist,  "What about how Obama had to have a court ruling because of unlimited detention of unaccompanied minors?"

Huh?

Or, "A trade war is not going to improve the economy, or help anyone in America get a job".

A whataboutist, "The democrats are so weak they let China steal all our jobs."

Seriously?

You will become less and less human the more you practice "whataboutism".  Trust me, I'm watching it in real time.

In order to stay human, whenever you hear something, you have to think about it.  You have to imagine how you would feel if you were the person in the event.  You have to think about the systemic ramifications of what is happening.  You have to read multiple sources, or listen to multiple different outlets with different viewpoints.  When you stop doing that, you become less of a human and more of a tool.

There is no perfect system, or political party, or person on this earth.  Everyone can be trying to manipulate you to take advantage of you.  Everyone can be trying to convince you to see things only the way they want you too.  Everyone can be trying to callous you to "the other" so that they can rob you of your decency.

The only person that can stop them is you.  Question.  Feel.  Cry. 

Examine every news story and every situation as it is.  Let things stand on their own.  Don't compare current injustices to anything except an ethical or moral standard.  If you don't have one handy, use the golden rule,  "Do unto others as you would have others do unto you".

Then decide what you think or feel about an issue.  You may still not care about children being ripped from their parents, or black teenagers being murdered by police for not reason.  You may still not care that the current administration is shredding our relationships with our allies, and supporting dictatorships.

But at least you will be informed in your callousness.   My regular readers know I believe in God.  For those that don't, but believe in karma or balance, or the power of good in the universe; we all come to the same point.

Your informed callousness will not go unnoticed.  As Theodore Parker said, and Martin Luther King, Jr. quoted "The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice."

Those who choose "whataboutism", who chose informed callousness, will wind up on the wrong side of that moral arc, and there will be no one there to save them.

Barabbas

My regular readers know I am Catholic.  I'm not the most devout, and I don't always agree with the Church's teachings, but I think I will always identify as Catholic.

For Catholics, the most important day of the year is Easter.  This is the day that created our faith tradition.  This is the day that we believe Jesus Christ rose from the dead, bringing us eternal salvation.

But it is always bigger than Easter Sunday.  Lent is an important part of preparing for Easter, and Palm Sunday and the Triduum (Mass of the Lord's Supper, Good Friday of the Lord's Passion, and Mass of the Resurrection of the Lord) are some of the most profound religious experiences in the church year.

One of the things that Catholics do each year is listen to and participate in the reading of the Passion of Lord.  In most liturgical years, at least two of the four gospels are presented.  The gospels are read by multiple readers and the congregation has parts that they have to recite.

These readings have always been very difficult for me.  There is a spot in the Passion where Pontius Pilate offers the crowd the release of a prisoner.  The crowd can choose Jesus, or the criminal, Barabbas.  The crowd chooses Barabbas.  As a member of the congregation, I am asked to reply "We want Barabbas!"  or simply "Barabbas!".  Every time I have to do this it hurts my heart.  I have never, and will never understand why that crowd wanted to crucify an innocent man and free a criminal.

We attended Stations of the Cross every Friday during Lent while I was in grammar school.  The prayer during one of the Stations (I don't remember which one) was this "Please help me to remember that whenever I support hatred, or bigotry or anger, I crucify Jesus all over again".

I have many friends who identify as Catholic, and as Christian.  And right now, in real life they are screaming "Barabbas!" except really, they are screaming, "Trump!".

They are finding every excuse possible to defend the separation of families coming to America seeking asylum. They do not care about facts, or about right and wrong, or about humanity or morality or justice.  Trump says tearing these families apart is necessary, so they believe it.

I don't know what God they pray to.  But the God in the Old Testament, and Jesus in the New Testament continually implore us to welcome the stranger, care for the needy, and house the refugee.

The same people who scream we are a Christian nation have completely turned their backs on the teachings of Christ.  They hide behind excuses for their barbaric indifference to the suffering of others.

I have been sickened by watching this.  I have tried my entire life to not judge people, but I am failing miserably on this one.  God is watching.  Anyone who is indifferent or supportive of the policy of separating these families will have to answer to God. 

Shame on anyone and everyone who supports this horrifying practice.  You have sided with Pilate.  You have asked for Barabbas.  You are crucifying Jesus all over again.

If you believe in a just and merciful God, pray for mercy.  Your soul is withering with your embracing of true evil.

Harriet

Today is my mother's 91st birthday.

Most women have a complicated relationship with their mother, and I am no exception.  The older I have gotten, the more simplified my relationship with my mother has gotten, until I've grown to the place I am today, and I simply love her.

Mom was never easy.  She had high standards for us, and she could be stingy with praise.  I remember thinking she was mean many times when I was growing up, and thinking of my dad as the good guy.  Now I realize Mom allowed Daddy to be the good guy.  One parent has to be the disciplinarian, and Mom took on that role.  Mom was the cop, and Daddy was the social worker.  It takes strength, courage and love to choose the harder role in parenting children, and Mom just did it because it was the right thing for her and Daddy, and the right thing for us kids.

Mom suffered with anxiety for apparently all of her life.  After her stroke, and as her ordinary and Alzheimer's dementia advanced, the anxiety became impossible to hide.  On one level, I always knew it was there, but on most levels, it was easy to just pass it off as moodiness or neediness.  I feel terrible that I didn't recognize the root anxiety and support her more.

One of the symptoms of that anxiety that I only recently recognized relates to swimming.  We had a swimming pool in the backyard from the time I was about five or six.  First a three foot pool, and then a four foot pool.  We had to wear life jackets in the pool unless Daddy was home, because Mom didn't know how to swim.  The yard was fenced, but the pool had a second fence inside the yard, with a padlock, and the key was up high in the cabinet.  Having that pool in the yard heightened Mom's anxiety, but she found ways to cope so that we could have a pool.

My dad was her anchor, he was the only one who could calm her down when she got really upset.  Just having him near created an ease and a calm in Mom.  The years that Mom took care of Dad as his Alzheimer's advanced appeared to be the least anxious of her life.  Her total focus in those years became giving Dad the best quality of life that she possibly could.

Mom showed up throughout my life.  She was a troop leader for Juniorettes, the littlest Junior Catholic Daughters (kind of like Girl Scouts for Catholics).  She was a chaperone when we were in Drum and Bugle Corps.  She cooked endless spaghetti dinners for fundraisers, and Chinese food for silent auctions.  She and Daddy hosted two birthday parties a year, a December party for my brother and older sister, and a May party for me and my younger sister.  And the epic New Year's Eve and Saint Patrick's Day parties.

Mom hosted a bridal shower for all my cousin's and their future wives.  She made the fanciest food!  Finger foods that were so exotic to my child self.  Rolled sandwiches on colorful bread, deviled eggs, cream cheese and walnuts on date/nut bread.  It was an elegant feast to me.

Mom managed her anxiety through putting others first.  When I look back at her life, it appears that when she was totally focused on other's and their comfort, it kept her anxiety in check.  What incredible focus and strength she had!

As she advances into dementia and there is less and less of Mom there to visit, parts of her remain.  She still smiles at people.  She still loves Irish music.  She still holds your hand.

I can grouse with the best of them on the things my parents, especially my mother did wrong while I was growing up.

But I choose this instead.  I choose to remember a woman who loved deeply and whole heartedly.  A woman who was flawed, but kept on trying to be her best self.  A woman who fought demons we couldn't see, and kept them at bay by focusing on others.

Happy Birthday, Mommy.  I hope you know how very much you are loved, and how many lives are better because you were part of them.

Boundaries

Sometimes I know what I want to write about, but I don't know where to start.  This is one of those times.

I belong to a Facebook group that is for people who all belonged to an organization that is now gone.  Mostly, the posts are pictures from the past, or notices that someone has been recognized for their achievements in the organization, or notices that a former member has died.

There are also memories shared, and for the most part, they are pleasant memories.

This week, a woman shared an unpleasant memory.  Her parents had been volunteers with the organization.  The organization was for people up to the age of 21.  At an event, one of the members of the organization hit her dad in the face with a pie.

Two things struck me.  One, that a thoughtless act almost forty years ago still bothers her enough to write about it.  The second was more subtle, and will take a longer explanation.

The person who hit the dad with the pie owned up that it had been him.  He said that while he was working with the volunteer he had told him that when he least expected it, there would be a pie in the face.  There is no indication that the volunteer told the culprit that he would be very upset if that happened.

The volunteer got very angry when it happened, chased the culprit, and never accepted his apology.  Their relationship was never repaired.

This could all have been avoided by the volunteer defining his boundaries.  When the culprit joked about hitting the volunteer in the face with a pie, the volunteer could have said, "If you do that, I'll be angry, hurt and embarrassed, and it will permanently damage our relationship."  Once that was said, then if the culprit decided to still do it, he would have known the consequences.  From his words explaining his actions, (and from knowing him for most of my life)  he never would have done it if he had realized the harm it would cause.

Nobody knows where your boundaries are if you don't tell them.  Everyone's boundaries are in a different place, and vary widely from one social group to another.  People who you know well and love often can get away with far more than casual acquaintances.

Maybe setting boundaries seems so natural to me because my dad was a master.  I remember one time that a friend of my brother's asked my dad if he could borrow some money.  My dad asked the guy if he thought of my dad as a friend.  The answer was, "Sure, Mr. Marion, I think of you as my friend."  To which my dad replied, "If you want to be my friend, don't ever ask me to borrow money".

That was one of my dad's boundaries.  It is important to note that I don't have to agree that your boundaries are appropriate, and you don't have to agree that my boundaries are appropriate.  But once anyone communicates their boundaries, and the consequences for not respecting those boundaries, the right thing to do is to respect the boundary.   Knowing if you don't what it will cost you.

I think it is so sad that someone is carrying the weight of a hurtful memory for so many years when it seems like such an avoidable situation.

No matter where you are in life, think about how much good you can do by establishing boundaries for behaviors or actions that will irreparably damage a relationship.  While it might be uncomfortable, you truly do have the power to prevent a lifetime of hurt.

Pushing the Limit

I had an experience yesterday that I want to share with you all.

My husband and I had gone out to eat dinner at one of our favorite restaurants.  I love the place, but they are not what you would call kid friendly.  The menu is upscale, and predominantly seafood. 

Now I know some kids love oysters and grilled fish and salmon tacos, but not most kids.

When we were eating our meal a party of five came in.  It was obviously grandparents, parents, and one little girl that looked to be somewhere in the six to eight year old range.  The little girl was crying.  Not loud obnoxious crying, but tears streaking down her face, and hiccups, and scrubbing her eyes with her fists to try to stop.

It broke my heart.  The mommy was very stern, and the daddy angry, and my heart hurt for the little girl.  She had that look that kids get when they have played hard all day and then get scrubbed to go out.  Her hair was wet, stylish, but wet.  I pictured a long day in the pool perhaps.

That poor baby was too tired for an out to dinner event at a place without a kid's menu.  She was doing her best, but appeared overwhelmed.

I'm not trying to parent shame or grandparent shame, but I wish we all did better at recognizing when our kids have had enough stimulation and need a quiet evening at home.

And that got me to thinking, it is not just kids that can be at the 'enough' point.

At one point in our marriage, my husband and I got into a pattern of going out to eat on Friday nights.  Everything was good for a while, but as our jobs got bigger and more demanding, the Friday night dinners inevitably ended in an argument.

We talked about it, and realized we were both out of energy, and patience, and understanding after a demanding work week.  We started staying home on Friday nights, and stopped arguing.

I remember when I was little, and my Dad would play with us kids.  My Mom would always say, "George, you are getting them too excited and someone is going to end up crying,"  and my Dad would laugh and keep playing, and then one of us would get too excited and end up crying.  And then there were hugs and kisses, and usually some time on Daddy's lap while he sang to you until you were happy again.  I wish that all parents could hug and sing their kids better when over stimulated.

Emotions are difficult things.  The more years of practice you have, the more likely it is you will have better emotional control, but it never gets easy.  And the more demands on your energy, the harder it is to control your emotions.

I wish that the world was more accepting of people simply saying, "I'm all tapped out, I can't go anymore." 

I wish we were all more comfortable saying, "I need some quiet time.  I have no more capacity for socialization".

I wish all children were held and comforted when they cry, and taught that it is okay to say , "I need some quiet time".

The only way we will ever live in a kinder, gentler world is if we all learn to be kinder and gentler with each other, starting with ourselves.

Did I just run out of things to say?

I am kind of embarrassed by how much my blog postings have decreased.  In 2015, the year I started this blog, I posted 126 entries.  In 2016, I posted 125.  In 2017, 54, and 7 so far in 2018.

I also feel guilty about my lack of posts.  The world needs more positivity and light.  I haven't been really good at finding that light.  The reason I feel guilty is that I haven't forced myself to look for the light either.

It is America's Got Talent season again.  I love that show.  And I love the stories of courage and hope it brings along with trained trick-performing cats, and magicians, and acrobats, and dancers, and singers.  The variety of talent is awesome, and the stories can be heartwarming and uplifting.

I noticed something very hopeful as I watched last night's episode.  There were two comedians whose comedy was of the mean variety.  They were not laughed at, and didn't make it through.

That made me very happy.  Not that those people were disappointed, but that the people in the audience were not entertained by meanness, and the panel of judges weren't either.

Maybe, just maybe we are reaching a tipping point.  Maybe, just maybe, people like me who have been silent are finally ready to start talking again about kindness, and inclusion and love.

We all fall into patterns, and let's face it, humans tend to go with the flow, with the path of least resistance.  When the dialogue turns mean, it doesn't go there all at once. There is a raised eyebrow, a snarky comment, a disparaging remark. And that becomes the new normal.  So the ratio of nice to not nice keeps inching to a terrible place.  We have reached a terrible place.

I don't know how people who I always thought were nice people can support people who are mean.  I heard a commentator on the radio yesterday opine that as long as people are doing well financially, they don't care about the character or actions of the entities that they think have created their favorable economic condition.  He is probably right - and that is just so sad.

I honestly can say I would rather be poor and hungry than be mean, or to support meanness.  I have been poor and hungry, and it didn't make me mean, in fact, I shared the scraps I had with anyone who needed them. 

I like the fact that I am financially comfortable, but it doesn't mean as much to me as trying to be a good person does.

And I truly believe if we all try to be good, and throw our support behind people who try to be good, that it makes the world a better place.

I need to find a way to address the meanness I see online without being mean myself.  I need to find a way to ask a question, or make a comment that redirects, knowing full well I may be redirecting the anger and meanness in my direction.

So no, I didn't run out of things to say.  I just felt crushed by the reality of day to day life in the United States of America.  I was tongue tied by the base level of much of the discourse I see and hear.  I was muted by the voices in my head that said why bother.

I have to bother.  We need all the voices for kindness, love and inclusion we can find.  So what if I sound like I'm repeating myself.

That has never stopped the mean people from repeating themselves.  I'm not going to let it stop me anymore either.

One Step Closer

I submitted two manuscripts to the US Copyright Office this morning, one for my novella, and one for my novel, another step closer to publication.

When I was working on Kindle Direct Publishing yesterday, one of the most important steps in publishing successfully is a book description.  It is harder than I thought it would be.

I thought I might try the book descriptions out on my blog readers to ask for feedback.  Here is the novella description:

Imagine a trio of five year old matchmakers determined to see everyone as happy as their mommy and daddy (Rosadel and Clancy) and their Grandma Harriet and Grandpa George.

These are the Marshall triplets; Lou, Rosie and Grace.

Imagine a town in Southeast Louisiana, where the community is strong, and life revolves around family, friends and faith.

This is Bayou Beni.

Come sit a spell and visit as life in Bayou Beni gets more interesting with the arrival of Jessie Tate.  Will the triplets succeed in making a match for Jessie?

Here are my current thoughts for the novel.

The Marshall triplets have livened things up again.  They found a box on the Holy Redeemer playground with a momma cat and six kittens.  They decided to put the cat and kittens in the nativity scene.  It wasn't their best idea.

Come on back to Bayou Beni as Rosadel and Clancy struggle to teach the girls impulse control, and the girls embark on their next matchmaking adventure.

Cassidy Bourgeois is relieved to have a foster family for an abandoned cat and her kittens, but will she get more than she bargained for interacting with the Marshall clan?

I know these are very rough drafts and need work.  I think they are both too short.  I don't know how fast or slow the copyright office moves, but I know I have at least as much time as it will take for me to format the books for paperback editions.

Please blog readers, any and all feedback is appreciated.

Thanks!

Hate is not a mental illness

I'm still not blogging as much as I want to be, but I am doing better with my writing, and expect to publish my novels with Kindle Direct Publishing before the end of April.  Exciting stuff.

This particular entry has been percolating since the Parkland shooting on February 14.  I am sick and tired of people talking about mental illness when it involves mass shootings. 

I don't think these mass shooters are mentally ill.  I think they have embraced hate to such an extent that they are evil.  Not sick.  Not redeemable.  Evil.

My religious side rejects my previous paragraph.  My spiritual side demands that anyone can choose to embrace the light, embrace the good, and be redeemed.

My pragmatic side says no.

Mental illness shouldn't even be a term.  Illness covers it.  Whether you have a brain, or a heart, or a respiratory system, or an endocrine system, or a digestive system that is working in such a way that your quality of life is negatively impacted, that system or organ should be treated so that you can enjoy a good quality of life.  The very term mental illness carries a connotation that is offensive.  So let's just stop using it.

I completely understand that gun violence and depression have a correlation.  I understand that gun violence and inappropriate anger management have a correlation.  I understand that gun violence and hopelessness have a correlation.

To fix the gun violence problem in America, we have to find an answer to how to provide appropriate health care to every person in America.  Without creating a financial burden that in and of itself will provide a correlation with gun violence.

But we have to stop with making excuses of any kind for mass shooters. 

They are hateful.  They have embraced hate of the other, whoever they perceive the other to be.  Now that we have caught a couple, and not had them die in the act of cowardice that took multiple lives, we are able to study them, and find they have no remorse.  If anything, they are only sorry they didn't get the chance to kill more people.

So let's stop pretending it is anything other than what it is.  Some people have been raised to be full of anger and hate.  Some people gravitate towards anger and hate, and seek out like minded people.

It doesn't really matter how they got there.  Whether it is nature or nurture, some people choose hate.  They choose anger.  They choose violence.

These are not the same as people who in desperation take a gun and kill themselves or their loved ones.  They are not the same as people who accidentally shoot a family member showing them a new weapon.  They are not the same people whose children shoot each other because a weapon was inappropriately stored or secured.  They are not the people who discharge a weapon in self-defense.

We need to stop pretending that gun violence in America is one problem that will have one solution.  It is a multi-faceted problem that will take a complex solution set.

That is why the Centers for Disease Control need to study gun violence and its outcomes, both injury and illness.  Once we have the data, we can start to parse it, and find out the subsets of gun violence, and seek to understand the chains of cause and effect that can be interrupted to stop this plague in America.

As for the mass shooters?  If we can keep weapons of war and high capacity ammunition magazines out of their hands, perhaps we can limit their carnage.  How to prevent them?  I just don't know.  In the study of human history, it seems we have always had those who choose evil, who choose to do harm rather than good.

The struggle of good versus evil is the most enduring story of humanity.  It seems that certain nations and cultures manage that struggle in their populations better than America does.  Arguably, some cultures and nations have an even more apparent struggle between the two forces.

I afraid that until America gets serious about doing something about the proliferation of guns and the celebration of violence as a problem solving technique, we are going to continue going in a terrible direction.   I hope I'm wrong.

Pivotal Moments

One time after Hurricane Katrina, I was trying to explain to my mother how disorienting it was when most of your familiar landmarks disappeared all at the same time.  My mother didn't understand what I was trying to tell her.  She told me that most of the landmarks of her childhood had disappeared, and that life just did that.  I couldn't explain the difference in emotion generated when things singularly fade away over time, and when they implode in an instant.

When Katrina hit and the levees breached, many people from Biloxi, Mississippi to Southeast Louisiana had their world implode.  It is hard to tell which street is yours when there is only an occasional house or tree standing.  I remembered watching video after Hurricane Andrew hit Homestead, Florida.  People were wandering through the rubble that used to be their subdivision, and they couldn't figure out where their house used to be.

People on the Gulf Coast of Mississippi lived through that.  In Louisiana, in the lower parishes, they experienced that.  Those whose homes were closest to the levee breaches experienced that.  For the rest of us, it was going back to a house that looked normal but was a flooded mess on the inside, or going back to a house that was spared only to be surrounded by empty houses, and no services.  It was disorienting for those of us spared significant property damage or loss of loved ones, to traumatizing for those that lost all their possessions, or worse, lost a loved one.

No matter how much or how little those living in the Katrina Zone were impacted, we were all changed forever.  There is a level of security, of trust that things will be okay, of certainty in our institutions that is gone forever.

The students at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School experienced that devastating implosion on February 14, 2018.  A lone gunman entered their school and killed seventeen people.  Anyone choosing to watch the news can see the tremendous emotion generated by that implosion.  What they can't see is how profoundly changed that community is.

Their lives will never be the same.  They will never be the same.  I have heard many people talking about the students and their activism.  I have heard people disparage them, and denigrate them.  I have heard people applaud them and celebrate them.

I have heard people say that their innocence and their childhoods were abruptly ended and stolen from them.

What I haven't heard is an acknowledgement that not just the students and teachers and families were forever changed, but the entire community was.

As many communities have been forever changed by a school shooting.

We have natural disasters all the time that steal normalcy like Katrina did.  What we don't often have in natural disasters is a complete failure of our support institutions to protect the citizenry.  Many residents in Puerto Rico are experiencing what we did in Katrina, and will be forever changed. I had hoped that Katrina had taught lessons that would not be easily forgotten, Maria and Puerto Rico proved that hope false.

For the communities forever changed by a school shooting, there was never any hope that change had occurred.  The people of Newtown, Connecticut and Sandy Hook Elementary School have made tremendous grass roots efforts, and effected change in multiple localities, but no national change has occurred.  The community of Parkland, Florida are turning their disorientation, their anger, their fear into action.  They are hoping for change, they are demanding change.

Not everyone will agree with the changes they demand.  Anyone who has not suffered a pivotal loss will not understand the depth and power of the emotion fueling that demand.

Non-judgmental listening is the minimum we owe to that community and to every community that suffers a devastating loss like a school shooting.

And we should all be willing to think long and hard about why we would deny their demands.  Are they asking for something that will personally hurt us the way it hurts to bury a child torn apart by bullets?  Anything that would personally hurt us the way it hurts to see your friends hunted and gunned down in your school?

Are you so attached to your rights that you can no longer see that the good of society might not be served by what you want?  Have you become so attached to an ideal that compromise is not something you will consider?

In order for change to happen, compromise is necessary.  Complex solutions to problems like epic natural disasters in hard to reach locations and excessive violence in American society are not going to have single node simple solutions.

Complex problems require complex solutions.  Complex solutions required reasonable dialogue.  Name calling and blaming and casting people into friend or foe caricatures impedes real dialogue.

We need to find solutions.  We need to help people after a catastrophic natural disaster.  We need to stop leading the world in school shootings and mass shootings.  We can't do that if we are shouting at each other and calling each other names and insisting that we know the only right answer.

Maybe, just maybe, we can stop trying to fit each other into neat little boxes.  Maybe, just maybe, we can stop pinning labels on each other.  Maybe, just maybe, we can finally accept that perfect answers don't exist, but trying to work towards better is a good thing.

I hope so.  Because this particular normal being permanent is too depressing to contemplate.

Life Force

Another post started a long time ago, it is time to finish.  Original post in blue font.

Spent time in New Jersey with family for a few days.  Visiting is hard now, as my Mom's Alzheimer's progresses.  This visit was especially hard, as my mother's sister has been diagnosed with lung cancer.

We spent a lot of time with her this trip.  We visited every day we were there, and took her to see Mom twice.  We also took her out to dinner one night.

She has decided to undergo radiation therapy to try to eradicate her cancer.  She will go five times a week for six weeks.  I don't know that she will survive the treatment.  She is very thin and frail, and has very limited mobility.  Her skin is very dry and thin and tears super easy.  I can't imagine that she can withstand any additional weight loss, and that is a side effect of radiation therapy.

What is not diminished in any way is her life force.  She wants to live.  She wants to make a contribution.  Her life force is strong.

And that got me to wondering (because you know I always do), why do some people have such a strong life force?

I don't want to creep anyone out, and I certainly don't have a death wish, but I don't know how hard I would fight to cling on to life.  I mean I would right now, because my quality of life is high.  But if I were in pain all the time, or if I was too weak to do the things I wanted to do, or if I knew I had a terminal illness that treatment would be inconclusively painful, I think I would be ready to let it go.

I don't know if that makes me selfish, or is just another expression of the pragmatic approach I have always tried to take to life.

Fast forward almost a year.  My aunt is doing great.  Came through the radiation, cancer in remission, has gained weight and strength.  Simply amazing.  And I'm still thinking about life force.

I finished a novel last night that brought me back to my thoughts about life force.  The title of the novel is White Rose, Black Forest, and it is historical fiction set in World War II Germany.  I highly recommend this novel, and so I don't want to give too much away.  But I will say that the life force of certain characters in the book ebbs and flows as their potential to do good is revealed to them.

And that got me to thinking about what it is that fuels our life force.  It was obvious watching my aunt battle cancer at eighty-eight that she felt she had important work yet to do, and needed to stay alive to do that work.

In the book, a sense of purpose, of the ability to right a wrong, or to make headway against evil was the important fuel to the character's life force.

I approach this same thought from many different directions and perspectives, but it appears one of the single most important things a person needs to maintain a life force is a strong sense of purpose.

And you don't have to be famous, or celebrated to change the world.  Your helping hand, your contribution, your smile, your words of encouragement, they can be the contribution needed.

When feeling like you are not doing enough, or feeling like you can't make a difference that matters, do one small thing.  Compliment someone.  Send a note to a friend.  Make a phone call.  Volunteer.  Feed your life force with purpose.

Each day's purpose can be small.  Say a prayer.  Meditate for peace.  Visit with someone.  But find purpose.

The good in the world is the compilation of thousands to millions of small acts of goodness.  You can add to the beauty with your words and your actions.

I keep getting sucked into the darkness that is so prevalent in the world right now.  Sometimes it feels like something big has to be done to make things better.

Stories of World War II can bring home how the small brave actions of ordinary people changed the course of the war.

We're not in the dramatic circumstances of World War II, but we are confronted daily with the insidious nature of prejudice, hatred and fear. 

We can take small brave actions to strengthen tolerance, and love and hope.  One small, kind word or action at a time.

And that is a purpose worth having.  And fuel for your life force.

What happens when your good karma is depleted?

One of the invisible, unprovable things I believe in is karma.  I truly believe that the good that you do has real value, and that it brings you good, and the bad that you do does real harm and brings you bad.

This morning, as I was washing dishes and folding laundry and putting more laundry in the washer and dryer, I thought about how I'm stuck in a place I really don't like.

Those of you who follow my blog know that I haven't been writing much lately, and that my posts have been steadily tapering off since the Autumn of 2016.  I've talked about the problem before.  I just don't feel inspired, and have a hard time finding something inspiring to say.  And I don't want to use this blog to just complain about the things I don't like.

Because the Super Bowl is coming up on February 4, I was thinking about what we are planning to do for Super Bowl Sunday, and right now it is basically nothing.  And then I started thinking about the year the Saints were in the Super Bowl and won.  It was so good.  So amazing.  But right after the Super Bowl I got really sick.  The sickest I have been since high school.  I had to drop out of a marathon.  The next couple of years were kind of a downward spiral.  My mom had a stroke and we had to put her in a nursing home.  My plantar fasciitis got so bad I limped all the time.  I started gaining serious weight.  I had been given a great assignment at work, but then they posted my job at a higher grade than I had been compensated at.  I felt like the universe was taking a huge dump on me.  Did I use up all my good karma trying to get the Saints to win the Super Bowl?

In 2012, I signed up for a lifestyle change program called Weight No More.  I helped clean out my mom's house, helped my sister find a place to live, and released the first products of the work project.  Life took a decided upswing.  I must have refilled my karma balance with the good works I had done.  Life stayed on a somewhat upward trajectory until 2015, when I had a stroke.  That was more of a bump in the road, though, I recovered well, and kept moving in a mostly positive direction.

2016 was a tough year.  My mother-in-law died, and my son-in-law's father died.  The United States appeared to be heading in a very bad direction, and the Chicago Cubs made it to the World Series.  I wanted the Cubs to win as much as I wanted the Saints to win.  And they did.  And since then, it feels like nothing has gone well.

I expected to finish my novel last spring.  Still working on it.  Our pool ruptured, it is repaired, but the scar reminds us.  I fell and broke my wrist.  I picked up some weight, so I am heavier than I want to be, and I can't seem to find the will to do anything about it other than be miserable. The situation in the United States continues to deteriorate, with school shootings becoming commonplace, with 11 school shootings in the first 23 days of 2018.   The acrimony and hatefulness in our national dialogue knows no boundaries.  We seem to have become a nation of blame, and anger and division.  I don't see anyone in a leadership position trying to bring us back together and move us forward in a positive direction.  I'm afraid I used up all my good karma getting the Cubs a World Series Championship.

The problem is that I don't know how to rebuild my karma reserves.  I do nice things for people.  I try to be kind, and understanding and generous, but I'm not getting anywhere.  This blog should be a way I try to lift people up, and I'm trying to get back to that.  I have to finish my novel, and maybe that will start making deposits in my karma bank.

So what do you think?  Can our good karma run out?  How do you build up your karma balance?  I'm determined to get out of the bad place I am in, and if I figure out a magic formula, I'll be sure to let you know.  Until then, I'll be busy trying to rebuild my karma balance.  I need for good things to happen.

Hamburgers and Life

I started this post back in September or October - and ran into a wall trying to finish it.    I'll change the font color of the original words before I post the final version.

I was listening to the radio this morning, and the morning show host and the morning news guy were talking about one of the festivals in New Orleans this weekend, The New Orleans Burger Fest.

The show host asked the news guy how he liked his burgers.  The news guy replied he liked it simple, cheese, lettuce, tomato and mayonnaise.  The host replied that he hated cheese on a burger, and was a fan of pickles, onions and mustard on his burgers.  The news guy was like no cheese?  And the host was like NO!  And then the host said "And isn't that just what makes the world?".

What it got me to wondering is why we can't be live and let live about more than just what you like to put on your hamburger.

Really, isn't that just what makes the world?  That we are all different and that we all like and don't like different things?  Why isn't that something we celebrate instead of fight about?

So much of the acrimony in the world and in the media and on social media is focused around our differences.  Differences are good.  They are interesting.

I hear so many people deciding that they know something about someone because of what they like.  So what if a person likes tattoos and has a bunch of them.  Or a bunch of piercings.  Or really long hair.  Or really short hair.  Or blue or orange or purple or green hair.

Some people like rock music, and some like gospel, and some like country, and some like oldies, and some like opera and some like classical, and it goes on and on.  Why should it matter what kind of music someone likes to listen to or perform?

And once you get past the superficial, if you think about it, there are many differences that are substantive that just don't matter either.

Don't we all bleed when cut?  Don't we all grieve when a loved one dies?  Don't we all hurt when betrayed or disregarded by those we care about?

What does it matter in the larger scheme of things if someone is Democrat or Republican or Independent?  If they are Christian or Jewish or Muslim or Atheist?  If they believe in big government or small government?  In states rights or a powerful federal control?

It seems that so many people I hear and see have forgotten that we have more in common than we have things that separate us.  Everyone is free to work towards creating a home where things are as they like them to be.  Everyone is free to believe whatever they want to believe.  Why is it so hard to allow that freedom?

I have many friends that I disagree with on a number of subjects.  Some of them are the kind of friends that I can explore those differences with, and get a better understanding of how they have arrived at their beliefs.  Some of them are the kind of friends that I just find other things to talk about.

The divisiveness and acrimony are only going to get worse until more of us try to make it better.

I think a good place to start is with the old adage, if you don't have anything good to say, don't say anything.

I might not agree with some things I hear and see, but if someone is respectful and kind in their appreciation of something I don't appreciate, there is no need for me to comment.

There are very few people in anyone's life that can be influenced to change their position on an issue or a person.   Sometimes, I understand that we all have to try.  But I think presenting an opposing position in a positive way will always yield a better result than telling someone they are wrong.

I'm trying harder to just say what I think and feel in a positive way, rather than being negative about what I think is wrong.  I'm quiet a lot.

I truly want a world where more people can agree to disagree, where more people can recognize we are all more than our political or religious beliefs, where we value each other just because we are humans cohabiting on this planet.

Each time we chose to find common ground instead of formulating our argument, is a step towards a more civil and productive discourse.

I want to get there.

Another lost week

What a weird disrupted week it has been.

It started out well on Sunday.  My husband and I were in Pensacola Beach, Florida.  We had done a 10 kilometer road race on Saturday, and had both won the Master's (40 and over) division.  We had a wonderful lazy Saturday after that, and had a leisurely wake up on Sunday morning. 

We went for a three mile walk, and then went to a champagne brunch, went back to the hotel to make use of the hot tub, and then settled in for an afternoon of football.  Even though the Saints lost on the last play of the game in epic fashion, it was still a good day.  But then.........

The ride home from Pensacola was uneventful, and I unpacked and we went for a walk to get the kinks out from the long (220 mile) ride home.  It was when I went to pick up the dogs from daycare that things started to go downhill.

Scarlett had a squinty eye.  I thought maybe she had gotten some soap in it when she had her bath, so I wasn't too concerned initially.  After we got home, the situation deteriorated rapidly.  Her eye was obviously bothering her, and then she started listing to one side, walking leaning on the wall and then she slid to the floor.  I called the vet, and their answering machine referred me to the emergency clinic.

May I just say right now that Scarlett is fine.  She had an ulcer on her eye, and was in considerable pain.   She is healing beautifully.  I didn't want you to worry while I told the rest of the story.

Emergency veterinary clinics are a wonderful thing for those of us that love our pets.  I was terrified that Scarlett was having some sort of neurological event, and that she was on the verge of dying.  (I go from zero to terminal in 60 seconds whenever any being I love has a health emergency.  My bad.  Tried to fix myself, failed.)  Emergency veterinary clinics are also like human emergency rooms.  Slow, scary, sad, and incredibly expensive.  After four hours, I was headed home with medication, a diagnosis, lots of negative test results, and a much smaller bank account.  Totally worth it.

I arrived home to increasing hysteria in the local media about an upcoming deep freeze.  Temperatures lower and for a longer duration than we have experienced locally since 1989.  And some sort of freezing precipitation.  We never had a situation like this since we put in the pool, so my husband was worried about what would happen, pipes freezing, etc.

Tuesday was spent planning, stocking up and winterizing.  My husband set up a heater under a tarp with the above ground pool piping, and set the pumps in circulation.  I made a pot of chicken soup so that we would have good warm food.  I also talked to my regular vet.  They were going to call me anyway, as the emergency clinic had notified them that Scarlett had been in for an emergency visit.  I wish human doctors could manage the quality and coordination of care that seem to come naturally to veterinarians.  I made an appointment for Scarlett to see her regular vet on Wednesday morning.  The freezing rain started Tuesday night, and there was a combination of freezing rain, sleet and snow throughout Tuesday night.

Wednesday morning most of the back patio and front driveway were sheets of ice.   There was no way I was venturing out on that ice, with a newly healed broken arm, I didn't want to court another broken bone.  Listening to the radio, local officials were asking everyone who could stay off the roads to stay off the roads.  The interstates (I-10, I-55, I-12, and I-49) were all closed. My husbands freeze protection for the pool worked perfectly. I called and re-scheduled Scarlett for a Thursday appointment, and my husband and I watched Turner Classic Movies all day.

Thursday brought the news that the water pressure in Jefferson Parish was critically low, and that we all needed to conserve water.  No dish washing, clothes washing, bathe and flush toilets only when absolutely necessary.  Two hours later, boil water advisory.  The vet called to reschedule as they had no water at the clinic.  I boiled water, and decided to walk on the treadmill because there was still too much ice outside.  Got off the treadmill, the vet called, did I want to bring Scarlett in, they got water back.  Carefully walked around the ice patches to take Scarlett for a check of her eye, the ulcer is healing beautifully, and she can come out of the cone of shame on Sunday.  Eye drops and more money.

And now it is Friday and 55 degrees Fahrenheit.  We are still under a boil water advisory, but we can flush toilets and bathe.  Thank God for that.  They said you could wash dishes in your dishwasher if it has a sanitize setting, and mine does (YEAH!), so I washed the accumulated dishes in the dishwasher.  The laundry will keep until tomorrow, as I know other people need to tax the system more than I do.

I did finally finish and ship the mermaid tails that I was working on, so I can start another crochet project and I'm ready to get back on my novel. 

I realized how much I depend on the water in my faucets.  And roads to drive on when I need to.  And the relative health of my pets. 

I hope this week doesn't set a tone for 2018.  I am more convinced than ever that I love my boring life.  I hope I can get back to it next week.