a lesson my mother taught me

Yesterday I attended a funeral. 
It was a beautiful service.
It struck me that it was real celebration of the life of a wonderful person.
Today a friend is remembering her son, and celebrating his life.

It honors those we have lost so much more when we celebrate their lives.
Rather than be sad that they are gone
Rejoice that you knew them.
Tell their stories, speak their name.

a lesson my mother taught me.
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Thankful for blessing of family

I am blessed to have family to spend the holidays with. 

A warm gathering of lively friends.

Camaraderie, conversation, laughter.

Kind, caring, to make a gluten free turkey.

Extra work out of love.

A comfortable place to spend time.

 I am so thankful for these delightful folks.

Gracious, welcoming, warm.

Thank you.

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Alzheimer's Disease, dementia,...

I watch General Hospital.  Over many months they have had a story about Alzheimer's Disease.  Mike Corbin, father of Sonny Corinthos, has Alzheimer's Disease.  They have told the story well, detailing Mike's gradual evaporation, from a vibrant, funny, and very in the moment man, slowly disappearing into a terrible state that is the final stages of an insidious illness.

My mother died from Alzheimer's disease.  As I watch this past Monday's episode Mike's friend Stella is talking about what might constitute a "good" day for Mike.  She is asking: ..what do mean by good? Is he trapped in some memory of the past? Is he lucid or stoic as if in a trance....

And my thoughts turn to my mother.  She was not trapped in the past, struggling with awful memories as some of her roommates at the nursing home were.  Lillian was just disappearing very slowly.  I think that was a good thing, but it hurts to think of it.  To have one's self disappear gradually, until they are almost bland, and yet she retained enough self to not become nearly catatonic.

My mother had one roommate who seemed to be reliving an unsettling memory. The poor woman would talk to someone not present, and it was not a pleasant memory, but a slightly fearful memory.  And she relived this event in cycles,...it came back to her and started over again at regular intervals.  No one could interrupt the scenario once it began in her.  The poor woman; I never heard her have any kind of conversation with anyone - she just relived a fraught piece of her life over and over again.  And she was not the only one going though that.

Others rant angrily, over and over repeating the same tirade of apparent nonsense.  The staff struggles to calm them down once they begin the rant, because these unfortunate ones work themselves into a near frenzy.  It is sad and frightening to witness.  May God grant them peace.

Too many sit, nearly catatonic. They may cooperate and do what the staff asks of them: please sit here or let's do this.... Or a spoon is placed in a hand and a the meal indicated, and perhaps the patient will feed him or her self, or not, in which case someone will sit and patiently feed them.

Really the most one can do is be patient. Sit with them. Read to them - even if it appears that they are not listening. Be present. I believe they know someone is with them.

My mother began to disappear, but it was gentle for her. There were no fraught memories, she was as lucid as the disease would allow.  She was not animated, but she was not still, in control of her movements, able to move about in her wheelchair.  I don't know much of her behaviour when I was not present.  I know that she knew when it was Saturday, because that was the day I visited her.  Saturdays the staff would wake her, she would open her eyes and softly say, "It's Saturday. My daughter is coming to visit me today."  It was the only day of the week that she did not ask her care-givers, "what day is it?" every 15 minutes. I could animate her for a few hours once a week.  But she was disappearing, slowly fading away.  

it is a hard thing to witness

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Gluten in the holiday season...

Party scene:

Welcome to the party, the hostess begins by explaining that some of the food is Gluten Free. She did this special for me because I have Celiac Disease. Everyone appears to be listening to her. She explains that the 2 smaller pizzas are Gluten Free and asks attendees to NOT take any of those if they are NOT required to be Gluten Free.

Let’s not rush the food table now, we don’t want to look like pigs.

Oh, there are 4 people ahead of us in line… 3 of them think those Gluten Free pizzas look good, despite there being regular pizzas with the exact same toppings…. They help themselves to the Gluten Free pizza,… now I feel obligated to overload my plate with most of the rest of those SMALL Gluten Free pizzas, lest I go hungry otherwise.

Oh, yes, there is a Gluten Free salad, with no croutons in it… but someone carelessly dropped the only serving utensil for that salad. I watch as they shrug and grab the serving utensil out of the salad with the croutons in it, and plunge that utensil into the Gluten Free salad… no salad for me today. *sigh* That was all of the Gluten Free food for the main meal, so I only get Gluten Free pizza, and not enough to satisfy my hunger either.

The hostess stops by my table, and I pretend that I had plenty to eat and thank her for remembering to have some Gluten Free food for me. And she tells me that the red velvet cupcakes are Gluten Free! So when the desserts are on the food table I run up and take 3 of those Gluten Free cupcakes for myself. I do not feel guilty for doing so, because so many of the people at this party are careless pigs, who do not pay attention or are too ignorant to ask what Gluten Free means.

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This happens to people with Celiac Disease ALL THE TIME. You have NO IDEA how hurtful it can be to watch while everyone else eats anything they want, but I am served a plain salad of iceberg lettuce. 

Try not eating the food, and just watch the faces of everyone in the room... they are joyfully devouring whatever they please. 

And: NO, I don’t want to eat before the party and then watch everyone else eat/enjoy the foods I cannot have (smell the delectable scents) – because those foods would make me extremely ill for the next several weeks. That is no exaggeration,… recovery time from being glutened can take weeks, and cause other complications. It will knock you flat, with intestinal cramping and watery diarrhea.

Celiac Disease is AUTOIMMUNE, it’s a serious illness. Autoimmune disease means that my lifespan will be shorter.... because I have had Celiac Disease my entire life, but was not diagnosed until I was over 50. The damage done cannot be undone. 

link: can-celiac-disease-cause-early-death

link: new-clues-to-risk-from-celiac-disease#1

link: what foods to avoid if you have Celiac Disease

link: surprising-products-that-contain-gluten

link: an-open-letter-to-skeptical-health-care-practitioners

link to celiac.com website


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My Favorite Year

link to My 1972 playlist

As I listen to my 1972 playlist for a third time, and contemplate that time in my life, I realized that 1972 is my favorite year.  In the past I have never felt that any year could be singled out.  I guess this comes with age and reminiscence.  

I no longer have anyone to discuss such things with,... at least not anyone who was there with me.  And I never confided my true self to another human being; never shared my inner self with anyone about that particular time in my life.  

It was a time of awakening, of new awareness about self, about life, loss, maturity, and secrets.
Partially through music I was growing to understand grown up feelings. Empathy, sympathy, love. It was a time of innocence, but also a time of growth emotionally and spiritually. It was a time of hope, looking to the future and having the whole world to explore.

M*A*S*H first episode

link to Billboard Top Pop Hits-  songs of 1972

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The year was 1972

1972, my favorite year...

A few years ago I managed to acquire the first 12 episodes of The Streets of San Francisco (a Quinn Martin production), on dvd for cheap.  I put that in a box with a bunch of other dvds and pretty much forgot about it until recently.

1972 Ford Galaxie driven by Micheal Douglas season 1 episode 3

Karl Malden was a very fit 60 year old who looked younger than he was… and Michael Douglas was a baby-faced, wavy haired, 28 year old with a beautiful smile. 

What a pleasure to rewatch a television program I barely remember from a much simpler time….

1972.  Local phone numbers were 7 digits long,… telephones had rotary dials… most automobiles were huge, lumbering creations that drank gasoline at an insane rate.

1972 was the year U.S. President Richard Nixon ordered the development of a Space Shuttle program.

The 1972 Olympics were held in Sapporo Japan.

Roberta Flack was singing Killing Me Softly with his Song.

In February U.S. President Richard M. Nixon made an unprecedented 8-day visit to the People's Republic of China and meets with Mao Zedong.

In March the Pioneer 10 spacecraft was launched from Cape Kennedy, to be the first man-made satellite to leave the solar system.  

And: Thick as a Brick by Jethro Tull is released, a concept album supposedly written by an 8-year-old boy, Gerald Bostock.

The movie masterpiece The Godfather premiered. Other 1972 movie releases included: Deliverance, Jeremiah Johnson, The Getaway, Cabaret, and Silent Running.

April 17. 1972 – The first Boston Marathon in which women are officially allowed to compete.

Comedian George Carlin is arrested by Milwaukee police for public obscenity, for reciting his "Seven Words You Can Never Say On Television" at Summerfest.

The Republican National Convention in Miami Beach, Florida nominates U.S. President Richard Nixon and Vice President Spiro Agnew for a second term.

Bobby Fischer defeats Boris Spassky in a chess match in Reykjavík, Iceland, becoming the first American world chess champion.

The television series M*A*S*H begins its run on CBS.

October 13, 1972 – Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571: A Fairchild FH-227D passenger aircraft transporting a rugby union team crashes at about 14,000 feet (4,300 m) in the Andes mountain range, near the Argentina/Chile border. Sixteen of the survivors are found alive December 20 but they have had to resort to cannibalism to survive (for 68 days in desolate, snow shrouded mountains).

Atari kicks off the first generation of video games with the release of their seminal arcade version of Pong.

Apollo 17 (Gene Cernan, Ronald Evans, Harrison Schmitt), the last manned Moon mission to date, is launched and The Blue Marble photograph of the Earth is taken. Eugene Cernan was the last astronaut of the era to walk on the Moon.

The Big Blue Marble by the crew of Apollo 17

December 26 – Former United States President Harry S. Truman dies in Kansas City, Missouri.

Burt Reynolds poses nude for the centerfold of the April edition of Cosmopolitan.

Popular television programs included: All in The Family, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, The Bob Newhart Show, Sanford and Son, Maude, Gunsmoke, and Marcus Welby M.D.

Top songs included Rocket Man (Elton John), Lean On Me (Bill Withers), Back Stabbers (The O’Jays), Garden Party (Rick Nelson), Hurting Each Other (The Carpenters).

references:

link to: Wikipedia 1972

link to: The_Blue_Marble (Apollo 17)

link to: Top 100 songs of 1972

link to: Top Grossing Movies of 1972

link to: Top American Muscle Cars of 1972

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There, but for the grace of God....

This morning, as I sat in the cafe, early in the darkness, I watched an imposing figure approaching.  A large man, whom I instantly recognized as homeless.  I did not see him enter the cafe, but I certainly noticed when he seated himself in an armchair, in a corner opposite my booth, out of view of the staff.  They had not seen him enter the cafe either. The man appeared to be glaring at me, as he settled himself.  I did not look directly at him, so I misread his glance.

I will admit to being nervous, as I realized that he was parking himself with intentions to remain as long as he was not noticed.  After a while I turned my head and noticed that he was curled to the side, resting his head on the side table, silently sleeping there.  My fear did not yet rest. I hurried to get a water and return before he might awaken.  Then I quickly used the ladies room, still afraid to leave my things at the table unattended for too long.  I am now ashamed that I sent a pm to the cafe webpage that there was a homeless man sleeping in their establishment.  And, when I finally made a dash to get a tea and egg for myself, I told the staff - face to face - that there was a homeless man sleeping there.  I was told that he does come in here sometimes. I went back to the pm and deleted it.

An hour later the owner's mother showed up.  She gently woke the sleeping man, and gave him a cup of coffee.  Clearly she had also told him that he could not stay.  He slowly got to his feet, snapped his coat shut as I observed from my corner. I grew more ashamed of myself, and considered offering to buy him some food.... decided that I did not want to find him here every week looking for me to provide him with sustenance.  But I noticed that he had no gloves. It is a very cold morning. He took his cup of coffee and made his way outside.

The homeless man stepped aside from the entrance and stood near a trash bin on the sidewalk.  I took gloves out of my pocket and left my booth. Depositing my now empty plate in the bin I went directly out of the door.  "Excuse me sir. Do you have gloves?" I asked him.  He said that he did not.  "I want you to take these," I told him.  They are just the inexpensive, knit gloves from the discount store, but they will keep his hands warm.  

The homeless man took the gloves from me with a "thank you ma'am."  He smiled just a little bit.  "oh, ma'am, please." he stumbled for the next, then, "do you have, I would like to be able to get a sandwich...."  I look up at a scarred face, receding hair line, one eye not quite right somehow, his brown skin wrinkled from having napped on his coat sleeve.

I took some change out of my pocket, "I can give you some coins." and put the coins in his hand and back away again.  As I turned to rejoin my belongings inside the cafe, he said, "Thank you, ma'am, and you have a nice day."  I told him he was welcome and the same.

There, but for the grace of God, go I....

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clear blue autumn sky

clear, crisp mid-autumn day

blue sky, a few white clouds

trees all yellows, oranges, reds...

memories of country roads

visits to favorite aunts

am radio in the car

meanderings through farmland

nature's majestic beauty

overwhelming the senses

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quiet autumn morn

stillness

quiet

solitude

the raw beauty of nature

of a quiet autumn morn

sensory delight

something about stillness,

silence in nature

is blissful

the four seasons

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John the Blacksmith and Snow the dog

When I was a child my dad would say, "let's go bummin'" and he meant that we would visit someone he knew.  This occurred mostly in the summer time.  Once we set out and traveled a certain distance we could guess where he meant to arrive, at least most of the time.  

One predictable destination was the estate of an old friend of dad.  A man by the name of John Anton.  All I remember of John Anton was that he seemed a veritable mountain of a man; but I was a small girl at the time. I believe that he was well over 6 foot 3 inches tall, and he seemed to be about 3 feet wide. He had been a blacksmith in his younger days, and often a 'smithy' was a very large man, as blacksmithing sometimes required great strength.

I could picture a very large man, bent over an anvil, working on horseshoes; a large horse observing the work.  John Anton was from a era when large, muscular young men were encouraged to learn the craft, a good living to be made from such work.

To be honest I do not have a clear picture of John Anton in my mind.  Mostly he was just a huge mound of man and chair.  He and my father would talk for hours; sometimes quietly, other times boisterously, shouting at each other and laughing.  Their carrying on could be heard from outdoors, where I spent most of my time when visiting the Antons. 

There was a large, white, Great Pyrenees dog, named Snow.  Apropos for a large man and his cheerful German wife, Agnes.  I believe that there are a small number of humans who attract certain animals to them, and that was the case with Snow.  For this dog had just shown up one day, and never left the Antons again.  Snow was a gentle and loving dog, but surely could be fierce if called upon to protect his chosen family.

The Antons also kept chickens.  Hundreds of chickens, housed in three large old yellow school buses. I liked to shout and watch the chickens scatter. They seemed quite stupid to a little girl.

Then I would follow Snow as he made his rounds, and then we would run around, Snow barking and wagging his bushy tail joyously.

As dusk approached I would grow tired and find my way into Agnes Anton's kitchen, where my mother was visiting with Mrs. Anton.  Agnes Anton made sure that we also left with some vegetables from her massive garden; rhubarb, asparagus, or a pie if she had an extra.

I was always quite happy to go visit Snow at the Anton farm, on Johnsburg Road.  


As dusk fell we would make our way home, as the sun made it's way below the horizon and the sky was painted with pinks, oranges, and purples.

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The hug

children are so spontaneous, and seemingly insightful,... certainly sensitive... and definitely loving.


I had been unemployed for several months, spending my days on the internet in search of a job.  With no internet at home I resorted to spending time first at the library, and later at a local cafe where I was permitted to spend the day so long as I purchased a cuppa.  

It was a lonely time. Long months filled with long days of seemingly hopeless searching. It was taking the heart out of me.  The job search was punctuated by social media, in small doses... But the day, every day, was spent in the cafe on the free wifi.  A cafe populated by myriad groups of people, as you would find in any such establishment.  Young and old, young with old, families, parents with small children visiting with other folks.

Then, one day, rather suddenly, a sort of spell was broken. I had not noticed the child observing me. He was very small, perhaps all of 3 years old.  His mother was preparing to depart. Then quick, as those little ones can be, he ran over and scrambled up onto the bench next to me.  Before I realized it he had thrown his little arms around me. Taken aback, I quickly hugged him back and told him, "thank you".

His mother was, naturally, apologetic.  "Oh, no problem at all," I asserted.  

If only she had known just how much I needed that hug from that little child.

I sometimes think about that little boy.  What did he see when he was watching me?  What filled him with the knowledge that I needed to be hugged? 

I remember this occurrence well and often, and it always brings tears to my eyes.

photo representative of the hug


beautiful boy

beautiful child



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ode to a rainy day

I love a rainy day

more than sunshine

light showers are bright to me

droplets of a light rain

fall steady 

on my head

rivulets run 

blades of grass bend

puddles grow

birds rejoice for their bath

trees reach for the droplets

there is a quiet hush

shush shush the rain falls 

gentle on my face

gentle serenity

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musical links:

my lover, the rain

nothing's worrying me

thunder for the ride on the storm

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warm autumn afternoon

a certain longing
for those fall days
sunlight streaming through the window
snuggled up on the couch
with my best dog

warm
soft blanket for her
a pillow to lean against
comfortable
autumnal

before the sun is just a bright spot in the nighttime

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lightning strobe lights

Brilliant Bright flashing outside my window.

behind the curtains, is that lightning?

or is there an emergency vehicle out there..

Sleeping; awakened by the brilliant flashes.

low rumble of thunder rises to 

massive rumbling crescendoes.

flash

flash

flash

Despite the brilliant flashes

sleep returns with unconscious dreams

of other realities.

sounds of rain 

drowned out by the white noise

of the air filtration device.

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a cry for help

photo1  https://www.speakingofsuicide.com/2013/06/17/cry-for-help/

a cry for help

People talk about suicides,..after the fact…  and they say things, like “he seemed fine” or “she was happy, I don’t understand”.  Perhaps they were not close enough to the person to see or hear the cries for help.

Often we are told to let people know if we need help, if we need someone to talk to.  But what do people do when someone actually asks for someone to talk to; says to the world: “I need someone to talk to, please talk with me for one hour.”  People do nothing. They turn away, they run away.  How do I know, you ask….  Because I have been asking, then begging, and finally screaming that I need someone to talk to.  No one cares.

I am ‘a downer’, because I have announced that I am lonely.  All I am asking is for someone to talk to on a reasonably regular basis, a few times a year for one hour.  And out of hundreds of relatives and friends? No one has time for one lonely person.  What does that say about humankind?  Suicide is at an all time high.

What I have learned is that I truly am alone.  Despite being included in six or seven gatherings a year, I am all alone. The kind of interaction I need most do not come from large group gatherings. Every single soul on earth needs at least one person they can confide in. I have been hurt enough times that trust is a huge issue now. After years of having an “open door” for anyone who wants to talk with me at all, I have lost the ability to have a simple, chatty conversation.  I no longer trust anyone.  I cannot confide in any person, because I have been taught not to trust anyone.

I have been told to join a club, volunteer, and go to church.  None of those things will give me the ability to trust anyone, and none of those will produce a confidant.  As for church, I tried that, and I felt more alone there than I do in a crowded room full of people with no one talking to, or listening to, me.  I went to several gatherings of people with whom I have things in common, and I was not included in conversations, but talked past or around, as I sat and observed. But then I never did well in groups. - By the way, thanks for the useless and uncaring advice. Advice givers who have a confidant, friend, husband, child, significant other – you really do not get it.

I have no money for head doctors, nor the desire for an impersonal, clinical, “relationship” that never ends. I do not wish to be medicated because, I cannot emphasize this enough:  I am NOT depressed. I am lonely. And, before everyone totally freaks out… I am NOT suicidal, I AM LONELY.  This is not actually a surprise to me, because my mother told me that, as a single woman- I would be a pariah.  No one wants a third wheel hanging around.

I have been ignored and shut out for so long, that I am done now.  Done asking for someone to give a damn.  Done asking for someone to talk with. I am too inconvenient. 

I am become invisible and doubt my own existence on the mortal plain.

This is who we are.  This is what our society has become. Seven billion hypocrites, who give lip service to helping others. Drive by the homeless, ignore the hungry, and do not, under any circumstance reach out to the person who asks for someone to talk to. If you cannot spare an hour, every other month…quarterly….then I refuse to believe that you would reach out to anyone who asked for your help.

So, I really don’t want to see or hear any more of this “you can talk to me” nonsense.  Stop lying to yourself and stop lying to everyone on the planet.  Everyone is only out for themselves, and no one really gives a crap about anyone else.

The proof for me will be that no one will comment on this blog post, because no one EVER comments on any blog post I write. 

(I will stop asking for someone to talk to. And before you blame social media, I have all but quit facebook, and have actually found more support on twitter than you could imagine.)

NOTHING LIKE A COLD, INPERSONAL SIGN TO HELP YOU OUT  - the chain link fence is particularly nice touch

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http://worldpopulationreview.com/states/suicide-rates-by-state/

References:

PHOTO 1:  Is a Suicide Attempt a Cry for Help? Written by Stacey Freedenthal, PhD, LCSW

https://www.speakingofsuicide.com/2013/06/17/cry-for-help/

forget about me

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