MRI and MS

I know lots of people write about their health issues on facebook; I don't. I suppose I've dropped hints here and there, but my dark sense of humor probably leaves people with the impression I'm exaggerating or a hypochondriac. Actually, I'm both. Lol.

Today I'm going in for an MRI and even if I don't have late onset MS, my health has been declining for about six years. My speech was the first thing to give me obvious problems, but the funny (bad choice of words) thing about MS, if it is MS, is that it's really sneaky. My sister was diagnosed (if memory serves) in her late 30's, but she had a variety of symptoms and MS was harder to diagnose back then. I remember the day she got out of bed and her legs gave out, and so began her lengthy diagnostic nightmare.

The other day, facebook reminded me of my last trip to Oregon five years ago. I went to see my daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughters. Now, for someone who for most of her life swore she'd never set foot on a plane, I'd grown kind of fond of flying by then. But that trip was miserable. I live in Ohio, and that was the trip when I discovered sitting for hours made it almost impossible to stand up. So I got to my motel and we were having such a good time. My eldest granddaughter, Suzi, spent the night with me. We binged on Spongebob. Anyway, the next morning the rest of the family came to my room and we were going to do various fun stuff. At one point, I used the bathroom, and when I came out, if the bed hadn't been there, I would've landed on my face on the floor. Tim went and bought me forearm crutches and the rest of the trip went fairly well. But with that facebook memory, I thought of my sister and her fall and began reading up on MS.

The problem with late onset MS is that the symptoms are oftentimes considered typical of the growing old process. But I'm only 68 and there are people who run marathons when they're in their 80's! Not that I've ever wanted to run a marathon. But I'll tell you; if I could regain the use of my legs, I'd start running. I dream about running. In my dreams, I'm all healthy, then I wake up and, well, it's depressing. And while I KNOW there are people whose quality of life is worse than mine, I admit, I've occasionally (momentarily) felt that my life isn't worth living anymore.

So, today is my MRI, and there are brain stem markers that apparently make it easier these days to diagnose MS. And, as my aunt reminded me, there are better meds these days than existed for my sister. Now I'm going to be embarrassed and relieved if I don't have MS, and there are some other miserable possibilities, but hopefully what I've written might help someone with my symptoms get a diagnosis. Don't keep going to your doctor's appointment saying you're 'fine' when you're not. That's what I did.

Gosh, it's been years. Lots of things have changed, and not for the better.

I've created a fundraising campaign on Fundraizr. I wrote the short version of why I've gone begging in the campaign message, but I need to say more.

My health has been on a steady decline for several years now and next week I go in for another MRI; I'm suspecting late onset MS, which is the disease that killed my sister. I'm doing my best to remain positive, and will be going to various therapies and treatments, no matter what the diagnosis. What I haven't shared publicly is that I've nearly lost all ability to walk and my speech problem is more tiring than ever.

Ron and I have never been outrageously successful, but we try. We're both pushing 70 and working is harder for him and impossible for me. We are facing upcoming expenses with very limited funds, including a car that might transport a wheelchair, if I can afford one.

The only thing I can think of to supplement our income is a book I self-published online several years ago. I'm hoping to work with a professional company (Bookbaby) to get an overhaul and promotion. It'll cost a few thousand dollars, but the reason my campaign is asking for more is the need for the aforementioned items. Items! Lol. Sounds trivial. Huge items.

Now, you have to know how much I HATE going begging; I wasn't raised that way. So I'd like to promise (to Carol, especially, for helping me in the past) that should my book become a moneymaker, I will do everything in my power to repay my donors, or at least send them copies of my book.

So, that's the story. Feel free to ask me anything. I'm an open book.

Finding Answers

It's funny the stuff you find when you go looking for answers to all your questions--and how fast you find them. I told a friend I want to find the solutions to all my problems tied up in one neat little bundle on the Internet. Why not? Isn't that the way it's supposed to be these days? We just do simple searches and voila! there's your answer. The problem with searches is that there are too many neat little bundles on the list. How does one choose? Is what fixes my problems the same thing that will fix your problems? Probably not. 

I grew up in a crappy environment. My parents divorced when I was five years-old. The day I was informed of this calamity was my first day of kindergarten. Imagine! I loved my Dad beyond words. He was the first man/friend/artist/humorist/humanitarian in my life and my beastly mother was kicking him to the curb. I was never given reasons. It was-what-it-was and my tiny mind had to accept it without question. Besides, the responses to questions in our house were usually either non-existent, sarcastic or angry. Still, it could have been worse. We had a roof over our heads, food to eat and clothes to wear. We laughed sometimes, especially when Mom wasn't home. So, according to everything I've ever heard or read, indeed,  it could have been worse. But we're each born with our own unique genetic makeup. Someone else raised in that environment might have thrived, another might have turned into a hardened criminal. I suppose I was sort of middle-of-the-road. Throwing screwed-up psychological genetics into the mix I became rebellious, followed by alcoholic and suicidal. But, hey, that's just me. I'm old enough that when I first sought help I was greeted with, "There's nothing wrong with you." and, "Don't tell anyone you have a problem." Now we live in an era where there's something wrong with you if you don't have a problem and ultimately I stumbled my way through therapy and sobriety. But I'm still looking for--answers.

As I said in my last post, I know I want to slay the Jabberwocky and then I decided there's more than one Jabberwocky in my life. Lots of Jabberwockys in fact, and I'm not Alice. So I was going to make a list of Jabberwockys and kill them one by one. I was going to write about all my accomplishments so that whoever reads this blog could be in awe of my progress. And then . . . I went back to sleep. I said I'm not Alice. 

When I got up I dawdled, I sighed, I thought, I pondered and I continued my Internet search for "The Answer." I began finding lots of people with lots of questions searching for lots of answers. One of these seekers led me to a long deceased man named Alan Watts. His name sounded familiar but when I went to visit one of his youtube videos I didn't know he was dead. In fact, he sounded . . . current, completely relevant. He said things I know; he said things I didn't know; he reminded me of things I'd forgotten. He was funny, and that's always a plus in my book. But what he did most for me was remind me of our interconnectedness. My spellcheck tells me that's not a word, but it is. It's a very important word. It means exactly what it sounds like it means. We are all connected in a very important way. In fact, according to what I believe, EVERYTHING is connected in a very important way. I believe in the Higgs Boson. It's the glue that holds everything together. I'm not gonna go all scientific on you, or spiritual, for that matter. You have enough to think about and worry about and question. But if you think like I think, you might want to consider reading some of Alan Watts books. You also might want to watch programs like Through the Wormhole. As crazy as it might sound to some people, I've found comfort in thinking about the cosmos and things we can't possibly prove. 

Maybe I'm more like Alice than I believed and maybe I AM the Jabberwocky.

The Wrong Alice

 

I set up a new blogsite and decided to bring this one a little more in sync with that one, so if you decide to read this and you already read the other I'll try to make this one a little different for you. And now you already know, I'm not 'that' Alice.

The Alice to whom I refer is the one who visits Wonderland on a regular basis. I admire Alice for her bravery in slaying her Jabberwocky, among other admirable qualities. She gave the Bandersnatch back his eye thereby retrieving the Vorpal sword; she helped rescue the Mad Hatter from the Red Queen, and she was always brave enough to take chances with stuff marked 'eat me' and 'drink me.' I suppose when I was younger I was brave enough to take chances with ingesting eatables and drinkables having absolutely no knowledge of what they contained. Lord! I suppose that behavior would be better categorized as stupidity than bravery. But, we did it, nonetheless. I'm still here so I guess I'm stupid and lucky. But what I'd like to achieve before I depart this mortal coil is Alice's bravery.

Having reached retirement age in America, I'm amazed to be just now learning so much about life that I never understood before. I have other people to thank for that information. Friends and relatives have always tried to give me good advice, but it seems as though the pathways from my ears and eyes to my brain were blocked. So I've had other people to thank for good information for years now; it's not their fault that the pathways have been covered with brambles, trash, dead wood and ghosts--not that the paths are completely clear yet. But I have been brave enough to sweep away enough of the debris to allow some of the information to filter through.

So, I'm working on becoming The Right Alice. My friend Boris tells me I should live 'the pink life.' I knew what he meant even before he explained it, but when I Googled 'the pink life' I found nothing to match what he meant. I guess the pink life can be many things to many people. To some it means they love the color pink and surround themselves with it; to some it means surviving breast cancer, and to some it means running marathons for health reasons. What it means in Boris' part of the world is being happy and free. Maybe sort of like looking at the world through rose-colored glasses, as they say. And I can do that--why not? What is the alternative, really? I think the pink life also includes tea parties with the Hare, the Hatter and especially the Cheshire Cat. I can handle that.

I've also realized I have to identify the Jabberwocky and with that comes the realization life is full of Jabberwockys. Sigh. Usually we only have to fight one at a time; sometimes they come in pairs and sometimes they'll actually tell you they'll let you take a nap and come back to annoy you later. As I said in my other blog, I'm better at putting the Jabberwocky to sleep than I am at slaying him.

So What Happens Now?

Saturday is my birthday. I'll be 62. SIXTY-TWO! Do you hear me? How is it possible? I, who have been so often on the brink of suicide, am going to be 62 years old. Do I hate it? If you'd asked me when I was 40 if I'd hate being 62 I'd have said, "I'll never live that long." or, "Yes, I'll hate it if I live that long." But here I am. Sigh.

I'm going to make this brief because I recently found out that my retirement only means I have to work harder than ever. Here's what I've learned at nearly 62:

• You never know what's around the next corner and it's not always a good thing.
• Living in the moment is still hard to do, but necessary.
• I love my family more than ever (family doesn't always mean DNA connections).
• I still care what I look like and don't want to look like either of my Grandmas.
• Napping is a good thing, but too much sugar and fat turn napping into an all-day sleep.
• Housework sucks. My Grandmas must have LOVED it--I don't.
• Getting older makes me care less about lots of stuff, including other people's opinions of my opinions.

But I think acceptance has been my biggest obstacle. It's hard for me to accept that I may never become what I believe I was born capable of being. I was born with all the standard equipment, but I never steadily pushed myself. It always seemed like pushing my talent or ability was met with failure and/or rejection. Oh, it's okay. That part of acceptance I can accept. That's the other thing about living this long; acceptance of failure becomes less devastating. I don't mean I'm not going to try new things, or polish old stuff; I just no longer expect miracles. They're great when they happen; I just don't live in a fantasyland about them. I've bought enough lottery tickets to know that it's usually the people who don't need the winnings who win. You know; it's always those people who say, "Quit my job? Oh, never!" What's wrong with those people? Geez, start your own business; go back to school; see the world.

Okay, back to work. I'm still trying to sell my stuff. I have to supplement my soon-to-be received SS income.
www.druneric.com




MY MOUSE

I was going to set up a rant on facebook when I remembered I have this perfectly good blog I haven't written on in months. Then again, I'm sure I'll post it on facebook when I'm done writing, but you don't have to read it; it's my catharsis. after all.

There's a mouse in my kitchen who's been controlling my life for the better part of a week now. Wait--I've been through enough psychotherapy and 12-stepping to know better; I've been allowing this mouse to control my life. It all started with seeing what I thought was a caraway seed in my silverware drawer. Eeeeuuuw, you're saying; and you'd be right. So I get a damp paper towel and get the "caraway seed" out of the silverware drawer and go about my business. The next day there are more seeds in the drawer and I think, "Wait a minute; I don't buy anything covered with caraway seeds and I don't use them in recipes. What the hell is this?" Then a memory slips back into my head. "Oh, yeah. About ten years ago. We had a mouse in here. We had a mouse and we had to get that no-kill trap and Ron put the little pest outside and it came right back in the next day." Now, we had cats at the time, but we always kept a door on our kitchen because we'd had a lovely little cat named Betty who, for some odd reason loved to urinate on kitchen counters. No kidding. It was like some strange fetish with her. We did the craziest things to keep her off the counters (I know; I hear ya.), but finally we just made sure we kept a door installed.

So after finding a crap-load of caraway seeds I say to Ron, "I think we've got a mouse." He says, "Yeah, I've seen him. He's a cute little chap." A cute little chap! So I say, "What are you gonna do about it?" He says, "Well, right now I'm going to take my nap." Aaaarrggg. So I set off for the hardware store because I can't find our humane catch-and-release mouse trap which has since been buried under ten years of basement bull . . .crap. The hardware store has an entire wall covered in products intended to viciously destroy absolutely anything and everything you don't want in your home, with the exception of a tiny corner of the wall devoted to the live-catch traps. They come in several sizes and this particular store usually carries the sizes for mice, rats and up to small fox sized animals. When I got to the store the only size they had was for rats, and in my desperation I bought it, completely forgetting how small mice are, not to mention how clever.

I get home just in time for Ron to be getting up from his nap and for our dogs to be taking his side in all arguments. Mind you, I'm already irritated because this rodent is taking me away from my valuable facebook time, not to mention all my other little projects; the rat poison on the shelves at the hardware had looked awfully inviting. I asked Ron if he wasn't going to help me set up this trap but he said the little dear wouldn't be out until night-time; I insisted on setting it up anyway. When I got it out of the box I could see I may have made a mistake in getting the rat sized trap but was going to give it a shot. I figured if I put some cheese into a little mesh bag attached to the trigger mechanism the little nut would have such a hard time getting it out of the bag that surely the doors would spring shut and trap his little ass. That being done I put the trap into the cupboard I'd cleaned of all other food products. I should probably thank the little monster for making me clean places I hadn't cleaned in years, but . . . I refuse.

The next morning, after much paranoia about going into my own kitchen (hey, I can't help it; it's like not knowing when a very large, hairy, fast-moving bug might suddenly run across your feet, or not knowing if you might pull open a drawer and find a small animal staring up at you. Please!) I pulled the trap out of the cupboard, already seeing that the doors weren't sprung, and I'll be damned if the little bugger hadn't gotten the cheese out of the little bag without tripping that trigger! So yesterday the rat trap went back to the hardware and I was able to find a small maze type device that is now sitting in my cupboard. I don't know yet if the little bully has been caught. As of 4:30 a.m. when the other two animals who control my life got me out of bed the trap was empty, and I said to Ron, "I CAN'T STAND IT THAT SOMETHING THAT SMALL IS CONTROLLING MY LIFE!" Sometimes I think I should live my life wearing a haz-mat suit.

Intended for entertainment purposes only. The management already knows what you're thinking.

My mind is nearly blank, but I haven't written in my blog for six months so I guess I'll try . . . . . . . No, can't think of a thing that hasn't already been said by millions of other people. Re-read my blog from six months ago and that just about said it all. I suppose I could die now and . . . better not say that; I have loved ones who worry about me.

Okay, lemme say this much: The biggest mystery in life for me is the way so many people claim to love Jesus Christ yet don't live by his words and teachings. Yeah, I want a good, solid answer to that question. Takers?

This is me, in case you wondered.


 

Imagine . . .

The other night while I sat at the computer the television was on in the other room and I listened to Reverand Al Sharpton talking to Martin Luther King's eldest son. They were talking about the current march to stop voter suppression, but they also talked about the original Selma to Montgomery march in 1965. During their discussion MLK III talked about shooters coming to his family's home when he was a toddler. He talked about it almost casually, like this is something that happens to everyone. I cried.

Why? Why are people bigots? What is it about someone whose skin is a different color than "white" that makes him such a target of hatred? And I'm not just talking about African-Americans, but let's start there.  Imagine yourself as a child again and your family moving into a particular neighborhood because your mom or dad found work nearby and discovering everyone in your neighborhood hates you. You don't know why, you know you did nothing wrong. And then, in a hateful tone, someone calls you a name that represents something over which you have no control--the color of your skin or your ancestry. Soon someone spits on you and tells you you can't sit near them, or eat at a restaurant with them, or use a public restroom. Then someone throws a rock through a window in your home, or sets something on fire in your yard. Then they shoot at you. And all because . . .  you're different from them? Why, in the name of God . . . oh, that's right, some bigots say they're speaking for God. "God made different races for a reason and they should never mix!" But they can't explain the reason; they just take God's word for it. Not all bigots are bigots because they think God is telling them to be bigots; I can almost understand the God reasoning. If you really believe God is telling you to do something, well . . . The worst bigots have no reason at all, and seem to be proud of it. "People of a different race than mine are inferior, and screw you if you want an explanation. I'm superior because of my whiteness and if it makes no sense to you you're welcome to leave the planet."

I believe in karma and reincarnation so I understand the concept of learning from mistakes and moving on. But if you're a fundamentalist you believe in having 1 shot at being a good enough person to make it to heaven when you die--or at least, pergatory. We are children--learning, learning, learning. But one of my hardest lessons is overcoming my hatred of people I call "stupid." When I think bigots and people with whom I disagree are "stupid," I'm not advancing myself on the karmic path; I'm staying right on the part of the path occupied by the bigots. I'm standing there, wasting time calling them names instead of moving closer to a better relationship with God. Why is it so hard for me to walk away from these people? The greater part of their ignorance is in recognizing (especially if they believe in a God) that God sees us all in equal light, or so I believe. Of course, I could be wrong. God doesn't call me up and have conversations with me any more than he talks things over with bigots, so I fall back on common sense. And even though I don't agree with Judge Judy politically, I tend to agree with her statement that ". . . if something doesn't make sense, it's not true."

And of course bigotry goes beyond skin color. Last week I read an article about one of Barak Obama's former nannies. She's a trans-gendered "man" who lives in Indonesia. Apparently in Indonesia (as well as many other parts of the world) homosexuals and trans-genders are treated miserably. A trans-gendered person in Indonesia will usually be left alone unless he/she is "pretending" to be what he/she "is not," then he/she will be beaten or killed. According to the President's former nanny, she is only safe if she lives as a man or lives as a woman and prostitutes herself. She chooses the former and prays for a better life. (Some of us who read the article are in touch with the White House on this issue. We who support the President are assuming he was unaware of this woman's plight until she was tracked down and interviewed by the AP.)

The article was online and allowed for comments. I read nearly two pages of comments and found only 1 person who sounded sympathetic. I was amazed. I also constantly have to remind myself of my naivete' regarding a huge portion of the population who don't see things my way. I pondered commenting for a while and then decided to pull up my best spiritual teachings and said:

I pray to God that someday I'll have the words to speak that will change the minds and hearts of the ignorant, the bigots, and the totally closed-minded. I also pray for the ability to love all beings even if I hate what they say or the way they think. Babaji bless us all, especially the people who must live their lives in a world full of people who hate them for the way God made them.

I was notified there had been responses to my comment and I decided to steel myself and read them. In addition to one that said, "Oh, cry me a river," I'd received 5 'thumbs downs.' But the following was one for the bigotry hall of fame:

• Druneric: You don't have the first class idea what Christian or being one is all about. Your a athesit. Better read about what God says about Homosexuals . See Leviticus 18:22- or 1st cronithians 6:9. Obama knew his nammy was gay and Obama is gay as well. That is why he was in support of Gay rights. You can't live two ways. Either for God or not for God.You say you pray for Babaji. You must be one of those freek Iraq. Why don't you go back and live In Iraq since you love that country so much, Get out of Clevland Ohio and pray for your idol your false Gods and see if they can help you. Your a phoney like your brother Barrack Obama.

Once again, because I'm naive, I was appalled. My best spiritual senses told me to ignore, ignore, ignore. The part of my soul determined to stay on the path with the bigots made me say:

• Huh, I just discovered I had responses to my post. None of you has probably ever heard of Babaji, so let's use the man Jesus instead. I can't tell if all of you consider yourselves Christians--8 Ball Man obviously does. Being a Christian means you believe in the teachings of Jesus Christ. Do you honestly think Jesus would pat any of you on the back and say, "Hey! Good work being snarky and hating people." Yeesh. Get an education.

Two steps forward, one step back.

Why I'm Liberal, and Still a Democrat

You know, now that I think about it, there is never a true separation of church and state. All legislation is written by people who believe in a 'something' or a 'nothing.' And the agnostic or atheistic politicians do have to take into account the way their opinions will effect all the people--ideally. I'd be just as distressed if a member of congress were trying to pass legislation that banned all forms of religious worship as I am about Rick Santorum's religious fascism.

I think the thing that continues to amaze me most are the Santorums of the political world. Now, unless there's a version of the bible none of the rest of us has been privy to, Santorum's interpretation, especially of the new testament, is almost impossible to understand. In the bible I've read Jesus didn't ask people if they really tried to pull themselves up by their bootstraps before he helped them. He didn't interview them to determine whether or not they were lazy before he helped them. He didn't take countless applications requesting assistance from applicants unable to work, then make them wait while He made a determination as to their worthiness. He advised all the people not to throw stones at each other because we've all been guilty of some wrong-doing at one time or another. He advised us to "go, and sin no more," knowing full-well most of us are incapable of living out our lives without slipping at some point. He told us God forgives all, and that we the people are instructed to do the same; which, as we all know isn't easy at times. I'll be the first to admit, there are days when I look at the people holding signs on the street corners asking for cash assistance when I judge them harshly. Those are usually the days when I'm in a rotten mood, or I have to do something I really don't want to do. On a "good" day, I pray for them, smile at them, and yes, sometimes give them money if I have it to spare.

The thing that bothers me about so many Republicans these days on the topic of charity is that they just don't seem to believe all societies have always and may always harbor citizens who truly cannot take care of themselves. I know there are people, some I know personally, whose full-time "job" seems to be not having a job and figuring out ways to take advantage of friends, family and "the system." But we can't turn our backs on everyone in need because some of them might be conning us. I believe that in every society the fortunate should help the less-fortunate. And if the fortunate are smart, a large part of that help should come in the form of handing the less-fortunate the best opportunity for education, unless the fortunate are planning to go out themselves and fix our infrastructure. And one does not need to be highly educated in order to work at jobs societies cannot operate without, but those jobs should pay a living wage. When I was growing up in the 50's the garbage collectors, as we called them, owned homes, cars and could support more than 1.5 children.

Those are some of the reasons I'm liberal, but the reason I said I'm still a Democrat is that I'm no longer blindly loyal to the party. Corporate greed has infiltrated both parties. It would be incredibly time-consuming to examine every last politician and his voting record, so I remain a Democratic voter as I consider the Dems the lesser of the two evils. I admire many past and present Democrats, but some these days are bought and paid for by corporate interests as surely as many Republicans. But if Eisenhower were alive and the country could run the way it was run during his administration, I'd probably vote for a Republican for the first time in my life. I was raised in a Democratic environment. My family had its share of Republicans, but usually their logic for switching parties was flawed. For instance, I had an uncle who hated JFK because it was said JFK's father was a crook. And there was no arguing with my uncle. Apparently he believed the sins of the father should be visited on the son, forget all the good changes brought about by Kennedy and Johnson.

My friend Doug on facebook posted the following from an anonymous contributor and it pretty much sums up, in a sarcastic way, the reasons I'm still a Democrat these days:

Fifteen Reasons Why I Vote for Republicans
-by a Proud Republican

1. I voted Republican because you can blame problems on poor people instead of the rich ones who actually run things.

2. I voted Republican because firefighters and teachers are
scum-sucking leaches, but the oil companies raking in record profits NEED those hundreds of millions in taxpayer subsidies.

3. I voted Republican because I believe companies like my cable TV provider, insurance company and credit card company could do a better job running the country than the government, no matter how much they screw me over.

4. I voted Republican because I don’t trust the government, although I favored the government spying on my health/financial records and tapping my phone when Bush was in office to keep us safe from "terrists."

5. I voted Republican because I don't really care whether terrorists, murderers and drug dealers own guns or not.

6. I voted Republican because I believe climate change doesn't
exist; if I can't see it with my own two eyes, it doesn't exist--like
gravity.

7. I voted Republican because I hate women having abortions, but
once the baby is born and dies from a preventable illness, that's okay.

8. I voted Republican because I believe in laying off workers to
boost profits; then I get to complain about lazy unemployed people.

9. I voted Republican because I understand capitalism. Demand
doesn’t increase jobs…ensuring corporations pay no taxes and cutting healthcare and education does.

10. I voted Republican because I care about the deficit and support cutting services that I really need. But extra tax cuts for the super rich who actually caused the deficit should be extended indefinitely.

11. I voted Republican because I believe in never having to solve
any problems in the government and I insist government is the problem anyway.

12. I voted Republican because I hate activist judges, unless they
are conservative (Yes, corporations should get to spend unlimited money in elections).

13. I voted Republican because spite and fear is better than hope and change.

14. I voted Republican because I agree that life begins at the moment of conception and ends at birth, and that women are incapable of making their own reproductive choices.

15. I voted Republican because B. Hussein Obama is a secret Kenyan born Muslim- negro-far-left-wing-extremist-liberal-socialist with a dark evil secret agenda to destroy America, take my guns, ammunition and freedom, and turn them all over to Islamic extremists and homosexuals who will rob, rape and murder me, my wife, my girlfriends, and my children, and force the abortion of my unborn children.

-a Proud Republican

You know the thing I hate most about many politicians? They so willingly tell lies in order to be elected. It's too bad our government has to become this corrupt before all the people begin to take notice.

As I Was About to Say . . .

For quite a while I've been wanting to write about the brand of theology spewing forth from some of our politicians, then I read:
http://crooksandliars.com/mike-lux/what-bible-santorum-reading

Mike Lux says it best and I really recommend it to anyone who, like me, has been saying, "What bible are they reading?" 

The Travails of Karma

Yesterday my sweet little girl-dog, Ruby jumped on my back and knocked me flat onto my kitchen floor. I screamed. I wasn't sure why I screamed; it was spontaneous and instantaneous. When I later analyzed the scream (I've been taught by years of psychotherapy to analyze or die) I recognized many emotions which hit me in rapid succession: fear, anger, surprise, confusion and pain, pretty much in that order. And the really ironic part is that I was walking into the kitchen to get some ibuprofen for the knee I twisted a couple weeks ago. I'll explain my analysis, but first, I have to tell you a little about Ruby, my furniture and my so-called housekeeping.

Ruby is the medium-sized, female plott hound I acquired this past summer. She was listed on facebook as a dog destined for doggy heaven due to over-crowding in the pound about 50 miles from my home. It was a very hot day when I picked her up and this particular pound is hard to find, so I wasn't in the greatest mood by the time I got there. My mood didn't improve when she threw-up all over my car. But I got her home, only to discover almost immediately she knew nothing about doing her do-dahs outdoors. It didn't take long before our wonderful Billings, who's NEVER had an accident in the house, taught her the way these things are done.

Ruby is a dog of extremes; extremely loving, extremely excitable, and extremely horrified by even so much as a disapproving glance in her direction. I have no way of knowing from whence she wandered when the dog pound people found her lying in the middle of a dirt road, but I can easily imagine some idiot acquiring her because she was an adorable puppy and turning her out when it was decided she wasn't a perfect pet. These people should be allowed to own nothing more than stuffed animals, and even that much leniency is questionable. So I got her home and Ron and I soon discovered we'll never be able to yell at each other again because Ruby thinks all anger is directed at her. She runs and hides even if we're angry and not yelling. Being a hound, I guess her senses are heightened and she knows if you're mad even if you're saying nothing! Great, right? Then when you go find her she buries her little muzzle in your armpit and eventually looks up at you with those sad little hound dog eyes. She's soooo adorable and we put up with her chewing up everything she can get her teeth into, including some of our furnishings.

My furniture is . . . old. My furniture is . . . mostly second-hand. My furniture is . . . never going to fall into the antique category, and if my daughter inherits my belongings, almost everything will end up in a landfill. My dining room table and chairs were purchased from my friend Ellen when she was moving into yet another swell place and buying more swell furniture. I love my dining room table and chairs; I don't care how old they are. The table is like a big butcher block and all the trim on the chairs is painted white. However, thanks to planned obsolescence, and unbeknownst to me, the screws that hold the legs to the chairs have been periodically falling out. My husband has been collecting them like Easter eggs when he finds them, but not putting them back into the chairs. Instead he hoards them with all his other useless screws, nails, bits of metal, shreds of paper, kleenex, and dust bunnies. That's an exaggeration, but sometime I'll write a long story about Ron and you'll be amazed.

Which brings me to housekeeping. I grew up being a fair-to-middling housekeeper. I don't like filth, but I'll put up with a certain amount of dirt. I don't like excessive clutter, but I'll put up with a certain amount of chaos. And there have been times when I'd go nuts and have to have everything immaculate and tidy. Then I met Ron. Some women would be thrilled to have a husband like Ron; he's . . . quite amorous, doesn't care if I have a job, cooks his own food unless I cook (which is seldom), and couldn't care less what the house looks like. Here's the downside: I feel guilty because for years now I haven't been amorous, I need to work because he doesn't make enough money to suit me, when he cooks he usually creates a mess and walks away from it, and his mess combined with my inability to keep up with it makes life quite hellish at times. Thank gods for prozac.

So here's how it came to be that sweet Ruby leaped onto my back and shoved me to the floor: About a month ago Ron moved one of the dining room chairs to a bizarre location in the dining room and began decorating the chair with odds and ends of junk. He'd placed his bagged laptop on the seat of the chair and little by little had been tossing mail and class papers on top of that. To add to the decor I'd hung two of his shirts on the back of the chair knowing that some year I'd iron them. This chair was very near the table, but facing away from the table. The chair was also one of the chairs that had been shedding its screws. When I got up from the table to go into the kitchen to get ibuprofen Ruby got up from the living room couch and began to shadow me as usual. Ruby was right next to the chair when the legs decided they'd had enough and collapsed under the weight of the accessories. Ruby freaked and flew feet-first onto my back causing me to go face-down onto the kitchen floor. It took me a little while to figure out what had happened, but I'm sure it happened that way. I only wish I'd caught it on video so I could have put it on youtube.

Now, what is the karmic logic of all this, I ask you? Actually I asked God. I often ask God to explain to me the logic of what's happening, but he remains silent. My God likes me to figure stuff out; He doesn't hand me the answers, but he's a pretty fair grader so I try to cut him some slack. I concluded after picking myself up off the floor, calming Ruby, and convincing myself that getting drunk would not fix anything, that God possibly realigned my spine. I honestly wasn't in as much pain when I got up as I was before I fell. It was the weirdest damn thing. Don't get me wrong; I still need ibuprofen and hopefully I'm about to find out I need hypothyroid meds, but I felt different when I got up. Maybe it is A Wonderful Life, or maybe I just needed a good scream.

My Funny Valentine

For years I've been trying to get my husband to write a book on politics. He's probably the funniest person I know on many topics, but especially government. Ron's a master of sophisticated and unsophisticated "humour" (Ron's a Canadian at heart). Alas, he only writes really boring, statistical stuff, usually having to do with the condition of waters that might hold brook trout. Sometimes he writes incredibly difficult-to-understand . . . thesii? but my favorite topic lately is politics.

I'm going to share with you part of one of his emails written to some equally cynical friends, but I warn you: While Ron is a lifelong Democrat, he has been sorely disappointed in the President. I usually defend Obama until he does something, or doesn't do something, that irritates me and then I side with Ron, but I usually add, "You know Ron, politicians, especially the president know lots of crap we'll never hear. So I'm thinking Obama still has something up his sleeve besides his arm."  Ron usually rolls his eyes, or says something sarcastic using his Buddy Hackett voice.

Dr. Runeric says:

 

Speaking of politics, the Florida primary will occur soon according to all the commentators.  I don't know whether or not that will be fun. For me, the element that is fun is that Loot Gingrich hates Will Robme.  Since Loot is so vicious and unprincipled, Will Robme might be utterly destroyed before he gets to face Obama.  That's very useful since Obama is too snivelling and chicken-hearted to talk back to, much less destroy, Will Robme, no matter how easy that might be.  Obama's worm-like performance over the last three years, especially regarding the public option, shows that he is simple for republican creeps to roll-over.  He is such a sitting duck that it takes a miracle for the republicans to lose to him in anything.  Opposing him is close to literally taking candy from a baby, yet it looks to me like Obama will win the championship this year -- only because the republicans are so aggressive that they prey on any target of opportunity, including their own. 

 

Here is my prediction for a debate with Obama against Robme (Imagine how much more extreme the following would become if Gingrich were the republican champion):

 

Obama:

"We want to reach across the aisle to the folks with different views and compromise.  A public option is not necessary."  

 

Republicans (all candidates at once) -- Instantly, as if rehearsed, which it, in fact, will be:

All turn and spit on the President and say, "Socialist nazi has established death panels for all honest, hard-working Americans, who will then have to become dependent on the US government, which he will then turn over to the Mau Mau tribe of Kenya, then give all your money to the laziest [fill in the blank as to which group name should appear here] and take away all guns from citizens and give them to Islamic terrorists."

 

Obama strikes back by saying:

"This is just divisive rhetoric.  We want to compromise with our friends across the aisle.  Okay, I'll give you something first.  I won't help the employees who are trying to stand up to OH, MI, IN, WI, and FL gauleiters.  I'll increase the Social Security retirment age and reduce benefits and increase the Medicare co-payment.  I think the Paul Ryan budget plan has a few areas where we both agree.  Now what will you give me?" 

 

 

 

Jochim Kasich, Gauleiter of OH

 

Republicans (all candidates at once) -- Instantly, as if rehearsed, which it, in fact, will be, kick Obama in the groin and say:

"Indefinite detention." 

If you're not an Ohioan, Jochim Kasich, Gauleiter of OH, is Governor Kasich. And, yes, I'll admit it; we generally refer to Republicans as the nazi party. So it was so odd to us when some of the conservatives tagged the liberals as nazi. They generally take a term and demonize it. I remember when they redefined the word "liberal" to mean a person who slaughters, rapes and pilages his way through life. Right.

Gingrich's food stamp obsession

I'm going to be brief because I really wanted to blog about my husband's political sense of humor, e.g., Mitt Romney is Might Robme and if elected becomes Will Robme.

If I hear one more word from Newt about Obama being the "food stamp president" I may have to find one of Newt's mansions and begin an occupation. (I'd also want to ask Callista where she buys her hair helmets. Sorry. I guess if I were married to Newt my hair would become rigidly cemented in place too.)

About five years ago when my life took a u-turn I found myself out of work. At first it wasn't too bad because I'd foolishly cashed out my retirement fund thinking I could buy it back in a flash when I secured another state job----ha ha ha, what a joke. Eventually I found myself in need of . . . EVERYTHING, including food. Thank God, I have family and friends who are extremely generous and understanding. But in the process of trying NOT to be totally dependent on people who cared more about my life than I did at the time, not only did I apply for utility assistance and sell my plasma, but I applied for food stamps. Now, I was told by my (wonderful) case worker that Bush changed the requirement guidelines so that no one had to show his bank statements. I tried to verify that information online, but was unsuccessful. However, I can say, I was not required to turn over bank statements (not that I had anything in the bank). My case worker said Bush wanted to see to it that anyone, of any class could be eligible for the program without having to use up his last asset, to which I say, "Thank'ee sai." (see: Dark Tower)

I quickly received a rather large chunk of change in the form of a food stamp card with which to fill my pantry. Thereafter I was allotted around $100 a week until I, ironically, was hired as a cashier at a grocery store.

The store where I worked was in an interesting location. The richest and poorest in that end of town shopped there. I wish I'd kept better notes for my sociological study, but I was usually too depressed to think about much other than collecting my meager wages and praying my car didn't break down. 

I did keep some mental notes about the store's customer base, however. To the best of my recollection the food card users came in all ages, races, male and female. It seemed to me the majority of WIC customers were of the Caucasian variety. WIC is a government program allowing low-income parents to obtain specific food items, mostly from the food pyramid and no junk food. This was especially helpful for new mothers as formula costs are astronomical.

Believe me, none of these customers (especially the WIC recipients) were happy to be using government assistance. For the most part, they seemed embarrassed. Some were angry in anticipation of the cashier's exasperation over having to deal with WIC coupons, a rather complicated transaction.

So here's what I have to say to Newt: No, I'd better not say that. Okay, Newt, get some real data. And voters who applaud Newts' comments about food stamps or any government assistance program are either uneducated, uninformed, hateful or down-right stupid. Instead of cheering for Newt they should be thanking the God or gods to whom they pray that they are not in the position to be needing government assistance. They should also be thankful assistance is there should they need it. No one on this planet is immune from catastrophic events--all types of catastrophic events. Oh, if only God would plunge Newt into the life of someone in need, even for an hour, maybe he wouldn't remain so relentlessly and obnoxiously pious. Oh, for the ghosts of Christmas' past, present and future to visit all politicians who haven't a clue about real suffering and desperate need.


Okay, not so brief.

My Friend, Beth

My friend Beth died two days after I wrote my last blog. She went to work last Tuesday morning and complained of a headache. Shortly thereafter her boss was calling paramedics because she seemed to have fainted and couldn't be revived. By evening she'd been flown to Cleveland University Hospital in hope that their medical technology could save her from the aneurysm, but they couldn't.

I'd only known Beth for a little over two years. I met her when I plunged back into the AA life. That's a lie; I was dragged kicking and screaming back into the AA life and one of the last things I told Beth (she being my sponsor) was that I couldn't lie to her.  Beth was a regular at a meeting I attended on the west side of Akron. Most AA's belong to what's called a "home group." That's the meeting at which a member is most active; we make the meeting comfortable for anyone who needs or wants to be there and do our best to attend every week. Beth and I were both "home group members" at St. Anthonys' Women's Group and I ultimately asked her to be my sponsor. That's another AA necessity. (For more details Google Alcoholics Anonymous.)

Beth and I talked to each other weekly, usually on Saturdays at the meeting and now I wish we'd spent more time together, but I think I know why we didn't. At least on my part I was afraid to get as close as I could have been.

When I met my best friend, Carol, we were 18 or 19 years old. That was over 40 years ago. At that age life seems neverending, sometimes for good reasons, sometimes for bad. Forming life-long friendships during your neverending years makes sense--they'll be with you forever. As I got older I began to shy away from adding BFF's. I have a few, but none as "forever" as Carol. As time went on I lost people close to me, beginning with my Dad. That was devastating, but not as devastating as losing my brother, then my mother, my sister, aunts, cousins and other friends. So I think that somewhere along the line I decided if I emotionally held people I really liked at a distance my heart wouldn't break when they died.

I was wrong. For all my keeping Beth at a "safe distance," my heart shattered like thin glass when her wonderful husband Jeff told me Beth "wouldn't be coming back." And now I wish I'd done more with her, gone shopping, gone fishing, gone to lunch, because ultimately it doesn't matter how much I try to shield myself against the heartache of loss; if you love someone and lose them you need to have fun memories of them. I think. Maybe. Oh, who am I kidding; my glass heart wouldn't have been any thicker had I gone out with Beth instead of just seeing her at work and meetings.

Within about 48 hours of her death I felt Beth had made it to a better place. I have the feeling she was confused for a while about where she was because she left so suddenly, but that when she understood she became filled with spiritual bliss and light. Her memorial service was packed with people who loved her and were still in disbelief that we'd never see her again in this life. It seems so impossible to believe that I was sitting with her at our home group meeting on New Year's Eve, but that I'll never again see her smile--in this life, anyway.

Beth was beautiful, loving and sweet and I will miss her. I'll always have plenty of good memories even though we never went fishing together.

Waiting For Good Snow

Funny. I really am waiting for snow, but the title then turned into Waiting For Good Snow, which brought my thoughts 'round to Waiting for Godot. I've been familiar with the title for years, but never read it . . . or saw the play. Thanks to the wonders of Googleocity I was able to find everything one would ever want to know about Waiting for Godot. Wonder of wonders, the analysis plays right into my blog:

There are many interpretations (of the title) for this. Here is one,

Since "Waiting for Godot" is an allegory written in a heartless modern tone, a theatre-goer naturally rummages through the performance in search of a meaning. It seems fairly certain that Godot stands for God. Those who are loitering by the withered tree are waiting for salvation, which never comes.

The rest of the symbolism is more elusive. But it is not a pose. For Mr. Beckett's drama adumbrates--rather than expresses--an attitude toward man's experience on earth; the pathos, cruelty, comradeship, hope, corruption, filthiness and wonder of human existence. Faith in God has almost vanished. But there is still an illusion of faith flickering around the edges of the drama. It is as though Mr. Beckett sees very little reason for clutching at faith, but is unable to relinquish it entirely. Source(s): http://www.nytimes.com/books/97/08/03/reviews/beckett-godot.html

 
AslanDec 30, 2011 6:30 AM                 http://www.gradesaver.com/waiting-for-godot/q-and-a/who-is-godot-what-does-he-stand-for-58251/

(Gradesaver looks like a worthwhile site, in case any students read this blog.)

" . . . Mr. Beckett sees very little reason for clutching at faith, but is unable to relinquish it entirely." That was the comment that caught me.

I've been feeling two shades off lately. I've been plagued by dreams filled with dishonesty and chaos and I also, quite often, see very little reason for clutching at faith. I know; someone endowed with such sparkling wit as I and who has at times expressed a desire to become a nun is plagued by disturbing dreams? Sad, but true.

But I think I've had an epiphany. If you know me you're thinking, "Oh God, another damn epiphany." This is a good one; I promise. My epiphany will sound like, "Duh!" to some, but I recognized it finally, which is important. You know; we have to see and accept our shortcomings on our own? If someone says to us, "You really ought to quit over-eating." or, "You know, you're a sloppy, ridiculous drunk." we say, "Yeah? Well screw you, pal!" But when we finally recognize those problems on our own we pat ourselves on the back for being so observant and honest with ourselves and sometimes actually go back to "pal" and apologize. 

So here's my epiphany: I must get into the habit of meditating and speaking with my Higher Power daily. (sorry antitheist friends) I can't just occasionally close my eyes and say, "Hey God, how ya doin'? You know what's in my mind, so I don't really have to tell you, right? Okay, talk to ya later." My friend, Marilyn K., is now a ward councilperson and she credits her success to asking God everyday to direct her steps. It's a little more complicated than that, but that's the crux.

I don't want to see this as a resolution because resolutions are  usually things we don't really want to do or to give up. I want to see this as a pleasant, helpful part of life. I think Godot would agree.

I'm still waiting for good snow, but the forcast is quite promising and we've already gotten some--snow. (sorry snow-haters) Happy New Year!

P.S. NASA says the world will not end on 12/21/2012. Only your Higher Power knows the hour.

Philanthropists Wanted

Okay, so no one really cozied up to my Greatest Weight-loss plan. No great surprise really; it is the eating season and the only real solution for overeating is to get Pondimin put back on the market. (Phen-fen) I'm thoroughly convinced that lobbyists representing all the "best-weight-loss-program-ever" companies (Eat Your Way Thin, Walk Your Way Thin, Cry Your Way Thin, Wiggle Your Way Thin, etc.) convinced our government to remove Pondimin from the market. If you've had any experience with Pondimin you know what I'm talking about. You took it once a day and presto, you no longer had an overeating problem. Pretty much the same with Seldane; you took it once a day and presto, no more allergies. Too much money is raked in by the weight-loss competitors and competition is the backbone of our economy, right? Fifteen thousand companies vie for your dollars and you go broke buying the best plans, options, deals, but the best and only is no longer available.


So that's when I decided to shop for a philanthropist. This idea came to me after reading Fortune's list of the 400 most wealthy Americans and a story about Charles Feeney who gave $350 million to Stanford to build a new technology department on an island off NYC. Feeney doesn't own a home or a car. Apparently he just accumulates more and more wealth and gives it away. When I investigated the possibility of getting in touch with Feeney I found one of the Google answers was, "You don't get in touch with Feeney, he gets in touch with you." If he doesn't have a home or a car I wondered if he owns a phone, nonetheless this answer took me 'round to one of the many philanthropy associations in America. I began to read the criteria for submissions and instructions on how to submit and I thought, "Hell, if I had that much energy, drive and ambition I wouldn't be begging for funds." I need a philanthropist who just likes me or likes taking chances on unknowns. In other words, I need a lottery ticket with a winning guarantee.

But since that's not gonna happen I've been counting my blessings and trying to increase my energy level, but it gets harder once you pass the 60 mark. Ugh. I am incredibly blessed, however. My most recent blessing came in the form of cash from my incredibly generous and loving friend, Carol. It was quite an unexpected Christmas gift and brought about immediate tears. She also informed me I'm on her list of 10 recipients (including her husband, Jay) who will receive part of the payout from the $172 million lottery ticket they bought. So I got that goin' for me. Carol and Jay are living proof that giving puts you on the receiving list, big time. Love those guys.

It is fun to talk about what you'd do with that kind of money, but more fun to have it. So I'll continue to shop for philanthropists to help me get my book published or fund my other artistic whims--and pray. But, Katie, you know I'm still waiting for that guy across the street to walk over here with my $10 million. Little inside joke there.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good-night, especially philanthropists.

Best Weight-Loss Plan Ever!

Boy, if that won't garner readers nothing will.

After I ate my bread and peanut butter this morning so that I didn't have to take my pills on an empty stomach, I eyed a partial tray of brownies. There was longing and lust in my heart. These weren't just any old brownies; they were gourmet brownies, each covered with a different mouth-watering goo--cream cheese, caramel, fudge. And because I've been feeling sorry for myself lately I decided I was entitled to fulfill my momentary heart's desire.

Let me back up: I've suffered from a life-long struggle with over-eating and total disinterest in strenuous physical activity. I was the kid who was last choice when picking team members and I NEVER cared. Usually I was too busy thinking about what I'd do in art class or what my mom packed for my lunch. She may have been many things bad, but she was a good lunch-packer. She actually put lettuce and mayo on my cheese sandwiches and that was in the 50's when few people in our class new what lettuce was.

My struggle with dieting was an off-and-on business. If I was interested in a particular boy I'd quit eating; if that particular boy dumped me for someone thinner I ate whatever and whenever I liked--screw him. As I got older I cultivated friends who didn't hold my fat against me, or if they did they didn't mention it. When I first heard the term "yo-yo dieter," I thought, "Wow, I need to president of that club.

So after I ate the brownie this morning I said, "Now why the hell did I do that?" I had no good answer. But I did think about this: one of the reasons I hate dieting is that it usually makes me sad, and I don't need something else to make me sad right now. Dieting makes me sad because good junk food makes me happy. It's as simple as that. Good junk food makes me as happy as getting smashed made me until I accepted my alcoholism as a reality. Bummer. Why me; right? I suppose the only answer would be, "Why not me." Why did my sister have MS? Why did my brother die 20 years ago? Why does my daughter live on the other side of the country, dammit? It is what it is. But I did have a few unusual thoughts after I ate that brownie, e.g., "I ate it. It's gone. Now what?" I mean, the only way I could have that satisfaction again would be to continue stuffing my face, and I can't do that because the deliciousness would never quit and eventually I'd become so stuffed I'd throw up.

Now, my plan won't work for bulimics, and I'm truly sorry about that. Eating disorders are a serious problem for many of us and I am not making light of them here. But after I ate the brownie I analyzed my sensations and emotions. My first thought was that if I could just hold on to the memories of those sensations I'd never have to eat another brownie. I mean, why would you? Dieting and hypnosis are structurally negative. They're based on "don'ts." "Look into my eyes; you don't like brownies and ice cream; you don't want brownies and ice cream; brownies and ice cream over-indulgence make you a social outcast." or, "Don't eat more than 1 serving. Yes 1 serving is laughable when we're talking about something so indescribably delicious, but . . . well, tough shit." So I thought, what if when I encountered a brownie or a carton of Ben & Jerry's Boston Cream Pie (fabulous, by the way), I vividly dredged up the memory instead of actually reliving the experience? I've been testing out my theory and so far it seems to be working.

All right! Who's with me?

I'll keep anyone posted who's interested in my progress.

Happier

This is my altered picture of stoned Bozo. Tee-hee. I don't get stoned, but that's none of your business. (Hi Katie)

Yes, I'm happier. Until today I've been living off one of Ron's credit cards. Not only have I deposited money into my checking account from my book sales, I sold four items on eBay, and my best friend Carol peddled $150 worth of feathers for me. Tomorrow she's taking a whole box-full to the manager of the salon. The manager spends $1,000 a week on feathers! I'll bet I've got $5,000 worth of feathers in that box! Yay! For those of you who might be reading this and you're not my daughter, girls are putting feathers in their hair. The salons can't keep the feathers in stock and Ron's had about a million of them laying around here for years.

So, things are looking up for my trip to Washington. Now I need to work on my next book. New working title: The Only Requirement For Membership. 

Baba bless whoever reads this.

Battling Frustration

The money trickles in so slowly. I have maybe two months to accumulate enough money to support a good trip to Washington. I need to be there when my daughter has her baby and I need to have enough money to spoil my granddaughter Suzi. That's the most recent picture of Suzi and me and she'll be 5 by the time I get out there.

Ron and I are both despondent today and lethargic. Partly weather, partly reality. It is so hard to stay optimistic when the crappy stuff is always at the forefront of our minds. I decided to write this blog today hoping to spark my ambition and creativity. It's not working.

Have to get feathers together for Carol to sell to her hairdresser. Another trickle of money. Better a trickle that a draught. Hey Katie, there's a man across the street with a million dollars for me. Will you call him and tell him to bring it to me? I'll be in bed.