aww: 1/30/13
non-subject ~ a cry for warmth
************
Loneliness is cold.
Its chill causes my heart to ache.
The ache causes my heart to cry.
The tears drop from my heart into my belly.
My gut fills with a deep moan.
The moan echos like in a hollow egg.
An egg whose shell is made of cold metal.
The deepest I've ever ached is in regard to my children.
I will not put into written or spoken words the horrors I have imagined.
Those imagined horrors will stay contained, at least for now and probably forever.
I wish I would have been a better mother when my children were young.
There were times I tried to force my daughter, Hannah, to behave properly.
At times I would shout at her.
______________
The Word commands that children are to obey their parents in the Lord.
Obedience means to obey the first time.
A parent shouldn't have to retell a child the second or third time; that's the same as disobedience.
Ephesians 6:1 was the first retemory that children in The Way learned.
A retemory is a scripture to retain in the memory.
Retemory cards in The Way were the size of business cards; on each card was printed a scripture verse and its reference.
The proper way to retermorize was to say the reference, then recite the verse, then state the reference again.
Over and over and over and over.
"Ephesian 6:1
Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right.
Ephesians 6:1"
Why couldn't Hannah be like the other girls that were confident?
Why couldn't she just make a decision?
Why was it so hard for her?
She didn't work fast enough.
She made decisions to slowly.
She wasn't thankful enough while doing her chores.
She missed too many details.
Why couldn't she just do it right!?
What was wrong with her?!
"Hannahh, if you can't do it right I'll just do it myself! I don't understand why you can't simply use the rug sweeper properly."
I'd berate her as I took over her chore to make sure it was done properly.
One must always be thankful and always have an eye for detail.
Her eight-year old eyes and ears witnessed my deplorable behavior.
_______________
I hate to think how much more deplorable would have been my tactics had I not bonded with her as an infant as she suckled my breast her first 2-1/2 years of life.
***************
January 30, 2013
January 22, 2013
Warm & Cold
non-subject: warm & cold
*********
I like my drinking water with no ice.
I like my frappuccinos with extra ice.
I like my tea hot.
Hot tea.
Tepid Water.
Icy frapps.
What was life like before refrigeration?
I wonder how food was preserved long ago?
I imagine food would have been dried or sealed in jars of clay or glass or tin. Comparatively we in the 21st century in the developed world live a posh life.
I pulled out my Champion juicer on Thursday, January 12, 2013. I think it had been in storage since at least the year 2000.
On Friday morning I began my adventure into the rainbow - a rainbow of veggies and fruits whirring through my juicer. I commenced on my current juice and smoothie fast. I want to fast for 30 days, but I don't know if I'll make it that long. I'll see at Days 10, 15, 20, and 25.
I have fasted on various occasions throughout my 53 years. My goal this time is a lifestyle change. That's why I want to fast for 30 days.
When I emerge I want to know my body better, to hear it better, to listen to it better.
And not just my body, but also my soul.
A juice fast is a concrete step I can take in loving myself, doing something good for me.
A hopeful side benefit of the fast will be some weight loss and less inflammation in my system.
Inflammation has been a recent big problem since I developed serum sickness in April, 2011. And now, due at least in part to the serum sickness, I have a hefty case of carpal tunnel in my right hand. I see a hand surgeon this Thursday.
As life would have it, I serendipitously met a hand surgeon last night while I was at work.
Our hands touch and feel and speak.
They protect and bless and curse.
We wear gloves to keep them warm.
But when in gloves, their sense of touch is muted.
And if they get really, really cold, their sense of touch disappears.
I'm glad my hands can feel, even when they feel pain.
*************
*********
I like my drinking water with no ice.
I like my frappuccinos with extra ice.
I like my tea hot.
Hot tea.
Tepid Water.
Icy frapps.
What was life like before refrigeration?
I wonder how food was preserved long ago?
I imagine food would have been dried or sealed in jars of clay or glass or tin. Comparatively we in the 21st century in the developed world live a posh life.
I pulled out my Champion juicer on Thursday, January 12, 2013. I think it had been in storage since at least the year 2000.
On Friday morning I began my adventure into the rainbow - a rainbow of veggies and fruits whirring through my juicer. I commenced on my current juice and smoothie fast. I want to fast for 30 days, but I don't know if I'll make it that long. I'll see at Days 10, 15, 20, and 25.
I have fasted on various occasions throughout my 53 years. My goal this time is a lifestyle change. That's why I want to fast for 30 days.
When I emerge I want to know my body better, to hear it better, to listen to it better.
And not just my body, but also my soul.
A juice fast is a concrete step I can take in loving myself, doing something good for me.
A hopeful side benefit of the fast will be some weight loss and less inflammation in my system.
Inflammation has been a recent big problem since I developed serum sickness in April, 2011. And now, due at least in part to the serum sickness, I have a hefty case of carpal tunnel in my right hand. I see a hand surgeon this Thursday.
As life would have it, I serendipitously met a hand surgeon last night while I was at work.
Our hands touch and feel and speak.
They protect and bless and curse.
We wear gloves to keep them warm.
But when in gloves, their sense of touch is muted.
And if they get really, really cold, their sense of touch disappears.
I'm glad my hands can feel, even when they feel pain.
*************
January 16, 2013
Part of the Scenery
**********
non-subject: death
aww ~ 1/16/13
**********
My father died alone on a snowy Friday in February, 1996.
He died in a hospital room in Richmond, Virginia, at McGuire Veterans Administration Hospital in the spinal cord injury unit.
Dad had been in the hospital for months recuperating from surgery; colon surgery I think it was. As a quadriplegic he needed special care and McGuire had one of the best SCI units.
But the hospital didn't call the family right away when Dad had gone into a coma-like state two days prior on Wednesday. I don't know why. A nurse finally called my sister late Thursday night, I think it was. By then none of us could get to Richmond; the east coast was in a snowstorm and the interstates were closed. My sister lived in DC and the rest of us in North Carolina.
Mom died alone on a cold day in January, 2009.
She died in a nursing home room in Hickory, North Carolina, at Brian Center.
We, the children, were with Mom her last days of life.
But she died when no one was in the room.
Hospice had told us that she may want to die alone.
Mom was the last of her eleven siblings to die.
Dad was the second of his two siblings to die.
Both my parents are dead.
All my aunts and uncles are dead.
I never knew any of my grandparents; they all died before I was born or when I was an infant.
Mom and Dad died in the winter, the season of hibernation and death.
But in spring, new life begins.
I wonder if the earth has always been that way?
**********
non-subject: death
aww ~ 1/16/13
**********
My father died alone on a snowy Friday in February, 1996.
He died in a hospital room in Richmond, Virginia, at McGuire Veterans Administration Hospital in the spinal cord injury unit.
Dad had been in the hospital for months recuperating from surgery; colon surgery I think it was. As a quadriplegic he needed special care and McGuire had one of the best SCI units.
But the hospital didn't call the family right away when Dad had gone into a coma-like state two days prior on Wednesday. I don't know why. A nurse finally called my sister late Thursday night, I think it was. By then none of us could get to Richmond; the east coast was in a snowstorm and the interstates were closed. My sister lived in DC and the rest of us in North Carolina.
Mom died alone on a cold day in January, 2009.
She died in a nursing home room in Hickory, North Carolina, at Brian Center.
We, the children, were with Mom her last days of life.
But she died when no one was in the room.
Hospice had told us that she may want to die alone.
Mom was the last of her eleven siblings to die.
Dad was the second of his two siblings to die.
Both my parents are dead.
All my aunts and uncles are dead.
I never knew any of my grandparents; they all died before I was born or when I was an infant.
Mom and Dad died in the winter, the season of hibernation and death.
But in spring, new life begins.
I wonder if the earth has always been that way?
**********
Leopard & Lady
non-subject: saved
aww ~ 1/16/13
*************
I really, really do not want to write.
I feel as if I loathe myself.
My energy is almost nil.
I want to fall into a deep, long hibernation.
Sometimes I wish I were a large wild cat.
Cougar or Tiger or Leopard.
Sleek. Fast.
Exercise only when I desire play or food.
Stretch my elegant body to bask in sunlight.
But I'm not a large wild cat.
I am a middle-age, middle-class American woman.
I play Sudoku.
I watch sunsets.
I open my refrigerator for food.
I take pills.
I am overweight.
I drive a 1999 Ford Explorer.
I drink Starbucks frappuccinos.
I have a Facebook account.
I spend too much time on the computer.
I am a wife and a mother.
I got saved when I was around 10 years old. At least that is when I went to an altar at a Baptist Church and accepted Jesus into my heart, or something like that.
When I was around 12 I read the four gospels in the Bible and decided Jesus was the biggest egomaniac I'd read about in my 12 years. He always spoke about following him; it was all about him. What made him so special? And why in three gospels did it state that two of the men crucified with him rejected him, while the fourth gospel stated that one of the two men accepted him? How could I believe this stuff?
I couldn't...at least for the next five years.
After five years, when I was 17, I met and fell in love with Frank - the 22-year-old guitar-playing hippie that went to church, and was a truck driver, and smoked dope, and drove a panel wagon with gears on the column and with a mattress in the back, and raised chows, and lived in a cabin below Rocky Face Mountain in the woods in Vashti, North Carolina.
Frank and I met on the pier at the McGahaes who lived on the north side of the Highway-127 bridge in Hickory as one drives toward Bethlehem.
In my bikini, I sat alone on the end of the wooden pier on a sunny day in May, 1976, my feet dangling in the water. Music must have blasting from the house; there was always music.
Frank saw me as he stood in the gravel parking area. He walked the pier and introduced himself. Frank was tall and handsome, blonde hair, blue eyes, with a goatee.
Frank liked that I didn't shave my legs or underarms or wear make-up. He liked that I didn't smoke dope or drink or do drugs, though I had in the past.
We started dating and a few months later I moved in with Frank in the cabin in the woods. I liked that Frank would introduce me to his friends as his "lady." I was 17. Frank was 22. His friends were in their 20s and 30s.
And I was Frank's lady.
***********
aww ~ 1/16/13
*************
I really, really do not want to write.
I feel as if I loathe myself.
My energy is almost nil.
I want to fall into a deep, long hibernation.
Sometimes I wish I were a large wild cat.
Cougar or Tiger or Leopard.
Sleek. Fast.
Exercise only when I desire play or food.
Stretch my elegant body to bask in sunlight.
But I'm not a large wild cat.
I am a middle-age, middle-class American woman.
I play Sudoku.
I watch sunsets.
I open my refrigerator for food.
I take pills.
I am overweight.
I drive a 1999 Ford Explorer.
I drink Starbucks frappuccinos.
I have a Facebook account.
I spend too much time on the computer.
I am a wife and a mother.
I got saved when I was around 10 years old. At least that is when I went to an altar at a Baptist Church and accepted Jesus into my heart, or something like that.
When I was around 12 I read the four gospels in the Bible and decided Jesus was the biggest egomaniac I'd read about in my 12 years. He always spoke about following him; it was all about him. What made him so special? And why in three gospels did it state that two of the men crucified with him rejected him, while the fourth gospel stated that one of the two men accepted him? How could I believe this stuff?
I couldn't...at least for the next five years.
After five years, when I was 17, I met and fell in love with Frank - the 22-year-old guitar-playing hippie that went to church, and was a truck driver, and smoked dope, and drove a panel wagon with gears on the column and with a mattress in the back, and raised chows, and lived in a cabin below Rocky Face Mountain in the woods in Vashti, North Carolina.
Frank and I met on the pier at the McGahaes who lived on the north side of the Highway-127 bridge in Hickory as one drives toward Bethlehem.
In my bikini, I sat alone on the end of the wooden pier on a sunny day in May, 1976, my feet dangling in the water. Music must have blasting from the house; there was always music.
Frank saw me as he stood in the gravel parking area. He walked the pier and introduced himself. Frank was tall and handsome, blonde hair, blue eyes, with a goatee.
Frank liked that I didn't shave my legs or underarms or wear make-up. He liked that I didn't smoke dope or drink or do drugs, though I had in the past.
We started dating and a few months later I moved in with Frank in the cabin in the woods. I liked that Frank would introduce me to his friends as his "lady." I was 17. Frank was 22. His friends were in their 20s and 30s.
And I was Frank's lady.
***********
January 15, 2013
January 9, 2013
Grudgey
non-subject: my voice
aww ~ jan 9, 2013
_______
_______
Recently when I shared an online update, someone said I barged into a forum and that I was a cyberstalker and to go away.
I addressed the person's accusation and then the person spelled out the definition of a cyberstalker.
I pointed out that clearly I did not match his definition.
I asked him to document the accusations he had thrown at me.
He never responded.
One of his accusations is that I have a "grudge."
"Grudge."
I think of a grudge as a heavy bulky old weight bordering on hatred and wishing evil on another party.
It feels like a cantankerous grizzly bear who is hungry after a harsh winter.
'Tis not a state of mind where I choose to take up residence, at least for any length of time.
Maybe the person that accused me has a different description of grudge.
Perhaps I should have asked that person's perception of grudge.
I thought later, "What if I did or do have a grudge?"
Then I wondered, "Are grudges wrong? Who has decided they are wrong?"
What difference does my grudge, if I have one, make to the party accusing me of holding a grudge, especially when the person and I have never met nor communicated.
I don't think my accuser took time to read anything I've written.
Or maybe he did read, and his opinion is that I'm grudgey.
I guess I can add grudgey to the list of labels others have given me.
Maybe I'm the eighth dwarf.
aww ~ jan 9, 2013
_______
_______
Recently when I shared an online update, someone said I barged into a forum and that I was a cyberstalker and to go away.
I addressed the person's accusation and then the person spelled out the definition of a cyberstalker.
I pointed out that clearly I did not match his definition.
I asked him to document the accusations he had thrown at me.
He never responded.
One of his accusations is that I have a "grudge."
"Grudge."
I think of a grudge as a heavy bulky old weight bordering on hatred and wishing evil on another party.
It feels like a cantankerous grizzly bear who is hungry after a harsh winter.
'Tis not a state of mind where I choose to take up residence, at least for any length of time.
Maybe the person that accused me has a different description of grudge.
Perhaps I should have asked that person's perception of grudge.
I thought later, "What if I did or do have a grudge?"
Then I wondered, "Are grudges wrong? Who has decided they are wrong?"
What difference does my grudge, if I have one, make to the party accusing me of holding a grudge, especially when the person and I have never met nor communicated.
I don't think my accuser took time to read anything I've written.
Or maybe he did read, and his opinion is that I'm grudgey.
I guess I can add grudgey to the list of labels others have given me.
Maybe I'm the eighth dwarf.
January 3, 2013
Ashes and Drafts
I would like to donate my body to science when I die.
I've said that for years but have yet to look into the matter.
My remains from my left-over-cut-up cadaver? I'd like to have them cremated and blown by the winds of the Roan Highlands. All except my gold crowns in my mouth. I want them extracted and the gold given to my offspring.
I doubt I'll have many friends or relatives that would attend any memorial service I might have. A few would show, I'm sure. But it wouldn't be a big crowd. I'm not very popular, and folks are busy. It matters not to me if they show.
Of course people don't attend funerals and such for the dead person, but rather to show support for the surviving family.
Well, I guess folks attend for the dead person too. To honor their life. That is a big reason I attend such occasions...now that I think about it.
If I have some sort of epitaph on a memorial stone, I think I'll have the script state "Is there ever a final draft?"
Maybe I'll request John Prine's "Please Don't Bury Me" for my memorial service.
I've said that for years but have yet to look into the matter.
My remains from my left-over-cut-up cadaver? I'd like to have them cremated and blown by the winds of the Roan Highlands. All except my gold crowns in my mouth. I want them extracted and the gold given to my offspring.
I doubt I'll have many friends or relatives that would attend any memorial service I might have. A few would show, I'm sure. But it wouldn't be a big crowd. I'm not very popular, and folks are busy. It matters not to me if they show.
Of course people don't attend funerals and such for the dead person, but rather to show support for the surviving family.
Well, I guess folks attend for the dead person too. To honor their life. That is a big reason I attend such occasions...now that I think about it.
If I have some sort of epitaph on a memorial stone, I think I'll have the script state "Is there ever a final draft?"
Maybe I'll request John Prine's "Please Don't Bury Me" for my memorial service.
January 2, 2013
Holiday Cheer
It is a new year.
I don't make New Year's resolutions. I seem to resolute all through the year. Sometimes I am successful with my all-thru-the-year resolutions; sometimes not.
2013.
To me 2013 sounds very futuristic. More so than 2010 or 2011 or 2012. Maybe it is the "thirteen" that gives it that feel.
Thirteen...the magic age of the teenager.
One of my fears when raising my two children is that they would become teenage parents. I just didn't want them or us to have that responsibility. Is that selfish? Perhaps it is.
My children are in their 20s now. Only my daughter is a parent...to her beloved dog, my grandpup.
I had a heavy workload this holiday season, both at Thanksgiving and Christmas.
I put up no decorations and wrapped no gifts. I've not decorated going on three(?) years now. This was the first season I didn't feel guilty about not decorating. I didn't even feel guilty about not wrapping.
I didn't really plan a family get-together, because of my workload.
But, magically, as the universe or God or whatever would have it...it was one of our best holiday years in recent memory.
On Thanksgiving, my daughter ended up spontaneously visiting and cooking for the family and a guest. It was absolutely wonderful.
We did a repeat at Christmas, with the addition of her boyfriend in the kitchen cooking up some Portugal family recipes. We had two guests join the family...guests that have no local family.
A few days after Christmas, my mother-in-law came into town along with my brother-in-law and his children. Again, I had to work...but still, the time we had together was pleasant. Calm. No big to do.
I didn't get my house cleaned up before anyone arrived. And...it didn't matter.
I don't make New Year's resolutions. I seem to resolute all through the year. Sometimes I am successful with my all-thru-the-year resolutions; sometimes not.
2013.
To me 2013 sounds very futuristic. More so than 2010 or 2011 or 2012. Maybe it is the "thirteen" that gives it that feel.
Thirteen...the magic age of the teenager.
One of my fears when raising my two children is that they would become teenage parents. I just didn't want them or us to have that responsibility. Is that selfish? Perhaps it is.
My children are in their 20s now. Only my daughter is a parent...to her beloved dog, my grandpup.
I had a heavy workload this holiday season, both at Thanksgiving and Christmas.
I put up no decorations and wrapped no gifts. I've not decorated going on three(?) years now. This was the first season I didn't feel guilty about not decorating. I didn't even feel guilty about not wrapping.
I didn't really plan a family get-together, because of my workload.
But, magically, as the universe or God or whatever would have it...it was one of our best holiday years in recent memory.
On Thanksgiving, my daughter ended up spontaneously visiting and cooking for the family and a guest. It was absolutely wonderful.
We did a repeat at Christmas, with the addition of her boyfriend in the kitchen cooking up some Portugal family recipes. We had two guests join the family...guests that have no local family.
A few days after Christmas, my mother-in-law came into town along with my brother-in-law and his children. Again, I had to work...but still, the time we had together was pleasant. Calm. No big to do.
I didn't get my house cleaned up before anyone arrived. And...it didn't matter.