New

I have a job to report to Monday! Hooray!

You would not believe how difficult getting this job has been. It seems that everything on earth has been against it happening.

First, I lost my Internet, so there could be no instant email connection.
I lost my home phone at the same time, so there would be no phone calls there. I was prepared for that, using the cell phone  number, so that wasn't really a big deal.


The cell phone quit working -- sometimes. Sometimes it would work, sometimes it wouldn't. It would ring in a call, but the only sound when I answered would be the echoing emptiness of a bad cell connection -- that tunnel sound. Sometimes I would get calls with no numbers.
The most fun was when I would get voice mails -- multiple voice mails -- without ever getting a phone call.
This is where the calling thing would get crazy -- because one has to call the voice mail to collect the voice mail messages. One of which, I could make out, barely, was from the lady at MultiColor.

Thank God for managing capable sisters. Because Rita stepped in and made the call back and got everything communicated to me, and there was a hectic couple of days as I rushed about for drug screening and trying to get my phone straightened out.

They told me they would send me a replacement phone and I would be able to transfer my  minutes and my number. Wouldn't need to change my number. So I sent in an updated application with the same old number on it.

Well, that was wrong. For whatever reason, they couldn't transfer the number, when I did get the replacement phone. It wasn't compatible, or too old, or something. I didn't understand. They did transfer the minutes.

BUT -- you knew there was a but, didn't you? -- when I make a call on this replacement phone that does NOT have my old number, no one on the other end can hear me. I can hear them. They cannot hear me.

So, I am waiting again, for another replacement phone, while I am waiting to get word about this job. No Internet access, no way to call out without borrowing a phone and using up someone else's minutes, and the job had the wrong damn number -- in triplicate. Plus holidays in the way, libraries closed, or shortened hours.

I did finally get to a library and emailed the contact with the temp service that does the hiring for the factory. I explained briefly there are problems with the phone(s), and I offered two other numbers for them -- one was my sister's, that they already had and the other was the borrowed  minutes phone.

But I did finally get the call, and I am going back to work on Monday.

A new job leading to a new life is a very good way to start a new year.

Christmas is Coming, Full steam

This year Christmas will be a mess. It will be sad, because of Rex's absence. I'm already missing the shopping marathon -- the one day of the year he would go out and do some real shopping. How he enjoyed buying things! Although he admittedly never cared for the shopping part of it.
He never cared for a lot of the associated things. He liked watching the kids open presents. He liked buying presents. He liked when his other daughter would visit, and was often hurt that he was alone in that. He liked having a good buffet laid out. (He would have preferred a meal, but with no set time for visitors and visiting, he came to appreciate the cold cut tray and the veggie tray and the devilled eggs. He loved his devilled eggs. Even when they weren't so tasty.

Anyway, Christmas will be different this year for us.

The biggest difference will be the gifts not here for the kids. Well, for Hailey. Warren's never had a Christmas, so he won't miss anything. Hailey will miss it for him, though. She knows how it's supposed to be.
I do have some things put away for the kids, and will spend a little to get some things. I have one substantial gift for Babby, bought before the Bad Thing happened. I'm hoping to find something equal for Hailey-Girl.
Don't know when, don't know how, but I have faith in the magicks of the Season. I've seen it all fall into place too many times. (Or seen what looked like disaster turn into the highlight of the day.)
Yes, I have faith, and I will keep my eyes open. And, I hope, my heart.

Christmas is coming for me and for my girls, and for the babies, and for the whole wide world, even those who call it by other names.

For us, here, even the weather has been doing its job in making spirits bright.
Snow and ice, ice and snow.
Lights reflecting and a frosty glow.
It's cold, cold, cold

We will welcome it with all the love we have to give.

That is what matters

Is "Snow Emergency" Legally Valid?

We're in the grip of our first snow emergency of the 2013-2014 winter. Winter Storm Cleon. With Dion already following closely.

Now, this isn't about what makes a snow emergency in any specific place. Minnesota and North Dakota would probably laugh at what Cincinnati calls an emergency.Maybe even at what they would call a significant snowfall.

But, the fact is, Cincinnati communities are calling snow emergencies of various levels.

Big whooping deal. It means, for the most part, that communities can write tickets and write off damage to cars parked on the streets.

They say not to go out unless absolutely necessary.
But who decides what is necessary?

I can tell you who does NOT decide.
Service industry workers. They have to go to work or lose their jobs.
The owners of various businesses don't care much if the police say don't go out.
The police don't care much, either. If you are driving slowly and carefully, they aren't likely to chase you down and possibly cause an accident, as well as keeping you both out when you could be getting in somewhere.
But the gas stations HAVE to stay open.
McDonald's MUST stay open.
Facilities such as hospitals and nursing homes, by their very nature, need to stay open. But must they insist on workers coming in in a "snow emergency"?
(I don't know what they could do instead. They should work up snow emergency protocols. Reduced staff, maybe sleep-breaks for people who will remain instead of go out I believe some hospitals do do that.)

Not only do these businesses insist on insisting, they punish those who don't risk life and limb to serve coffee to idiots. (Road personnel excepted from this category.) They write them up(disciplinary action); they brand them as unreliable; they reduce their hours; they even fire them.
They do not pay the fines for tickets received.
They do not pay for damages caused by an accident when their employees should never have been on the road in the first place.
They do not compensate for extra gas burned in longer, slower drives.
They don't pay hospital bills for slip and slide crashes.
They do NOT pay for funerals.

It's not just the service industry. There are factories with this same mindset. Never mind that their product is nonessential -- they have quotas that must be met, come hell or high water. (Hell or high snowdrifts?) The work must be done.

No mere employee can protest any of these disciplinary actions by pleading a snow emergency. The designation has no standing in labor law.

So, a "Snow Emergency" is a money maker for the municipality.
A "Snow Emergency" is an out for insurance companies, who will not pay (easily) for an accident caused when the driver wasn't supposed to be driving.
A "Snow Emergency" is no reason to not go out; thus says American Industry.

So, I ask you, why bother.
Why bother?

Password

There's been a new spate of articles about unsafe or insecure passwords and how people use things they can remember as passwords. Probably to go along with the big shopping season the world indulges in every year.

There's validity to it of course. If you are giving out banking or credit card information, as is necessary when shopping, you want -- or should want -- your password to be as secure as humanly possible. (Please note the word humanly.)

The articles are baffling, though. You aren't supposed to make a password that you can easily remember, but you are also not supposed to write it down and keep  it anywhere remotely around your computer or on your person.
I guess that leaves the sock drawer out.

The articles go on and on and on about how people do this or do that silliness for their passwords PASSWORD is an easy frequently-used example. Or abc123. The writer talks about how obvious this can be and how it can let people into your accounts.

What the article doesn't say is what accounts. If you are on the Internet much, you need passwords for just about everything. Newspapers. Videos. Inspirational email clubs. Prayer chains. Comic strips.

I don't know about you, but if someone wants to know what I'm reading in the newspaper (with no paper involved) that badly, I don't mind making it easy for them. Since I'll probably share the articles on Facebook or other social media, they don't even really have to hack.

Same with videos.
There is a pointless need for password after password after password. It's hardly the fault of the user to make them easy when they are unimportant. Maybe not to the page owners, but to the user, who only wants to read Dear Abby or The Far Side, the secret code to do so is unimportant.

In fact, it is a major pain in the brain.
I mean, who cares?

I would be more impressed with password safety articles that addressed specific sites and/or behaviors. My banking password is more secure than my newspaper password. And, yes, I have the same password for a few different newspapers. Although it's simpler to read the free pages that can be searched for and found.

If an article wants my attention, be specific. My Amazon account has a different password. My bills each have their own password, which is not, when possible, the account number. Address those points and passwords, content writer. Explain to the uninitiated why abc123 isn't good to access your Swiss bank account. If they don't already know that, I'm not sure how effective your writing will be. They already seem to be lacking a bit of computer savvy.

But writing for the computer experienced with no new information and with a hodge podge of heaped together statistics isn't winning you any fans, either.

Tell me something new.

Brown Thursday? Are you kidding me?

I mean, what makes it brown? The shadiness of forcing minimum wage part timers away fro their families so the rich can get richer? That is shady, to say the least.

It's been a big item in the news and on social media this last week.
Boycott Walmart -- after you start a riot over a tv.
Don't shop K-mart, Target, Big Buy, Best Guy, etc --make sure you bundle up while you wait in line even before Thanksgiving.
Other news stories about how more people than ever will be eating out. Well, they wouldn't/couldn't if the damn restaurants were closed, could they?
Unless they want to line up two frigid nights ahead of time.
Oh, gee, if I want to wait for a meal I can just go "Home" for the holiday and spend it with family!
Silly me.


I would love to blame the media.  Heaven knows they feed the frenzy. Out interviewing the idiots waiting in line on Wednesday. In the stores , with cameras and publicity and regalia and rigmarole on Thursday.
But, in this case, they are doing their job, somewhat. They are reporting on the news.
Not that there is anything "NEW" going on -- this is the fourth or fifth year for this nonsense.

I think they could help.
They don't need to report their precise location when they are broadcasting the Idiot's Lineup.
They don't need to tell everyone which mall they are covering.
They don't need to reveal sale items.

People want to be on tv (and You Tube) and they want to be known for getting good deals.
The stores want all the free publicity they get, and the News Outlets give them that in spades. They don't have to pay a penny.
It's all profit for them.

And that's all you are, if you are foolish enough, or maybe desperate enough (if you happen to be one of the slave wage laborers.)
You are profit.
You are dollar signs.
You are dollars.

You are not a person.
You are not a parent.
You are not a valued ... (customer, consumer, member of the team, part of the staff-- you choose.)

You are profit.

So -- how do you see yourself?

And did you spend your Thanksgiving stuffing your face or stuffing their already bulging wallets?

Hopeless; Helpless; this cannot be me

I have been making my way through the world for a very long time. Sometimes successfully, sometimes not so much. But every day led me into a tomorrow and any time there were changes, I was there, doing my best to make the changes be the ones I wanted.
Or at least to go in a direction that somehow resembled something I wanted or could hope t turn into what I wanted.

It didn't bother me too much when I didn't find work right away when I first lost my job, three years ago this month. Oh, I still put in applications on a regular basis, even had a couple of interviews. No job.

No job, but I had plenty of work to do at home. Rex was getting sicker, and needed me there. The truth of this was borne out when he ended up in the hospital in February. When he came out, Tammy had moved out, Tracy was gone, and it was just the two of us, and we began the journey of returning him to reasonable health, and we had enough for the two of us.

With his medicines and all the changes, it was not enough for a while, and then I got a handle on it again.
And we were good.

Time and more changes, and Rex would get a little more sick and recover to a point of a little less well.
But he was here for me and I for him.

My computer crashed, was replaced, the newer one crashed. And was replaced. We lost Internet service and re-established a connection.

Tracy came back , left again, returned again. Tammy did well, had troubles, recovered and slipped again, but maintained her home. Tammy had another baby.

And the baby was born, and Tracy was here, and once every couple of weeks I would fill out job applications, and no one was interested in hiring me. That was okay, because we were getting by and spending time together.
It was all we could do and we did it.

And then he died, and the whole world stopped.
The income stopped, but the bills did not.
The presence stopped, but life didn't.

I have filled out job applications  at least twice a week. Most places do not take paper in person applications anymore, which works out well when you can't afford to buy gas to go from place to place.

I've never had so much trouble trying to get a job.

And I don't know what else to do.
I just don't.
What else is there? If you have any ideas, please let me know.

I am not helpless. I CAN work; I WILL work.
But someone needs to hire me.

I'm not helpless, but hope is dwindling fast.
Nothing in my life is as it should be.
Nothing.

And I don't know what to do.
Or how to do more.

This cannot be me.
I do not give in to circumstance.
I learn to work with it.

I CAN learn to work with it; I WILL learn to work with it.

Hopeless; helpless; This cannot be me. This will not be me.

Little Guy's Handle on Handling

Our little guy has been slow to hold his own bottle. Here he is, eight months old (as good as) and trying to stand and walk on his own -- actually able to do both while holding on -- but not yet holding his own bottler. Doctor suggested getting him a sippy cup, which I did.

Some of this, I think, is from basic gender differences. Boys seem to learn gross motor skills before the fine ones. My children were both girls, and they did the holding on thing first and early, as far as I can remember. Hailey -- well, someone once gave her a pen or a crayon, and she hasn't put it down except to eat and sleep.
Now, I know that not all boys do it this way, and that some girls may very well ride a bicycle before they can feed themselves. I've been talking to experienced mothers and this is the conclusion I've reached.

Anyway.
Thanksgiving dinner at Tammy's house. (Yes, we shared the meal early. It's an ongoing difficult holiday for us this time around.)

We were waiting to eat, everybody moving around, doing things. I was playing with Warren, sitting him on the table and drinking from a can of pop. At one point, I out down the can of pop, and he made a beeline for that bright shiny can.
He got a hold on it.
And he picked it up, out it to his mouth and tilted it back!.

I called Tammy to come see, and she called the rest of the family, and they tried switching it out with the bottle. The bottle was a little heavier -- probably a lot heavier to the fifteen-pounder -- but he tried.
He really tried.

The best solution he could come up with was to anchor the bottle between his knees and put his mouth on the nipple. He didn't get much milk that way, but by golly, you sure could see the wheels turning behind his eyes.

He already knows how to go after someone -- he even goes down the hall in the trailer looking for his

mommy when she isn't in the room.

Yes, it's a big ol' world out here, Warren baby. It's a good thing to see you getting a handle on handling the "things" of this world.

Someday we may all learn how to handle the intangibles.

Until we do, we can usually find a baby to hug.

Weather Winter

What a crazy few days it has been with the weather.
Temps were near or at 70 over the weekend.  Today I don't think we got out of the forties.

Terrible storms Sunday night, just terrible.
Not as bad, here, as it was west of us. Here, we had a few doppler-indicated tornadoes, and there were a few hysterics who saw funnel clouds in the pitch dark and through pouring rain.
In Illinois and Indiana, there were real, visible, man-eating home-wrecking horrific tornadoes. The destruction is -- there are no words.
One air view of the path, you can see that there were several lottle twisters from one storm cloud/ base, whatever you call it. Like massaging fingers from a massive hand, reaching, seeking, pinching, squashing.

Here we had lots of strong winds and heavy rain.

And Tammy and her babies live in a trailer in a trailer park. I had taken Hailey home not many hours earlier.
I was worried about them, as always, but it seemed there was even less than usual to do. I turned the tvs on weather channels and local channels, and kept an eye on the approaching storm, by going in and out on the porch.
But I was afraid in the Old Way, of the storms that I can't stop and can't do anything about.
Who knew Rex sitting in his chair telling me to stay inside was such a fear diffuser? I missed him so, when I wasn't being a quaking coward.
And sometimes even when I was.

Now it is cold, and getting colder. True winter temperatures are supposed to arrive over the next few days, with snow on or by the weekend. We've already had one ground covering snowfall, and a brief cold snap.

And in between these winter weather advance-and-retreat maneuvers, my precious rosebush is sporting a bud from a died-back limb. A perfect teardrop of a rosebud, where there was no green or no growth, and where the very weather itself was against anything growing, let alone blooming.

Even as  winter comes, there can be a flowering.
Even then.

The Job Search

Who ever knew that finding a job, any job, would be so difficult? I may as well be hunting for unicorns or the Loch Ness Monster. If I were doing the latter, I could probably get sponsors and a budget.

I never completely dropped out of the job search. I regularly would put in applications, and there are a few online places that, if they used paper, could paper a room with my monthly re-apps. But while Rex was alive, he was my priority. Although he was not, until the last few months, so bad he couldn't be left, he was edgy and fitful about any work I might find -- not wanting irregular hours and preferring no driving at night, and all sorts of impossible conditions in a tight job market. Plus having to work around his Dr appointments and the days when he couldn't be left. (Of course, he thought he could; he'd be all right. He'd just not eat or drink until someone came home again.)

Anyway, I never completely quit looking, but I wasn't aggressive about it, either.

Well for not quite three weeks, I have been aggressive.
The result has been the same -- I remain unemployed..

I am surprised. I don't want any executive type position.
I don't want a specialist position.
I don't want a licensed position.
I don't want a certified position.
I just want a job, any job. I will be there, on time if not early. Any time, day, night, or in between. Overnight. Back when I was working, that would have been a bonus. Someone to be depended on. They were treasures, the Old Reliables.

I want to be an Old Reliable.

There have been a few -- very few -- interviews.
I believe the "Old" may be the problem. No on wants Old.
Combine it with fat, and youthful hirers see only Losers.
Darned kids don't know anything, do they? Every company family needs a Mom (or Gramma). Every company family needs an anchor, someone that can be called and can be counted on to be there.

It's winter now. I think there may be some learning this hard lesson as weather keeps the inexperienced at home.

But will it be in time for them to hire me?
They can only hope so.

No Neighborhood? Not Nowadays.

I have to admit, I'm surprised. Even disappointed. There has been no outreach from my neighborhood after the death of my husband. And we live and have lived in this small rural town (Winchester Ohio in Adams County) for several years.

I'm not complaining, just observing. I have plenty of support and assistance from my personal (not physical) neighborhood. Not complaining, but surprised.
Not complaining, except about one issue.

The local newspapers did not run my husband's obituary. One paper didn't run the obit at all; the other county paper ran an abbreviated version. I don't complain that they didn't make a big deal, or didn't make him the headline, or anything like that. That would be unrealistic, considering that we are not lifetimers in the town (or even the county.)
But we have lived here, quietly enough, for several years. My husband offended no one, was in no trouble these years, was a quiet man living a quiet life.
Wouldn't you think an inoffensive man could, on the occasion of his death, have all his credentials (or relatives) credited to him in the place wherein he lived?
Is that so much to ask?
Is it too much to ask?

Another surprising observation is that I received no communications from any of the local churches. It sure was different a few years ago! The churches then (more than ten, less than fifteen years ago) would send out a condolence card of some sort. Some sent full sized cards; others would send post cards; still others would enclose a small card, along with a comforting tract or two.
Some churches would have visitors who made condolence calls, unsolicited.I have to admit,  I am glad that practice has (apparently) stopped. It's no time for strangers to visit.

I am surprised that there was no outreach from the churches.
One of the churches hosts a bereavement group -- but the only way I know that is because I looked it up online, following advice from a friend. This church is pretty active in the community, so it was no surprise that they have this group. It was a surprise that no one had let me know that it was available.

And there have been no solicitations for memorials and plaques and headstones. No one offering to take the nonexistent insurance money. Did get one card about monuments, but it was from two counties and many miles away; nothing local.

Just surprising.

And, if this is true for someone like us, who have been here, what support is there for relative strangers? How can they cope or find help, or anything? How many in our neighborhoods have died and left behind loved ones truly bereft because there is no help or no heart in our neighborhoods anymore?

Someone should recognize each life in the community, long term or on a short visit. A life lost in a community is a life lost to the community. 

A New Page of the Calendar

Well, October the Horrible is over.
It's November now.
Cold.
The first snow flying.
Thanksgiving.
November 2013. The first November in 27 years that I won't have my chosen companion to spend it with.
There's a germ of acceptance in the turning of the page.
A grimness.

But the calendar is only doing what a calendar does. Marking time passed.

I know that this year, it will be different finding things to be thankful for.
I hope one of the things will be a job.
Another would be a place for independent living.
But even if those don't happen, I will still have my wonderful sisters to be thankful for, my friends (and don't  let anyone tell you Facebook friends aren't 'real'. They are more real than the next door neighbors.), my daughters, my grandbabies. For November, I have a roof over my head and enough to eat.

Maybe December will change that or maybe it won't.

I won't know until it is once again time to turn a new page on the calendar.

It's a TREAT!

Not a right.
or, in the language of today -- not an entitlement.

I am talking about trick-or-treating, or Beggar's Night as the older people still call it.

Communities set up times for kiddies to don costumes and take up plastic, pillowcases, or whatever and go door-to-door saying "trick or treat" and getting candy, pencils, pennies or other treats.

This year, Mother Nature stepped in with big winds and her own twist to the spirits roaming the night. (Hey, there's a reason our ancestors chose the dates they chose for these things.)

Communities and parents were instantly up in arms, as much as two days before the scheduled event.

Now, in some cases, cancelling turned out to be a wise thing. One town 'found' children in a tornado shelter after a tornado.

HOWEVER:

1) Cancelling a non-essential activity because of a weather forecast.
Are you kidding me? Even the best scientific weather predicting is around 60% accurate. Bunions and bones and migraines are a little bit better -- possibly up to 80%. But how in the world will any of us ever get anything done if we reschedule every time the weather forecast is bad. Even at its best, a weather forecast is still a "best guess."

2) "But it's for the safety of the children." Sorry. That is the primary responsibility of the parents. Whether there's weather or not (and there will be) it is up to the parents if the child goes out to participate in any community event. The established times are the community attempt to provide safe limits for the children.
Those children found, it was their parents decision to allow them out. The town said "this is when we will permit this activity" The town did not say "This is when we guarantee the safety of the children doing this activity."

3) Cancel or not cancel,  All this did was cause confusion. It also allowed avarice and encouraged greed. Children can go to trick-or-treat any number of nights, if they have that kind of parent.
The good side of this is that it allows more extended family to enjoy the fun with the little children. My grandbabies got a night with one grandparent, one with parents, and then another with another grandparent. We all enjoy the kids and their fun.
But that's not everyone's motivation, is it?

I'm sorry.I see all this fuss about trick-or-treat as an extension of the entitlements everyone is screaming, fussing, whining and fighting about.

One woman even referred to trick-or-treat as a "right" of passage for her children.
 No, it's not a right.
It's a rite, which is by definition optional.

My opinion is that it would be better to schedule a follow up if there is a poor turn-out due to weather, and then only if the community asks for it. If there are weather warnings, or even watches, AT THE TIME of the event, then clear the children off the street. If parents can't be found, take the children to a designated bad-weather shelter.

I'd like to see more enforcement of bad weather advisory stuff. Tornado warnings mean get to shelter, not hurry to McDonald's. Winter storm warnings are for getting bread and milk and kerosine, not buy new clothes and shoes.

But, this is another topic for another time.

Trick or treating is a TREAT.
Not a Right.

Please, parents, save your energy and outrage for important stuff, like the right to eat healthy and to stay healthy.

I don't know...

It's ten days now since he died.

image found on Google search.

Ten days of things to do and things to take care of, and all the life goes on stuff.
Still much to do, a lot to figure out, and everything is hinging (hingeing?)on everything  else. Tried to call Social Security, but no one on the phone would talk to me. Couldn't give me any information related to Rex because of not having his permission. Never mind that he has deceased, died, is unavailable. They can't talk to me without his current consent.

Good luck with that.

Will have to go to office, which has to wait until I have the death certificate. I'm going to have to go in person, so I can go to Batavia. If  try to make an appointment from home, they will send me to the Portsmouth office. I barely know where Portsmouth is (on SR 125 East). I sure don't know where to find anywhere in Portsmouth.
I do know where Batavia is and the places in Batavia.
If we still lived in Mt Orab, or even Decatur, we would automatically go to Batavia. Seems the Social Security Administration does NOT consider Adams County as part of the Greater Cincinnati area, while Brown County is. This has made it interesting before. I just truck myself and my paperwork to Batavia at my convenience. If I get in early enough, I don't have to wait too long.

But first, I got notice from Adams County Jobs & Family Services. I am to report Monday to their jobs program (which has no jobs, but they are required by law to do the sign-ups, etc.) Didn't take them long to remove me from being a care-giver, although they have yet to acknowledge the prospective change in income.

Also got a medical card for Rex in the mail. We've never had one of those for him before. I kind of thought a little late, but as I have yet to be billed for anything, it's probably not too late. I think it's one of the changes for the disabled that has come with the Affordable Care Act.
At least I will have something to send when the bills come.
The brief letter with the card (sheet of paper) said nothing about the spendown, so I wonder if that's still in play or not.

I guess I'll find that out, too.

I do wonder what I will do when all this busyness is done. When there is nothing more to hurry up and wait for.

Something else to be found out.

Good Bye, my Love. Farewell

Yesterday, we said formal good-byes to my Rex.
I won't say final good-bye, because, for me, there is no finality. There's always a qualifier.
Until we meet again
In this lifetime

For others, who did not live with him daily or minute by minute, the farewell is more final. That's okay. Good-bye is not Gone Forever. They will have their own memories and cherished moments. There will be times when something reminds them of the time "Rex and I" did such-and-such . There will be times when they think I must call Rex, and then remember that they can't.
Over and over they may have heart-stopping moments like that.

I had thought at first to have a viewing, a visitation. I had found out that I could, and decided to do so.
But I woke in the night with Rex's thoughts in mine, and what he was saying was that he didn't want people staring at him.
That is so exactly what Rex would say, how he would feel, that I could not ignore it. There would be no staring at the empty body.

The service was another problem. Rex was rampantly anti-preacher. He'd want no part of a preaching.
How does one have a funeral without a preacher, or perhaps some trained motivational speaker or something?

One returns to the traditions of funeral speaking -- those who loved; those who knew the deceased. The fond farewell from loved ones.

My sisters spoke, for him, and our daughter's spouse.Together we worked on things to be said -- a brief bio of the man Rex was, and a speaking of how he lived.

There were two things important to me. Rex was not religious. As I said, he was against anything that smacked of preaching. But the way he lived his life was so Godly, in many ways ; so very Christian.
"Whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers, that you have done unto me."

Rex lived that.
It wasn't easy.
He agonized over issues; over should he or shouldn't he; over is it best.
Sometimes he shouldn't.
Sometimes it isn't best.

But it was the right thing to do.
So, however reluctantly, however unwisely, he would choose the right way of doing things.
Just because.

Already one daughter is following that example. (The other hasn't had much chance.)

Rex was no Christian as the world and the organized churches see Christian.
But he led a Christian life.
He had a Christ-like soul.

and there's nothing more to say.

Dying to Live, or Living to Die

I wonder if anyone of you realize how fast the end of this disease (COPD) can come upon you.
My husband went to hospital with pneumonia and an exacerbation because of it. He got worse, got better, got worse, got better. Then he tried to sit up unassisted in the bed and the doctor is saying, "This is end stage. Do you want kept alive by machine and stuck in a nursing facility, or not?" And, before we could even take that in, he crashed again and the goal was to keep him alive until his daughters came.
Of course, he lingered after that, even so still reluctant to leave us.

The point is, it all happened too quickly. We knew it would come, someday, and some day soon, and had discussed things in general -- health care directives and funeral 'plans' and such.
I urge you to get specific.
Do not make your loved one have to make the decision in the space of a few minutes or a couple hours.
Talk to your doctor about how it ends.
Talk to your family about how you want to end, and where.
Write it down somewhere.

Then go back to your business of living every day and enjoying every breath you take while you are taking it.

We all know that death is waiting for us. Those with chronic illnesses such as this know it more than the general population does. We know that we can have choices to make and there are choices our loved ones will have to make.
But do we want to put the burden of our decisions on their shoulders?

Know what you want, exactly, precisely.
Tell them what you want.
And now that this business of dying has been settled, go back to living.
.
Thoughtfully.
Gratefully.
Fully.

Empty Arms -- again

Every October this comes to mind, because the date was October 10, 1983.

Thirty years later, October 10, 2013, my husband was being hospitalized from pnuemonia, and went into respiratory distress.
He did not die that day.
But he did die.

And, again, mid October finds me with Empty Arms.

Empty Arms

Empty arms, empty arms                                         Months of waiting
Years of plans
And at the end:
Empty arms                                                                          

All alone, all alone
Always all alone
No one cares                                                    
No one shares
All alone

Little one, little one
Where have you gone?
A gift to me
A life to be
All gone

No one knows, no one knows
What you could have been
Should have been.
And I am all alone
With Empty arms.

All my dreams, all my dreams
All gone
Passed on
Leaving me alone
With empty arms

JUST Do Your Job

Another government shutdown looms.
Why?

Well, many will tell you it's the president's fault.
Or the Speaker's.
Or the guy who talked for hours without saying anything.
Or -- someone else.

First of all -- who cares? Fix it NOW, fix the blame later.

We elect people to govern this country.
And THAT is their job: to govern the country.

So what if the president doesn't agree with their plans and doesn't sign?
Don't they know that that is covered in their job description?
They have the power to do their job without the president's approval.

How?

By going ahead and doing their job.
 Again.
Day after day, hour by hour.
Just like you and I when we go to work (or went to work, in the days when employment existed.)

Had they been DOING THEIR JOB all along, things would not have got down to this -- again. They would have learned from the last debacle, and the one before that, and the one before that.
Instead, they are either placing blame or throwing their hands in the air saying "What's the use? It's not going to be signed anyway."

Presidential vetoes can be overrode by a united Congress that is doing its job. (Not signing IS a veto. A/k/a  a pocket veto.)


If these people worked in the private sector, they would have been fired after the last time this happened.
Many of these people have fired employees for less.

I think they should be fired.

Remember, when election time comes, that it's not their fault, it's someone else's, that they are NOT doing their jobs, and you -- Yes, YOU -- decide whether or not they get fired, or if you will allow them to give themselves a raise and blame it on the figurehead.

September

I love the autumn.

Not just the beauty of the color changing tree, of the land slowly baking under long days of slanting sun.

There's also the scents -- dry, dry, dry leaves, grains, grasses, weeds. The washed earth as the harvest is gleaned from the depths. The wood cuts and stacks for winter warmth.

I love the feel of the air on my skin. A lingering caress as warmth says a lingering farewell, with reminders that it will return -- someday.

I love the tastes of fresh produce, the good clean tangy taste that is in the air, not the mouth. (I'm not real crazy about the taste of pumpkin spiced everything that has become a cultural norm, but I like that it exists and is everywhere to remind me that it is again glorious Fall.

I like the sounds; the plop of fruit dropping from trees, the crisp crunch of leaves, the crickets drowning out the cicadas. (This is the first summer in my memory where I have ever sat on the porch and heard the crickets and cicadas together in concert.)

 I enjoy these other senses as I do wait for the visual changes. The sky is shading into that deep October blue shade, but the trees and plants are only just beginning to turn. For now they are yellow, brown, withering.


Will this be a Golden Autumn, with trees of gold and yellow and orange?
Will it be a flaming autumn, when the leaves are red and copper and magenta?

Will the green tarry a while, or will it vanish over night?

I can't wait to find out, and yet I must.

The season itself cannot be gathered until ripe.

Weekend

Pleasant surprise Friday evening when the babies were delivered to our door. We had been discussing it, and working at working it out, and then -- there they were!
On their way, Daddy had bought Hailey a pumpkin carving set and a kite, and these items were left at Mammaw's house.
So -- when Hailey got up Saturday morning, before she said "Good morning" or even "I'm awake, Mammaw!" she came to me and said, "We have to go get my pupmkin."
I fibbed. I told her the store wasn't open yet. The truth was, No one else in the house was awake yet, and I couldn't leave the baby to wake Rex up. (Tracy usually doesn't hear anyone on account of noise in her ears constantly, although she wasn't wearing her earbuds/headphones at the time.)

I didn't want to buy a pumpkin.
I sure as heck didn't want to carve a pumpkin. But the kit had stickers and that's what she said she wanted to do; put stickers on it.


Of course it didn't stop there.
When I told her she'd have to take the pumpkin home and let Daddy cut it, she went to Pappaw and he, silly man, told Tracy to do it, so it got done.
Badly, reluctantly, but done.

Then there was the kite. Numerous tantrums because she couldn't make it fly.
There was no wind.
No way it would fly and stay up, no matter how much she "runned and runned" with it.
Good job, Dad. Buy your kid a kite on a windless day and take her and it to ol' fat gramma's house. Good job.

Baby Boy was, for the most part, happy baby. He sat in his bouncer, his swing, and joy-of-joys, he would actually play on the floor instead of just flipping himself over and screaming. He's organizing getting himself to things and places and picking stuff up, so he's much happier.

We had the usual third-shift baby night Friday night, so I was groggy and short tempered most of Saturday (which started out with the pumpkin fiasco.)
Saturday, he was alert, talkative, communicated clearly -- a scream when someone leaves the room is pretty darned clear! -- went from person to person by his own choice. He surely does love his Pappaw who says "Tell me about it." to him and he at-ats and ya-yas away.
It was a nice day, and I took him outside on the quilt for going on a couple hours. He played and rolled and wiggled and squiggled himself all around. Finally getting up on all fours, although he's not quite figured out how to make everything move together. I had a heck of a time getting a picture, because the camera would go off and I had to turn it on and then frame the picture. BY then he'd be 'resting' again and I'd have to wait for the next time.

I do wonder if the outside time is why we had so many problems at bedtime, although he didn't show any symptoms. (Daddy has allergies, but Baby came with a cough and runny nose. Being outside seemed to ease that a bit.)
Saturday night we had a baby who wouldn't sleep, wouldn't settle. Wouldn't eat, wouldn't suck, didn't want held, didn't want put down. Finally decided he must be in pain and reluctantly gave him some baby ibuprofen, and he ended up sleeping through the night. Woke up around six for a diaper change and a refill, and back to snoozeland until almost ten. Two @4 hour sleeps in a row. I can rule the world today!

I had to take them home Sunday afternoon, and Hailey got up and started getting dressed and dressed up for the event. She's also making very sure that I plan to take Bubby home, too, and not just her.
She was  ready to go, and the situation was the same as yesterday -- she and I  the only ones awake.

She did get her kite "flied", and came in all sunshine and smiles.

Now, back to the sad, empty, and endless job of cleaning the house and the sadness of putting the toys away.
But not too "away." They WILL be back, and soon.

Hailey has already called and asked about "next time."
Warren yelled for "At-at Ya-ya"

Yeah, they'll be back. Soon.

Cooling Off

Cooling off seems to be the trend this week, after an uncomfortable start.

The weather started out hot and humid; a mini heat wave, the forecasters called it. We had two days with heat alerts or some sort of weather warning. Hot and humid making the 'humiture' three digits. It was nasty out, that's for sure. I usually open Rex's door for a couple hours every day, but not this week. We kept the door closed and that nasty stuff outside. We even turned his air conditioner up on high a time or two. At night, we could turn it on low fan.
Tomorrow we could be flirting with some light scattered frost notices, although nothing of the sort has been mentioned as yet. I just won'e be surprised if it happens. Two heat alerts and a frost advisory all in  the same week.
Yes, it must be September here in Ohio.

I had some disturbing mail earlier in the week -- see the previous blog entry. That, too, cooled off, and very nicely, too. Seems it was all a tempest in a teacup. One of those not-quite-AI-computers applied and rejected Rex for a program that the humans never applied him for, because he didn't qualify. I'm not sure why he doesn't, but since we've never had it, it's okay.
Makes me curious, but it's okay.
All that took was a phone call.

Tracy finalized her surgery dates; I got approval to get the medical tests I need; and Tammy got Hailey's birth certificate and turned it in to the school.

Done, and done, and done.
A satisfactory end to the week, and a reason to not dread the coming week. That's a good deal, any day.

Benefit Bafflement.

Got new letters today from the Department of Jobs (hahaha) and Family Services today. I thought it would be about cutting food benefits, since that has been big in the news lately.
I  was wrong. We get a ten dollar increase.
How did that happen?

Rex also got a letter from the same place. He gets other/different benefits because of his disabilty, so he occasionally gets his very own letters. He's the only one in the family with any type of medical coverage.
His letter says that they denied his Qualified Medical Beneficiary application. The reason given is that his income exceeds the program eligibility standards.

Now, the QMB has been covering the cost of his Medicare payments, and his drug program. (Medicare parts B and D). The cost for the Part B was in excess of $100 a month. We don't know about Part D, because he never had that before we had to go for help after I lost my job.

So, I go online to see if I'm correct about the QMB being that program, and find that yes, I am right. It is that program. Okay, so that means $100 less per month.
That must be why we get $10 more in food benefits!

But I read on, on the website/page that explains all this and the page clearly states that  the income level for him to qualify is @ $200 more than he gets.
So -- what the hell is going on?

It's after business hours today, so there's no finding out anything.

But it makes no sense to me.
Did someone have a bad day?
Did someone make a mistake?


Oh, and about my other problem I had with Medicare Part B -- I got a letter Saturday that explained they would only pay once a month for the drugs, no matter what the prescribed dosage, etc. Now they tell us, after we'd figured it out and resolved the issue.

On the whole, it is what it is. We can live (survive) on less money. We can manage with no health coverage. We can pay his insurances because he does need/use/benefit from them regularly. Nothing financial is fatal, although the health care issues could be. Any help we are grateful for.

But I really think there should be more explanation than what was given.

Stay tuned for the next dramatic act in "If it's Not One Thing, It's Another," a/k/a My Life.

Fading Out

Rex is down to 84 pounds. He is better but not doing as well as the doctor thinks he should be, and has given him a prescription for prednisone. He told Rex about all the drawbacks with the daily prednisone. the most concerning is that it can cause osteoporosis. Rex already has severe osteoporosis. Oh, yay, Rex gets to choose between working bones or working lungs, when neither is working as it is, and never will work correctly ever again. At least the prednisone gives him a little bit of an appetite.

And Tracy tells him to "Get well." Like that is ever going to happen.
And she starts yelling at me when I tell her so.
Why?
Because she doesn't want to think about it.
I guess I do. It's my favorite reflection, I guess. How much more miserable he will get, how much frailer he will become, etc.
I'm already watching him disappear, one pound at a time. If he stays at a pound a month, that's 85 months before he disappears completely. @ 8 years. Of course he will be gone long before 0 pounds.
I wish I could go first, but then no one would take care of him.
Why not?
Because they don't want to think about it.

NOT My News

They say the world gets smaller every day, especially with the Internet so readily available.
I'm pretty sure the world is approximately the same size as ever, but people and how they communicate are very different.

What I'm not sure about is whether or not this is a good thing.

Easy access to the World Wide Web offers any business a larger audience for its product, whether that product is a twice weekly scribble, such as this blog, or selling services like Time-Warner Cable or Verizon, or marketing goods as Amazon does.
Big audience, big sales should somehow equal better service or maybe even (gasp!) better service for your Primary Customers.

Because really, even though the prospective market is there, if your product is for a targeted audience, wouldn't you rather hit the target? And isn't the closer you get to the bull's eye supposed to be better?

So why are local news stations featuring interstate and international stories instead of what is happening in their areas?

Most news stations are located in or near big cities. Most of these cities have vast suburbs, exurbs, metro areas, and sometimes overlap other cities. (Or sometimes not.)

In all these --urbs of these cities, there are many many things happening; things  that are newsworthy, especially to the residents and neighbors thereof. There are car accidents, barfights, break-ins, buildings giving way, murder, shooting, ambulance calls, fires, runaways, shoplifters.. Not every county, town, village, hamlet has all of these every day, although it seems the city does.
But one of them has one of these things happen, at the very least. Several of the outlying areas could have several things happening. You never can tell. And your local newa may never tell you.

The 'local' city's news, both on air and on social media, sees more importance in reporting a housefire across the country than one across the county. Somehow the availability of all this news minimizes what really is important to their 'local' audience.
The really annoying thing is many of these sations like to brag about how "Local"  they are. Some of them have "Local" as part of their program name. Some have "Local" as their website address.

So why, near Cincinnati, am I being inundated with news and news clips from Colorado and New Jersey, about mundane events such as runaways and bar fights. We had both of those two towns over, in all four directions.

Will we get to see out "Local" stories on the Denver news?

Bully Entertainment

How many of you are watching programs like Impractical Jokers or Deal With It?
You know, those shows where they bully people into doing stupid things?

Oh, you think it's not bullying, because they are getting paid for it?
It's not bullying because they agreed to it?
It's not bullying because they are just stupid for doing it and therefore deserve anything they get?
It's not bullying because it's funny?

Which of those excuses are not used by the REAL bullies of life?
Maybe the one about getting paid? You've led a charmed life to have never been the victim of a workplace bully/boss.

Money, of course, excuses all sorts of bad behavior in this world. Just look at our lawmakers.

Let's put aside the money issue. Children don't know too much about money,  nor do they value it as adults do.

Do you have or are you around young children?

What are they seeing when they watch you watching and laughing at these programs?
They see you, one of their role models, being amused and entertained by some people coercing other people into doing sometimes cruel, sometimes careless, sometimes dishonest activities. It doesn't matter what they are doing, or why.

The children see you laughing at the results of bullying.

How are you going to explain that to them?
How are you going to stop them from emulating this behavior that gets all this favorable attention from you?

What are YOU going to do?

Smoother Sailing

Babies have gone home, heart-breakingly early, but for the best. Best for them, best for me, best for where we all are in this crazy life.

Supposed to be taking my ailing daughter to the hospital to apply for their financial assistance program so she can get her gall bladder out before it kills all of us. She hasn't wakened yet -- sleep is a  healer and a small cessation of pain.
Anybody wanna bet the first thing she says will be "Why didn't you get me up?"

I could, of course. Make her start hurting again, make her NOT have to take responsibility for her own needs, for her own health care.
I think not. She needs to learn independence, something that she has somehow failed to learn.
She also needs to make her own medical decisions, because that is the law of the land.

Did she not learn, or was she not taught? I've thought often about this and have no definitive answer. Not teaching would be my failure; not learning would be hers.
It doesn't matter, anyway. That's in the past, and we -- I -- must go on from here and keep trying to get those lessons across.

Not easy, with her daddy's nurturing helpful dispensing of the knowledge that "Your mom knows how to do that."
I learned by doing, as everyone must.

Dad has an appointment with his pulmonologist this week. We have questions about headaches and a tickle in his throat.
Anybody wanna bet I'll end up being the one who asks the doctor about these issues, because he won't speak up? (I'm going to try, if I must, just reminding Rex he wants to ask about these things.)

This issue annoys me because it makes me sound like a bossy managing dictator, and not in a good way.

Yes, I'm bossy. I'm the oldest of eight, and I know no one in that situation who isn't bossy. It's part of the job description of oldest child ( of a multitude.)

Yes, I'm managing. Someone has to take care of things.

A dictator? Possibly at times. Waffling on decisions has to stop somewhere; decisions need to be made.

But I only look like one of those militant fat-ass Battleship Broad!

That said, I have had some sleep and feel capable. I hope that I can remain so, even when the sailing once again gets rough. As it will.
As I well know it will.

I'll be ready.
I hope.

At least, for a while, I'll be rested.

Mammaws are Only Human, too (Even me)

Today, I feel like the worst Mammaw in the world.
Because the baby cried all night.
Because In  yelled at him.
Because I pushed  Hailey off him.

Because I am going to have to take them home early, and I never, ever want to take them home early. I wish they could stay, longer and longer. This is Hailey's last weekend/week to stay here as OUR  Hailey. Next week she meets the world; she'll be becoming a different child. (She starts school,)
I wanted this to be a long lovely time to enjoy with her.

But she's anxious about school, wants her mommy for every head-butting dispute, is weepy and whiny and singing the ABC song, incorrectly and incessantly.

The little guy is teething. Yes, young as he is. He has not one but two teeth just below hid gums and the pesty things won't come through. Poor little guy.  Mammaw can give him pain med -- not really a good idea -- and rub numb numb on his gums (very carefully) but all these things wear off way before they can be readministered.
He has chewed bigger holes in his nipples so now he drowns himself in milk and chokes. That is 4 nipples in about 36 hours.

Then there are the residents of my home. Rex is chronic, and Tracy is having a crisis. She's had intermittent gall bladder problems, and in this last week it's become constant. She went to the ER twice in the last ten days, but it's not quite bad enough for them to be able to help.

Took her to the doctor yesterday, kids in tow.
They were astonishingly good in the boring old waiting room for almost two hours. (Maybe that's why they had problems later on. They used up all their ability to be good.)

Anyway, Tracy is still in pain and trying to learn to deal with it, but in the meantime she wants cuddling and soothing that should be the babies' purview. (We all want our mommies when we're sick, even if they never really did anything for us. Such an odd facet of humanity.)

Anyway, the nine hundred bazillionth time I had to get up with Fussy Baby, in the wee small hours of the morn, I sat and cried with him in my arms.
When that didn't help, I put him in the playpen and I went outside on the porch to cry alone.

Baby Warren yelled at me, and I yelled at him. He can make quite an astonishing amount of sounds now.
It would have been funny if it wasn't so heartbreaking breaking.

I hope the little ones and their parents know if it were a necessity they could of course stay. That I would expect them to.
I hope they all know the little ones will always be welcome here and understand that some Times are just a little more difficult to live through.
I hope I hope I hope.

And still I feel like the worst Mammaw in the world because I am having such a hard time coping.

I feel so old and inadequate.

Crisis at Mammaw's house, I am ordering you to pass.
Mammaw just wants to be Mammaw again.

Rent-2-Own hosts Back to School

The owners of the Rent-2-Own in Georgetown hosted a back to school festival. They combined a generous community giveaway with fun and play, and the result was a lot of fun.

They provided school supplies for children in the county, and they made it a party for parents and children alike.

Who can do that? 

Even when they can, how many people take the time to actually put it into action? 

There was food, there was music, there were (sorta) rides, some with water. I never knew you could take a ride in a bouncy-house. 

Guess I got some schooling, too.

I don't know what the employees (I assumed) thought of the day. Many wore tags saying "Volunteer." The day was humid, the crowd was crowded. Kids pushed and shoved and cut line, tattled and pushed and shoved.

They also held hands to run together, jump together, climb together. Grown-ups walked around trying to keep track of children. There were lots of "Mammaw" and "Hey, Mom" and "Daddy, lookame!"

Through it all, I never saw any of these volunteer/employee/ helpers lose their patience. In the heat and the humidity and the hollering, the personnel kept their cool. Every one of these people should be recognized and awarded with, at the very least, a smile and a heartfelt "Thank you. You made our day."

From the owners of the venue, who have made this community giveaway a shining example of "Charity Begins At Home" to the Church across the street that allowed its parking lot to be used for parking, to the many many WONDERFUL people who were there before after and during the event -- it was a fantastic experience. 

A lot of work and a lot of fun.

Thank you all.

(And thanks for the notebooks, too.)

Not Quite "Christmas in July"

We are enjoying a lovely bout of October weather here at the end of July. It's not quite a "Christmas in July" but I'll take it. I think it's pretty darned nice!

I'm not quite sure what the technical situation is . The weathermen on the TV have been talking about "record high lows" and "record low highs". All of this makes sense to me while they are explaining it, with little charts and diagrams onscreen, but my understanding disappears with the charts. Somehow, I don't think a record high low is a record low. That would be a low low, to be a new record.
Am I wrong about that?

I am surprised at their surprise. For the last several years, the weather seems to have shifted somewhat. Spring blooms earlier, summer dies off earlier. The key is not in the calendar, but in the wildlife. We've had daffodils in February, redbuds at the end of March, black-eyed Susans and Tiger lilies in July. Daffodils used to be "Easter lilies" to us as children, the redbuds are more familiar in mid to late April, and the susies and tigers should only now be coming into full growth. Both of these are part of the transition to September.

September and October should be foxtails and goldenrod and grass (hay) drying in the fields. The last few years, we have had the goldenrod before school starts in mid-August. This year it looks as if the same thing will happen. We'll see the first snowflakes in late October or early November. The "January thaw" will be near Christmas.

But, NO.
Not necessarily.
Here I am, doing the same thing as the weathermen and meteorologists -- trying to put Mother Nature and her business into neat little cubicles (dates on a calendar.)

When will we learn that nothing not man-made fits into our neat little boxes?
Just because it's usually gold and orange in September doesn't mean it always will be so.
Just because it has always snowed in February doesn't mean we can't have sunshine and warm southern breezes that month.

There are plenty of people ready to blame man-made sources for the changes in the weather. Plenty of them, but their 'proof'' is that the weather has changed. That really doesn't prove the why.

Weather has never been constant according to Modern Man's demands. The constancy is vague and steady,  seasonal; not date-to-date, not month-to-month. Weather just won't fit our convenience.

Maybe the solution to our (not a) problem will end up being the time-honored tradition of updating the calendar. That is what our species has done historically when the seasons and the dates have become out of sync.



I say let's keep our calendars loose and flexible, and let us not bind ourselves too closely to what our little blank calendar boxes and our record books say we should expect from the weather. Because, no matter how many blacks we draw for time and nature, these things will not co-operate with the corporate mentality.

Above all, though,  let us enjoy  this October weather in July. 

They Think You're Stupid

One of the worst things about not working has got to be daytime TV.

One of the worst things about daytime TV has got to be the commercials.

Lately, these seem to have gotten worse. Many of them sound like they are talking down to you, some just use bad grammar -- and bad English, too!
There are some, I'm sorry to say, that seem to be actively looking for stupid people as their main source of customers.

This may even be true; I don't know. Maybe that is who they look to for a customer base. How hard can it be to confuse stupid people and get their money,after all?

The worst offender, commercial-wise, is LoanMax. This is a company that makes title loans on cars. Their main clientele, I think, is people who can't get a bank loan, even using their car as collateral. Banks don't want to make small loans, for one thing, and for another, they don't like older cars.
Title loan businesses know two things banks refuse to acknowledge. 1)People will generally pay to keep their car when it's all they have and 2) if it runs, they will likely get their money back at auction, if it should go that far. Maybe not all their (outrageous) interest, but at least the original loan.

The procedure is similar to a bank loan.  You get a loan using the car as collateral. If you ever try to sell the car, you have to pay off the loan/lien first.

Loan Max ads feature a woman who was just so relieved she didn't have to give them her car!  She got to keep her car! Imagine that!
Lady, if you didn't get to keep your car, it would be a/k/a selling your car, NOT a loan. How the blankety-blank did you ever get a car in the first place?

There's also a man who can't keep driving on tires with 'plugs' in them -- I was told 20 years ago they don't make tires you can put plugs in anymore. If that's still true, this man is driving around on excessively old tires, and I don't want to be on the road with him anyway. (I could, however, be wrong and someone somewhere did figure out a way to make plugs for modern tires. In that case, I'm the stupid one.)
There's a woman who doesn't want to drive around on bad rotors. I guess she can't plug her tires anymore and has no wheels.
And there's a guy who got a loan to get tattoo training -- not so bad, but you'd think they might go for something classier in the eyes of society as a means of going into business. And a fellow who buys storage units at auction. Maybe he'll be on TV someday!

There's a lawyer who "Gets answers done." Okay, I want answers, and I want a lawyer who gets things done. I don't want my answers done.

Then there's one of those infernal schools, with one-class-a-month, or one-subject-at-a-time classes. These people are really annoying. It's too bad the schools have no better representations than people who can't speak properly.
These women have their dreams accomplished.
How the hell does that happen?
I (or they) can accomplish a dream, but the dream doesn't accomplish. This person needs to speak with the lawyer who gets answers done.

This woman also talks about how the school 'accomplished' or 'created'  "new dreams for me and new opportunities for mySelf."
Only you can accomplish or create things for yourself.
The school can create or accomplish things only for itself
Only I can do things for myself.

Do intelligent persons want to go to a school that doesn't see basic communication skills as a selling point?

Do you? Will you?

I don't.
I won't.

Not even to get away from the inanity of daytime TV commercials.

Welcome the Weather, Whatever it is.

Finally, a break in the weather. Like all good things, it didn't come without a price. Parts of our northern 'Border Country' was torn apart with severe storms. Lots of wind damages, lots of uprooted trees, property damage. This was all in a part of the country where this type of storm is a little unusual.

But, oh the pay off! Lower humidity, softer air. And, the rest of us are beginning to feel that same relief, as if our weather-break is trailing in the skirts of theirs.

Today, here in Winchester, Ohio, it has been raining all day. Nice, gentle, cleansing, healing rain. There are flash flood watches and occasional storm warning, but for the most part our transition has been fairly nonviolent.
That's a good way to be.

The heat and humidity will return. It's still July, and there's August to be lived through, and the first few days after Labor Day. It would be odd to not have a week or so of hot-and-humid after back-to-school and Back-to-school -after-the-first-holiday.

I like the rain.
If Hailey were here, she'd be liking the rain.
She'd even be allowed to go out in this rain. Pappaw doesn't let her out when it's storming. She doesn't like that.

People are always complaining about the weather. If it's raining, they want sun. When the sun is shining, it's too hot. When it's hot they want cold. When it's cold they want snow. When it snows they want the roads cleared and cleaned and wish for the hot and humid summer.

We'd change things if we could, and once we have it, we start wishing it was what it was earlier (in the year, season, month, week, day).
We need to take the time to enjoy the weather we have while we have it. It's going to change soon enough, and we are very lucky if it changes without upheaval and terror.
Let's be happy with what we get.
After all, it could just -- blow away.

I'm as bad as others. We all are. We all think we wish for prescribed weather, for perfect weather. The problem with that is --

We can't even agree on perfect weather!

Some DO like it hot!

Food for Thinking

My new grandson is approaching the 4 month mark. He is also drooling, pushing the nipple around with his tongue, stuffing anything into his mouth, and seeming unsatisfied with just his milk.

In a less enlightened age, these would have been seen as signs that he's ready to try solids.
Nowadays, the doctors usually will not recommend feeding until six months of age, unless weight loss starts to 'trend' in the child. A calendar and a magic number are, of course, more rational guidelines than individual development. They are a better indicator than common sense that says if the baby is getting hungry, try feeding him.

I have an objection to the recommended feedings, too. Back in the dark ages, when I was growing up and helping with an endless stream of younger siblings, the first things we offered were fruits.
Now, historically, or maybe I mean evolutionarily, this makes sense. Humans started out as hunter-gatherers, and when our babies were ready to start solids, over ripe fruit was probably the softest thing available for gathering.. Thus, babies would start eating with fruits, and that practice remained at least to the 1970s.

Now, they want parents to start the infants on cereals -- grains. A food that, even at its purest, has to be ground and/or milled before it can be prepared for a toothless mostly sucking infant.
This just doesn't fit the needs of a hunter-gatherer society. Prepared foods would come a little later, logically.

Now, before someone tells me about the delicate process of sensitizing (or not) the baby's delicate digestive process, I'd like to offer a couple arguments.

1) gluten intolerance
2) celiac disease.

We didn't have these  runaway rampant allergy/digestive problems back in the days when we fed our infants by using common sense and instinctive traditions, did we?
Yes, there were some; proportionately, not as many.

Babies with delicate systems largely did not survive. It's good that we can now compensate, sometimes, for these problems, but maybe we should take a serious look at how they are started. Somewhere there should be alarm bells ringing that we are creating the problem by circumventing the evolutionary process.

Many people point at processed foods. Well, that well may be part of the problem, but is it the start of the problem? Maybe someone needs to investigate the possibilities that mothers have for eons been right and the scientists, in just a few decades, have created problems with their charts and calendars and thinking that "how it should be" is "how it is."

Those of us who have fed children out in the real world know that they don't live, grow, or thrive under laboratory conditions.
Ever.

Mourning this Morning

Today I look around my house and the many things I see bring a deep sense of mourning to me.

The baby's playpen, bought four years ago for Hailey, now in use again for another sweet baby. Will I see him again in there? Will I be around to see him stand and peep over its side and laugh at me? Will I hear him say "Mammaw, Mammaw"?

Hailey's doll house that I just bought for her, furnished, at a yard sale. Last time she was here, she played for hours sitting in front of the TV, but not even paying attention to the programming. Will I be around to enjoy her enjoying what Mammaw got her?

No, I'm not ill, and I have no current plans to do away with myself.
I don't want to do away with myself, just the mishmash disappointed and never ending duties duties duties my life has become.

I don't mind taking care of my chronically ill husband. But why in hell won't he do his part to take care of himself? He is NOT bedridden.
Is it my fault? Have I taken such good care of him that he no longer takes any responsibility for his own well-being? Have I put up with so much, too much, and has my caretaking crippled him more than his multiple illnesses? Have I solved so many problems and fought so many battles for him that he no longer feels any need to solve or fight?

Something has to change here, and I'm afraid that it will, once again, be me.
However, I will try.

For the sake of the beautiful babies that light up both our lives. They need the refuge that grandparents' homes  can be -- every child needs that.
They need grandparents -- a Pappaw as well as a Mammaw.
Mammaw needs Pappaw, too.

Will she ever have those things again?
Will she ever enjoy those things again?
Will anyone else cherish or change things?

What to do if the answer is "NO!"?

I wish I knew.

News from the bucket list

There's another story in the news about someone skydiving and checking it off their "Bucket List."http://www.local12.com/news/local/story/Two-Local-Paraplegics-Skydive-From-13-500-Feet/edn9aifvi0ylJxOHi28BHw.cspx


If the media is to be  believed, every person on earth has an overwhelming desire to plummet to earth. News, movies, songs.

I just don't get it. I never will, so don't bother explaining. It's something I truly do not wish to understand. If the epitome of your life is to do something expensive and foolhardy, then I'm not sure I know you at all. Or want to.

I blame the media for a lot of this foolishness. Some 97 year old woman, once upon a time, fulfilled her lifelong desire to jump from an airplane, and the story was an immediate hit.
This was probably in 1934, when airplanes and 97 year old women were rarely paired. There was no instant news, no sharing everywhere, and only her friends knew, even after word got out.

In those days, skydiving was news.
97 year olds were news.

Nowadays, there are skydiving clubs around every city, and 97 is peppy if elderly. Neither item is news.

But, for some reason, this is consistently treated as "NEWS."

You want to know about bucket lists?
Visit a nursing home.
Visit the oncology floor in the local city hospital.
Heck, visit a veterinarian, where pets are freed from pain as loving companions linger near.

None of these people are mourning the fact that they didn't get to jump out of sn airplane.
None of them are regretting that they never jumped from an airplane.
None of them see that as a legacy to be treasured in any sense.

There's a saying about nobody having his tombstone engraved with "I wish I had worked more"
No one has asked that be put in his obituary.
I'm pretty sure no one has engraved, "I wish I had jumped from an airplane."
I'm pretty sure no one has put NOT-skydiving in a loved one's obituary

Please stop treating this as a legitimate news story.
It isn't.

Playing Games

I just recently started playing games on Facebook beyond Words With Friends and Scrabble, both which allow you to choose your opponents, one at a time.

Now, I have had those annoying posts about someone needing keys and maps and send a chicken and whatever.  I have been over-zealously invited to become an inhabitant of innumerable "--world"s. I've been Facebook notified that I have 50 new notifications only to find 45 are game related. That's so disappointing.

So, before I ventured into the gaming world, I promised myself (and my 'friends') that I was not going to be that player.
That's easier said than done.
I have had to quit  two games because they demand that I make demands on my friends.

I made my brave venture with the Criminal Case game. It's mostly finding objects in a scene, but there are also puzzles and maze-y things and fill in the rest of the number.
The best/most interesting aspect of this game is that they kind of toss you in with people from your own friends list. For the most part, you get to play with people who are already playing, even to the sending of energy and cards and things. Criminal Case has a nice little list of who you know that already play.
Later on, you do get a list of everyone to send requests to, but it's easy enough to edit that list. And it happens at intervals, not after every play.
BUT -- right now, Criminal Case keeps trying to give me free stuff. To get all this free stuff, I just have to give them my banking or credit card information.
How stupid are people?
The game can still be played though, without the incessant nagging to add or invite. I do enjoy playing.

So, I ventured to Candy Crush. I played to level "youneedkeys" and had to quit. I will not send to every single person on the list and I have no idea which of my friends are playing that game and which aren't. Well, I do know 2 of the people. One is a friend, the other is someone I'd rather not play games with.

So, there's an end to that.

The other game that I have almost quit playing is Words of Wonder. Talk about a nightmare!

The game itself is fine, and enjoyable, and challenging, but it has turned into pages and pages of friends sending energy and gifts. These generous givers include absolute utter and complete strangers!
Not only is the game letting people I don't know know something about me (that I play that game), it is still insisting that I send similar generous gifts to everyone on my list (and their lists, too, I suppose, if they come to look at the game.)

Nope, not doing it.
Not sending or accepting anything else, because the game makes that part of it work -- picking and choosing from the donors -- before you get anywhere near the game itself. And then again between levels or chapters or episodes.

Listen, Facebook Game Designers: Games are supposed to be FUN! Not work.

Definitely not work through many lists many times a visit.

If they could all be like Criminal Case --I hope it stays that way. (I'm only at level 20 or so.)
List the friends who  already play, offer the option to invite others only at certain times. If they did that, fewer people would complain, and a few more might even actually play, if they can do so with relative privacy and no nagging.

Then we could all just play the games that interest us, and we could even -- GASP -- have fun doing so!

Rewriting the Romance

You don't really realize how much the romance genre  has changed unless you read older, beginner volumes. I don't mean classics like "Emma," or "Wuthering Heights." I am talking about Harlequin, Avon, Silhouette, and similar or related publishers.

Sometime in the last 25 or so years, the genre boomed or bloomed. The word you choose depends on your outlook.

Back in the beginning of the popular romance novel, the girls were all innocent virgins, sometimes with mercenary boyfriends/fiances/fathers. The men were hard appearing but poor misunderstood souls. The girls were secretaries, nurses, or helpless daughters, sisters, orphans; the men were company owners, doctors, womanizers. The girls (not women) were victims; the men (not boys) were rescuing heroes.

It was the beginning of the cliches for the public.

In these older stories, the men often kidnapped the girls. The Rape Fantasy was a really popular plotline, although it wasn't called that. In fact, in those days, it wasn't even recognized as any form of rape. The man, usually 'foreigners' would whisk their innocent victim away -- or finagle her into consent -- and the next thing you know, she's madly in love with him, supposedly for the rest of her life.
They had never heard of the Stockholm Syndrome in those days, either.

I'd like to think there have been changes. There have been changes. The girls are allowed to be women now, and even be sexually experienced. The women are allowed to be the professionals, the bosses. The men are allowed to have emotions. They are allowed to discuss their emotions.

They still resort to kidnapping and blackmail to force submission as an expression of true love, but those stories are becoming less frequent and are usually enriched with/by character development. Thank God for that. Stockholm syndrome and rape fantasies aside, I never had much respect for those so-called heroines, and phony heroes.

Now, most romances are written with a modern approach to factors like jobs, family, past, and future. Even romances set in the past are fuller.

But it's a lesson to the writers -- at least to this writer -- to take a peek at the past. To read how we've changed our expectations as readers. To appreciate the simple baby steps that led us into walking, running, driving, and flying away from the one dimensional to the three dimensional. In fact, some romances these days often venture into the fourth dimension. (How exciting is that!?)

I am sure glad that those stories have faded into the past. I don't like them.
I don't like a lot of things in my own personal past, either.
Liking does not equal learning, and that is what we are supposed to do as we grow.

Love gives us roots to grow and wings to fly.
So can romance.