Mowing away

I complain a lot -- and I know it's a lot -- about the way my neighbors mow.
No, it's not the way; it is the frequency.

I don't want anyone to think that I don't appreciate, acknowledge, and value the well-kept lawn. I even get ashamed of ours when it isn't mowed, although I also like to watch the teeny-tiny wildflowers that work their way through the grass. Pinkish white, yellow, purple.
Delicate.
Beautiful.

I like to watch the birds, too. They really have a feast once the longer grass has been cut. I suppose that there must be more of it gone to seed and once it's cut the birdies can get at the seeds. They sure do like it for some reason! They make almost as much noise as the neighbor's lawnmowers.

If I had a mower I could use, I'd probably mow every day, too. I'd mow the front on Monday, the side on Tuesday, the other side Wednesday, and I'd split the back on the other two weekdays.

But I wouldn't mow the whole freaking lawn every other day! That does NOT equal a beautiful lawn.
In fact, the lawns in question were turning brown -- in APRIL! In OHIO!
Sounds like overkill to me.

But I have no grudge against the normal people who take satisfaction in a job well done. Or those whose goal is to beautify and brighten, and to create a resting place for the eyes.
To those yard workers and weed warriors, I say "Well done" and "Thank you." Your efforts are noticed and appreciated.
You may make me look bad, but your work is beautiful.

Spring Sitting

This is the weekend of the springtime community yard sales, and I trotted out all my stuff -- much better stuff this time around. Dresses, unworn for years, but nice dresses. Toddler toys, that if I don't sell I can save. The new baby will be a toddler someday. Yard tools too heavy for me and ,y husband, too awkward for me.

Anyway, it's good stuff in good condition -- except for where the bird pooped on the youth-sized formal. (Make me an offer, I'll knock off some dollars for droppings)

It's funny that I have yet to sell anything, when the product is more diverse and in better shape. But selling doesn't seem to be the value in this spring's yard sale.

The value is in the sitting. Blue skies, puffy clouds, spilling sunshine. Birdsong, barking dogs, and playing children 2 yards down.

There is peace here in sitting on the porch, watching people passing.Peace in listening to nature, even dogfights or catfights (the animal kind)
Peace in looking and breathing and waiting. Time to rest, perhaps. Time to enjoy..
Time to be.

I need this time. It isn't always what you make, but what you make of it.

worth working ?

Today the local news is filled with a long wrap-around line of people hoping to work at the new Jungle Jim's that is opening in September. People are so hungry for jobs that they are waiting in summer heat -- and this summer's heat is especially brutal-- for hours. Jungle Jim's is looking for 300 to 400 people, from inexperienced to specialist. They've probably had about 3000 people turn out. That is my estimate from looking at photos and news coverage.

I've been looking for work, too, but that's a more troublesome proposition. If I start work, even just five or ten hours a week, my husband's spenddown for MedicAid will go up, by whatever amount of money I make. Probably the gross amount, not net, but I'm unsure about that. We'll also lose out food assistance, but that's not a deal breaker for just the two of us. But what if we still had children to nourish so they'll grow, and pay attention in school.

And I won't be at home to care for him. He doesn't need nursing or tending, but he can't stand at a stove -- or even a microwave -- long enough to cook for himself. So would he have to go without any time that I work at or through meal time? What if something were to go wrong? What if the electric goes out and he can't use his nebulizer or his oxygen? How will anyone know to help him? How would they help him? What if a water line breaks? He doesn't have the strength or the agility to shut off the water under the sink behind the jars and brushes.

But I still look for work -- I'm pretty sure it's better than not working. Better for us both in terms of community and personal sanity. I know this isolated life makes me edgy, cross, crabby, and mean-as-hell. So, if there's a local job I hear about, I try for it. In a year and a half, I've had two interviews. For the others (about a dozen) I don't make the cut. I'm not sure if it's the beauty check I fail or the background check. Not that it matters.

But I wonder, as I fill in yet another application, if I should get beyond the interview stage, will the job eventually won be worth it. Or will it cost me more -- in more ways -- than staying at home does?

I don't know, but I would like to have the chance to find out.

Who's Hungry Now?

I am getting sick and tired -- and mad -- over the defamatory snide comments and patches and things about food stamps. That includes, big time, the media slanders.


First, some facts.
There are more people than ever needing help,.

These are people who have been working for 25, 30, 50 years and they have never -- NEVER -- had to ask or look for any help whatsoever for daily living. They have been paying into the system for years, even decades, and taking nothing out of it.

They have been living on savings and retirement funds and are 'just now' running out of money.

Or they are just now entering the work force and the unemployment line -- returning soldiers come to mind.


The 'advertisements' for food assistance is NOT advertising. They are Public Service Announcements, meant to inform those who don't know where to begin of a place to start. If it's your son returning to his wife and children from overseas, should they go hungry out of ignorance? If it's your grandparent forced into early unrecompensed retirement, must they starve because they bought things when they were working? Your gramma should stand on the street corner selling her Ipod you gave her for Christmas last year because you don't think a person getting assistance should have 'things'?

I thought not.


These newly broke bought and paid for their stuff when they were working, just like the SuperSnobs have done. When you lose your job or get sick for a year, will you be selling your car? Your house? Your electronics that depreciate faster than an automobile?
I think not.

So quit dumping on people for having things. You don't know where or how they got them, or why. Could have been gifts, for all you know.Things could even not work properly but it's all they have.
You may see they have something. It may be something that you don't. You probably have something that they don't.


Big effing deal. That's life.

Too many people are going hungry, are letting their children go hungry, because of ignorance.
The ignorance of the self-important self-approving.

Hi now, Kai-lan, and Exploring with Dora

It's been a long time since I paid much attention to children's programming. Now that my granddaughter is watching it with attention, I'm paying more attention, too. (Because she's never watched anything in my care that I haven't also watched.)

Nick Jr is her channel. Not too much wrong with that, as this child also has a healthy interest in going outside and reading, writing, and 'darwing'. A lot of kids don't, but that's another story.

 Most of the shows are okay. A (very) few are brilliant. Some of it I don't get, but since I'm not its target audience, I'm not too worried about that. Should probably be more worried if I 'got' all of it.

Nick Jr tells parents (or whomever) what the show teaches. Interesting, but not as interesting as what the children -- or at least this child -- learns from it.

Dora the Explorer is supposed to teach all kinds of stuff: counting and Spanish and logic and colors and following instructions. Never mind the Spanish. What Dora teaches, apparently, is that there are different words for the same things. At 18 months, my little one watched Dora, and when Dora had to go across the river and through the forest, Hailey told her she had to boat the water and go in the trees. All English, but completely different words.

This week, Hailey applied the lessons from Ni Hao, Kai-lan, a show that also teaches bits of Chinese. When Mammaw got mad, she observed that Mammaw was mad, thought about what Mammaw was mad about, and decided Mammaw needed to CALM DOWN.

It was a little much, though, when she instructed me to sway back and forth, back and forth in order to do so.

The question I have is how will this work once she goes to school (months away if she can do preschool; only a year away for kindergarten) That swaying back and forth thing sounds like an invitation to mockery to me. Maybe not, if the children are all of an age and all watch the same programming -- or if they are programmed by teachers to do this. (Can't you just see a roomful of four-year-olds swaying back and forth, back and forth every time one of them has a tantrum. When would any teaching get done?)

But it troubles me, and I don't know how to address the problems. On the one hand, observation and application are good things. It's really great that a preschooler can understand you can be mad without it being their fault, or that a river is made of water and a forest is trees. On the other hand, the coping strategies should be private and somewhat internal, or they are invitations to misunderstanding and mockery.

The underlying message is the same as it has always been. The shows are a tool. The real learning comes from the family and from daily living. Know what your children are watching and let them talk to you about it. They are learning and they want you to tell them what's right for your family. And even that it's okay if it's different for others.
'
It's all good, as long as we're ALL involved.

bone crushing

My husband had to go to the doctor Monday. The office called him and made the appointment. You can bet that set off alarm bells. He has so many health concerns we didn't even know which one to worry about. They did say something about his spinal x-rays, but that really didn't narrow it down a whole lot. Because we have had things show up in x-rays that are not what he was being x-rayed for. An enlarged kidney showed up in chest x-rays.

We were referred to a urologist who saw Rex once, sent him for some kind of test at a hospital that had to have cash before doing anything, and we never heard from that specialist again. Don't know to this day what, if anything, the test determined, in spite of calling and both asking and leaving messages. When our family doctor bulldozed us into this appointment, she felt the matter was urgent. Then, she left the group practice she was with and has apparently fallen off the face of the earth. Could it be his kidneys?

He fractured his spine forty years ago, could it be something from that?

Did something in his lungs show up in the background?

He has osteoporosis. Well, he's had that for a while, but this is advancing, which means getting worse. We've been referred to another specialist, this one out of state. His spinal column is collapsing and disintegrating. The T1 through T4 vertabrae are crumbs, with 'significant wedging' on almost all the rest.

Our doctor, who is new to us, says he has never ever seen anyone with such an advanced case of osteoporosis.  Especially not so young. Especially not a male.

We discussed smoking, we discussed heredity, we discussed childhood malnutrition. All factors. But, to figure out what to do, he needs to be seen by an endocrinologist. My guess is that they are considering he'll need the IV type treatments. (He was on Fosamax but began having too much bone pain in his hips and thighs, and we dropped that stuff like it scalded.)

So, we're again hanging in Limbo, and I'm bouncing from wall-to-wall maybes.

I'm also looking for information on what to expect if the deterioration continues. What do I need to be especially watchful for? How can I help? What needs to be reported to the doctors? I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.

And I can't find out. There are a few  million definitions of osteoporosis available on the internet. There are a few million treatments being sold, or advised, or encouraged. So far, there has not been one site that answers my questions. Apparently everywhere on the Internet is the belief that calcium, vitamin D and the magic of medicine cures osteoporosis, or at least halts it in its tracks.

Therefore, no one needs to know what advanced severe osteoporosis will do to a middle-aged severely emphysemic man with one big kidney.

I really hate that all the different websites say the same things over and over and over. Sometimes in different languages, but still the same-old, same-old.

In this great Information Age, can no one answer my questions?

As I lay dying (or so I thought)

Yesterday I thought I was entering my final illness, persistent cramping diarrhea. The pain was worse than childbirth (except for the actual birthing). The effects of dehydration were debilitating, as you can imagine. My sister and my nephew had both commented on bellyaches, so I thought there's probably just something going around, and it was nothing major.

As the day wore on, I changed my mind about that. If there had been gas in our car I would have had my husband take me to the hospital, even though I have no insurance and every test, every procedure, every help would have to be paid for by us. At that point (about 3 in the afternoon) even the IV for dehydration would have been worth the cost. Because I was afraid to drink anything, even warm water.

Instead, I went to bed.
While in the bed, I reviewed my life. It's the first time I ever did that when I wasn't contemplating suicide, so it was a novel experience in its way. The results of the review were more satisfactory this way, I have to admit, but there were some things not so satisfactory.
Of course.

I wished I had played more with my girls when they were young. More walks, more pushing on swings, more silly talk, more books read together, more time. Just more time to enjoy them. But pushing swings is boring after the first couple of shoves to get them going, and neither of my daughters had any great interest in books when they were young. We did walk, from time to time, and the walks nearly always had that 'special' air. I suppose that's a good thing. The regret over not taking enough walks is partly because it indicates a lack of special times, so if the times it happened were special -- well, there's just a balance there, so that one is probably okay.
I hope.

I wish I'd had more patience at some times in some of my jobs, but I have no big regrets over any of those. I gave every job I ever did everything I could, everything I had. Sometimes I didn't have much, and sometimes I hated the work, but I gave it my all. Sometimes my all was more, often less, but it was what I had and I put it into the work.

My writing? I have four completed novel manuscripts on top of the bookcases. I have three of those novels on floppies, which do me  no earthly good these days, but maybe somewhere, someday... someone. I have various writings here and there. It would be nice for my family if I could become posthumously famous, so that I'm not leaving my family nothing but a hole in their hearts.
I hope.

The good-bye letters I wrote a few months ago worried me a bit. I thought about tearing them up before I died, but decided I'd just leave a note with them. Don't remember if I dated them or not. Probably not. I wanted them to be generic, any time. I have letters written to Tracy and to Rex and, I think, to Jean. I haven't been able to bring myself to pout anything in writing for Tammy-and-Hailey. No good excuses for saddling her with my responsibilities, which she would be the one carrying the brunt of the load after the dust settles. No good excuse, no reason.
Anyway, I decided to just write a note, or maybe I'd get a chance to tell Jean before I expire in the hospital. "Hey, never mind those. I wrote them for Christmas last year, or maybe the year before."

It was a different thing to look back at my life this way, from this new angle. I didn't have no instant conversion to wanting to continue living in spite of all its pain, which I have seen happen. I wanted the pain to stop. I wished that I had done some things differently, but feel that I did the best I could at the time.

That's what we should all be doing. The best we can, with what we have. The what we have can be time, or energy, or even interest. Money of the lack thereof is a partial excuse, not a good one.

Be the best you that you can be.

Do the best you can with what you have.

Watch and work and learn and live.

Then,  you can contemplate death with equanimity. Is there any better way to live?

I am my Appliances.

I have to say, there seems to be something to the idea that household appliances last ten years before they need replaced. I've finally owned major appliances, purchased new, that have lasted ten years. And, true to statistics, they have started to break down.

My dryer makes a horrible noise. I don't know if it works at all or not (the drum will turn sometimes), because that very strange, very loud noise makes me afraid to find out. I don't want the thing to explode, after all. Or catch on fire. Or put out power for the whole town. Anyway, that's the dryer.

Then the heating element in my oven went out. This has happened before, and isn't really a big deal, except that it happened. It's frustrating. Last night, one of my burners caught on fire. It's a burner I've used infrequently but regularly, and there was no reason for it to ignite. It was not on high heat. Scorched and burned one of my brand new beautiful red pans, too.

That leaves the refrigerator and the washer. The washer has had problems for a long time. Nothing major, nothing unexplainable, nothing impossible. It cleans my clothes, as long as the necessary adjustments are made.
Haven't had too many problems with the fridge. It wants to freeze everything on the top shelf, or nor quite freeze things in the freezer, and there's a shelf in the freezer that is at the wrong level and it wont come out. But other than that, it cools on. (I hope I'm not jinxing it by talking about it.)

This all reminds me, strongly, of what happened to my body once I turned forty. I started having accidents like stepping in a hole and falling up stairs and smacking the back of my hand into bread racks. After the accidents, the remnants -- the places that I had injured -- just started aching, often for no reason.

But, like my appliances, I'm still here.
I'm still doing my job(s).
There have to be adjustments, there has to be timing, and things may be done differently. But the jobs can be done or got around.

We'll all  work on until completely dead, and even that may not be "The End".

We (me and my appliances) can be harvested for parts when our usefulness as ourselves is over.
That's a nice thought.

Bygone Books

Just last week, I found an original publishment of Mystery Ranch, a "Boxcar Children" book. It was dated 1958 and it has a plain hardcover. It's just a beautiful book to have.

I used the word publishment, because I don't want to call it a 'first edition' or 'original run' or anything like that. Those are all official categories, and I don't know if it really qualifies under the formal definitions of those terms.

I have other older books, some equally as original, but mostly not in as good a condition. They are almost all children's books, and children's books are notorious for being either pristine or well-loved (which can mean mangled.)

I used to call these books "My Legacy", but then came tv shows like Pawn Stars to let me know that my legacy isn't really worth much in terms of cash. What a disappointment.

 I'd like to leave my children something of value.

Then my granddaughter sees me reading, goes and gets a book and seats herself beside me in my chair, showing me pictures and asking me questions and turning a page whenever I do, sometimes peeping into my book to see if there are any pictures or Ts or Hs.
She'll snuggle in and the book may drop from her hands.

 My Legacy has plenty of value.