Life and Love and Other Things

I have been trying to write of other things than my own problems. I don't want this blog to be a whining moaning list of things to complain about. I don't want it to be a pity party for me. I don't want it to be about me, specifically.

I want it to be about life in general. Politics, social media, diet, religion, education, children and grandchildren -- all the things that make up the array of things we grapple with from day to day. That's what I want.

For now, I can't seem to think beyond my own life-box. 

I'm stuck and I can't seem to move beyond these limitations.

Someday I will, I'm sure. 

Someday, I'll live again, love again, have opinions again, and I'll re-find my writer's voice.

Someday.

That day isn't yet.

I have many beginnings of ideas, thoughts, concepts to discuss. A recent facebook discussion inspired an article about the education system. But it remains unwritten, as headaches and busy-ness and the visitation of the demon build up walls faster than I can build windows. 

And forget about doors! There's no time for doors. 

The important thing is to keep a little light coming into this thick and sturdy box.

Why keep writing, then?

Well, that is the best way to poke holes in the wall and let a little light in.

Also, there may be someone out there that needs to read something like this.

Someone who needs to know there can be light in darkness.

Someone who needs to know that tears can cleanse as well as burn.

Someone who needs to know how someone else navigates the pitfalls of an empty life.

Someone who needs to know about hope, and choices, and giving up.

Someone who needs to know that, in spite of it all, there remains life, and love, and other things.

Blessed, Beautiful Balancing Sleep

I have been sleeping a lot the last couple of weeks. It's so much better than dozing and waking. It's a wonderful place to be, asleep. No worries, no demands, no unsolvable problems to solve. Just being.

Not that there are no problems in the sleep  world. There are.

In the lovely half-worlds between awake and asleep, and between asleep and awake, there are many many things. Thoughts, memories, wishes realized, dreams not dead, stories to be told unrolling.
Punishments exacted for sins known to the dreamer, be it willful, accidental, or circumstantial sinning.

But at least the dreamer knows.
Unlike life, or a so-called loving god, in the dream state of partially self-inflicted tortures, the dreamer knows what the punishment is for. Knows the why. Knows the how. Knows the when and where. Even knows that the way to end it is to rouse to wakefulness.

There is something soothing in knowing why pain is inflicted.
There is something beautiful in punishment balancing sin, even when the so-called sin was minor and the punishment is angry and excessive.
There's a reason for it.

In waking life, there is no reason.
There is no why, no explanation, no lesson learned.
God, the 'loving' father,seems an abusive irrational parent.

Any decent parent knows to tell their child why it is being punished. The child may not understand why something merits punishment, but knows that x(wrongdoing)= y(punishment). It's pretty basic.

Someone should tell god, maybe.

Snowy Days

Well, the Cincinnati area has set and/or broken a snow record. We have had 40 days of accumulating snow, according to official records. There's something Biblical in that, isn't there?

In many ways, it's been an apocalyptic winter. Definitely, it's been a record setter, in many ways and in many places. In Washington state, it has ended with a massive mudslide that has wiped out most of a community. They are still looking for the people, combing through homes and digging through slop, and the rain will mingle with the tears as too many are lost or left. I hope the winter is over for them, and I hope they get a miracle or two or twenty.
People have died of cold while inside their homes.
Whiteouts have taken lives on the highways.
Cabin fever has led to murders, assaults, and other insanity.

I hate this long cold winter. This is not the kind of historical time anyone (except maybe meteorologists) wants to live in.

But -- March is ending, and we have the proverbial wisdom of coming in like a lion going out like a lamb. I'm ready for some lamb, how about you?
Little lambs, and green grass, and blue skies with puffy white clouds, and fruit blossoms shedding a different kind of white on the ground.

I'm ready to put the cold and snowy days behind me, and look forward to the warm and colorful days ahead.

If it's really stopped snowing, and there is an end to the killing power of winter 2013-2014.
Too many have died.

Snow Days

There's been a lot in the news -- and in the minds of parents -- about the 'excessive' number of snow days this prolonged snowy cold winter has been responsible for.

It's crazy. All the time and attention that the media and our lawmakers are giving to this consideration.
It's ridiculous.

The whole concept of education paid by the day is ridiculous. Children learn when they are interested, not between 9 and 3 on weekdays. Requiring so many days in a desk/chair is not, never has, and never will force learning.
Can you think of any other business where this is the model of operations?

I don't know the solution -- maybe not have school during January and extend it through June, before it gets hot.
We spend a lot of time teaching to the test (which isn't even a good test of learning) so maybe reaching year-end goals could be part of when to end the school year. Although that might require more real teaching than modern teachers are allowed to do.

Before modern times, school schedules were made at/for the families' convenience. In the agricultural society, school was scheduled around planting/harvesting times. Weather was also a consideration.

Above all else, the consideration was for our children. Too hot, too cold -- they stayed home. Roads unsafe, whether due to ice or floods or winds -- they stayed home.
Their health and safety was the vital deciding factor.

Not how many days they had been sitting in their assigned seat.

This is how we take care of our children?
This is how we "educate" them about what is important?

Now, some places figure their finances based on having so many seats filled for so many days. Nothing else matters in figuring costs and expenses. As well as the costs of schools being closed, and the costs of additional (unnecessary) day care, we can now add in the cost of legislating giving ourselves permission to keep our children home in inclement weather. There are no more important issues before our government. Death Penalty, Drug Wars, Bigotry, Hate Crimes -- our lawmakers are being paid to decide if we are allowed to use common sense in weather matters.
Why?
Because some bean counter says x seats = x dollars, and that's the way it is.
Because some statistician says "1 in 5" or "2 in 12 "or whatever numbers they can make do the tricks that push their platform?

I say, while they are wasting their time and our money over three to five days, why not take a long hard look at the whole 'requirement' system. And, of course, the way we pay for it.

Hints of Spring

It seems the winter may never end.
It will never stop snowing.
Snow will melt and freeze.

But, driving down the roads, one sees the signs of spring.
Not, as you may think, in the clearing, brimming ditches, or the yellowing of the willow limbs.
Nor in the increase in road kill or the presence of predators.

The real clue is in the garbage at the curb.
There are mattresses and couches and pots of desiccated plants.
There are outgrown toddler toys, often with a free sign taped on.
There is an old door there, and a busted window frame across the street. (Wonder if both or either of those homes houses any type of ball player?)
There are paint buckets and piles of tree limbs.

Gliders are being painted and left to dry on porches.
Cushion covers are being washed and cushions are fluffed and filled.
Swings are being rehung  -- or new swingsets  are going up.
Windows sparkle and doors stand ajar as in welcome.

Spring cleaning is a sure sign of spring, as all creatures leave their dens and begin to ramble, sometimes half-blind and half-starved (for what? Light, food, companionship? Does it matter?).
Winter's waste is being cleared away.
Light is being let in.
Life returns to bursting-at-the-seams.

Welcome Spring.
You old slowpoke, you.

"You Cannot Be Turned Down"

You can, however, be refused the payment you think you are investing in.

It's a gamble.

Of course, all insurance is a gamble. That more people will buy and pay in than will (whatever) and need to be paid. This is how insurance companies make money. 

Let us suppose that you need life insurance and can't get it through the usual agencies. Maybe you have a chronic condition which will (sooner rather than later) become terminal. You can't get life insurance, but you know that you -- or your family -- really need for you to have it.

So, you look into this "cannot be turned down" policy.

The commercials sound so good. "Only 9.97 per unit per month. About 35 cents a day."

BUT: a unit is $1,000.00 . 

Even a cremation setup costs around 2500--3000. So, even for an inexpensive service, you need three units per month. (A traditional funeral, done cheaply, runs between 5000 and 7000 .)

The price of your insurance has just trebled. At a minimum.

That leaves little if anything to help your family survive. You may have put yourself more at risk because you are trading in one of your medicines to be able to provide for your family after you have passed. 

The next phase has to do with your life expectancy.

If you die within the first year, your family gets nothing.

If you die before the second year ends, the insurance company, after having used your money for investment and interest profits, will generously payout to your loved ones every penny that you actually paid them. 

Not the number of units you purchased; not the coverage you were buying. Just what you paid for it. 24 months at $30 is $720. 

There are different companies with different time constraints -- one is six months/one year -- but they all do have these limits. Even your more standard policies have terms and restrictions as to what they will pay out, and when and why.

Add in all the paperwork and problems your family will have to deal with, as well. 

Ask yourself if this is truly the best choice you can make for your family.

Ask yourself if you think you will live long enough for them to profit from your investment.

It's a terrible burden to be dying and know you haven't left your family any resource for your final needs. I understand that -- you don't know how well I understand that. 

I just ask that, if you choose to go this route, please understand what you are doing. Please understand what your family will or will not collect. 

The odds are not in your (their) favor.

 

Roaring? Try Growling. Like a Tummy.

I went and got my little ones before the weather turned bad. The plan was to keep them if it seemed necessary, depending on the weather.

At least, that was the grown-ups plan. The little ones had something else in mind!(Not purposely.)

Friday night Warren cried and kicked like his belly hurt. Babies do that, and our water is different from theirs at home. No biggie, right. It was even funny when he spit up on me and Hailey while Tracy was holding him. Babies do that, too, after all.

Saturday was a wonderful together day, arguing with Hailey over the computer and the tv, wrassling around with Warren, who  was determined to chase down Tracy everywhere she tried to hide. That kid is really nuts about her. I think it must be the combo of Pappaw and Mommy, but it could be Tracy's childlike playful side.
Anyway, if she's in the house, Warren will track her down!
He also likes to walk under the curtains that are the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. He likes to step up over that little step, too.

Then came Saturday night, and one of the nightmares pf parenting. Hailey's belly started hurting and we couldn't make it stop. We tried warm packs and milk, and sipping diluted alka-seltzer -- that one sip was the only one she took, too. She didn't like the taste at all.
Soon enough the sick came out of her, and she immediately started wailing that she couldn't go to school with that brown stuff coming out! (They had sent a girl home from school Friday when she had the same problem.)
She also needed a shower! She had already had her bath, but Hails doesn't ask for  showers at Mammaws. She can get showers at home.

Poor little girl! I told her it was just a pookie bug and when it all came out she'd be okay.
She told me again that she couldn't go to school.
We were up all night with that pookie bug. I took a plastic pan into the bedroom with her/us, and she managed to use it as needed, crying all the time. I could tell she was really hurting, but any medicine came right back up.
Eventually she went to sleep, more dozing than real sleeping. I was grateful for that, you can believe. She was being pookie in my bed, and worrying herself about it. I told her me and her and the pillows and covers would all wash and to just get the sick out.

It was almost noon when we got up Sunday morning. Hailey was weak and wobbly, but no longer in pain and no longer sick.
When we got Bubby up, he didn't want to play.
ai thought it might just be a dozy day, getting ready for the "Titan" blast of winter.
Well, I hoped that was it.

Futilely, as it turns out.
The pookie bug had him too.
he wanted Mammaw.
he spiked a fever.
So I had to tell his mommy she needed to come and get them. Even put Warren on the phone with her.
Bapbapbap" he kept saying.
He and I had several bapbapbap conversations while he snuggled against me. He thought it was funny when  I'd say "Bap bap?" to his bapping.
Such a loving little bunchkin!

Eventually the sick caught up with him and got all over me.

Eventually (Titan was now upon us) the parents arrived. Of course by that time they were both in recovery mode, silly babies.

Of course it caught up with me too, Thank goodness the babies had gone home, that's what I say. I think Mammaw having the pookie bug would have scared Hailey half to death! Of course she could have helped take care of me. She would have liked that, I think.


But all is well now. She's back to school, he's back to toddling, and I'm back to sitting at the computer.

One more challenge met.

(I'm too old for this.)

March is Roaring In. (We Hope.)

March comes in like a lion, goes out like a lamb.
March comes in like a lamb, goes out like a lion.
Or so the saying goes.

As folk wisdom, it's pretty accurate. Especially if you don't insist on March's entry being 12:00m on March 1 of any given year.
The theory is the same as the groundhog seeing his shadow, just a month later.

Summer seems to come sooner and in a more orderly manner when Spring is a series of thaws and refreezes. When Springtime is a Battle for Supremacy against the forces of Old Man Winter.

So, we await one more winter storm, hoping it will be the last one. This one is possibly going to be the Worst of the Winter. A Last Blast.

I, for one, certainly, hope so.

The winter started early for me, with a death.
And there have been deaths all winter long. Few if any have been winter related, but that really doesn't matter. The winter of 2013-2014 has been the Deadly Winter to me. Even now I'm praying that it doesn't end with a (specific) death. I am afraid for my friend. (Any prayers or the equivalent that you offer I thank you for in friend's name.)

I hate this winter.
Hate it, hate it, hate it.

When March roars in, I will be standing on my porch (the one with the last storm's tree limb still thrown on  it) and I will be roaring right back.
"Good bye, good riddance you sorry old killer, you." I may even throw in a few bad words, if it won't shock anyone  too much. Or maybe even if it does.

Afterward, we can celebrate my daughter's birthday with no tornadoes and no blizzards, the way it usually happens.

Happy Birthday, Tammy.

Close the (Bathroom) Door, Already

Public restrooms.
Need I say more?

But of all the problems with public restrooms, amid the litter and the empty rolls and soaps, the most annoying thing I encounter is the doors that won't close and stay closed.

How hard can it be to make a door that latches? Pioneers did it with no (well, minimal) tools. A stick of wood, a slot for the stick, and a mechanism to lift the stick. Pretty basic, don't you think?

I guess that that is too simple in this modern mechanized age. Why make a simple latch when a complicated series of switches, tumblers, knobs, and dials will make us (public entities) look so much more avant-garde?

Never mind if they don't work properly -- or at all. We don't want people spending times in the bathrooms anyway, using up our toilet paper and running out our water. We don't have to provide restrooms anyway. We just do it as a courtesy. (And to avoid clean-ups in Aisle 13.)

Well, when I have the choice, I will choose a place that has a bathroom where the stall doors can be closed securely instead of a place careless of privacy.

The maintenance of the public restroom speaks clearly of how the business thinks of their customers. Are they worthy of work and time, or aren't they?

And do we, as consumers, need to know anything more?

Welcome Armaggedon

I think it is time.
The world should end.
For all of us.

The only reason I can't end my own world is because I can't inflict that pain on Hailey. I can't even wish for my world to end, because I can't inflict that pain on Hailey.

But if the world itself came to an end, Hailey would be there, too.
No pain for her, whatever there might be in the next world.

If there is such a thing.

She could see her Mammaw Candy
She could run and laugh and play with her Pappaw. She could hold his hand and they could walk to the park together.
Something she has wished for.

And Warren, he could get to know his Pappaw. The man he brought smiles to, the man who had him laughing. The man he called first "a-a" and then "yaya" while now, months later, none of us have names yet.
The man who lit up when the boy was put in his arms.
The light of love and the light of happiness.
Laughter is oh so much that same light.


For myself, I want NOTHING.
Rest and peace and nothing.

I am broken.
I have been broken for a very long time.
I have been broken so long that I doubt I can be fixed.

Those that would fix me can't; those that could fix me (maybe) won't.

And it really doesn't matter.

But if the world were to end, the whole world, we could all be NOT sorry, NOT guilty, NOT alone;abandoned;hurting.


But, for now, the world goes on.
There will be yet another endless tomorrow.
And another.