I think my first Guardian Angel on Earth, was my Aunt Reen. She was comic relief, and nurturer wrapped in a tall redhead. When things at home seemed their worst, I could close my eyes and pretend she was my mother. Luckily, she is one Guardian that still walks among us, and is still nurturing me. And luckily, my Mom is my Mom.
God is a graceful God and has sent me Angels at just the right time all of my life. Of course, it was subtle, and I didn't realize until their time to move on had passed.
During my childhood years my Angels were various cousins and two teachers. Mrs. Bentley-kindergarten, and Mrs. Whitman, fifth grade. Both were patient and kind to this obviously odd child. I was plagued with what was called, later in life, "diarrhea of the mouth." It led to punishment at home. When, in fourth grade, I'd received yet another checkmark in that category, I hid under a desk--afraid to go home and face the wrath of Dad. To him, this was an embarrassment. I wonder if he was watching when the Dr. diagnosed me with ADD a year ago. Mrs. Whitman's calm demeanor somehow kept me in low gear, and the checkmarks disappeared.
In high school, Cindy Koester was my best friend. And I do mean best. Kids actually made fun of our friendship, wondering if we took care of each others behinds in the restroom. Cindy, as I learned years later, also came from an emotionally abusive home. Perhaps that is why we were so comfortable together. Unspoken pain lived out each day, shared with notes in the hall, or noon hour reflections on life. And boys. Always boys. Guardian Angel, I'm not sure. Lifesaver, certainly.
But, two of my greatest Guardian Angels up to that time were in high school. Miss Ebel and Miss Schleisinger. These were the people who read my pain, as I kept a journal for Miss Ebel's english class. Before this point, my writings were deemed good, but not believable. As Mrs. Thomas noted on one poetry assignment, "write about something you know." Gave me a D! She was in her sixties, I think, and did not believe children could possibly know about wanting to die, and such nonsense. But, Miss Ebel, fresh faced and straight out of college, did believe. And she shared those entries with Miss Schleisinger. Miss Ebel left notes acknowledging my pain. I was validated at last. And this kept my writing brain producing poetry for years to come. I wish I could find Miss Ebel. I would love for her to know what a positive influence she had on my survival. And, as many of my Guardian Angels do, she was gone May 27, 1978.
Over that 1978 summer, I gained my first paying employment. This job would nearly kill me, but it came with some wonderful Angels. First there was Marty. She was in an abusive relationship. This welcomed me to the "real world". From Marty I met Pam, who still remains a friend. Through Pam came many more "guardians in training". People that would listen, but not know quite what to do. I do hope they got their wings. My relationship with Pam led to a second family. The Dohertys of Pearl City are a close, loving family. I learned that hugs and kisses are good stuff. And being angry or sad are not a character fault, but a part of the human experience.
And Trixie. The most loyal, truthful, giving person I had ever met. Trixie is a gem. Put on this Earth by a wise God. Trixie was my first experience of unconditional love. She loved me through my depressions, mania, partying and affairs. When I finally got help for depression, she was the first to encourage. When I got a DUI, she bailed me out of jail. I surely hope her cousin, Maureen, had good strong shoulders, because I am sure Trixie complained about my irresponsibility many times! I still consider her a dear friend, although we've only seen each other a few times since I left that company.
After a stint in NJ as a nanny, I moved back to IL, and with no place to live, Ranee flew in to help. What I thought would be a stay of a few weeks turned into a few months. At some point I had overstayed my welcome. The next Angel's number was called and he swooped in with--well if you know Keith--bells on. He took me in. He slept on a cot in the living room for two months while I continued my search for gainful employment. He greeted me each morning with "Good Morning sunshine!", chasing away any chance of feeling sorry for myself. Keith is gay. I learned alot about that culture, taking away any questions of the orientation. Keith was also gay in the happy sense of the word. He was usually pleased with the day, and even if he wasn't he usually made me pleased with it. I've lost touch with Keith. I hope good things have happened for him.
During my first months back in IL, I dated a wonderful, hard working man. Nevin was also a Guardian Angel. I felt loved, special and worthy of someone's time. He helped me out of some financial problems--the result of not being able to find a job. He helped me see my body through his eyes...beautiful. "what part of your body do you most dislike?", he asked. I gave him my answer and he kissed it. I still think of him...what girl wouldn't!? It took me 12 years, but I paid him back every penny.
My cousin Brent, had become a best friend, and confidante over the years. His financial help to aquire a vehicle, so that I could go farther with my job searches, bumped him up to Angel status. That car cost $500, right fender rusted through to the ground, passenger floorboard open to the passing highway, and was a sight to behold. It got me to Monroe, where I was hired at the seasonal factory--clothing division. In time, Brent stopped sending Christmas cards and we lost touch. In the past few years he was diagnosed with Non-Hodkins Lymphoma. Brokenhearted, I called him. We kept in touch for awhile, but, again have not spoken for about a year. This is my bad. I have added him to my list of things to do, as I write.
Louise was my supervisor at Madeleine Fashions. I was an office clerk. I'd been able to save enough money to get an apartment. Even pay utilities. But, not food. Besides being a wonderful, fun lady, I believe Louise was put in my life for a reason. Maternal support. She helped me grieve when Nevin and I broke up. She calmed me down when I believed every error I made was the end of the world. She was wise. I let her down alot due to my common ailment of missing work due to depression. I would lay and cry after I called into work. She would address it, and let it go. She helped me buy food. It took 12 years to pay her $20 back, but I would not let this wonderful woman down again.
I don't think my next Guardian Angel was prominant until I became employed by Viking Ins. . Although, Kim was more like the Guardian Angel in "It's A Wonderful Life", she became one of the closest friends I've ever had. We were party partners in crime, and sounding boards for each others' dysfunctional families. We both had "daddy issues" and accepted each others' bad decisions. There was a gaping whole when Kim was cut out of my life. Although I got married, that hole was not filled again.
After the birth of Nick, came borderline post-partum psychosis, general depression, overwhelming fatigue (duh), and body aches that made caring for him torture on some days. Due to missing an exorbitant amount of work, Western States Ins. fired me. I understood. They had a business to run; I was not there to get the job done. Full time with Nick, an active, active baby, ran me into the familiar den of depression on a new level. It was suggested that I have someone watch him a couple days a week so that I could sleep. Jill Cummins became a part of my life. She specialized, at that time, in part-time child care. And she was a genuine, good person. It didn't take long before we were best friends. Another Angel there at just the right time. At some point, I began to feel better, and actually helped her out on my "Nick days". When we moved to O'ville, and Nick left her care, we lost touch...except at Christmas...when we went to cut down our tree on her tree farm. I am still in touch with this Angel, and she is now a Social Worker, a perfect fit for her!
My most recent Angels have been a family that helped me move from the house I had to sell, to a gracious landlord, to an old flame, to a schoolmate from the 70s that I am only now getting to know. The Janicke/Young family went up and down my 19 stairs countless times over two days, while I struggled with my emotions and my disability, to move me and Nick into the apartment that the Gracious Landlord rented to me, despite my inability to pay him until the house sold. The Old Flame floated across a Facebook page and a rekindled friendship was born. His relay of his life trials makes me feel useful again. I've always had a need to help fix others' problems, and although that is usually not possible, being given the opportunity is an honor. The Schoolmate. I know I didn't talk to him once in school. He was just sort of there, but as it is in school, not in my clique, hapless as it was. This man is funny, intelligent, compassionate, and generous. I so wish I had known him years ago. This week he has been my Guardian Angel. I hope our new friendship continues to grow.
There are so many people that have come and gone in my life and made it live-able when I didn't want to live it. I can not list them all, although it probably seems I have! Look at your life. Were there significant turning points? Who was there at the time? God knows your path before you do. Who did He drop in your path at a critical time? Even if it was only for a short time. Think about it. Then include them in your prayers tonight. Thank them, and thank God for being a giving, graceful God.
Today, I am thankful for my many Angels. No matter how the days twist and turn, God has my plan in front of him...and it will contain Guardian Angels. And perhaps, He has appointed me to someone. I hope so. I have alot of good deeds to payback!
Blessings....and don't forget to "live around it."
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Bullies
Fibromyalgia is a bully. Like the kid on the bus that pulled out clumps of my hair just to see me cry. Or the kid that flicked me on the arm until it was red and stinging...just to see me cry. This disease pulls and flicks and I want to cry. And scream. And sometimes hit back....but it's invisible, so no one to hit back. All I can do is Live Around It.
Live Around It. I am making that my credo, I think. Maybe that will make it go away? Haha. No, it's here, and so is it's cousin CFS. What are they?
Fibromyalgia is, as the commercial says, "widespread, deep pain". What the commercial doesn't tell you is that it has varying degrees. For some, a 24/7 pain. For some a horrific 24/7 pain, fatigue, IBS, neuropathy, migraines, numbness, weakness, foggy thinking, and a myriad of other presentations. The commercials would have you believe that taking one drug will send you to work, allow you to play with your kids, and take long trips. This is false representation. Not all medications work for all patients. For some patients, no medications work.
For me, Cymbalta takes the edge off, but it was not prescribed for Fibro. It was prescribed for depression. I also take ibruprofen every three and 1/2 hrs. B-vitamins help with fatigue. But, I am not bouncing off to work. I tried that route for 20 years. I missed alot of work. Can't even count the number of times I was on probation for attendance. But, I was a hard worker, knew my trade, and made it through the probations. Until I had my son. Then the Fibromyalgia really reared it's ugly head, along with post-partum borderline psychosis, and the missed days began adding up again. I was fired. I was not diagnosed with Fibromyalgia for another year. After being sighed to and told over and over again it was depression, I finally went to a Rheumatologist. He did a tender point test. Voila.
You can not see Fibromyalgia or ME/CFS. Therefore, we are doubted, ridiculed and just plain called liars. This fact played a part in the break-up of my marriage. I "just sat around all day". "I don't know what you do all day." The heartbreaker was being accused of not taking care of my children. Although I did not get along with my then 18 year old step-daughter, no parent was as close to a child as I was to my son, then 11. No, I couldn't play catch, or get down on the floor with him (Lord knows the times I did were catastrophic!), but I showed him Love. I packed his lunch. I attended every teacher conference, and Little League game, and Basketball game and home Football game. And, bleachers are planks of hell. LOL. I love my son, and my step-daughter. Period.
Today, I'm up at 7a.m. . Stiff, slight panic attack, headache, tired. But, I am up and out of bed. This is a big deal. I will try to change sheets today. I will wash my son's football gear. I will eat at least one meal. I will gather the garbage, walk it down my 19 stairs, get yesterday's mail, walk back UP my 19 stairs, crunch finance numbers and play on Facebook. Today, Fibromyalgia will not bully me.
Live Around It. I am making that my credo, I think. Maybe that will make it go away? Haha. No, it's here, and so is it's cousin CFS. What are they?
Fibromyalgia is, as the commercial says, "widespread, deep pain". What the commercial doesn't tell you is that it has varying degrees. For some, a 24/7 pain. For some a horrific 24/7 pain, fatigue, IBS, neuropathy, migraines, numbness, weakness, foggy thinking, and a myriad of other presentations. The commercials would have you believe that taking one drug will send you to work, allow you to play with your kids, and take long trips. This is false representation. Not all medications work for all patients. For some patients, no medications work.
For me, Cymbalta takes the edge off, but it was not prescribed for Fibro. It was prescribed for depression. I also take ibruprofen every three and 1/2 hrs. B-vitamins help with fatigue. But, I am not bouncing off to work. I tried that route for 20 years. I missed alot of work. Can't even count the number of times I was on probation for attendance. But, I was a hard worker, knew my trade, and made it through the probations. Until I had my son. Then the Fibromyalgia really reared it's ugly head, along with post-partum borderline psychosis, and the missed days began adding up again. I was fired. I was not diagnosed with Fibromyalgia for another year. After being sighed to and told over and over again it was depression, I finally went to a Rheumatologist. He did a tender point test. Voila.
You can not see Fibromyalgia or ME/CFS. Therefore, we are doubted, ridiculed and just plain called liars. This fact played a part in the break-up of my marriage. I "just sat around all day". "I don't know what you do all day." The heartbreaker was being accused of not taking care of my children. Although I did not get along with my then 18 year old step-daughter, no parent was as close to a child as I was to my son, then 11. No, I couldn't play catch, or get down on the floor with him (Lord knows the times I did were catastrophic!), but I showed him Love. I packed his lunch. I attended every teacher conference, and Little League game, and Basketball game and home Football game. And, bleachers are planks of hell. LOL. I love my son, and my step-daughter. Period.
Today, I'm up at 7a.m. . Stiff, slight panic attack, headache, tired. But, I am up and out of bed. This is a big deal. I will try to change sheets today. I will wash my son's football gear. I will eat at least one meal. I will gather the garbage, walk it down my 19 stairs, get yesterday's mail, walk back UP my 19 stairs, crunch finance numbers and play on Facebook. Today, Fibromyalgia will not bully me.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Ain't love a hoot?
I remember the first time I felt that feeling. Second grade. Mark Spittler. Of course, the grown-ups didn't call it love. But, whatever that feeling was, I liked it! It was not returned, but that didn't stop me from chasing the poor boy all over the playground and school bus, embarrassing him to death. Of course, that feeling came and went and caused me another feeling-pain-many times over my 40 years in the romance business.
I remember the first rejection, as well. Mark Spittler, second grade. You know it took me 20 years to figure out that guys don't like to be chased. That's alot of rejection. Alot of hurt. Once I figured it out, I made great guy friends. Friends. For them. Watched them meet their dream gal, while I silently grieved another love lost.
Don't get me wrong. I had some real love. Wonderful, curl your toes, love. Roger was my first adult romance. He was way too old for my 19 years. Twenty eight and divorced. But, he was funny, handsome, hard working, and he loved me. He hated that he loved me, but he did. And Tim loved me very much. As they say on Facebook, "it's complicated." Everyone could see how much in love we were. Many commented on how cute we were. But, for some reason, we labeled it "friends". Wow, if that's what friends are, I want me a boatload!! It finally came to a point of choice. He found another gal attractive, and asked me if we were friends or more. My experience was that telling a man how you really feel--in love--will send them running for the hills. I told Tim we were just friends. I cried for days. He went on to marry that girl. And every now and again I wonder...what if I'd told him what everyone already knew? What if...?
After my romance with Tim I went through a string of affairs and one nite stands. Honestly believing that if a man would have sex with me, he must care. And always in the back of mind, the need to prove my dad wrong. I was not ugly. Some man would want me. I really had no idea, until I was in my 30's that men really don't care as long as they get sex. All men. Every man. So, I stopped pursuing my dream of a "Mr. Right."
I met my husband several years later. He said he loved me. I said I loved him. And now I wonder. I landed in his life at a pivotal time for him. I am a strong believer that things happen when and where and with whom they are supposed to. I fit a need in his life at that time. When that need was filled and accomplished, there was no longer a need for me. We drifted apart, and divorced after nearly 13 years of marriage. And a wonderful son. A whole other kind of love.
In the two years since the divorce, I have stayed pretty secluded. And then my hobby, Facebook, threw me a curve. It's been a roller coaster for the past six months. An old "flame" crossed my cyber path. What a wonderful time the beginning of that reconnection was! Chatting, talking every day. Rediscovering each others' lives. Each other. I was a friend, listening to his trials--a sounding board of sorts. I was a lover. Giving him every slice of passion I had. And then I wasn't. And there's that feeling again. No different than being rejected by Mark Spittler in the second grade. And that drama continues.
Today, I am in second grade, and for the umteenth time, Mark Spittler has punched me and run away laughing with his friends.
I remember the first rejection, as well. Mark Spittler, second grade. You know it took me 20 years to figure out that guys don't like to be chased. That's alot of rejection. Alot of hurt. Once I figured it out, I made great guy friends. Friends. For them. Watched them meet their dream gal, while I silently grieved another love lost.
Don't get me wrong. I had some real love. Wonderful, curl your toes, love. Roger was my first adult romance. He was way too old for my 19 years. Twenty eight and divorced. But, he was funny, handsome, hard working, and he loved me. He hated that he loved me, but he did. And Tim loved me very much. As they say on Facebook, "it's complicated." Everyone could see how much in love we were. Many commented on how cute we were. But, for some reason, we labeled it "friends". Wow, if that's what friends are, I want me a boatload!! It finally came to a point of choice. He found another gal attractive, and asked me if we were friends or more. My experience was that telling a man how you really feel--in love--will send them running for the hills. I told Tim we were just friends. I cried for days. He went on to marry that girl. And every now and again I wonder...what if I'd told him what everyone already knew? What if...?
After my romance with Tim I went through a string of affairs and one nite stands. Honestly believing that if a man would have sex with me, he must care. And always in the back of mind, the need to prove my dad wrong. I was not ugly. Some man would want me. I really had no idea, until I was in my 30's that men really don't care as long as they get sex. All men. Every man. So, I stopped pursuing my dream of a "Mr. Right."
I met my husband several years later. He said he loved me. I said I loved him. And now I wonder. I landed in his life at a pivotal time for him. I am a strong believer that things happen when and where and with whom they are supposed to. I fit a need in his life at that time. When that need was filled and accomplished, there was no longer a need for me. We drifted apart, and divorced after nearly 13 years of marriage. And a wonderful son. A whole other kind of love.
In the two years since the divorce, I have stayed pretty secluded. And then my hobby, Facebook, threw me a curve. It's been a roller coaster for the past six months. An old "flame" crossed my cyber path. What a wonderful time the beginning of that reconnection was! Chatting, talking every day. Rediscovering each others' lives. Each other. I was a friend, listening to his trials--a sounding board of sorts. I was a lover. Giving him every slice of passion I had. And then I wasn't. And there's that feeling again. No different than being rejected by Mark Spittler in the second grade. And that drama continues.
Today, I am in second grade, and for the umteenth time, Mark Spittler has punched me and run away laughing with his friends.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Mommy
Today I go visit Mom. This is a new Mom. This Mom overtook my other Mom 11/08.
Thanksgiving day, to be exact, and we were all there watching it and had no idea. She was having a stroke--all day--and we didn't see it. She was way off balance. Not unusual, she had vertigo. She was more on edge than I was used to seeing. But, her small apartment was filled with people, she was trying to get food on the table and keep the conversation moving. I get a bit snappy in that situation as well. That night she fell. She hasn't lived in her cute little apartment since.
The woman I saw that weekend could not speak. She could not move her right side. She could not sense the need to use the bathroom. Her eyes spoke in loud voices, "I am trying to talk to you!", but I heard nothing. It was called Apraxia, we were told. Doctors didn't know how much of her brain was damaged. Time. They would know in time. They did know that she'd suffered a large stroke, caused by years of high blood pressure, and most recently, Diabetes.
Some time passed, perhaps six weeks, and she was transferred to Galena Hospital. At least in Galena it was closer for my sister-sans vehicle-to visit. Janet has been relentless is making sure Mom feels loved, and being a watchdog in her treatment by staff. She has a knack for care giving. It is exhausting for her, as she suffers with the same ailments I do, plus a few, but she soldiers on. My family is blessed to have her.
It was only a week or two when my stepdad, Nubs, walked into her room and she said, "Hi!" He wept. You'd have to know Nubs, but he has a robust way of talking, always cheerful, always happy to see you. So when he responded, "There's my sweetie!", you can bet the rest of the floor heard it!
Since that time, she has been transferred to the Galena Nursing Home, where she now lives. She can talk, although at times she can't come up with a common word for something. If she is very tired, she may not be able to comprehend what you're saying if you chatter on about too many things. She has fair use of her right arm and hand. She is able to move her right foot some. She can not walk. Oh, for short distances she could walk with a walker, but her foot turns in and trips her up. So, she is in a wheelchair. She can not toilet without help, which is what keeps her in nursing.
But, what has been hardest, at least for me, is the new personality. Mom was always a "smile, just smile, and no one will know how awful I feel", kind of person. She, of course, still smiles, but only between periods of rage, depression and frustration. Things that she used to bite her tongue about now agitate her to no end. I've been fairly luck in my visits in that her agitated periods are pretty minor and short lived. Janet, who visits five days a week, sees the New Mom all of the time. And, I know she resents, even if she doesn't know or admit it, that I don't visit more.
I live an hour away. My cute little SUV is slowly falling apart. At twelve years of age, and with all original parts, it has done well. But, as all things do, it is losing the age battle. Tires have worn through. Tailpipe rusted off. Then there was this roaring sound halfway to Galena on Mother's Day. Actually, a bit comical when you see that little thing roaring like Indy. Gaskets, I believe. I can't afford to get it fixed, so any long trip, and by long I mean 10 miles, makes me nervous. The trip to Galena terrifies me. So, I only visit one, MAYbe two times a month. I depended on updates from Janet, which she couldn't afford. Ah, the joy of Facebook! She was finally hooked up to cyberspace and can now update me online. Nevertheless, I feel guilty nearly everyday that I don't visit like Janet does.
I lied. What has been THE hardest has been not having my friend to talk to. Just pick up the phone because something happened to some celebrity, or that Nick had a good run in football. If I called, she'd answer, "It's you!", if she called me, she'd say "It's you!!" Just a goofy running joke. Yesterday she called to double check my visit today, and in her weak, old lady voice said, "It's you!". I was grinning from ear to ear. Of course my answer was, "It's me! Is that you?" She chuckled. When I visit, she wants to hear my life stories, sadly, there aren't many, but even the simplest entertain her.
So, today I visit my New Mom. I wish I'd told her earlier on in life how much i appreciated her sense of humor, her love of nature, music and movies. I wish it hadn't taken my Dad's death in '01 to realize how quickly things can change, and to say "I love you"--and mean it--more. I loved my first Mom and I love New Mom, but now she is like a child, so the love is different. I know she loves me. It radiates from her. How precious and ever changing Love is!
Today, tell someone you love them. Surprise someone you've not said it to, but meant to. Don't always expect to hear it back. Not everyone is comfortable saying it, but everyone feels it. Everyone.
I love you!
Thanksgiving day, to be exact, and we were all there watching it and had no idea. She was having a stroke--all day--and we didn't see it. She was way off balance. Not unusual, she had vertigo. She was more on edge than I was used to seeing. But, her small apartment was filled with people, she was trying to get food on the table and keep the conversation moving. I get a bit snappy in that situation as well. That night she fell. She hasn't lived in her cute little apartment since.
The woman I saw that weekend could not speak. She could not move her right side. She could not sense the need to use the bathroom. Her eyes spoke in loud voices, "I am trying to talk to you!", but I heard nothing. It was called Apraxia, we were told. Doctors didn't know how much of her brain was damaged. Time. They would know in time. They did know that she'd suffered a large stroke, caused by years of high blood pressure, and most recently, Diabetes.
Some time passed, perhaps six weeks, and she was transferred to Galena Hospital. At least in Galena it was closer for my sister-sans vehicle-to visit. Janet has been relentless is making sure Mom feels loved, and being a watchdog in her treatment by staff. She has a knack for care giving. It is exhausting for her, as she suffers with the same ailments I do, plus a few, but she soldiers on. My family is blessed to have her.
It was only a week or two when my stepdad, Nubs, walked into her room and she said, "Hi!" He wept. You'd have to know Nubs, but he has a robust way of talking, always cheerful, always happy to see you. So when he responded, "There's my sweetie!", you can bet the rest of the floor heard it!
Since that time, she has been transferred to the Galena Nursing Home, where she now lives. She can talk, although at times she can't come up with a common word for something. If she is very tired, she may not be able to comprehend what you're saying if you chatter on about too many things. She has fair use of her right arm and hand. She is able to move her right foot some. She can not walk. Oh, for short distances she could walk with a walker, but her foot turns in and trips her up. So, she is in a wheelchair. She can not toilet without help, which is what keeps her in nursing.
But, what has been hardest, at least for me, is the new personality. Mom was always a "smile, just smile, and no one will know how awful I feel", kind of person. She, of course, still smiles, but only between periods of rage, depression and frustration. Things that she used to bite her tongue about now agitate her to no end. I've been fairly luck in my visits in that her agitated periods are pretty minor and short lived. Janet, who visits five days a week, sees the New Mom all of the time. And, I know she resents, even if she doesn't know or admit it, that I don't visit more.
I live an hour away. My cute little SUV is slowly falling apart. At twelve years of age, and with all original parts, it has done well. But, as all things do, it is losing the age battle. Tires have worn through. Tailpipe rusted off. Then there was this roaring sound halfway to Galena on Mother's Day. Actually, a bit comical when you see that little thing roaring like Indy. Gaskets, I believe. I can't afford to get it fixed, so any long trip, and by long I mean 10 miles, makes me nervous. The trip to Galena terrifies me. So, I only visit one, MAYbe two times a month. I depended on updates from Janet, which she couldn't afford. Ah, the joy of Facebook! She was finally hooked up to cyberspace and can now update me online. Nevertheless, I feel guilty nearly everyday that I don't visit like Janet does.
I lied. What has been THE hardest has been not having my friend to talk to. Just pick up the phone because something happened to some celebrity, or that Nick had a good run in football. If I called, she'd answer, "It's you!", if she called me, she'd say "It's you!!" Just a goofy running joke. Yesterday she called to double check my visit today, and in her weak, old lady voice said, "It's you!". I was grinning from ear to ear. Of course my answer was, "It's me! Is that you?" She chuckled. When I visit, she wants to hear my life stories, sadly, there aren't many, but even the simplest entertain her.
So, today I visit my New Mom. I wish I'd told her earlier on in life how much i appreciated her sense of humor, her love of nature, music and movies. I wish it hadn't taken my Dad's death in '01 to realize how quickly things can change, and to say "I love you"--and mean it--more. I loved my first Mom and I love New Mom, but now she is like a child, so the love is different. I know she loves me. It radiates from her. How precious and ever changing Love is!
Today, tell someone you love them. Surprise someone you've not said it to, but meant to. Don't always expect to hear it back. Not everyone is comfortable saying it, but everyone feels it. Everyone.
I love you!
Sunday, August 8, 2010
A Weekend well spent...
It doesn't happen often, but the weekend was nice. Of course, it's only 7:30am, so I suppose something could go wrong, but I'm going to be positive.
Went down to our local watering hole for the first time in six months. It's nice to be missed! And, I've lost 75lbs in the past 12 mos., so that was noticed, which was nice. I absolutely thought I'd be downtown for a couple, when 11pm rolled around! So a six hour stint on a bar stool has my patootie aching! Slept in 'til 12:45pm, got up, ate something, read my Facebook posts, and went down for a nap at 3pm. What a life!
In addition, when I got home, I performed Drunk-Facebooking. In my case it just means trying to read posts with blurry vision...but then that's they way it is most of the time anyway. I began a conversation with a man I was in school with. He is a year older than I, and apparently painfully shy. Not online, however. We enjoy chatting for long periods of time, and it's obvious to anyone reading out banters that we like each other..."like" at 50? So, I went for it, because I knew he wouldn't. We will be meeting at the main park in Freeport on Thursday. Only thought about mosquitoes yesterday. They're pretty bad because of the area's recent flooding. This park was one of the hardest hit areas. So we could be in for some blood loss. I'm nervous about "meeting" him. We went to school at the same time, but hung out with entirely different people. He sort of blended in with the lockers, I was, unfortunately, loud and dying for attention. Two different kinds of dysfunction. His story far surpasses the pain in my own. So, as Thursday rolls closer, I'll do what I always do...worry.
Actually, this is a busy week for me! Quick trip to Monroe for meds tomorrow, west, to Galena, to see Mom on Wednesday, then to see Barry in Freeport on Thursday. For me, this is a full schedule! Im sure by Friday I'll be worn out, but seeing Mom and Barry will be nice.
Later, I'll go to meet my ex for the child exchange. He lives in Rockford, I in O'ville, so we meet in a central town, Pecatonica, at a Mobil station. It reminds me of a favorite movie "Bye, Bye Love". The story of three single, weekend dads. Their exchanges were always at a McDonalds. On Fridays I can range from "isn't it time for him to go yet", to "God this place seems huge without him" By Sunday, I am looking forward to seeing Nick again. He is such a good boy...err...young man. Yes, he is now a teenager and pushes me as far as he can, but I am proud of his compassionate heart, sense of humor, and intelligence. And if he reads this, he will give me the nasty eye and demand I delete it. Can't a Mom brag about her son?
These past blog entries have not been the dynamic tear jerkers I thought they'd be, but I'm just starting. Next, I will jump into "How They Met".
God Bless!
Ann
Went down to our local watering hole for the first time in six months. It's nice to be missed! And, I've lost 75lbs in the past 12 mos., so that was noticed, which was nice. I absolutely thought I'd be downtown for a couple, when 11pm rolled around! So a six hour stint on a bar stool has my patootie aching! Slept in 'til 12:45pm, got up, ate something, read my Facebook posts, and went down for a nap at 3pm. What a life!
In addition, when I got home, I performed Drunk-Facebooking. In my case it just means trying to read posts with blurry vision...but then that's they way it is most of the time anyway. I began a conversation with a man I was in school with. He is a year older than I, and apparently painfully shy. Not online, however. We enjoy chatting for long periods of time, and it's obvious to anyone reading out banters that we like each other..."like" at 50? So, I went for it, because I knew he wouldn't. We will be meeting at the main park in Freeport on Thursday. Only thought about mosquitoes yesterday. They're pretty bad because of the area's recent flooding. This park was one of the hardest hit areas. So we could be in for some blood loss. I'm nervous about "meeting" him. We went to school at the same time, but hung out with entirely different people. He sort of blended in with the lockers, I was, unfortunately, loud and dying for attention. Two different kinds of dysfunction. His story far surpasses the pain in my own. So, as Thursday rolls closer, I'll do what I always do...worry.
Actually, this is a busy week for me! Quick trip to Monroe for meds tomorrow, west, to Galena, to see Mom on Wednesday, then to see Barry in Freeport on Thursday. For me, this is a full schedule! Im sure by Friday I'll be worn out, but seeing Mom and Barry will be nice.
Later, I'll go to meet my ex for the child exchange. He lives in Rockford, I in O'ville, so we meet in a central town, Pecatonica, at a Mobil station. It reminds me of a favorite movie "Bye, Bye Love". The story of three single, weekend dads. Their exchanges were always at a McDonalds. On Fridays I can range from "isn't it time for him to go yet", to "God this place seems huge without him" By Sunday, I am looking forward to seeing Nick again. He is such a good boy...err...young man. Yes, he is now a teenager and pushes me as far as he can, but I am proud of his compassionate heart, sense of humor, and intelligence. And if he reads this, he will give me the nasty eye and demand I delete it. Can't a Mom brag about her son?
These past blog entries have not been the dynamic tear jerkers I thought they'd be, but I'm just starting. Next, I will jump into "How They Met".
God Bless!
Ann
Friday, August 6, 2010
Good Days...and then...
Yesterday was a good day...until it wasn't. Part of my Bi-Polar? The old hurt of being picked last in gym? At any rate, I went to bed with that ache in my chest. Woke up yesterday with the promise of a new day, sunny day, open up the windows day! Then, as it does, around 4 o'clock-ish every day, the ache started to set in. I work very hard on shoo-ing it away. I talk Bible verses outloud. I pray for strength. And I think of every reason for that hurt to be a waste of my energy and time. I keep saying I'm okay, and I'll work through it. And, the damn thing keeps stabbing at my already tender heart. Of course, I know what it is, and why it is, but I can't seem to get a handle on deleting what it is. Being picked last hurts. It did in grade school, and it still does.
Today, I awaken, immediately, to the same feeling. Dreams just won't let stuff go. But, here I am, "talking t' ya'll" (Lorretta Lynn, Coal Miner's Daughter), and I'm starting to feel some better. The night was cool, and humidity low, this am it's sunny--the day has promise. As long as the ibruprofen flows, it will be good. Nick (age 13) goes to his Dad's for the weekend, and I, yes I, have been demanded for public appearance. Okay, a great guy --engaged, way young--misses me down at the local temple of spirits. And I think I will appear. It will be my first public appearance since February. I'm sure nothing will have changed...except my appearance...but I will grace the place with my presence.
Today, I notice the Fibromyalgia with vigor! Holy, well, holy nothing, it hurts! As I did the other day, I scratched an itch (a real itch, silly) and my arm throbbed for half an hour. This disease--as it is finally called--is cruel. I look fine. And, there are those that have never believed there is pain or fatigue (not sleepiness) or dizziness, or foggy thinking, or...well anyway...but there is. And it sucks. I know there are people with so many worse burdens. I know that. And, unfortunately it is in my nature to want to fix their hurts. But, I can't fix them anymore than I can fix this. Being called a liar, whether outright, or with head-shaking, and eye-rolling is beyond frustrating. And when you are in the depths of a "flare" it's downright angering. There are new meds for Fibromyalgia. Okay, one new, and a couple they've discovered help the pain. I am fortunate enough to suffer with chronic depression and anxiety, that I am taking Cymbalta. "Cymbalta can help with the pain." And it does take the edge off. Show me a smiley pain chart and it takes my pain down to the face with only one tear. Occasionally, I have days with the straight face. Those are good days! Still, I write as much down as I can, or I just plain forget. Everything. Except that damn hurt in paragraph one. The fatigue, well that's a nap issue. For real! Naps and easy does it. Okay, it takes me a week to clean a 5-room apartment, but it's clean! On the days that my skin and hair hurt, I do nothing. The typical cycle--overdo when you feel alright, then pay for it for days. Yep.
Time for my dryer. Yes, I do things besides hang on the computer. The computer just seems to understand me the best!
"All things are possible through Christ who strengthens me"
AMEN!
Today, I awaken, immediately, to the same feeling. Dreams just won't let stuff go. But, here I am, "talking t' ya'll" (Lorretta Lynn, Coal Miner's Daughter), and I'm starting to feel some better. The night was cool, and humidity low, this am it's sunny--the day has promise. As long as the ibruprofen flows, it will be good. Nick (age 13) goes to his Dad's for the weekend, and I, yes I, have been demanded for public appearance. Okay, a great guy --engaged, way young--misses me down at the local temple of spirits. And I think I will appear. It will be my first public appearance since February. I'm sure nothing will have changed...except my appearance...but I will grace the place with my presence.
Today, I notice the Fibromyalgia with vigor! Holy, well, holy nothing, it hurts! As I did the other day, I scratched an itch (a real itch, silly) and my arm throbbed for half an hour. This disease--as it is finally called--is cruel. I look fine. And, there are those that have never believed there is pain or fatigue (not sleepiness) or dizziness, or foggy thinking, or...well anyway...but there is. And it sucks. I know there are people with so many worse burdens. I know that. And, unfortunately it is in my nature to want to fix their hurts. But, I can't fix them anymore than I can fix this. Being called a liar, whether outright, or with head-shaking, and eye-rolling is beyond frustrating. And when you are in the depths of a "flare" it's downright angering. There are new meds for Fibromyalgia. Okay, one new, and a couple they've discovered help the pain. I am fortunate enough to suffer with chronic depression and anxiety, that I am taking Cymbalta. "Cymbalta can help with the pain." And it does take the edge off. Show me a smiley pain chart and it takes my pain down to the face with only one tear. Occasionally, I have days with the straight face. Those are good days! Still, I write as much down as I can, or I just plain forget. Everything. Except that damn hurt in paragraph one. The fatigue, well that's a nap issue. For real! Naps and easy does it. Okay, it takes me a week to clean a 5-room apartment, but it's clean! On the days that my skin and hair hurt, I do nothing. The typical cycle--overdo when you feel alright, then pay for it for days. Yep.
Time for my dryer. Yes, I do things besides hang on the computer. The computer just seems to understand me the best!
"All things are possible through Christ who strengthens me"
AMEN!
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Nice To Meet You!
Small Town USA. This is My Town. Really, it is. Eight hundred people. Two bars, two churches--I imagine to balance each other out--one Elementary School, one JR/SR High School. Code name Broncos. One park, three basketball hoops, no stoplights..
Of course, it wasn't always like this. I was born in Dubuque, IA, lived in Galena, Stockton, and Freeport IL. Short stint in Summit, NJ, as a nanny. Back to IL town #3. Jobless, depending on the gracious spirit of friends for a place to live. Four months later, I was able to get into my own place. After spending 11 years in the car/home insurance business, became a part-time, temp-only employee of several places. In addition to walking my ass off in my first insurance gig, I've worked in the office of a clothing business, in the warehouse of that same business, taken water bill payments, even sold carpet for about a month. I....am not a salesperson.
I landed back in the insurance industry as an accounting clerk. Full-time, temp. I eventually got a steady job at the company, rating new applications. Believe or not, it was the job I enjoyed the most over the years. When the company started cutting jobs, the stress of wondering when my time would come led me to quit. By this time I'd met my ex-husband, become an instant Mom, and had a roommate for the first time in my 13 years on my own. He okayed my need to quit that job, citing that I could take a few months off, but would have to find something else. Made sense. However, my stellar (lol) resume landed me a job at an insurance agency. This turned out to be an uncomfortable "family" business, in which I just didn't fit. Three months later, had a different job at yet another auto/home insurance company (Freeport's loaded with 'em), and was to be married three months later. Not the job of my dreams, but a nice paying, steady job.
I already had several friends from previous employments...thank God. People at this company were snotty and rude. And women in the workplace...not my cup of tea. I've never been a gossip or a sniper (not the gun kind), therefore I did not fit in. A-gin, as Forrest Gump would say. It was as if I could feel the claws on my back everyday. For what reason, I'm sure I'll never know.
I found out I was pregnant just shy of a year of employment there. Glowing? Not so much. Four bladder infections, depression, little support led to time off at four months. Work group NOT happy. Yep, four months pregnant and I was on Exile Island (for you fellow Survivor fans). Everyone thought I was faking. My ex was perplexed. His first wife never had these problems....another entry for another day. Sure enough at eight months I developed pre-eclampsia, was hospitalized, then bedridden for the final month. Although the ex was not crazy about that, he was supportive.
Nicholas Robert Wilkinson was born at 7:01pm on December 16, 1996, after an induced labor, a contraction belt malfunction, too much pitocin, and a blood pressure machine that finally shut down and displayed the message "Please fix me". This did happen...surely some nurse documented it. Nick scared me, and thrilled me all at once. The ex told me "You did it!", made a couple phone calls, and was back at home before I'd even been cleaned up and given a room, The day was just too long for him. Yep, it was a doozy. But, on a high note, he did sell a cell phone to the head nurse, so it was all good....my God can that man sell!!
Fast forward (please?). Ex left in '08. That year we lost him, our favorite dog, ex's mother & and brother, and his first wife's stepfather (Papa to Nick). The next year, being within an inch of being foreclosed upon, I was forced too sell the house we'd had built to our specs. One story, to accommodate my failing physical health, open, light, TWO baths! The selling experience nearly put me down. By moving day I was an emotional and physical tragedy, barely able to haul boxes up the 19 stairs required, unable to set foot in the basement I'd spent months cleaning out. How bad was I? My glorious son took me gently by the shoulders and said "Mom, it's gonna work out. We'll get it done." Secretly, the God-sent moving crew made a plan to make sure that the bed was set up before the first day was over. How blessed was I??
It's been a year, now, in this little apartment. It's just right for Nick and me. The landlord is a good, kind man. And, it is my refuge from a world I don't trust all that much. As is my computer. I live my life through Facebook. I am disabled, though I don't look it--again, another entry--and once the house chores are done, I plant crops, bake, bartend, zoo-keep, grow wine and beat my way through the frontier. But, I also get to stay in touch with people I haven't talked to in years. How much we all have in common! I have found many Christians that have lifted me up in prayer time and again, and I them.
And here I am. A writer in need of a medium. Oh yes! I am a writer. A damn good one, if I do say so. I've written over 200 poems, and a few childrens stories. Various poems have been published in many Poetry.com anthologies. Here, as in my poetry, I will express feelings. Perhaps not today. To much 'get to know me' stuff. But, you will feel me.
Enjoy this day. It was made for you!
Of course, it wasn't always like this. I was born in Dubuque, IA, lived in Galena, Stockton, and Freeport IL. Short stint in Summit, NJ, as a nanny. Back to IL town #3. Jobless, depending on the gracious spirit of friends for a place to live. Four months later, I was able to get into my own place. After spending 11 years in the car/home insurance business, became a part-time, temp-only employee of several places. In addition to walking my ass off in my first insurance gig, I've worked in the office of a clothing business, in the warehouse of that same business, taken water bill payments, even sold carpet for about a month. I....am not a salesperson.
I landed back in the insurance industry as an accounting clerk. Full-time, temp. I eventually got a steady job at the company, rating new applications. Believe or not, it was the job I enjoyed the most over the years. When the company started cutting jobs, the stress of wondering when my time would come led me to quit. By this time I'd met my ex-husband, become an instant Mom, and had a roommate for the first time in my 13 years on my own. He okayed my need to quit that job, citing that I could take a few months off, but would have to find something else. Made sense. However, my stellar (lol) resume landed me a job at an insurance agency. This turned out to be an uncomfortable "family" business, in which I just didn't fit. Three months later, had a different job at yet another auto/home insurance company (Freeport's loaded with 'em), and was to be married three months later. Not the job of my dreams, but a nice paying, steady job.
I already had several friends from previous employments...thank God. People at this company were snotty and rude. And women in the workplace...not my cup of tea. I've never been a gossip or a sniper (not the gun kind), therefore I did not fit in. A-gin, as Forrest Gump would say. It was as if I could feel the claws on my back everyday. For what reason, I'm sure I'll never know.
I found out I was pregnant just shy of a year of employment there. Glowing? Not so much. Four bladder infections, depression, little support led to time off at four months. Work group NOT happy. Yep, four months pregnant and I was on Exile Island (for you fellow Survivor fans). Everyone thought I was faking. My ex was perplexed. His first wife never had these problems....another entry for another day. Sure enough at eight months I developed pre-eclampsia, was hospitalized, then bedridden for the final month. Although the ex was not crazy about that, he was supportive.
Nicholas Robert Wilkinson was born at 7:01pm on December 16, 1996, after an induced labor, a contraction belt malfunction, too much pitocin, and a blood pressure machine that finally shut down and displayed the message "Please fix me". This did happen...surely some nurse documented it. Nick scared me, and thrilled me all at once. The ex told me "You did it!", made a couple phone calls, and was back at home before I'd even been cleaned up and given a room, The day was just too long for him. Yep, it was a doozy. But, on a high note, he did sell a cell phone to the head nurse, so it was all good....my God can that man sell!!
Fast forward (please?). Ex left in '08. That year we lost him, our favorite dog, ex's mother & and brother, and his first wife's stepfather (Papa to Nick). The next year, being within an inch of being foreclosed upon, I was forced too sell the house we'd had built to our specs. One story, to accommodate my failing physical health, open, light, TWO baths! The selling experience nearly put me down. By moving day I was an emotional and physical tragedy, barely able to haul boxes up the 19 stairs required, unable to set foot in the basement I'd spent months cleaning out. How bad was I? My glorious son took me gently by the shoulders and said "Mom, it's gonna work out. We'll get it done." Secretly, the God-sent moving crew made a plan to make sure that the bed was set up before the first day was over. How blessed was I??
It's been a year, now, in this little apartment. It's just right for Nick and me. The landlord is a good, kind man. And, it is my refuge from a world I don't trust all that much. As is my computer. I live my life through Facebook. I am disabled, though I don't look it--again, another entry--and once the house chores are done, I plant crops, bake, bartend, zoo-keep, grow wine and beat my way through the frontier. But, I also get to stay in touch with people I haven't talked to in years. How much we all have in common! I have found many Christians that have lifted me up in prayer time and again, and I them.
And here I am. A writer in need of a medium. Oh yes! I am a writer. A damn good one, if I do say so. I've written over 200 poems, and a few childrens stories. Various poems have been published in many Poetry.com anthologies. Here, as in my poetry, I will express feelings. Perhaps not today. To much 'get to know me' stuff. But, you will feel me.
Enjoy this day. It was made for you!
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