Time and Christmas

     It is the season of goodwill, celebration, and family.  It is the time, for Christian children to learn the story of a King born, and of a fat man in a red, flannel suit that scurries down chimneys and leaves gifts beyond their wildest dreams. The two seem worlds apart, but history shows that without the love for the Christ child, there would be no St. Nicholas.  
     I remember making lists, as a child, going through the J.C.Penny catalog and circling toys, and turning down pages so that there would be no doubt as to my desires. Writing the list for Santa was specific, with page numbers and all.  And Santa always got it right.  And how!  I wasn't aware until adulthood that not everyone gets 20 presents from Santa every year.  I would relay my treasures to classmates after Christmas break and get curious looks.  No wonder they treated me like the plague.
     As an adult, when I became a stepmother, I took on the top secret mission of mailing letters to Santa.  As my stepdaughter watched, I wrote his name on the envelope, attached the stamp and put it by the door to mail the next day.  When she left for school, the letter was removed from the mailbox, stamp retrieved, and letter kept in my wallet.  After all, I was part of the Jolly Fat Guy club.  I'm not sure if my son wrote letters.  How odd that I can't remember that.....
     When the days of Christmas arrived, I, along with my children later, practically burst with anticipation.  Well, in my case, I  anticipated actually receiving the gift, since I'd already found the stash, and knew every gift I was getting.  Those days of gift exchanges and huge meals were as much a part of Christmas for us as the actual Birth.  Grandparents and Aunts spoiled, parents, too.  At the end, everyone was exhausted, but satisfied.
     So much happens over the years.  Celebrations that once included numbers near 20 are now pared down as loved ones have passed or become ill.  Gathering places are lost due to divorce.  These changes have been the hardest of all the changes my life has presented me with.  One Christmas, it's hoopla at Grandma's, then a quiet gathering at Mom's, and now a trip to the nursing home to see Mom.  
     Gift-wise, I make sure I am able to get Nick his birthday and Christmas gift, which fall nine days apart.  They are not always on time, but they are given.  He always knows what he's getting because he has his father's persuasive nature, and always gets it out of me somehow.  Well, that, and I have to compare notes with his Dad, and just as the Grinch's heart grew three sizes that day, so do Nick's ears when I'm talking to his Dad.
     Yes, much has changed.  But even when the loneliness of my "new" Christmas tries to grip me, I remember why there were ever toy sections in the catalog, sneaky Santa letter doings, or eating more food in one sitting since...well...Thanksgiving.  The Birth of our Saviour, Jesus Christ.  The one God sent to a poor couple to teach us, lead us, and die for our sins.  What a glorious gift!
     However, in the Santa sense of the season, I did something recently I haven't done in perhaps 35 years.  I put pen to paper and made my Christmas list.  The first things that came to mind were food, bills, gas, and I thought, NO!  What, Ann, do you want?  Desire to have that you would not spend your money on?  Quite a concept for someone who has been living down to her last 12 cents each pay period, and still comes up short on something.  What did I want?  Well the first item was gas cards, and I know that's a need not a want, but watching the gas needle has become a source of panic for me, so it's sort of a want, right?  Next, and this will surprise no one that knows me, Facebook Credits, so that playing my frustrating, addicting games bring a bit less frustration.  Quit playing?  Well, that's crazy talk!  Movies.  Lots of new releases that I've heard so much about, but can't afford to see in the theatre.  Music.  Whether CD's or iTunes, it matters not.  A "Straight Talk" phone.  More practical, more features. An 18" box cut gold chain for my Black Hills Gold Cross--I miss it around my neck.   And then I really did it.  I wrote "IPad".  Nonsense, I say!  I probably would not even know how to use it, but it looks amazing, and isn't that what dreaming is?  Wishes for amazing things.  
     Of course there will be no presents under my tree Christmas morning, but now that I've identified specific "wants", maybe I can squeeze them in between utilities, rent, food, school lunch money, Basketball games for Nick's pleasure, gas....Okay, it's going to take awhile, and the IPad....really??  The point is, I validated myself by doing that.  I deserve to get wants as much as anyone. 
     This Christmas Day I will drive to Galena to visit with Mom.  I will be home by 3 o'clock.  Nick will be with his Dad--thank goodness--celebrating with his new family, and some old, and making memories he will carry with him all of his life.  He plans of becoming a Marine in 3 1/2 years.  I pray those memories give him joy during his times away from home.  
     Merry Christmas everyone.   We celebrate the birth of our King in six days.  Are you ready?
  

     I find myself with too much on my plate.  For a gal with a small plate, and usually little on it, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed.
     It seems that people are becoming ill or passing at breakneck speed. My own Mother, included.  A friend that is a bit of a kindred soul that I met through Facebook, has just lost her mother. This saddens me deeply.  I suppose my mother's declining health figures into that sorrow, but I am hurting for her nevertheless.
     This morning, while watching a Sunday Morning show, tribute was paid to a long time writer, that passed earlier in the week.  It was also announced that two personalities from my childhood have cancer...one is now is Hospice care.  When did it become so, so common to hear the word cancer?  What has happened?
     A post on Facebook (what else?) asked for prayers for a very prominent Freeport couple involved in a car accident yesterday.  Not only is the woman, a local political force to be reckoned with, but she is Aunt to my classmates, Sister to my Mom's old boss.  Sometimes I think God must get overwhelmed with all the prayers being lifted up.  But, lifted up, they are.
     Every other Sunday my son returns home from a weekend with his Dad.  These are not easy days.  Once he actually get into the apartment, it seems to hit him that he is back in the land of "I'm doing the best I can."  And this can result in anger.  I try to tell myself he's not angry with me, just the situation, but when he is sullen or punching something that is broken, that I can not afford to replace right now, I feel an overwhelming cloud of guilt.  I truly am doing the best I can, living on Disability and Child Support/Alimony.  We live in a small, but attractive apartment, decorated nicely, tidy, but not always spic and span, and reeking of love.  Yes, that's me reeking. I know that deep inside of him he is not reeking, perhaps, but at least a little smelly with love.  But, he is a growing, hungry, hungry boy, and keeping snacky things here at all times is impossible.  He told me a tale of having four bowls of cereal at his Dad's and that is so "out there" for me, it's ridiculous.  All I can really do is hope that after his disappointment passes, he will recognize that "doing the best I can" isn't awful.
     On a different note, I am proud to say that I am a contributor to "Fibro Affirmations", a site to lend support to those of us fighting this frustrating disease.  So far, the pieces I have sent have been well received, and the page owner is happy with me. (Now if I could just get a paying gig)  As usual, I try to lend a bit of humor to our unpredictable disease.
     Last, but surely not least...after nearly being knocked over by the idea, I have started my own page on Facebook.  It is called "Bucket of Invisibles" and it is geared toward those fighting multiple and/or invisible diseases.  There are so many!  We all look untouched by illness, therefore we are ignored, made fun of, and called liars.  I felt this page was needed to give these people a place to visit that offers smiles, inspiration, and interaction with others fighting the same battle.  It has been one week and one day, and I have 62 "likes", and thousands and thousands of views.  I am, if I may be so bold, proud.  I feel I have a purpose.  I am able to give some relief, if even for a moment.
     All of these things racing through my mind, are tugging at my heart and mind.  And believe me, having a cluttered mind is a Fibro fighter's demise!  So I thank you for letting me share a piece of my clutter, therefore lightening my mess!
    Deep breaths....this is life.

Fifty Years Gone By

     It is the afternoon of the eve of #51.  Naturally, my mind is scanning through the past fifty years.  And I am, at once,  amused, dismayed, and proud.  I have survived much, achieved much, and lost some.


     Some experiences I must laugh at.  Such as the time I entered a grocery store, escaping from a torrential downpour, to find--after several  minutes of shopping--that a young child was staring in horror at my feet.  Clinging to his mother, he exclaimed, "Mama what is it?"  "It" was my stylish canvas shoes on "agitate", foaming with every step due to lack of proper rinsing after a good cleaning.  Or the time I excitedly attempted to jump up on the stage area of my favorite dance club, only to fall flat on my face because my jeans were so tight, they did not allow for bending at the hip.  I even have to smile about the blood pressure machine flashing "Please fix me" while having violent child labor due to being over-dosed on labor inducing meds.  I laugh because, really, could these happen to anyone but me?  Love-able, sometimes ditsy, me?  Possibly, but not likely.


     I am a survivor.  Of this I am proud.
  
     As enter my fifty first year, I can say I've survived, child abuse--emotional, physical and sexual-(I've been told).  Rape, bullying, two nervous breakdowns, divorce, poverty at my own hand, and near poverty due to divorce.  I've been forced to sell the house, once built with  me in mind, and have moved my son and myself into a much smaller apartment.  Everyday I live with invisible diseases not understood, or believed by much of anyone, but which have affected every corner of my life.  Yet, I get out of bed every day and give it all another shot.           


     I've survived too much booze, too many men, being bruised by some of those men, and used by most.  And somehow, I've come out of that still liking men, and believing that romance exists. 

     Like everyone, I've lost people I loved; one of the hardest being my first "real" boyfriend.


     I've watched my father live out his promise to drink himself to death.  I've seen my mother go from movie/gambling/shop-aholic to speechless, helpless stroke victim.


     Yes, I've survived much.  More than some, much, much less than others.  For all the pain, I've gained wisdom, compassion, empathy, and tolerance.  These things have helped me become the woman I am today, which I think is a pretty cool gal.


     My greatest accomplishment is a young man, nearly 15 now.  He is strong, strong-willed, smart, smart-mouthed, athletic, funny, loyal, and kind.  He is also short-tempered, and sometimes very, very, angry.  He, too, has survived much.  If it is possible to love another human being too much, then I am guilty of over-loving my son.  He is, and always will be...my best guy.


     Tomorrow I will turn 51 year old without ado.  It will be Saturday.  I will be trying to figure out how to keep the electricity on, and listing the myriad of grocery items to buy when the long anticipated money "rolls" in.  


     However, I will know in my heart that being given birthday number 51 is my reward for making it through birthdays 1 - 50. 

LIVING AROUND IT OR "JUST DO IT"

     After rereading comments to this blog, it seems I have dropped the ball.  I have written about things going on in my life, and topics that have spurred my interest.  I have paid tribute to  loved ones, and our country.  However, as noted by one comentor, I have not written about how I "live around it."


     I spent some time thinking about that.  I coined that phrase because I believe that the illnesses aren't going to budge, so I must live in and around what they throw at me.  I have bitterly accepted my physical limitations.  Once teased for having broad shoulders and being able to lift 100 pounds, I now have...broad shoulders.  Once able to run a mean sprint, I can no longer run.  Not that I want to...never did care for it.


     I refuse to believe, however, that I have limitations mentally.  There are medications and counselling available to keep my mind sharp, witty, and smart.  Just don't ask me what I walked into a room for...  Being able to afford the necessary meds is a struggle at times, but thanks to social network and the kind supportive words of friends and family, I can limp through.


     But, how do I "live around it"?  Other than getting out of bed at the pace I am able, showering when my pain level permits it (without danger of falling), and taking whatever pain medication is necessary (when available), I don't have any steps or wise words to aid others.  I just survive.  I would say "live", because I am, in fact, alive, but doing what I do on a daily basis hardly qualifies as "living".  That is probably as much due to finances as it is to health.  Perhaps if I had any extra money, I'd venture out once in awhile.  But everything must be calculated...right down to the gas in the truck.  So, I get up, survey the land, do what I can, then I sit down and connect with others.  Until sitting hurts.  Then I get up and shuffle a chore or two.  Until that hurts, at which point I lie down and hope for some rest. 


     Rest?  REST??  What did I do all day to need rest?  Survive.  Usually on three hours sleep, through level 7 (and above) pain, with dizziness and brain fog.  Now that's multitasking!


     So, I would tell you to live as best fits you.  Try to block out the "shoulds", and embrace the moments that make you smile.  And always, always be open to help to others with their pain.  Knowing the you've helped someone else to "live" really is living! 



     
     

A Worry Rethunk

     I spend a modest amount of time worrying that people I meet will not accept me because I am currently not employed due to disability.  Because my disabilities are invisible, that I could be disabled brings a look of disbelief to most people's faces.  In fact, recently, when asked if disabled for an assistance form, the woman taking the application stopped in her tracks when I said 'yes'.  And for the first time, perhaps since being diagnosed, her voice softened, and she put her pen down and was genuinely interested in my story.  I felt blessed!
     The fact is, that I did work.  Unpaid, for nine, and paid for nineteen.  Yes, not as much as some, and more than many.  Work conditions during the unpaid were emotionally and physically taxing.  Work conditions during the first 11 of the paid were emotionally and physically damaging.  Had I been treated like a human being, rather than a lowly slave at either of those jobs, I am certain I would not be disabled today.  
     During my preteen through late teens I worked around the homestead doing whatever chore my parents needed done.  Didn't every kid growing up in the 70's?  Of course.  But my father was an obsessive workaholic, and expected that everyone else was, too.  His lists of outdoor chores seemed endless, and on many a summer day, left me with bloodied hands and nasty sunburns...on top of nasty sunburns.  And after he meticulously reviewed the work, came screaming in my face proclaiming that I was dumb and lazy because I'd hoed into some onions.  And as my teenage schoolmates drove by laughing a waving-on their way to swim-I hoed, and weeded, and harvested that damn garden. Every day, all day.  Well, that is, when I wasn't cleaning out the garage/basement, or picking apples, or weeding, or picking blooms off of hundreds of petunias.  Or planting them.  Or helping him haul 100lb stones to landscape.  Or mowing a 6ft hill.  
     During my late teens and twenties, I worked at the leading insurance company in the area. If you had office experience when exiting school, you worked there or at the factory offices.  Unfortunately, this company prided themselves on herding, and treating their employees like cattle.  Little support, tons of work, and few kudos.  This job would define my future physical state in a matter of a few months.  My emotional state had already been defined, but this job sealed it.  Emotionally, however, it would also land me in help's lap.
     I had only worked there for a year, when I began to feel ill.  I had an awful cold, scorching sore throat, and was very tired.  I was warned that missing work would get me fired, so I muddled through, feeling worse and worse.  During a conversation with my Mom, she noticed a tint.  Shocked, she had me stare into her eyes and tilt my head back so she could examine both.  Yellow.  Eyeballs and neck a sickening yellow.  Had no one at work noticed this?  I went to the Dr. the next day, and as he lay me back to feel my tummy, he could see my swollen liver.  He told me to go home and wait for some tests, but by the time I got home, he was on the phone demanding my Mom to get me to the hospital.  I'd had mono for months.  Because it was left untreated, my liver became swollen.  Hepatits.  I spent two weeks in the hospital, and was ordered away from work for two months.  In a shake-my-head sidenote, my co-workers were under the impression that I had the mumps.  A panic ran through the department as everyone tried to remember if they'd had them.  Upon finding out that I had something much more serious, they were relieved.  At least they weren't going to get sick.  As soon as they found out it was Hepatitis-it turned out to be non-infectious-the pressure to get me back to work began.  After just two week home, I got phone calls from co-workers-on behalf of my supervisor-to "get back in here".  After several harassing calls, Mom called work to talk to my super.  The super had the gall to snipe at my mother about my coming back to work immediately.  I was still getting dizzy getting up and around!  Two more weeks passed, and because of the phone calls, the doctor was called to see if I could return to work.  The okay was given as long as I did sit down work.  On day three of my return I was put back on my feet...a six hour trek every day.  I blacked out many times, but was blown off when I reported it.  You see, mumps everyone understood.  Hepatitis they did not.  Therefore, it did not exist.
     My mother was told that I would never be the same.  I'd never have the stamina I'd once had.  I might not be able to fight colds and such as efficiently.  And I was never the same.  Ever again.  There was no name for that result at that time.  Today they call it Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.
     So, yes, I have worked.  Since those jobs I've been a nanny, a warehouse stocker, a carpet salesperson, a water department employee, and several more insurance gigs.  Had I not given birth to the light of my life, triggering Fibromyalgia, I might still be working.  But, for whatever reason, God has seen fit for me to be at home. 
     So, perhaps I need to rethink my worry, and wear my disabilities like a badge.  After all, I fought long and hard to get them. 

Justice Failed

     Beyond a reasonable doubt.  A part of our justice crafted to protect the innocent.  But, our justice system is not always fair.  Innocent people are convicted.  The guilty, with help of crafty defense lawyers, go free.  Two high profile cases of that come to mind.  OJ Simpson.  Michael Jackson.  All it takes is one person to think that maybe, just maybe the accused did not commit the crime.  Today, we add another name to that list.  Casey Anthony.  She was found not guilty today of murdering her young daughter, Caylee Marie.  I was, upon learning this, stunned.  I then became angry.  As I watched the disbelief spread across the nation, via Facebook, I thought, 'If all these people are outraged, then how did 12 people not find guilt?'  But, I was not there.  
     I did not watch the trial.  The entire situation made me angry, sick, and as a mother, outraged.  The press showed mostly the same photos of the defendant playing happily with her child.  Or, if you preferred, partying in the 30 days before she reported her daughter missing.  Or tapes of the defendant's mother scolding her daughter on the phone.  I thought I was "keeping up" with the trial by watching the updates unfold.  After the verdict today, it was clear that I had not been paying close enough attention.
     If I had taken the time to really think about it, I would have quickly remembered that the Burden of Proof was on the prosecution, and that they had no solid evidence.  The ball was set firmly in the defenses court and they played it perfectly. 
     I have decided that being a defense attorney must require a lot of showers.  That much sleaze has to leave one with a stench.  It must also require a vivid imagination.  One such that a lawyer can take few truths and build them into reasonable doubts.  And cause a jury of seven women, and five men to question what seemed obvious to casual followers.  That this woman murdered her beautiful, God-given daughter.  Not only that, but she didn't report her baby missing for a month.  And during that month, went out with friends, danced, enjoyed life--the very thing she robbed her daughter of.  Was this an "oops!" moment for her?  "Damn if I don't write things down I just forget."?
     Oh, she's not off scot-free...No.  She is guilty of lying to authorities, or providing false information.  And reports state that as she was printed for those convictions, she was grinning widely.  Really?  Her daughter is still dead.  Grinning widely would not be on my list of things to do for years if I lost my son.  I just keep thinking that she must be thinking "Nanner, nanner, nanner, you couldn't catch me!"  And that makes my stomach turn.    
    Perhaps the most disturbing part of this verdict is the law of Double Jeopardy.  If any solid evidence presents itself, or she drunkenly tells a friend the truth, she can not be tried again for First Degree Murder.  OJ Simpson just confessed his crime and people simply said "I knew it" and shook their heads.  There will never be real justice for two-year old Caylee Marie.
   In most instances, I think our Justice system works.  But, when it doesn't, it really doesn't.  Innocent Until Proven Guilty is the rule.  But, we must, must remember that just because a jury voted Not Guilty, does not mean they believe she is innocent.  It simply means that they could not be convinced Beyond A Reasonable Doubt that she was guilty.  But she knows.  And so does God.  And her final sentence will be one to be reckoned with.

Two Hundred Thirty Five years and still going, and going, and going......

     Happy Birthday USA!  Two hundred thirty five years old?  Just a pup on this Earth...A mere toddler, by comparison, complete with tantrums and the "mine, mine, mine" mentality.  You are still learning, developing, and tripping on your own feet.  So, is it any wonder you are in a state of political chaos much of the time?  No, but one can only grow from trip-ups and fall downs...I trust you will.
     Today, I celebrate the "founding fathers" that bravely demanded independence from a country they could no longer support.  I also celebrate their ancestors, who 164 years earlier risked their lives to sail a ship across an ocean to start anew.  And to the keepers of the land before them, I say thank you.  Truly, the spirit of the America I now know, began long before the signatures on that famous scroll. 
     That spirit wanes at times.  We the people are guilty of becoming complacent-taking for granted the freedom that has been tested time and time again.  But, surely as the seasons change, we come together as One Nation when the going is tough...or heart wrenching.  Together, we become a formidable force.  We celebrate our country's victories together.  We grieve our losses as One.    
     We are a country born of, and growing due to, immigrants that have heard the rumors and want to have a piece of that apple pie.  Today hundreds of those immigrants will be sworn in as Americans, after years of struggle, prejudice, and studying the history of this country.  Most of them know more about the history of America than those born to this country.  That is because being a citizen of this country is, to them, a privilege.  One worth memorizing "how many amendments have been made to the Constitution?'  (It's 27). Are there bad apples?  Of course.  But, as the saying goes..."One bad apple don't spoil the whole bunch (girl)...wait that was a song...but the point remains.
     Today families will gather for cookouts and parties.  Friends will gather for cookouts and parties.  At the end of the day, all eyes will be on spacious skies as fireworks gallantly gleam...and BOOM!  And this year...this year we can celebrate our country's stubbornness.  A stubbornness that brought down the leader to an evil, American-hating, murdering group.  A stubbornness that will continue to protect this country from further harm and "haters."  We can be proud of that toddler mentality.  
     So, today, forget "bi-partisan lines", mudslinger politics and anti...anything.  Be one.  Be proud that so many young people are willing to protect your country.  Be mindful of "those that gave all."  Stop for a moment and remember how blessed you are to be allowed to disagree with what government does, without being jailed, maimed or...killed.  Listen to Lee Greenwood for the hundredth time, and take in those words, "where at least I know I'm free."  Because you are.  WE are. 
     God, continue to bless America.  Because we love Her...warts and all.