Thursday, August 29, 2013

WANDERLUST STRIKES AGAIN

I'm off to kiss the Blarney Stone in a few days and anything else my lips feel like kissing as I mull around Ireland. I'll be back mid-September or so and hopefully, I'll have a tale or two to tell and plenty of great photos to post.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT

And satisfaction brought him back. Curiosity is an odd thing actually and what triggers it in each of us is as different and individual as we are. Whereas some people may thirst for knowledge or the meaning of life, others crave simply to find out intimate details about the people around them. We call their curiosity being nosy. I like to find out what makes people tick. I find human behavior and the human brain fascinating. I always find myself watching people when I’m out in public. When someone has some idiosyncrasy I try my best to find out when it started and why. 

I guess my curiosity is a combination of being nosy and seeking some sort of enlightenment. I’ve known some people who are like a sponge when it comes to reading books. They absorb knowledge and use it as they see fit in their lives. Their constant path is one of betterment and positive change. I believe people absorbing knowledge are attempting to reach self-actualization…the highest or most perfect state of being. So what makes you curious? Do you pursue your curiosity to satisfaction or do allow yourself to remain thirsty?

Monday, March 18, 2013

MILDRED'S Rx FOR SERENITY

There's no easy formula to get through difficult times with your sanity still intact. I'm sure each of us has our own method of coping (anything from self-medicating, banging our heads on a wall, contemplating creatively painful ways to make our source of pain suffer as much as we suffer, bellowing out a good old primal scream to quiet walks on the beach, exercising, writing a stinging blog post, listening to music, deep breathing, etc.) I find that when I try to control a situation or someone else's behavior I suffer immensely from frustration, disappointment and emotional exhaustion. It wasn't until I finally was able to let go and let live that I achieved a certain inner peace. I now pick my battles wisely. The small stuff I simply let go and the larger, more important things that need a change, I allow the change to come from within and not externally. I simply stopped looking for solutions in the eyes of others.

In the case of my mother who a few years ago drove me to the brink of having a nervous breakdown, I simply use common sense now. Her health and well-being are first and most important. The rest, like it or not are her decisions and wishes. Sure, she still does exactly as she's always done, but it's me who has changed how those things affect me. It's no longer a power struggle between us. I've discovered we can enjoy whatever time left we have together without a perpetual tug-o-war. The thought of my last memories of her being so negative didn't sit well with me. I knew I needed to change that. As for my siblings and their relationship with her...well, it's exactly that...their relationship and not mine. They are the ones who have to look themseleves in the mirror. It just isn't worth all the chaos and bad feelings it causes by placing myself in the middle and it rarely accomplishes anything positive for anyone involved. And I really do feel okay with my present stance. That's what matters most, isn't it?

About a year ago I taped the Serenity Prayer on the wall above my computer. I say it EVERY day and some days I say it MANY times. No, I'm not a religious person, but I do find a certain unmistaken wisdom in those 25 words. I'm not entirely sure about the "GOD" part, but in my case, I believe "God" is the inner peace and serenity I seek and not some ageless, mystical being sitting somewhere in judgment of us all. My God is forgiving and allows me to love unconditionally even those people who have hurt me the most in life. My God allows compromise. I no longer have to be right or have things go the way I want them. All that has fallen by the wayside as my perspective and priorities have changed. My God allows me to see that everything happens just as it's supposed to happen and that even the horrible, devastating things in life have a purpose by making me a stronger and more compassionate person. I've learned making mistakes is okay as long as I learn from my mistakes. I've learned NO ONE is perfect and that getting through the most difficult days is done by putting one foot in front of the other and not letting pain paralyze me. I've learned that I am who I am because of ALL the experiences in my life. I've come to believe that I wouldn't have these insights without the pain...or without the joys I have felt along the way. I no longer feel a need to apologize for my past or to place blame. It is what it is! I can either find comfort and strength in knowing I'm a resourceful survivor or I can drown in my own pain by allowing myself to remain an emotional cripple. I choose courage and wisdom! I choose sanity for the first time in my life!


Friday, March 15, 2013

THE IDES OF MARCH

The one thing I find glaringly apparent about those who blog regardless of the person's age, sex, cultural background, economic status or sexual orientation is that we all hold the right to express our feelings and opinions via the written word in high regard. The technology of the past few decades has provided us with an excellent medium for doing just that with countless people we would have otherwise never known. I truly wish more people would come out of the shadows and learn to voice what's brewing just below the surface because you never know when sharing a personal experience or an opinion might help someone else through a difficult time. Even negative feedback seems to have a home here and often times has a positive outcome by bringing people closer together.

The things I write about come mostly from my personal experiences in life and from the thoughts that randomly race through my head. Although I'm fast approaching that golden age of being older than dirt, I find it refreshing that a blog can be ageless and timeless. To be able to bridge the generational gap and find a common ground or to be able to reach across the gender gap and make the other side have a lightbulb moment keeps us all forever young and acutely human. We don't mature into an entirely new or different person, we just become an older and hopefully wiser version of who we were when we were young. Basically, I think regardless of our differences, we all strive to maintain a certain pursuit of happiness and sometimes that pursuit gets clouded by the horrors of everyday life, but without that pursuit, life is void of meaning and purpose. So for what it's worth, I hope all your lives are filled with happy hunting, endless lightbulb moments and the courage to remain open-minded. I want to thank each of you who visit Mildred for taking the time to take advantage of your freedom of speech by leaving heartfelt and thought-provoking comments. I love you all!

Sunday, December 09, 2012

A LIFE INTERRUPTED

The act of dying and how it affects friends and loved ones is difficult at any time of the year, but during the Christmas season it seems to intensify by a hundredfold. Many times in the past month during moments of silent lucidity, I've found myself lost in deep thought and when the realization that most of what happens in life are things meant for people to just accept without question, I struggle desperately with that acceptance especially when it involves the untimely death of a kind, gentle soul.

I know we all live and eventually die. The end unfortunately will come like an unwelcome visitor that we cannot avoid. As the end grows near, the ability to see a clear light at the end of the tunnel no longer exists. A new light emerges within us and we are able to let go of all we have known and loved as the light illuminates the pathway we all must take. That old phrase "and this too shall pass..." has vanished into some dark, abyss and what we are faced with is a journey into the true unknown.

The process of our final decline is a difficult process for all involved. We not only shutdown physically, but often times, we shutdown emotionally as well. At that point, hindsight and foresight become one very narrow view and a social death often times precedes the actually physical death we will experience. For many of us, we enter and exit life the same way...alone! Yet, how uplifting an experience it is to witness a family come together and rally around a loved one to make their transition easier. In the past month, I have seen courage as I have never seen it before. I know I have been in the presence of true love and amazing grace.

Each time throughout my life when death has called, I've asked myself what is death? Is it the end or a beginning somewhere beyond our comprehension? I know religious people can quote many passages from the Bible depicting how the afterlife will be. But can the afterlife really be a state of perfection for such imperfect beings? And how are we imperfect beings supposed to adjust to all that perfection? Won't all the harp playing and singing become deafening and maddening? Won't it make those blissful souls seated in such angelic dwellings wish for something a little more "earthly" or less perfect? A road less traveled, perhaps? I've never been one to go quietly into the night! The norm has always bothered me and as I get older, I find myself asking "why" a lot more often than I did during my defiant youth. For now, I smile knowing that I'll always sing a little off key and forget the lyrics from time to time no matter where I am or who I'm singing with.

Saturday, December 01, 2012

THE THINGS MONEY CAN'T BUY

I've decided 2013 is going to be a banner year for me. Why? Well, why the hell not? I've decided to cast aside my health problems and other woes and either sink or swim. Yep, I'm going to finish out this bitch of a year and dare the next one not to yield some great stuff for me. I'm going to end this year not by making a list of foolish resolutions that I can't or won't keep, but by simply allowing myself to experience some much needed joy and even some decadent pleasure here and there instead.

I sometimes write questions in my posts and more often than not the questions aren't aimed at reflecting how I personally feel about something, but as a question just thrown out in cyberspace hoping for some light to be shed on a topic by others wishing to leave their imprint upon this empty vessel. I like when people interact and share what's inside (that's something there should be more of in the world instead of bitching and not listening to one another).

I've always been a people watcher and make a plethora of observations. I have to admit the conclusions I form from my observations are entirely based from a single-minded way of looking at things. I've always prided myself in being an open-minded individual, but how open minded are any of us when the only way we can see things is through our own eyes? Perhaps, next year will be different!

Sometimes I sit in a restaurant and see those around me not interacting with each other and I wonder how two people could possibly sit and eat a meal and not have anything to say to each other. Maybe silence is golden and most likely what I think I see isn't how things really are. Perhaps the anger, the frustration and the silence I think I see is really something else...perhaps indigestion, the flu or a work-related headache?

One person claims to hear the voice of God and who am I to say that God has not spoken to that person or that God doesn't exist? Oh yes, I can claim the person is mentally ill or explain what they claim to hear or see by using good old rational thinking and logic, but to that person who heard the voice or saw a vision, wasn't it real? How about a person who is a true visionary, someone ahead of their time and a great leader or on the other end of the spectrum a tyrannical dictator? Both see things in a way that others can't or won't. They set out to change the world one person at a time by trying to alter others perceptions of reality. A skeptical person has a hard time taking a leap of faith, but it does happen. When skeptics leap, they do it with their eyes wide open. Just look at history and just ask yourself how logical or rational life really is!

And for those doubting that the spirit of Christmas really exists, all they need to do is open their heart and reach out to someone in need. What better way of saying "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays" than by giving to someone else and not expecting anything in return? What better way to keep the Christmas spirit alive all year long than by stepping outside yourself and paying it forward wherever and whenever you can? Things that might not mean much to you when given to someone else might be the miracle they've been waiting for or the spark that might ignite a chain reaction of giving and not taking. Good will might be as infectious as the flu and just might change things one person at a time! So, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. I hope everyone who stops by has the same type of awakening in the new year that I intend to have.

Saturday, November 17, 2012

THE HOUSE WITH PEACOCK CURTAINS

The year was 1974. I remember eating a lot of bologna sandwiches and actually liking them. Sometimes those bologna sandwiches were washed down with mushroom tea. I guess when you’re young and perpetually high, eating anything tastes great even the putrid tasting mushroom tea cut with kool-aid in attempt to hide the horrid "earthy" taste.

We lived in a small 2 bedroom house on Highway 90 in Chipley, Florida (population: approximately 3,000). My bedroom had peacock curtains. Looking back, I really think those curtains were symbolic of my life and times…loud, proud and wowed. We would fell asleep each night listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd and Pink Floyd then awake to Bad Company. And in between there was sex, sex, sex…lots of drugs and a few bologna sandwiches to keep our strength up for those midnight rodeos.

We were 3 females, Carol, Theresa and I who lived together, worked together at Evergreen Construction Company and played hard together. Of the three of us, I was the only one who stupidly got pregnant during that era. I had a beautiful baby girl, but my life was meant for anything, but traveling down some conventional avenue. I was on the fringe teetering gracefully on the edge and there I have remained doing my own thing whatever and wherever that thing has been over the years. Carol married and became a teacher. Theresa remained single and I have escaped finding a love as colorful as those peacock curtains. 

Those days seem like so long ago, yet when I get together with Theresa or any old friend it all seems like just yesterday. Our lives have changed immensely over the years, but I think the more things change the more they ultimately remain the same. So in remembrance of those good old days and the people who imprinted themselves upon my life, I flick my Bic and inhale slowly…deeply until my smile glows from within and the memories warm my chilly heart. Here's to you, the peacock curtains and the love I've yet to find!

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

STAYING ALIVE

While many people participated in the Disco Era, I was someplace else altogether. I was actually as the song says "staying alive" (Ah, ha, ha, ha, staying alive, staying alive Ah, ha, ha, ha, staying alive...) I do however, remember the music well and now, I have to admit when I hear all the pulsating melodies, it makes me want to shake a tail feather (do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight, get down tonight). Back then, the music seemed so disconnected from where I came and from where I was headed. I now wonder if Donna Summer or Robin Gibb reside in the great hereafter along side all the other great and legendary singers and musicians who are gone, but not forgotten? It makes me wonder where John Travolta would be today without disco. Would he have forever remained just Vinnie Barbarino?

You know, sometimes I really wish I had faith and the same spiritual connection everyone else I know seems to have. Sometimes I want so much to believe as they do and wonder why my thoughts...my heart...my compass keeps me from seeing and feeling what they do where God is concerned. I don't fear death nor do I welcome it, but somehow I'm left out of the loop when it comes to believing that the hereafter is some grand reunion where all things are made infinitely perfect and we miraculously are reunited with one another. Wow! That's just way beyond my comprehension and paygrade. My beliefs seem rather sedate and quite boring compared to that. I think I'll stick to simpler things like hating Walmart. Yes, there I admitted it. I HATE WALMART! I guess that makes me among other things simply and utterly unAmerican.

I really believe if Christians want to find the true Anti-Christ, they need not look any further than their local Walmart Superstore. Who else, but the Devil Himself would coerce an innocent shopper into spending $200 when all they needed was a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread? Who else, but Satan would stock a store that prides itself on being the all-American dream corporation with goods primarily made in China? Yessiree, I think Walmart is one of the greatest clusterfucks on Earth ranking right up there with Logan Airport and driving Interstate 95 between Boston and Richmond (I'm sure other parts of the country have comparable versions of my all time favorite things). Now, that I've gotten that out of my system, I can go about my merry way and prepare for my drive to North Carolina on Thursday. Oh boy, I get to drive through Atlanta and if I'm really lucky I can hit rush hour traffic both going there and coming back.

Wednesday, May 09, 2012

THE GIRL MILDRED BUILT

As far back as I can remember I felt awkward and self conscious over everything...the way I talked, the way I walked, the way I looked, the way I thought. When I was a child, it wasn't fashionable for women to be tall. I had to buy boy's Levi's so the legs would be long enough to cover my lanky gams. Wearing Levi's spared me from looking like I was getting ready for the Great flood. Yes, I was tall. In fact, I was always the tallest in my class until I reached Jr. High School/ Middle School and the boys had a chance to catch up with me. I was tall and didn't have any hips until sometime after I started having children. I think one of the most damaging things my mother did to my feminine psyche as a child was when she made me get all my hair cut off into the new "Twiggy" look. All that accomplished was to make me look more like a boy. Maybe if she had followed up my new look with showing me the virtues of make-up and how tall, thin brunettes could be as stunning as their short, curvy counterparts my struggling ego would have had a chance to develop a positive "hey, look at me" attitude instead of the negative "fuck it" attitude I did develop.

I was tall, wore glasses and was kind of nerdy without even knowing it. Instead of just accepting who I was and making the best of what I had to work with, I over compensated for all those things I deemed as imperfections and flaws by never letting anyone see how vunerable and self conscious I really was. I was the class clown. I was the first to do anything and everything. I had no fear...no regard for my own personal safety. I wanted to fit in and be noticed. I just wanted to be loved. I overkilled everything I did until I woke up one day and I really was what I tried so hard to be. I was that cool kid who had friends from all socioeconomic back grounds. I didn't judge people by the standards most people were judged by. I tried very hard to look inside of people and not on the outside and as I came so very close to being what my heart ached to be, I started to gradually shutdown. The horrors of life, my life could no longer be kept at bay. Those addiction demons found me. I no longer could hide from them so I started to run. I run fast and furious to a place I felt safe. It was a place no one could touch me or hurt me. It was that place all addicts become familiar with as they become comfortably numb.

When I emerged unprepared many years later, I looked at myself in a new way, but instead of a real change I simply traded drugs for other addictions. Yes, life was nothing more than a huge, confusing barter system with many interesting trade-offs along the way. My metamorphosis had truly begun and I once again spun out of control. I allowed the slow road of self destruction to mold every aspect of my life. As I aged I grew weary and my body started to breakdown. Years of abuse had finally caught up with me. I was no longer that skinny, self-conscious girl who just wanted to be loved. Instead of choosing to find love and happiness, I chose the path of chaotic, unhealthy, drama-filled relationships that never had any chance of succeeding. I chose a road that would only bring me misery and despair.

I sit here now wondering why I felt I needed to punish myself so severely for such a long time. I wonder why I was always able to forgive others, but never myself. I sit here now afraid of what the future will bring and want so desperately to change the road I chose so many years ago. I wonder if all the harm I've done to myself in so many ways can be reversed. I wonder if I can heal and finally feel the peace there must be in being healthy. Have I waited too long? Sometimes a change in course takes drastic measures. Yes, my health is bad, but I have taken the necessary first steps in attempting to correct the ills that have ravaged my body for the past decade. Those steps I'm sure may be viewed as being drastic measures, but anyone who knows me wouldn't expect any less from me than a new journey started via drastic measures and the tenacity of a hard-headed Irish lass.

Wednesday, January 04, 2012

TRIPPIN' DOWN THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD

Wimpy Daughter gave me a gentle nudge today as I began to "work" the waiting room at the yoyo inspector's office while waiting for the empty pod (my mother) to reemerge. What better place to start up a conversation with strangers than at a therapist's office? Wimpy Daughter simply reminded me Mildred has not written very much lately. When I tried running the excuse that I haven't been in the right frame of mind to write, she gave me "the look." Okay Wimpy, here I am! 

In between listening to a man tell us how in his youth women used to be shy and reserved and knew how to dress and act like ladies, I scanned the room for interesting architectural details. I like to multitask and realized I must have been skipping school the day they taught all that being a lady stuff since being shy and reserved is definitely not my forte! He went on to tell us that in those days men didn't chase after women to get into their pants! REALLY??? It must have been due to all the saltpeter their mothers sprinkled on their Wheaties every morning. The climax to his dissertation about women was when he revealed the fall of womankind happened as a result of the drug revolution. I immediately jumped to my feet, threw my arms stretched upward to the heavens and hollered, "HALLELUJAH!" Not really, but as his wife was ushered into see her therapist, I wondered what being married to someone that narrow would be like. Missionary style sex for 40 something years must be as inspiring as his dissertation was. I know it made me hot...and moist in just the right places! As we left the office, Wimpy Daughter later told me that she had forgotten how people always just seem to open up and talk to me wherever I am. Lucky me to be cursed like that! 

 And now for the rest of the story: Yesterday morning I got a phonecall just after 8am from my primary care doctor's office to let me know my mammogram came back with abnormal results (again). It's difficult to keep going through this each year and feeling like I'm a timebomb just waiting to go off. So far each time I've rolled the dice, luck has been with me. This time I was immediately referred to a surgeon who I see on the 10th. I've been struggling since yesterday to remain positive. Hopefully, it'll be nothing, but I have to admit I'm tired of those people who have been through previous abnormal mammograms and breast biopsies who have reduced my situation to being "nothing to worry about." 

Hey, guys it is something to worry about and minimizing it doesn't make me have any less anxiety especially when my mother is a breast cancer survivor and one of my closest friends is going through chemo now after having a mastectomy. I know whatever happens next week, I'll handle it because what other choice do I have? So instead of being off to see the wizard this year, I'm off to see the surgeon! The way I see it is that starting the year off badly is much better than starting it on a good note because the only direction I can go is up! So that's my story and I'm sticking to it...at least for a day or two! You know how pathological liars are! 

Monday, January 02, 2012

WALKING THE GANGPLANK WITH MARTHA

Occasionally we meet people who can give their friendship without some kind of price tag attached. I was fortunate to have found several friends at an early age who not only loved unconditionally, but also withheld making judgment calls as well. My first memories of having friends date back before I went to school. My neighborhood was filled with families who had children of all ages. In my minuscule world that encompassed 4 or 5 houses, Linda was among my first friends. 

She was a soft-spoken, friendly child who later became the hot vixen all redheads seem to become. Our time together was always an adventure as we went from playing with dolls and hopscotch to skipping school and lusting after boys to becoming reunited after missing all those years in the middle where people become adults and have families. I’ve always tended to gravitate towards the edge and tested any boundaries that stood in my way. It’s where I felt most comfortable. Maybe it was the suspense, the thrill, the uncertainty of the outcome that made teetering on the edge so appealing to me. Whatever it was, that certain something was a definite factor in what kept a smile on our faces in those days of our adolescent angst. 

When I think of what a bad influence I was on so many of my friends, I now feel a little regret, but I won't lie...I also smile as I remember the progression of things and the fun involved. Back in those days among many other things, we became quite familiar with 5 finger discounts. As we built our collection of free make-up, jewelry, records, clothes and whatever else struck our fancy at the time (all things we really didn't "need"), it was the thrill of seeing how outrageous we could be that kept us going back for more. Why we were never caught is beyond me, but I suppose it was more dumb luck than skill that keep us on the right side of the law. 

By the time we were teenagers, my attic was transformed into a place to wile away the hours skipping school, while we waited for my mother to go to work at 2:30 each afternoon. Anything in my house that wasn't being used seemed to always found its way to the top floor making the attic a true cornucopia of treasures. As our collection of discarded paint cans grew, the whole spectrum of colors was represented. We had purple that was used to paint one of the bathrooms and blue from the other. I snagged what was left from when my mother had painted on an old sea captain's trunk a most delightful shade of tangerine. Buttercup yellow from the kitchen and lime green from my bedroom were among the many colors we collected. As we collected our decorating materials, we decided that what needed to be done was some original artwork to adorn our sanctuary. Jackson Pollock's "drips" had nothing over the hand prints we put all over the walls and large-planked wooden floors. 

My only regret is that I never took any pictures of it. Years later after my house was sold and the new owners discovered my magical hideaway in attic, they made several inquiries to my cousin who lived next door about the artwork in the attic. What a surprise it must have been for them stepping into what appeared to be a colorful insane asylum (if they only knew how true that was). Many, many years later my eyes twinkle as I think about last summer when I was "home". Somehow it seems fitting that the person who blossomed into a ravishing redheaded vixen is the saucy tart who insisted on giving me a blue streak in my hair that "would wash right out". Ha! All I can say is "thank you, Linda" for reminding me that growing old may be inevitable, but growing up especially when in the company of old, dear friends is quite optional and never preferred.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

DEAR SANTA

I’ve been fairly horrible this year, but not as bad as I have been in years past. In lieu of my ever improving behavior I thought I’d give you my Christmas list in hopes you’ll find something special just for me this year. 1. World peace (Okay, I know I always include this one, but you can’t blame me for hoping.) 2. A new 8-Ball (It seems mine isn't working properly. It keeps giving me all the wrong answers and everyone else the right ones.) 3. The drive to finally finish writing my book or bring a creative co-author to help me finish it. (Santa, how are your writing skills? You're free 364 days a year!) 4. Could whatever you bring me be made in America and not in China? (I'm not a racist, I'm just concerned about the U.S. economy) 5. Most of all I'd like Santa to have the night off...Happy Holidays, Santa! (Kick back and enjoy! You deserve it, big guy. I think we all receive enough and it's our turn to give!) Always naughty, but nice, Mildred Ratched

Thursday, December 01, 2011

MY HERO

"Wimpy Daughter" aka Christina was given an assignment to write a paper about her hero for one of her college classes 7 years ago. The following is the paper she wrote:

By definition a hero is somebody who is admired and looked up to for outstanding qualities or achievements, somebody who commits acts of remarkable bravery or who has shown great courage, strength of character or another admirable quality. I find all these traits in my hero. "Try to picture a person who stands apart from the crowd who sees things not in black or white, but in varying shades of gray. Try to picture a person who closes their eyes and hears the beat of a different drummer, then marches proudly and eagerly away to do their own thing regardless of the consequences or popular opinion. Try to picture a person who is not a polished gem, but a diamond in the rough...someone who believes true beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and that the best things in life are free." (an excerpt from blogsite, Abnormally Normal People written by Red Kitten aka Mildred Ratched) When I picture this person, I see my mother and she is my hero.

Ever since I was little, I always knew my mother was different. It was not until I grew up that I later could appreciate the “difference” in her versus the stereotypical normal mother everyone else seemed to have. My mother raised us to be leaders not followers, to chart our own destiny and to be no one’s fool. This was daunting to a young child whose only desire was to fit in and have what everyone else had, a normal mom. My mother always taught my two brothers and me that the mind was a wonderful thing and we should use it. As far back as I can remember, probably to when I was three, I was told, “you are a smart person, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Now I realize that all mothers will tell their children that, but most would not have done what she did. She let us use those brains instead of thinking for us. She told us that God gave us a brain and to use it, if we made a mistake or got into trouble we were to use our brain and figure out a solution. We had to, she was not going to suffer our foolishness and molly coddle any of us. Does this make her different? At the time I certainly thought so. When all my friends bragged about their parents giving them the answers to homework problems, kids picking on us at school or about how so and so parents was screaming at someone about their child’s actions my mother sat back and said to us, “You figure it out.” How I hated that, I wanted normal so bad and I didn’t have it, but it taught us to use those brains and boy did we figure it out.

Normalcy was not ever in abundance with my mother. Living in an area where racial slurs were the norm, my mother taught us to respect everyone equally as a human being regardless of skin color. She taught us to look beneath the surface of a person’s outer skin and find the true essence of who that person really was. I never knew what racial discrimination was until I became an adult and heard it. It was shocking to realize that the person making those remarks was so narrow minded. I guess witnessing such narrow mindedness opened my eyes to the fact that once again my mother defied what was normal and instead of seeing things in the standard black and white, she saw those gray areas. I never realized as I was growing up that she taught us from those gray matters more than from the black and white. As a young child I was allowed to watch what I wanted to on television. Most parents shudder to think what a child would choose, not my mother; she just sat back and allowed us to make those choices on our own. Instead of choosing stupidly we chose wisely and by doing so were taught a valuable lesson, the reward system. If you show that I can trust you, I will extend your freedom, but if you mess up you lose that freedom. I can honestly say our freedom wasn’t yanked away very often.

My mother will never be a polished gem; she will always be a diamond in the rough. Like an uncut diamond she has many flaws that I once saw as imperfections and now badges of courage, lack of selfishness and a kindness that is so overwhelmingly generous. I was taught it is better to give than to receive and always thought, "you’ve got to be kidding, right? You can’t really believe that bull!" But time and time again, we learned through her actions she meant just that. Her kindness and generosity to family as well as strangers will linger forever in my mind. What I saw as a weakness in character, thinking she was being taken advantage of, was an error on my part. You can only be taken advantage of if you let someone do so and she never allowed that. She showed strength in choosing to help those in need instead of doing the easier thing and ignoring them. She did without when others needed because she felt they needed more than she did. She didn’t just talk to us about these things, we saw her doing them time and time again. My mother taught us about the beauty found in the art of giving, the courage to love when you wanted to hate, to be strong when you wanted to be weak and to have the strength to go on when you feel that you are failing.

Christina (Wimpy Daughter) and Karen (Mildred Ratched) 1996
My mother has not lived an easy life. The choices she has made are choices she has to bear, but bear them she does. Sometimes in frustration, in wishing she had done different, sometimes with laughter as she recalls a happy moment, but however she does it, she always bears them with honesty. She explains, not lectures, about her mistakes she has made along the way, in hopes that we will not have to go through the same things. I don’t look at them as mistakes though, because without the things she has witnessed and gone through herself, she would not be the person she is today and that person is my hero.

Monday, November 21, 2011

A THOUGHT FOR THE DAY

Because I don't have anything else right now... Three alcohol-related bumper stickers that says it all: 1. A "4" and a six-pack make a "10". 2. Don't drink and park, accidents cause people. 3. Cab fare is cheaper than a DUI.

Friday, January 07, 2011

THE QUAGMIRE

What made me do it in the first place? Was it a conscious choice or was it nothing more than my fated plight? Some say the road to addictions is rooted in our genetic make-up while others more lean towards environmental and societal discord being the culprit. So the argument between nature vs. nurture goes on and on. So should addictions be viewed as an disease as real as cancer? Isn't an addiction like having cancer of the soul, of the psyche or of the whole being? Ask any addict and when they reach a moment of truth, they'll tell you just how diseased their life really is and how their disease has affected every person who cares about them.

For me, drugs were a highly effective numbing agent. They masked my pain and helped me build that rubber wall I existed behind for many years. For years, I thought what I had constructed was a rather superior brick wall. Pink Floyd was even nice enough to write a few songs that nicely summed it all up until an old boyfriend, my first love opened my eyes to my flawed thinking. No, my wall wasn't made of bricks unless those bricks I used were made of rubber. You see, normal bricks no matter how thick can be penetrated. My bricks had to be made of rubber because everything just bounced off them. The few times I did have any real feelings during those dark years were quickly disguised by my "I don't give a shit" attitude.

The sad part is that the disguise after awhile wasn't a disguise at all. It was who I had become. I was a person who had few morals or values except those ones I learned on the streets. So, was it a conscious decision to build that wall? Well, yes and no! I think it started out as just living in the moment and experimenting with those things offered to me and then something clicked when my reality was altered. The addiction switch got turned on and then everything was fair game for keeping the cancer growing ...eating, sex, drugs, gambling, work, etc etc. It all fed the starving monster!

I wasn't a typical addict, but one who binged and purged on everything. The purging part was what kept me in denial for such a long time. Hey look at me! I haven't done drugs in a long time so that means I'm not really an addict. Hey look at me! I haven't had sex in a long time so that must mean I'm not really an addict and so on and so forth.

The reality of it is that I've learned my limitations the hard way. I know what I'm capable of and with just a little taste of those things I love most, the monster is let loose once again. So does that mean I don't take risks or battle with that monster inside me any longer? No, it's always present. It's always lurking somewhere just beneath the surface. It has kept me from believing that I can not or will not ever experience "normal"...whatever "normal" is. You have to understand, "normal" is that pie in the sky that every addict fantasizes about tasting. However, somehow we all know a "normal" life isn't something that would hold our interest for very long. The word "quagmire" comes to mind.

Gratitude statement: I'm grateful for the truth no matter how harsh and ugly it may be at times because if "they" are correct, "they" say the truth will set you free.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

GIVE ME A "K"

I realize the aging process isn't easy for anyone. Who isn't what they were 20 or 30 years ago? I think what I fear most about aging is the possibility of becoming like my mother. Although her general health is good, she refuses to do anything. She expects everyone to do everything for her and when asked to do simple things, she just doesn't do them unless she's nagged into it. She takes no responsibility for anything nor does she participate in anything unless I make her participate.

Everyone shrugs their shoulders and looks quizzically to me for answers. Why is Rosalie the way she is? To date that seems to be one of life's unsolved mysteries! Answers? I've got a few for anyone who really wants an answer. The aging process is as hard or maybe even harder on the people who care for the elderly. Yes, I love my mother. It's why I'm here, but most days I feel like I'm being punished. Some days, I feel almost tortured! So is this my atonement with the universe?

Isn't being a good daughter enough or does this rite of passage and role reversal come with a price tag filled only with sadness and frustration? I believe my mother wants to have some major health problem and won't be satisfied until she does. I believe my mother thinks everything should be on her terms and takes things for granted. Regardless of what I say or do and believe me I have said and done everything humanly possible, it makes no difference.

I know there will come a day when I no longer have a mother. When I look towards that time, my heart is filled with regret because what should be a time for her and I to have a strong, loving relationship instead is more like a Custer's last stand. Each step forward always comes with two steps backwards. Maybe if I were 2 or 3 people I could stay completely on top of everything, but I turned in my Wonder Woman boots several years ago.

A simple trip to have a pedicure and manicure yesterday turned into another grim reminder of just how resistant she is towards anything I suggest or ask her to do. I helped her take her shoes off and rolled up her pants legs before she got into the chair to have her pedicure. While rolling her pants legs up I got a well placed slap in the face. Oh, it's wasn't one that might rattle my teeth, but it stung enough to make me brutally aware of her intentions to do nothing.

To make it easy for her I placed a bottle of body lotion on the end table next to where she sits many months ago. The bottle is sitting right next to the telephone and practically stares her in the face screaming, "PLEASE USE ME". I've tried to talk to her and tell her that her skin is dry and needs lotion on it daily. I've emphasized without it, her skin will eventually start to break down and get sores where the dry, flaky skin is. I've learned to assume nothing with her because unless I nag her to do even a small task like that, she won't do it. Needless to say, when I rolled up her pant legs staring at me was the skin of a reptilian creature.

Making a list of daily activities for her is out of the question because she has informed me that is an insult to her. So here I sit bitching about it on my blog...ain't life grand?

Gratitude statement: I'm grateful for the week I'll be away on a cruise to the Virgin Islands in December.

Monday, November 22, 2010

GIVE ME A "C"

In the past, my impulsivity has gotten me into trouble. I'd like to think I've changed somewhat or at least, mellowed with age, but last Sunday while on my way to go grocery shopping, my poor impulse control reared its ugly head. There in front of the Walmart parking lot were two ladies in a pickup truck selling Shih Tzu puppies.

I'm by nature a cat person. Five furry felines call my house home. Yes, I have the potential to become that crazy old cat woman, but last Sunday on a whim, I bought a 3 month old puppy. I immediately named her Fenway. What else does a Red Sox fan name her dog? Believe it or not, she's starting to act like a cat. Resistance is futile the cats keep telling her and because she's outnumbered, I expect anyday now she'll learn how to purr!

Gratitude statement: I'm grateful for the strong sense of love and compassion I developed towards all animals as a child.

Friday, November 19, 2010

GIVE ME A "U"

In the process of doing some much needed remodeling and repair work in my house, I discovered that Murphy's Laws are alive and well and have taken up residence in each of my projects.
1. Nothing is as easy as it looks.
2. Everything takes longer than you think.
3. Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.

It all started in the downstairs bathroom which originally was only going to be a simple job of replacing a couple of tiles that had cracked when my father had fallen on them. The box of extra tiles that had been stored in the garage were old, discolored and warped, but to save money I said, "do the best you can with what we have on hand." Silly woman! The job turned into a brand new tile floor, a paint job to match the tile and some plumbing which required removing the cabinets to get to the wall behind the shower. My downstairs shower had no more than a trickle of water pressure. After the toilet seat is replaced and a few other small details, the bathroom will be a thing of beauty!

Next, I came up with the brilliant idea of turning the den into the dining room. The den was virtually wasted space that no one used and I envisioned holidays meals with the entire family sitting around the dining room table in that room. What this visionary didn't count on was what seemed like a fairly simple job to level the floor where I thought the foundation had settled turning into the job from hell. The whole concrete slab is having to be busted up and the fill dirt underneath that has washed away (thanks to the lovely Florida torrential downpours) over 70 years since the house was first built has to be replaced (Of course, houses aren't built like that nowadays...thanks goodness!). Then a new concrete floor needs to be poured. Finally a self leveling mixture is used on top of everything with the finishing touch being either a hardwood floor or ceramic floor tiles to complete the job before moving onto the next room. What I've learned is that anything is possible with enough time and money! And what's a little rebar and concrete rubble in the grand scheme of things?

Gratitude statement: I'm thankful for the patience I seem to always have and that my house isn't located over one of Florida's many sinkholes.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

GIVE ME AN "F"

Over the past month or so I've tried very hard to focus my mind on other things other than my pain in my right arm. I've played poker, posted new entries on my blog, removed wallpaper and painted the bathroom and participated in life as normally as I possibly can. I've been to the doctor twice. The first time I was told I had tendonitis obviously, from all the tennis I play and was given Motrin to take for 10 days. Okay, when that didn't do the trick, I reluctantly went back. This time I was given an order for a x-ray of my left thumb (I have a small lump at the base of my thumb)and an order for physical therapy. The pain had increased and radiates through my entire arm and goes into my shoulder blade causing muscle spasms. I really need to give up playing tennis! I was also given a prescription for steroids to take.

Anyone with diabetes knows that steroids and diabetes does not mix well. After getting the Rx filled, I've decided not to take the steroids. In the past, the benefits gained from taking steroids haven't been enough to merit struggling with the elevated blood sugar it causes. I did, however have the x-ray done and attempted to have physical therapy set up only to find out that my insurance doesn't cover physical therapy. Why doesn't this surprise me?

I'm not too upset over the physical therapy issue because each time I exert my arm, it only ends up hurting worse. I have found that if I move my head slightly to left and rest my arm on top of my head, the pain goes away. Perhaps I can duck tape my head and arm in that position and then all I'll have is just the normal pain I suffer from daily. Experimenting with repositioning my head and arm leads me to believe that the true problem comes from my neck and/or back. And since I refuse to have anymore surgery to that area of my body, the name of the game is grin and bear it! That game I'm much better at than playing tennis!

Gratitude statement: I'm thankful for being able to grin and bear it rather than letting out the primal scream I feel slowly brewing.

Monday, May 24, 2010

REMEMBERING MICHAEL - PART I

Each year at this time my thoughts seem to drift towards remembering Michael. Those thoughts were particularly strong this past weekend when I spent the weekend with Michael's oldest sister, Sandra. All around me were reminders of Michael. Even at night, I couldn't escape him because there next to me on the nightstand was a picture of him. I met Michael when I was 18. He was tall and tanned with long dark hair and mesmerizing green eyes. He told me I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. A lie no doubt, but one coming from him that I always thought he might have meant since he never had an agenda with me. Ours was a relationship that never transcended platonic boundaries except for an occasional stolen kiss here and there. His whole family became close to me for various reasons and on many occasions I was caught up in the weird dynamics that governed their relationships with each other. 

When Michael joined the Marines, we wrote to each other and saw each other whenever he would come home on leave. We always seemed to drift in and out of each other's lives. Whenever I thought of him, I always did so with a smile. He was the sunshine that warmed so many people's lives. In our wild youth, his sister and I used to accompany him sometimes to the gay bars in Pensacola. What stories I could tell about those times, but what I remember most is the love I always carried with me for him. We danced those nights away pretending that I was a drag queen, so I wouldn't ruin his reputation! What a goofy pair of friends we were! As we got older and moved away from each other, like many friends we didn't keep in touch like we should. He remained in my thoughts as I'm sure I did with him. As Michael's health failed and the end was imminent, I finally called Michael to ask him to forgive me for not being a better friend. In his weak, barely audible voice he said he forgave me. Michael died on Mother's Day 2005 and while I watched them bury my friend, I knew another piece of me was gone forever.  

Gratitude statement: Although death is an inevitable, I'm truly thankful for the time all my friends have been a part of my life.