THE CATS WHO LOVED ME

*Repost from November 3, 2014

From early childhood to present day I've always been a cat lover.  And over the course of my life, I’ve owned a variety of breeds. Since 1994 Himalayans have most graciously allowed me the privilege of living in the house with them and feeding them. I often told people they ate better than I did because the cat food they consumed is Science Diet @ more than $30 per bag. If you aren't familiar with the breed, Himalayans have Siamese markings called “points” and like Siamese cats, they're highly intelligent, have a melodious voice and beautiful blue eyes, but they unlike a Siamese cat their bodies and fur were of a Persian cat.  Although a lot of Himalayans have a face that look smooshed, my cats didn't carry that extreme characteristic.  A few characteristics I've always found to be fascinating with this breed is their love to pose and their need to act regal in all situations.   

This breed is not overly active, but they do like to play and be involved in whatever activity I'm doing. For example during my computer time, I always had company nestled around me in various spots. Draped on the tower when I owned a desktop computer, positioned on the stool next to my desk, strategically positioned on top of the printer and on the back of the sofa positioned behind where I sat, they all found a spot to best “help” me type.  Not only did they assist me at the computer, but they scrutinized all my activities and followed me from room to room. I had about a two minute window of time to return if I left before they'd seek me out where ever I was. If I went to the bathroom, they'd have to “bond” with me while I was in there. It was senseless for me to attempt having any privacy because they'd thump and cry at the door until I let them in. My bathroom time usually consists of grooming, petting and sweet talking them.  Too much togetherness just wasn't a concept any of them seemed to grasp. 

I first got involved with this breed in a breeder capacity. When my breeding days were over, I kept the mother and father along with two males from two different litters about a year apart from each other. My clan consisted of Dixie, a small tortie-point female, Beavis, a very large blue-point male and their two sons, Chewy, a large seal point male and Whitey (Dwight Cat), a beautiful flame point male who was a stereotypical "blonde" in every sense of the word.

Dixie was the resident schizophrenic who developed a strong dislike for her two sons who loved to aggravate her. When her space was invaded she lunged at the violator. The older she got the wider her personal space got.  It was comical to watch the males walk way out around her to avoid getting snapped at and/or bitten. Her "husband", Beavis was the only one she tolerated and allowed near her and although she appears to have a dislike for all other cats, she was always very affectionate towards humans and loved to talk to everyone and tell them about the horrible males she had to live with.  That sounds like a typical female to me! 

Beavis was a gentle giant with the softest little voice I’ve ever heard, yet his purr sounded like a loud motor boat. Beavis didn't need to be petted to purr. Sometimes merely looking at him or talking to him would trigger it. One of the funniest things Beavis would do is growl like a dog when someone would knock on the door or ring the doorbell.  He was definitely the Alpha male and at the very top of the pecking order in all feline matters.  He had a very gentle, loving demeanor, but about once a month he kicked ass to make sure everyone knew who was the boss!  What usually started out as him giving them a bath turned into a kitty wrestling match.  As soon as they'd tap out and show submission all would go back to normal until next time.  It was hilarious to watch 3 large tom cats give each other baths and no matter how old they got, Whitey remained the baby of the family and was treated as such by his entire family...humans included. 

Chewy (named after Chewbacca from Star Wars) reminded me of an Ewok not a Wookie when he was a kitten.  It didn't take him long to train me to his liking and he deemed himself “my cat”.  That position was his until the day he died from cancer.  He knew exactly how to get his point across and as long as I complied everything was all sunshine and rainbows. His loud voice freakishly resembled Chewbacca's voice. He did tricks like a dog and “flopped” on command.  Flopping consisted of falling over and landing with his head on my foot. The maneuver took skill and grace and was funny to watch.  Chewy never learned to purr until he was around 7 and when he finally did learn it was in an erratic, unnatural pattern.   It was something he never got the hang of doing, but that was okay because he after all was Chewy.

Whitey was the baby of the family and the cat Chewy picked out to keep. When Whitey was just a small kitten Chewy kept separating him from the other kittens as the time grew near to sell them.  He tended to Whitey like a mother cat would and never stopped mothering him even when he became an adult cat. Instead of selling Whitey, I kept him because that's what Chewy wanted and Chewy always got everything he wanted.  Whitey was very vocal from an early age and has a wide range of cries and noises he made. His most memorable sound sounded like he was saying “momma”.  This was cute except at 2 am when he got on a rant and would tear through the house running upstairs and downstairs crying for “momma”. Whitey also loved to be “spanked” and talked while he received a spanking.  His favorite "spank me, baby" tool was the back scratcher I keep on my desk.  I would gently spank him and he would tell me all about it with such fervor.

Last night, Whitey passed away at the age of 18.  His mother, father and brother who had died several years ago had been cremated and their ashes had been stored in my closet until they were all buried together early this morning.  

Gratitude Statement: Yes, I'm extremely sad right now, but I feel blessed because these four filled my life with such love and joy for so many years.  They are and always shall be the cats who loved me. 

30 YEARS AGO TODAY

Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play...no, no, no! That was 20 years ago today and pushing a lawnmower had nothing to do with Sgt. Pepper or his lonely hearts club band. Thirty years ago yesterday, I stood in blazing heat pushing a lawnmower trying to ready the house I had rented for the move I was about to make after giving birth. As I pushed the lawnmower in record heat, I got more pissed off with every swatch I mowed. My dear husband was in California doing who knows what while I, 9 months pregnant was pushing a lawnmower. People kept giving me odd looks as they rode by, but not one person stopped to offer any help. I guess doing that would have been the neighborly thing to do and apparently, doing the neighborly thing didn't seem what most people had on their minds. 

So I mowed and mowed until I was exhausted and the job was finally done. At least my other two children would have a yard to play in while I attended my new bundle of joy. Early the next morning I awoke to a low backache and a cramping sensation. I laid there several minutes before realizing I was in labor. How appropriate it was to be in labor on Labor Day. I called ahead to the Navy hospital to find out where exactly I needed to go since it was a federal holiday and the normal procedure no longer held true. When I told the person on the other end of the phone my contractions were 4 minutes apart and this was my 3 child, I sensed urgency in their voice as they told me to come to the hospital right away. So off I went to have my 3rd and final child. After being examined, I was told I wasn't quite ready to admit, BUT they didn't want me to go very far so I was told to go hang out in the waiting room with all the expectant fathers. Ha! 

Nothing clears a room out faster than putting a woman in labor in the same room as the fathers who opted not to participate in the birthing process. Thirty years ago today, I gave birth to my youngest son. Those 30 years have sped by faster than I care to admit. Happy birthday, Matthew! You are one of the 3 beacons in my life and I love you dearly. I have a suggestion for the next 30 years....let's slow down how fast they go by! 

Gratitude statement: I am truly grateful for the kind of people my three children grew into being. 

*Repost from September 1, 2010

DREAM A LITTLE DREAM FOR ME

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about dreams. No, not the kind you have at night. Not the ones that somehow always leave you in breathless anticipation and seem to dissipate as soon as a person awakens. No, the dreams that have captured my thoughts are the ones that take root during a lifetime and seem to stick with you. I've always envied those people who have the drive and stamina to make their dreams come true. I've often wondered why I seem to lack that drive and stamina. Why do things always seem just slightly out of reach? Why do my "projects" lay shamefully incomplete? Am I really that clueless as to how to succeed in life or are unfulfilled dreams symptomatic of people with addiction problems? While cruising around the blogosphere I stumbled upon contemplating dreams. This person wrote:

letting go of dreams, hopes...aspirations can be ....be oddly painful... dreams are like the weeds in the garden of your mind. while you are busy planting the goals for future... dreams plant themselves in ...and take root. while you need to lavish time and attention to get ideas and goals to take root and flourish... dreams flourish without the slightest of attention... without any ray of light. impossible dreams, ones you *know* don't make any sense and will probably never come true are the absolute worst kind of weeds. they spread their roots deep into the underground terrain of your mind making pulling them out an herculean task... they muddle up your thinking... leaving small paper cut wounds when you stumble across them without expecting to in the least.

Gratitude statement: I'm not so sure of how grateful I can actually be since I have never allowed any of my dreams to come true. But I can say I'm thankful I still have some dreams! Those are the ones not even Agent Orange can kill. 

* Repost from January 26, 2011

TIME

Time, for many, is a healer of wounds...both physical and emotional. Time gives each of us a chance to be eternally hopeful because time seems to hold an infinite quantity of second chances. It allows the opportunity for self-examination to those bold enough to explore within. Time acts, in many instances, as the catalyst that makes us choose one path rather than another. I smile as I think of the times instant gratification has influenced my decisions. Instead of choosing wisely or cautiously, I chose what felt best in the heat of the moment. How different my life would have been if I had given more thought to the consequences of my decisions! Nonetheless time always ironed out the kinks and made even the roughest roads easier to travel. Time too often morphs into a dreaded enemy who extinguishes life’s positive spark with uncertainty and fear. Time demands each of us to face the unknown. How we handle that unknown and incorporate it into our character shows our true strength and versatility. A person who remains “young at heart” has embraced the inevitable seasons of life. Growing old gracefully is an art that depicts a rare, true inner beauty. Vanity creates a battlefield in which gray hair and wrinkles are silent soldiers who strike unmercifully while we are busy living life. One day we awake to find our bodies have changed and our days are numbered. The gift of immortality was just an illusion. It isn't until we grow older that we see all good things do come to an end and dying is just as much a part of life as living has been. Ultimately, is time a friend or foe?

Time is Too slow for those who wait, Too swift for those who fear, Too long for those who grieve, Too short for those who rejoice; But for those who love, Time is eternity

~Henry Van Dyke~

Gratitude statement: I'm thankful time hasn't closed my heart from the pain I've experienced, but opened it to be more understanding and compassionate. 

* Repost from April 30, 2010

WHY THE CAGED BIRD SINGS

This post was originally written and posted in 2005 on my original blog, Abnormally Normal People.

The caged bird sings for freedom. It sings as a disguise. It sings because if it remains silent, it will fade away and die. Many times I have tried to place myself in other people's shoes especially those people who feel as if they have to hide or cover up who they really are or conceal the lifestyle they have chosen to live because they fear the stigma and rejection attached to it. I grew up being the black sheep of the family, but even the antics of a black sheep doesn't come close to type of reaction created by someone who is homosexual. I can almost understand why some people try to lead a straight life, be something they are not and never feel comfortable enough to reveal who they really are. The inner turmoil must be devastating. Yes, I know all those who still say horrific things about homosexuality. I've heard all the arguments...all the pros and cons!!! I guess my views on the subject allow me to see the person as a human being and not as some perverted demon or freak of nature. 

Several years ago my mother made a strange statement to me one day. She told me that I had changed her views on homosexuals. Me? I'm straight....how did I do that? She asked me if I remembered the day I first learned that one of my female cousins was a lesbian. I thought back to that day over 30 years ago and remembered what an uproar within the family that announcement had caused. Hey, at the time I probably felt relieved because the focus wasn't on me and the gossip was centered elsewhere! Yes, I remember being told! My mother asked me if I remembered what I said to her when she told me about my cousin. I thought back, but I couldn't remember my initial reaction. 

My mother refreshed my memory by telling me that I informed everyone in the room that my cousin was the same person as she was the day before they all knew she was a lesbian. As far as I was concerned, nothing had changed. My mother said my words stuck with her and she knew what I had said was true. She stopped labeling my cousin and allowed her to continue being the person we always knew her to be. That acceptance broadened in time and allowed my mother to view others with different preferences and lifestyles as being just as human as she is and it made me smile knowing the black sheep can be pretty sagely at times!

Gratitude statement: I'm truly thankful for being able to view people's differences as differences and not in terms of making one person better than another. 

SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST

What doesn't kill us, only makes us stronger! Does survival really mean we are stronger or does it merely mean we're smarter and more leary of placing our hand in the same fire that burnt us the first time? Stronger would imply that if faced with same battle whether it is an emotional or a physical one, we would be the victor the second time around. But doesn't it take more courage to walk away from a battle sometimes than to stay and fight? Isn't that wisdom, victory in itself? 

Gratitude statement: I am thankful to be a survivor whether or not that means I'm stronger or smarter or both! 

MILDREDISM FOR BEGINNERS

My lifelong quest for spiritual knowledge has lead me in many directions with each new direction leaving me as empty as the last. When I finally reached the point of realizing that I am what I am and that for me God does not exist it was a point in my life that has come with both the feeling of great liberation and immense sadness. My sadness isn't due to not finding God, but of feeling true empathy for the pain anyone experiences who comes out of their closet. Living in any tightly sealed closet is like living in a coffin, but coming out doesn't always involve love, compassion and the support from those people who claim they love us. Although I do know how it feels to be judged, this time is different. This time I see just how little tolerance there really is in the world and that instead of people viewing each other as brothers and sisters and accepting each other's differences, I see how people want everyone to view life as they do. They want each person to be a cookie cutter version of themselves with no deviation. I want to scream, "I do not share the same desire." I appreciate the differences people have because I know without them life would be a very humdrum experience. Without them there would be no food for thought or choices to make. 

I also can and will continue to respect a person's right to believe or not believe in any higher power or lower power if they so choose. I can't or won't say a person's relationship with any God is a figment of their overactive imagination because I believe reality is what a person perceives it to be. Having a relationship with God simply is not a relationship I have nor one I feel I need as validation of being a good person. I don't believe religion holds exclusivity on bringing out the goodness in mankind. If it did, the world would be a much better place than it is. I think we all believe what we need to believe. I know many find great comfort in their faith and feel a need to worship. Perhaps there is some validity to Karl Marx's claim religion is the "opiate of the masses." 

Again, I have never found that numbing comfort nor the urgent need to worship as others have, but I will stand in support of a person's right to choose to worship or not. I will not stand in judgment nor will I belittle a person when their opinions and beliefs don't match mine. Yes, I will state how I feel, but in doing so I don't NEED anyone else to tell me I'm right...or wrong. Ideally, I'd just like the people journeying through life with me to accept me for who I am and to accept I am a good person without religion being at the core of who I am. And ideally, this is just a WANT and not a NEED! 

Gratitude statement: I'm grateful for the inner strength I have especially at times of great adversity.

*Repost October 4, 2011

THE TRUTH IS A VIRUS

[Originally written April 9, 2009, taken from an excerpt on my blog, Abnormally Normal People, edited and reposted]

Truth? As far out on the edge as I've teetered, something has always kept me from stepping into the abyss. Truth? My pain and I have a very intimate relationship. It’s very complicated and the only lasting relationship I’ve ever had. It’s definitely a love-hate relationship full of angst and exploration leading me into places where I’m able to forget my pain temporarily. During those times, life has been wonderful and filled with adventures, but nonetheless those times were temporary.

Is there anyone out there who has ever gotten to the point of saying "I'm done"? Well, what do you do when you're done? What do you do when you look back at the life you've lived and see that it's taken you to a place of true complacency and indifference? Wow! That's a place I never thought I'd be! Anger maybe. Rage was always a possibility. Bitterness was always aching to be number one on the hit parade, but what did I get? Complacency and indifference salted with a dash of disillusionment.

Without all the gory details, I recently made a decision that possibly could be the queen of all my self-destructive acts. I know some might think anyone making the decision to stop an addiction... any addiction is a wise decision. Perhaps it is! What would one say to someone who is addicted to prescribed narcotics and muscle relaxers and who has decided to stop taking those drugs against medical advice? Hmmmmmmm! Go for it? Good luck? You’re a damn fool? There’s no escaping the truth. When you’re done, you’re done.

Truth? Drugs have veiled many of my written words over the past several years. Okay, for some that may come as no big surprise, but for me it does. What surprises me is that after living through the horrors of drug abuse at a younger age, I allowed myself to take the easy way out as an adult and become something I hated. I would like nothing more than to be able to blame the doctors who prescribed the drugs to me, but I can't do that. I won’t do that! They had a job to do and did it. What transpired was a perfectly legal act, although some might question the ethics or morals involved.

Was I some drug-seeking individual that goes from doctor to doctor hoping to score some decent drugs? Truth? No! My medical problems set me on the path of having the best drugs health insurance could legally buy. Unfortunately, the nature of the beast includes developing a tolerance to prescribed narcotics. What may work initially only becomes a way to take the edge off and feel somewhat normal…. whatever normal is I’ve forgotten.

After careful consideration, I decided to go cold turkey. Is that the politically correct term these days or is it only showing my age? I decided to do this withdrawal in stages thinking that it would be easier on me due to other health issues. Instead of weaning myself off my meds, I abruptly stopped taking my Oxycontin first and now, I’m in the throes of a nasty divorce from Percocet 10’s. The muscle relaxers were flushed sometime in the midst of all this madness. Has my last month been fun? Hell no, but what I do know is that withdrawal can be accomplished. All it takes is determination and insanity will take you the rest of the way.

Gratitude statement: I'm grateful for having another blog I can steal stuff from when I don't feel like journaling.

THE ART OF BRIDGE BUILDING

Have you ever given any thought to the bridges you build with other people? We all build bridges with people with whom we associate and depending upon our skills as a master craftsman is how sturdy the bridge will be. Factors like the length of the relationship and the nature of the relationship also play a big part in bridge building process. Keep in mind also, that as we build our side of the bridge, the lanes going the other way may not be constructed at the same speed and with the same materials. 

Once a bridge is completed we then have the pleasure of traveling across it. That journey should never be taken blindly because we may miss spots that require additional work and reinforcement. The other side of the bridge reveals new destinations to move towards and carries an element of the unknown, yet the bridge itself holds a sense of security and familiarity because each step of the way was designed and hand-crafted by us. A bridge is our work of art and sometimes our legacy. So we should take great pride it what we built. 

Sometimes we burn bridges to end a relationship and other times we hang an Under Construction sign on it while repairs are taking place. The destruction or reconstruction effort depends solely upon the amount of damage done and our priorities. Keep in mind some bridges can’t be repaired and once a bridge is burned we can’t cross it ever again. Sometimes we get the opportunity at some future date to rebuild the bridge. It’s up to us if we devote our time and effort into that endeavor. I highly recommend not building the same type of bridge as before, but a new and improved model that is resistant to past damages and flaws. 

Sometimes what becomes confusing to us is when we have built a bridge and try to surpass its capacity. A hemp bridge over a dangerous ravine might be functional, but hardly the type of bridge you’d carry a heavy load across or travel across quickly. The durable bridges made of steel and concrete are the ones that withstand the test of time and are made for strenuous journeys. Hemp bridges become easily frayed and worn, while more durable bridges seem to last a lifetime with less maintenance required. Just as it may take a whole village to raise a child, it takes a whole crew to build a bridge. As long as you treat the crew right and reward them justly, the bridge you build will be a masterpiece. 

Gratitude statement: While I have to shamefully admit to building some rather flimsy bridges at times, the bridges that matter most to me are the ones that have withstood the true test of time. 

Blogger's Anonymous

This is a repost from 2005 and 2010 (edited):

Somewhere huddled in small conference rooms sitting in a circles sipping Irish tea and nervously fondling their well-guarded electronic device of choice are small groups of bloggers. Each meeting starts and ends with the Senility Prayer and each meeting includes an indepth discussion of one of the topics included in the Bloggers Anonymous 12-step program.

God grant me the senility to forget the people I have never liked,
the good fortune to run into the ones I do,
and the eyesight to tell the difference.

Hi, my name is Mildred Ratched and I'm a blogoholic. My addiction took root 6 years ago in Blogspot. Shortly thereafter I moved to MSN Spaces where I stayed for the next several years. Now, I'm back to Blogspot again. I've been used, abused, restricted, conflicted and just plain stifled along my journey! It's been almost 24 hours since I've blogged and I've got the shakes. I snuck into my office last night after waking from some bizarre dream with the intention of posting a blog only to find a post-it note stuck to my laptop. OMG...it was The Senility Prayer! I immediately called my sponsor and was able to get a little sleep after revealing my weakness to another human being. And to think technology used to be fun and useful! Now, I find myself daydreaming about new words and witty catch phrases. Tonight, we can work on any of these steps of your choice. Just pick your poison and run with it and remember "we are all just prisoners here of our own device." Now, let's hear from all you blog junkies stuck out here in the blogosphere!

The 12 Steps of Blogger's Anonymous:

1) We admit we are powerless over the need to blog and that our life often times has revolved around our blogs.

2) We believe that a power greater than ourselves exists, and its name is whatever website you use to host your blog.

3) We have made the decision to turn our lives and what skill we have over to the care of a word processing program, that it may help us create that which we cannot do on our own.

4) We have made and continue to make a searching and fearless inventory of other blogs to find humor, wit and wisdom wherever we can.

5) We admit that we cannot create insightful entries without the help of our life’s experiences.

6) We are entirely ready to let the blogging police try to find all inappropriate material on our blogs.

7) We humbly ask that our blogs are not deleted due to the inappropriate material contained within.

8) We have made a list of all the persons who own better blogs than we do and are willing to try and outdo them.

9) We admit our jealousy of those who create better blogs than we do and appeal to them whenever possible to show us the way to blogging glory.

10) We continue to edit our entries and promptly update to be read more often and to inspire and lure people to leave comments.

11) We crave the secrets of having a successful, well-traveled blog.

12) We have had a spiritual awakening as to why we try to lure others into this blogging lunacy and to spread the addiction to whomever we can.

Addendum: When I was going through therapy several years ago, I used to write a gratitude statement at the end of each post as a requirement from my yoyo inspector (therapist). Now, whenever I go back and read some of those gratitude statements I smile and shake my head. She was wise to have me write a gratitude statement as I used my blog as the the journal she asked me to keep as I went through therapy with her.

A link to another blogger writing about the same topic. 

Gratitude statement: I am truly thankful for the ability to express myself via written words and to connect with others as a result of the things I write. This is Mildred Ratched signing off as I recite The Senility Prayer! (3 times because I'm OCD) lol

MY TOP 25 LIGHTBULB MOMENTS

When I started blogging again in 2010 after a rather long absence from it, I did it to fulfill a therapy requirement given to me by my "yoyo inspector" (a term of endearment I had given my therapist).  One of the tools of therapy she wanted me to implement was to explore my inner self by keeping a daily journal.  The topic of each entry could be of my own choosing, but each entry had to end with a gratitude statement.  At times, I had to dig deep to find something that could be seen as gratitude on my part, but in doing so, I found an ingenious way to take negativity and gift wrap it with a big colorful bow. Suddenly even the most negative aspects of my life had a glimmer of light cast upon them. 

We all have moments when things just seem to click and suddenly make sense.  Here are a few things Mildred has learned about her relationship with herself, friends, family and lovers as she has stumbled down a rather bumpy garden path:

1) Someone who loves you will make time to be with you even when their schedule is so hectic and chaotic that they barely have time to take a shower.  

2) Someone who loves you will never treat you like you're an afterthought and will always attempt to include you in their plans whenever possible.

3) If you leave a voicemail or send an email or an occasional smoke signal, a considerate person responds. Silence can be interpreted in many ways, but in my book, silence is rude and neglectful. 

4) Plain and simple...any relationship does NOT thrive on neglect.

5) Intimacy starts to happen when two people open up and nurture each other. 

6) Relationships tend to grow and thrive as long as the relationship is a two way street! 

7) Relationships quickly dissipate and die as a result of constant drama, negativity and turmoil. 

8) Don't be a door mat! Hanging in there will only make you feel demeaned and used. Your feelings are worth more than that, so find someone who can and will love you as much as you love them. 

9) If gift giving occasions always come and go without even a simple acknowledgement (remember cards are relatively inexpensive) from the people who are most important to you, then they aren't deserving of your time, effort and hard-earned money. Why worry about finding "the perfect gift" for someone who always has some lame excuse as to why they can't reciprocate? As we've always been told, it really is the thought that counts! Obviously that jerk didn't get the same memo! Stop wasting your time and money!  Go buy yourself a gift for being smart!

10) Everyone has preferences!  If someone likes a tall partner and you're short unless you know how to get leg extensions, you should bow out gracefully.

11) Sometimes people stay in relationships with the wrong person for a lifetime because they're afraid of being alone. 

12) Being alone is much better than being with the wrong person. 

13) Actions speak louder than words and words can be pretty cheap at times. 

14) Some people are great at blowing smoke up people's backsides and weaving captivating dreams, but when it comes right down to it, those people are clueless when it comes to anything real and meaningful.   

15) People who love us will make our dreams come true...or at least they'll try to!

16) Open your eyes, read the signs and don’t overlook any red flags.

17) Trust your instincts and intuition.  

18) If you spend all your time wondering and questioning everything in a relationship, it's time to move on. 

19) Always accept people for who they are and not for who you want them to be.  

20) A real person will start the race and finish it being the same person. 

21) Remember a real person has flaws and imperfections!  Perfection might be alluring, but it doesn't exist.  A "perfect" person is hiding something!

22) Shutting the door and turning off the light might be a safe thing to do, but it's only going to hurt you in the long run. 

23) No one should live in a dark cave! 

24) The time to shut the door and turn off the light is when we die.  Until then, be brave and be willing to change the lightbulb occasionally.

25) All relationships are a work in progress and communication is one of the key ingredients to having a successful one.


Gratitude statement: Even though I may learn everything in life the hard way, I'm thankful that eventually even I see the light.

THE MAMMOTH CAVE

When I first started Mildred Ratched Memoirs, it was as an assignment from my therapist who I always lovingly referred to as a "yoyo inspector". She wanted me to keep a daily journal and the only stipulation she made was that each journal entry had to end with a gratitude statement. The topics could be of my own choosing. Instead of doing a conventional hand written journal, I decided to do mine in blog form since I had been blogging since 2004.

Although I've kept Mildred Ratched Memoirs alive long after stopping my visits to the yoyo inspector, somewhere along the way I stopped doing my gratitude statements. I have to be honest and admit that I miss them. They made me end each blog post on a positive note. When a person is struggling with an emotional upheaval or maybe just tying up some loose ends that have been dangling for far too long having to find things to be grateful about isn't always an easy task. I remember I ended one post with a gratitude statement about being grateful I didn't have hemorrhoids. That one made my therapist laugh.


Reposted and edited from CAVE LIFE 101 (February 22, 2010)

People with alternative lifestyles or who have a different sexual orientation than the rest of mainstream America may reside in a closet until they decide to emerge, but depressed people dwell in a dark, dingy cave many times filled with items of convenience so they won't have to ever emerge. A few years ago, I purchased a small refrigerator and a microwave to put in my bedroom, so I wouldn't have to leave it. That was around the same time as I bought a 52-inch HDTV for my bedroom. I should have seen the writing on the wall, but like most things, I ignored the warning signs until the damage had been done. I simply didn't care that I was a cave dweller.

Hey, people I live in Florida and in an area where the beaches don't suck. As described in the following quote: "The gentle breeze is still soothing just as the crystal-clear waves roll in from the emerald sea. The flawless white sand is just as soft as before, and the sea oats still dance for a glowing sun". Pensacola boasts to have the whitest beaches in Florida. So why does a person who once was a sun worshipper no longer even venture out into the light of day? No, I haven't joined the ranks of the undead! Not yet, at least!

I think it has to do with having an addictive personality and being self-destructive. I always loved to binge and then I'd grow bored with the object of my addiction. This behavior held true in every aspect of my life even the small ones. For example, I loved to read, but unlike a normal person who would read a book and then go onto the next or perhaps take a break between books, I would read 10 books in 2 weeks and then be done for 6 months or more. I buy books now and never read them. I sit and look at the cover or maybe read the first page a few hundred times, but I never finish reading the book. I guess the same holds true with the beach. I burnt myself out on being sun burned beach bunny. Actually, that's probably a good thing!

Tomorrow, I have my next yoyo appointment. I know she wants me to start dealing with issues I'd rather just leave in the cave. I'd rather discuss how I've spent the last 2 days cleaning and rearranging my cave and how good that made me feel...physically drained, but mentally better. I'd rather talk about why I feel the need to throw something away if I haven't used it in 6 months and why I have so little in which I assign sentimental value. Material objects have never meant very much to me...easy come, easy go! I'd rather discuss anything other than sexual abuse and being self-destructive. I think I may be in a horribly foul mood tomorrow!

Gratitude statement: I'm thankful it's today and not tomorrow.

I read my words now and ask myself, "What’s changed?" and I have to admit that I'm still a troglodyte and the rut I was in has widened over time. I really don't know where or how to begin to stop this abyss.

Gratitude statement: I'm grateful for the self awareness I possess and hope that it eventually kick starts some motivation to change my life while I still can.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

IGNORANCE & THE INTERNET

Okay, I've gotten lazy! I'll admit it! I thought I'd change my mp3 player to one that has a playlist on it and that randomizes the songs as people click on my blog. What I found out as I started creating the playlist is that there are no Pink Floyd songs in their database. And when I tried to locate Working Class Hero by John Lennon, I got an ooops, who's John Lennon? I did, however find Imagine by John Lenon...IMAGINE THAT! Come on people, typos are cool, but not on something like that. Typos like that make a person look completely ignorant and insult the artist.

I guess the moral of this little rant is that the grass is not always greener on the other side of cyberspace. In fact, I'm beginning to think that's where all the dillholes reside with their dial-up connections. So flog me for wanting to add a few Pink Floyd songs to my playlist! I like Pink Floyd and have been a fan ever since I heard "Careful With That Axe, Eugene" many, many moons ago somewhere in Providence, Rhode Island on a ferry boat that had been converted into a hang-out for hippies...another story for another time! I sure wish I knew the name of that ferry boat or could find someone who lived in Rhode Island and knows what the hell I'm remembering. For all I know, the whole memory is just a figment of my imagination. NAH! The memory of those giant speakers blasting music straight into my soul is far too real to be a hallucination and the blood curdling scream...it was real! Wasn't it? 

Gratitude statement: I'm grateful I can remember anything that happened 40 years ago in great detail. 

EROTICISM AND THE WALMART SHOPPER

I hate crowds! I also hate shopping! I guess that not only makes me unAmerican, but also the atypical female. Sometimes I used to go grocery shopping late at night to avoid the crowds. Very late one night, I went to Walmart where I encountered a middle-aged couple ahead of me in the checkout line purchasing 3 items. I made the following observations about the couple: 

 1. They were a well-dressed, affluent, middle-aged couple. 

 2. They were obviously enamored with each other because they made frequent passionate public displays of affection (PDA) 

 My smile turned to utter delight as I became mentally captivated by the 3 items they purchased. To this day I often wonder why any couple would come to Walmart at 2 a.m. to buy a roll of duct tape, a reclining lawn chair and a can of whipped cream! No, I didn't follow them home, but I have to admit I was tempted! 

Gratitude statement: I'm thankful for having a keen power of observation and enough sense to know when to leave well enough alone! 

The Definition of Confusion

When my children were still in school, they used to visit their grandparents on school holidays. I would drive halfway to Pensacola to meet my mother and place my children in her care. The first few days always seemed like bliss and then the house gradually seemed way too quiet. By the time I would pick up my children, I was more than ready to have them come home again. I welcomed that deafening chaos.

My mother was always rather rigid while I was growing up and had a very diplomatic way of handling punishment. If the guilty party didn't confess the first time when we were asked who did it, we all suffered the consequences. As I grew older and eventually became a parent myself, the woman who raised me seemed to change. She got soft in her old age! Had I broken her spirit? Possibly! But each time my children would rave on about the fun-loving person who they perceived their grandmother to be, I knew it wasn't the same person who raised me. My mother was proof that aliens do exist! Ask anyone from my old neighborhood! They knew my mother was a force to be reckoned with. Her voice alone could raise the dead.

Each time my children would go for a visit, it took weeks before I could straighten them out. My mother waited on them hand and foot and made them do nothing but fun things while they visited her. When they came home sassy and quite lazy, I would want to pull my hair out. One time while driving home, my children seemed quite mesmerized by a joke book one of them had gotten while in Pensacola. One of the visiting rituals was to take my three children (her angelic grandchildren) to Hawsey's, a used bookstore and let them each purchase a large paper bag full of books to read.

Since they were quiet on our trip home and this was an oddity, I tried to engage them in conversation only to be told they were reading jokes. That explained the occasional chuckle I heard from the backseat. I asked them to read aloud some of the jokes. My youngest child, Matthew spoke up and said he would read one. Although he was only 7 at the time, his reading skills were quite advanced for someone his age. As Matthew read, I almost drove off the road.

Whats' the definition of "confusion"?
Twenty blind lesbians in a fish market!

What? Now, with glee they started reading more jokes from the book until I asked them where they got the book. In unison...HAWSEY'S! And your grandmother let you buy that? Well, she never screened the books that were bought, so the book titled Truly Tasteless Jokes was easily purchased by my son, Daniel (age 9). When they all went on to recite the dirty little ditties my mother had taught them I knew she had lost her mind or maybe the rules that apply to being a parent were different from those being a grandparent. It definitely was a gotcha moment lovingly given to me by my mother. To this day, my mother just smiles innocently when this story is told.

An example of one of the my mother's ditties:

A flock of birds
Chocked full of tirds
Flew over my father's castle
They stretched their necks
And shit a peck
Then closed up their assholes.

Gratitude statement: I'm thankful I don't live in a castle near a fish market.