AN EMOTIONAL CUTTER'S LIFE - PART I

My mother used to tell me that I was so shy when I was a little girl that I would cry if a stranger would look at me. I really can't imagine living a life where I felt like that, but lucky for me, I have no conscious memories of being that way or feeling that way. I eventually blossomed when I started school. I discovered I had a mouth. The gift of gab was magically bestowed upon me and I transformed into a storyteller and the class clown all rolled into one lanky-legged little girl. 

My safe place growing up was never at "home."  My safe place was in an imaginary world I had created in my bedroom where I could transport myself to other realms and be other people or things. It was easy! I'd just open the door to my pink wooden closet on wheels, carefully push the buttons I had drawn on the inside of the wooden door, climb inside the closet, shut the door and transport myself somewhere else. Then, instantly off I'd go on my merry way. It was like reading a book, but only better until my mother would holler for me or at me...and out of the pink closet on wheels I would come. Blasted back to reality with a thud, I would jump out of the closet with a half-glazed look on my face. Undoubtedly, I had done something wrong...yet again! I would sigh and trudge my way downstairs to find out what I had done wrong this time and suffer the consequences.

I can't say I really know what love is because it's not something I've ever received in abundance. That's not being said from a place of self-pity, but it's a statement of fact pure and simple. My childhood was no better or worse than many girls or boys who grow up in alcoholic families. I struggled from having a distorted self-image that continually convinced me how ugly I was coupled with the negativity that was always shouting at me telling me I wasn't worthy of being loved. I was awkward. I felt stupid and I just wanted to be one of those pretty girls. My self-image was reinforced by how I was treated by my family. My mother never took me under her wing and molded me into a "girlie girl."  Isn't that what a mother should do with her only daughter? For Christ sake, my daughter is a princess. She's beautiful in every way and has always been since the day she was born. When I was growing up, my mother wouldn't dream of leaving the house unless she was dressed to the nines. Me? Not so much! I was the rebel. Go figure! I became a hippie. No make-up. No frills. I was tall and skinny. A pair of jeans and bare feet were great in my eyes. I always told people I had natural beauty and didn't need anything to enhance myself. Some people actually bought that bullshit! Now, I jokingly tell them it's a handicap to be beautiful. I think perhaps, that may be the truth.

I've always wondered what it would feel like to be able to look in the mirror and like what you see or at least be okay with what you see. I've never been okay with what I see. Don't get me wrong...I'm not saying I'm completely fugly, but what I see and what other people see are two entirely different things. AND then there's the matter of what's on the inside. OMG! That shit is scary! That's the kind of shit that makes people nutty. "We" have to keep that shit in a locked drawer NEVER to see the light of day. 

One of the worst things my mother ever did to me was when she got it in her head how darling I would look with a Twiggy haircut and she made me get my hair cut like that. I was 11. Puberty hadn't quite hit yet.  I already was shaped like a boy.  What she did gave me the kiss of death. It was horrible and I had absolutely no say in the matter. I was so traumatized. It was truly awful. I know! I know! Suck it up! Right? But when you're young stuff like that matters. Stuff like not being listened to matters. Not having anyone to talk to matters. Looking like a boy when you're a girl MATTERS. I wanted to be cute and I wasn't. If my mother had been kind, she would have featured her tall daughter as a model and made her feel beautiful instead of awkward and homely. She should have slapped some make-up on me and enhanced some of my features and then turned my face towards the mirror and told me that I'm beautiful. That never happened and I often wonder why she never attempted to let me know I wasn't ugly. Did she not know how I felt? Couldn't she see it?  All the while this minor bullshit and pre-teen angst was happening, I was struggling dealing with sexual abuse. So I suffered in silence. The ugly duckling waiting to become a swan suffered in silence. It was my self-imposed prison for which the sentence was indefinite.

This was in a time when NO ONE talked about stuff like that. Yes, sexual abuse happened back then. It's always happened and unfortunately, will continue to happen. On some level, I instinctively knew I needed to just keep it to myself and "protect" the person. So, I sacrificed myself to protect someone else who didn't deserve protection or my loyalty. But why did I do that? If this makes any sense...although I feared and hated what the person was doing to me and yes, I also hated that person, but on the other hand, I also loved that person. I was just a child and I was torn.  My loyalties were torn. I was so confused.  I didn't have anyone to talk to and even if I did, what exactly do you say? How do you slip something like that into a conversation when you don't really understand what's happening or why it's happening. OMG! That child inside me still cries at times! Sometimes, I lay awake at night and I get flashes of old memories and feelings. That little girl still lives and she has lived a war-torn life. The battle scars may not be visible to the naked eye, but they do exist. When I look in the mirror I see the scars. When I look in the mirror I feel the scars and when I close my eyes I feel the fear.

FOREVER

Yesterday, while I was sitting here I suddenly got inspired to write a poem. I know! Poetry! YUCK! Hey, you have to run with inspiration when it strikes, no matter what direction it takes you in, right? So, humor me by holding your nose and reading my heart-felt words. Mildred is really trying to heal and come home...

It's a good thing I was by myself when I wrote this poem because I cried the whole time I was writing it. Yes, I actually wrote it and didn't type it. There's something about holding a pencil that seems to stir something in me, but it's difficult to stay inspired with a snotty nose and tears dripping all over the place. Somehow, I managed to find the "right" words and finish the poem. My first draft I emailed to my "bestie" and of course, she thought it was lovely. But, I'm wondering if she thought it sucked if she would have told me to go back to the drawing board and keep working. That thought brought a smile to my face... 

Forever

 One moment she was breathing

And then nothing filled her eyes.

I can’t prevent the ending…

Forever

She gifted me with life and love.

Now, outstretched while growing cold.

And from her death tears erupted…

Forever

 My whole life changed that moment.

And my heart won’t be the same.

Still somehow, I march forward…

Forever

 A crushing grief weights my soul.

While trying to drown the pain

 Prevents this crevice from closing…

Forever

You never thought I listened.

While you showed me who I am

I hope you knew I loved you…

Forever

 As time grew near to free you

My heart was opened wide.

That moment remains eternal…

Forever

 The moments when I need you.

You tell me to reach inside.

I get my strength from you…

Forever

You’re all around me always.

A deafening silence holds you there.

You will live on inside me…

Forever

I know how things must happen.

Reality stares me in the eyes.

Until someday I join you…

Forever

 And while my heart is healing

I still have these tears to cry

But each sunset brings a sunrise…

Forever.

💔

by Mildred Ratched

22 Feb 2021

THERE'S A TRAITOR IN THE HOUSE!

Lately, my mindless distraction has been doing genealogy research. This isn't something new for me. In fact, I started poking around in my family tree back in the 1990's. Since then, I've found many interesting facts regarding my ancestry and a lot of not so interesting facts. I guess you have to take the good with the bad!

Since my family is all from New England finding out I had ties to the Mayflower and the Salem witches came as no surprise to me. In fact, I'm related to a dozens of the witches. Elizabeth "Goody" Proctor is my 9th great grandmother.  She's the one the book, The Crucible was written about so when it's a full moon and I get a yearning to rip my clothes off and dance naked in the backyard now I know why or at least I have a story I can tell the police when they come to get me. Speaking of books and authors...Laura Ingalls Wilder (Little House On The Prairie) is a cousin, also, but I don't think I have that prairie thing going on, but Mildred definitely can rock a witch's hat!

Today wasn't a great day for discovery. Benedict Arnold popped up. I know all families have skeletons and scalawags, but traitors??? Okay! I guess I'll have to own it. It's not a close tie. He's like a 4th cousin 8 times removed. That doesn't even qualify as a kissing cousin, does it? Who of you out there understand the generational relationship when someone says so and so is 2nd cousin 3 times removed or 2 times removed? Anyway, I'll take Benedict Arnold just as long as I don't find out I'm related to Donald Trump. I know there's a fat chance of that happening because all my DNA is planted in the British Isles. I better shut up. He might have a smidgeon of Irish or Scottish tucked up his fat ass somewhere and it really would make me cry if I found out we're kissing cousins.

Speaking of crying, yesterday while sitting at a traffic light I had my one of my "moments." There was a lone bird sitting on a wire and as I watched it, I started crying. Now, as I type this I'm starting to cry again. My mother used to tell me that all birds sit on wires in the same direction. I used to tell her she's crazy. Every time I'd see birds, I'd always look and they'd never be sitting the same way. Where she got that idea I never knew, but it became a standard joke my kids and I would tease her about. Yesterday, there was just one little bird sitting alone and it made me cry. The flood gates opened and I cried all the way to the doctor's office.

I went there because I haven't been feeling well. That was an ordeal! No one there knew my mother had passed away. No, I don't want anything to help me to sleep! No, I don't want an anti-depressant. I just want my stomach to feel better (I have serious digestive issues) and I want my blood pressure to behave itself. My doc changed my blood pressure med and decided to let my gastro doc handle the other issues since I had an appointment with her today. Maybe I'll be able to sleep better and actually eat food once in awhile. That'll certainly improve my whole outlook or at least make my digestive system do a happy dance. Does anyone remember what it felt like when you were a kid and you just felt good? Well, that's my goal! I want to remember what good feels like. Not great, but good. I know there's going to be days when I hurt, but I'm tired of this "golden years" bullshit that we get fed and then we get here and it's a bunch of lies and bullshit. 

My goal tomorrow is to do some more work on the bedroom so I can work towards getting it ready to move into it EVENTUALLY. My kids are worried that it will bother me to move into my mother's old bedroom, but I think I'm okay with it and of course, my dogs are okay with wherever I am as long as they get at least 75% of my bed. 

HELP!

I'm drowning in grief and my "g" keeps sticking on my keyboard. That's probably some kind of prophetic sign. Maybe it's time for a new laptop, but honestly I haven't been this broke since...well, I don't remember how long it's been. Times are hard for everyone. I sit here alone day after day. I don't even go outside anymore. My backyard is no longer my sanctuary. The birds must hate me because I no longer feed them. My dogs are my only solace...and my adult children, but they work and well, I just don't want them to worry about me. My stomach hurts and I have trouble sleeping. The fucking G is starting to piss me off! Too many things piss me off like the roof leaking and all the repairs that need to be done. I keep looking at everything that needs to be done, but I honestly don't have the energy or the motivation to do anything about anything and even if I did have the motivation, it wouldn't matter because I don't have the money. I just feel so overwhelmed because for the last twenty years I've spent takin (oh, fuck that "g") care of my parents and now, I have no purpose or direction. I feel totally lost and I don't know what to do. It scares me to feel this way.

I can't go out to my mother's art studio without crying. I don't know what I'm going to do with all her artwork. There's probably at least thousand paintings out there. Her bedroom needs to be cleaned out and I can't seem to even do that. And then there's the matter of business stuff I need to do...the will, getting the deed to the house transferred to my name, checking on why the life insurance has been so slow in paying the claim, etc. I just can't seem to do anything. All I do is sit here and watch the news and oh boy, that's going to cheer me up! 

I don't even have any words for the depths of the despair I feel towards what has happened to this country lately. For a moment I had a glimmer of hope and then it was all snuffed out. I never thought I'd see a sitting president damage our great nation in the ways that Donald Trump has damaged and divided it. 

I stopped going on Facebook...I guess loneliness has lured back to stay in touch with my friends and family. Desperation will make a person do strange things. So I hold my nose and I log on to that cesspool of hate and discontent. Usually, I don't post anything, but yesterday I couldn't help myself. Afterwards, I felt like I needed to take a shower! Below is what posted:

It really disheartens me by the amount of hate and division people seem willing to spread instead of trying to start to mend this great divide we have in our country. Why do people keep posting inflammatory things on their Facebook pages and then act wounded when someone challenges what they post? Look, if you don’t want controversy then don’t post controversy. Yes, you have a right to your opinion, but if you post something, don’t whine like a little girl if someone disagrees with you because everyone is entitled to their opinion and opinions vary. They always will!

Unfortunately, in these times people are going to lose friends because let’s face it...politics and religion are two controversial subjects and unless we learn to listen to one another with empathy and without bloodshed this country is in real jeopardy. I think each of us needs to give that some serious thought. We aren’t enemies. We’re Americans and we need to start acting like Americans. We need to come together and heal this country. Remember united we stand, divided we fall...and we WILL fall if we don’t get our act together. The solution to the problem will not be accomplished through violence or division!

ROSALIE

The focus of my last few decades has been primarily towards caring for my elderly parents. My father (actually my step-father, but he was the father I never had growing up, so he got a promotion a long time ago to being referred to as my "father") passed away in 2008 leaving a huge crater in many people's lives. Around that time was when the aliens came and abducted my mother and she began what I called her Empty Pod Stage (EPS). 

The doctors said she had Alzheimer's. I disagreed. I was right. They were wrong, but it took many years to coax her back into the land of the living. She obviously had some kind of breakdown. So many things happened in rapid succession that I think it overloaded her brain. It all started with her having breast cancer. She never reacted like anyone else being told they had cancer. She reacted more like she was told she had a fart crosswise and all she had to do is take a double dose of Gas-X to get some relief. Her reaction was almost eerie. Then there was the Category 4...almost a 5 hurricane that hit us directly. She totally lost it and wanted to be taken to the hospital. I'm sorry, but ambulances don't run in 150 mph winds. In fact, nothing runs in that kind of wind storm. 

She also had her driving privileges taken away from her and that hit her hard. In fact, that hit her harder than having cancer. That made her mad, but having cancer didn't! I never understood that one. I was relieved when they took her license because my mother had to be one of the worst driver's on the road. For 25 years before they took her license, I wouldn't ride with her if she was behind the wheel. If we went anywhere, I drove. In all honesty, she really was an accident waiting to happen. It probably was a blessing she didn't learn to drive until she was 30 something years old. 

Then there was decline of my father's health (cardiac and kidneys) which led to his demise. I suppose a person can only take so much before their mind goes into survival mode. That's when the aliens came and rescued my mother leaving behind just an empty pod that looked like her. I took good care of that pod for almost 10 years and then one day, the aliens returned. My mother came home. She started painting again and reading again and doing all the things she used to love to do just like it was only yesterday. She really didn't have any memories of that time period that stood out in her mind when I questioned her about it. 

What was almost 10 years to me and the rest of the family was at most a few days for her. In all that time she never mentioned my father or his dying. In fact, she did little talking about anything unless I really prodded her into it. Trust me, I tried everything....doctors, therapists, drugs, taking trips "home" to Maine, etc, etc. and NOTHING worked. Time was what she needed, so time was what I gave her. She even fell and broke her hip during the EPS. Now, that was a tricky situation to get her through physical therapy and up walking again, but with determination on my side, she did it and returned home from having surgery and then a 6 week stay in rehab. I know I'm luckier than most people. My mother has been around a very long time. She turned 92 on her last birthday in February.  

On October 24th my mother fell and broke her other hip. 

While she was in the hospital, I kept most people updated about her progress via text or on Facebook. It was easier than to having to repeat the same things 50 times in a row. The only people I actually talked to during this time period other than my children and a few friends were my brothers.

My final update about my mother was written and posted on December 3rd:

This afternoon my mother passed away. While I have to admit that I am relieved that her pain and suffering is finally over, my heart is broken. The sorrow that consumed both my daughter and I as we looked down upon my mother was overwhelming and as I finally walked down that long hallway away from Covenant Care Hospice at West Florida Hospital it took every ounce of strength I had to put one foot in front of the other and leave my mother behind forever.

I can't begin to express the sorrow I feel and how my heart is broken in a million pieces after watching my mother develop pneumonia and A-fib, have a pulmonary embolism, get sepsis from an UTI and lose the ability to swallow and have to have a feeding tube surgical placed in her stomach for nutrition. Basically, she went from being a healthy 92 year old on October 24th to being placed in hospice on December 2nd to dying on December 3rd. 

I'm a grown woman, yet I feel like an orphaned child. I walk around my house and feel her presence everywhere, yet she's gone. I'm okay one minute and I'm crying like a baby the next. I don't even know if that's what I'm suppose to do. I keep asking myself, "What am I suppose to do with myself now?"  I never gave this day any thought. I never thought about me in the grand scheme of things. My focus was always on other people...always on my step-father and on my mother. Thinking about myself now feels so foreign. I'm overwhelmed. I'm sad and I just want to feel like I have a purpose. I just want to feel  something other than feeling this horrible sadness.

This photo was taken not long after my mother was first admitted to the hospital. It's nice to see that she was still capable of smiling here.

At this point I think I had accepted my mother's fate...

When she was moved to hospice, I covered her with the afghan her mother had made for her. I wanted her to feel close to her mother. For some reason, I felt that was important. She always kept this afghan folded at the end of her bed. Her mother, my grandmother passed away in 1974. 

Surgery on the 9th

Instead of remaining MIA, I felt a short explanation was appropriate.  This surgery is something I've been putting off for quite awhile and I'll post more details about it after I have it done on the 9th.  Right now, I've been trying to finish up all the hurricane clean-up, etc. and to prepare myself mentally for having more surgery.  

Hurricane Blues

My power went out at 8:05pm on the 15th.  Periodic trips to my car to charge my cellphone has kept me partially sane and connected to the rest of the world.  Eventually, I’ll be back if anyone is wondering what happened to me.  No, I didn’t blow away!  I been through much worse storms than Hurricane Sally, but I do have to admit she surprised most everyone around here.  I’ll post pictures, etc when I have electricity and internet again.  Until then, let’s hope the Gulf of Mexico remains peaceful.

Hunger

Florence and the Machine is a British group from London formed by Florence Welch and Isabella Summers in 2007 synthesizing pop, English folk, and alternative rock. The six-time Grammy nominees broke through with their single "Dog Days Are Over," the second single from their 2009 debut album, "Lungs." The song rose to No. 21 on the Billboard Hot 100 and was heard on the TV shows such as "Gossip Girl" and "Glee." The group has had three Top 10 albums on Billboard, including their lone No. 1 "How Big How Blue How Beautiful" in 2015.

Here's another group I'm not familiar with, but this fluid-moving "ginger" is worth watching. Florence Welch wrote this song about her eating disorder. And yes, we all do have a hunger! Most of us have a hunger to be free of this pandemic. We need new leadership, so vote like your life depends upon it because it does.

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

SCATTERED THOUGHTS

One of my favorite reading materials while in the "*library/reading room" is the Reader's Digest. This morning I found an editorial that stood out to me.

A Crash Course In Commencement Speeches

As someone who worked at a university for 20 years, I find it appalling that a celebrity should demand $100,000 to give a ten minute speech in front of a group that may never be able to pay off student loans. Also, shame on schools for paying those amounts, especially when they raise tuition every year.

-Robert Austin

Baltimore, Maryland

*bathroom

Of my three adult children, two of them are still paying off student loans. For anyone who chooses to go to college, being saddled with a mountain of debt usually comes with it unless a person comes from a wealthy family or is fortunate enough to have some other avenue of paying for tuition, books and other expenses while attending college. The days of merely working your way through college seem to have disappeared or if it does still exist people are guarding it as a state secret.

This may be getting off subject, but I think back to when my niece was looking into colleges. She applied to some of the top colleges in the country. She was accepted at Princeton and really wanted to go there, yet her school guidance counselor talked her into staying in the state of Maine and going there. WTF? She graduated with the 3rd highest GPA in the state of Maine and she didn't go to Princeton? Who does that?

Her counselor felt too many young people leave Maine and that's true because there's so little there for them after they graduate. Maine isn't a wealthy state by any means. Its nickname is "Vacationland" because for about 5 months it's absolutely perfect minus the black flies (the Maine state bird) and a few other irritants here and there. Do tourists count as an irritant? Ha! Don't ask a *Mainiac that!

*a person born in Maine

I suppose her counselor was doing what she thought was the right thing to do and looking at my niece now who has a family, yes, the counselor did the right thing because Maine is a great place to raise a family.  But at the time...Princeton? Geez! So where was she talked into going? You probably wouldn't have ever heard of the college, yet it’s a very prestigious school. Bates College famous alumni include Robert Frost, Robert Kennedy, Bryant Gumbel, David Hasselhoff, Olympia Snowe, Edmund Muskie, Minoru Yamasaki (designer of the first World Trade Center) and William Henry Vanderbilt III just to name a few.  The last time I checked it costs more to go to Bates than it does to go to Harvard. I guess as with anything it isn't how much it costs, it's what you do with it after you finish. My niece has a wonderful career and a wonderful family, yet she opted to stay in Maine. I applaud her for doing that.

Now, to come full circle to those celebrities who demand outrageous speaking fees at commencement ceremonies. I can't help but feel how out of touch they are with the rest of the world. Some have no idea how the common person lives or if they did start with humble beginnings, they've forgotten those roots along the way. I applaud people like Sean Penn who get in the trenches and work with the people.  As of late, Penn has been giving free COVID-19 tests in the U.S. amid the COVID-19 pandemic. People like him try to help in a crisis. Look at President Carter and his wife, Rosalyn. President Carter is 95. Rosalyn is 92. Since 1984, they have partnered with Habitat for Humanity to build, repair or renovate nearly 4,300 homes for people in need across the globe.

I'm all over the place today, aren't I? I guess the old ADHD is kicking in and I can't focus. So that means I had better get dressed and go outside and get right with the birds and my plants. I've got mulch to spread and landscape timbers to put down and drill. I need to go to the nursery and see if they have their fall plants in yet. Yesterday I ordered a TON of spring bulbs that'll be here later in the fall.  I have my eye on a red crepe myrtle at Lowe's and a pink hibiscus. I have just about every other color, but I don't have pink. I have a list of roses I need to order this winter. I want to order the award-winning rose for the year each one of my children were born and then I have a list of others I like. I love roses. I guess I won't have much yard left once I'm done, but that's okay. There'll be less grass to mow, but more plants to fertilize and weed. Six of one. Half a dozen of another. Work is work and off I go!

To Breathe or Not To Breathe

For those of you who may be on the fence about using a CPAP machine for sleep apnea, I, too struggled for an exceptionally long time knowing I needed to use my machine. It's not an easy task and I attempted it several times with no success because I looked at it as being intrusive instead of being helpful and necessary.

I was originally diagnosed with sleep apnea about 2002, but I never made myself use the CPAP I got. At that time, my insurance company didn't consider the humidifier part of the device as being necessary. Try using a CPAP without it. I would wake up after just a few hours and my nasal passage and throat felt like it was on fire. I discussed this with my doctor and the only suggestion she had was for me to coat the inside of my nose with KY jelly each night. I know it sounds gross, but I tried what the doctor suggested. I had the same reaction plus I had dried KY jelly flakes all over the inside of my nose which made me look like I had some dreadful disease. It was a wonderful picture and a joy to try to clean out each morning before work! Shortly thereafter I finally gave up trying to use the machine until about 2012 when my health was going downhill fast. My diabetes had gotten totally out of control. I was tired all the time throughout the day, I wasn't sleeping well at night and I was having trouble concentrating during the day. It was as if I was living in a fog all the time.

When I did sleep throughout the night, I would wake up struggling to breathe. Then in 2012, I received a new CPAP machine which I knew I needed to use. No more lame excuses! My latest sleep study revealed I stopped breathing 55.9 times per hour with apnea-related episodes. Wow! That meant I stopped breathing almost once every minute. That number kept resonating in my head repeatedly. My lowest oxygen level was 73%. Normal levels should be 95-100%.  Anything below 90% is considered being in respiratory distress. My doctor was amazed that I hadn't had a heart attack or a stroke in my sleep. He also was amazed that I could function during the day after having been deprived of oxygen all night long night after night. Is "functioning" what this is called? If he only knew how much I was struggling just to put one foot in front of the other!

When I received my new CPAP machine, I used the machine that night and every night since then...NO MORE EXCUSES! Those stats scared me enough to make me realize that I was asking for trouble and it wasn't the kind of trouble I wanted. Yes, this CPAP is equipped with a humidifier so it works without making my nasal passages feel like they're on fire.  I selected a mask that felt comfortable to me to wear.  I knew that was important. This machine isn't loud so it doesn't sound like a jack hammer next to my head. When I put the mask on that first night I actually told myself OUT LOUD that I was going to wear the mask ALL night long and that I wasn't going to take it off unless I has to get up to use the bathroom. When I woke up the next morning, my mask was still on and I felt like I had accomplished an amazing feat. It wasn't long before I noticed I started feeling better.  I had more energy and I wasn't tired all the time. From there on out whenever I would lay down whether it was to take a nap during the day or to watch television in the evening in my bedroom, I would put my CPAP on just in case I would fall asleep.

The moral of this story is if you're diagnosed with sleep apnea, take it seriously. Do whatever you need to do to make yourself get used to using your machine. And most important, be compliant and use your machine faithfully.  Sleep apnea does kill people. Don't be stupid and be one of those people who turn into a statistic.

Yes, I have a dog that does this to me. It's such a wonderful way to wake up from a sound sleep! She usually sleeps in her dog bed, but when she's gassy she likes to sleep on the floor right next to my night stand and well, if you've ever had the pleasure of smelling a dog fart, then you can only imagine what one funneled directly into your nose while you're sound asleep would be like. I jump up using some really bad language and Libby heads upstairs quickly and then turns around at the top of the stairs and looks at me like as if to say, "you need to chill out, lady! It's only a little gas!"

Age Is Just A Number

Yesterday we watched Cristana Ramos, a 37 year old opera singer transform before our eyes and rock the house while she took us on a trip down that Highway To Hell. Today, we will watch Jenny Darren, a 68 year old retiree show us that age is just a number!

A ROAD EXPANSION COMING YOUR WAY SOON

NEW PARENT IDEA

If you really want to scar your child for life, this idea is priceless:

A CRACK IN MY WHEEL BARROW

The birds were squawking at me as soon as I let the dogs out at 6am. They wanted to be fed. That meant I needed to go get 60lbs of bird seed out of the trunk of my car. I debated whether or not to go get dressed first because it had rained in the night and trudging through the wet grass and cleaning out the feeders would probably get messy. But I opted to stay as is and get wet. Getting wet is always fun. Right?

Part way through the task, two of my dogs wanted to go back in the house because they do not like the humidity. The other dog seems resistant to the presence of humidity and will stay outside all day with me.  He's my little helper! It's a shame I can't teach him how to prune shrubbery and do other outside tasks. We have detailed conversations about the plants, the birds and other happenings in the yard. After finishing up with the birds, I decided I'm going to start working on my next rock statue. In order to do this, I need to make a trip to Lowe's to purchase a new wheel barrow. My old one has had a nervous breakdown. It's been fixed so many times, it's gotten way beyond repair and can't haul heavy rocks in it. I could carry them, but I'd rather save my back and let a wheel barrow do the work.

I went in the house to clean up a bit and to ask my son to accompany me to Lowe's.  I knew which wheel barrow I wanted so the trip would be a short one. They have them lined up right outside the front of the store so all I needed to do is go inside and pay for one and a clerk will come out and unlock the chain and I can get my wheelbarrow and we can go. When we first got there, we looked at the wheel barrow I wanted and we discussed whether or not we thought it would fit in the car. We both thought it would, so off we went to purchase it. The line wasn't too brutal...everyone was wearing masks. The sun was out and Sunday looked like it was going to be a wonderful day.

I finally get up to the register, I pay for the wheel barrow, the clerk meets us outside and we can't get it in the car. Nope! It's not going to fit anyway we try it. I asked my son to go inside to see if they have one unassembled we can bring home and put together ourselves. While he's inside I'm standing there looking at the wheel barrow and this gentleman walks over to me and asks me if I need help putting the wheel barrow in my car. I look up at him and I almost fell over. There before me is this tall, handsome older man with the bluest eyes I've ever seen. I smiled at him and told him that my son and I had already tried numerous ways to get it in the car and it wouldn't fit. He asked me how far I lived from Lowe's. I told him that I only lived about 5 minutes away. He then offered the use of his truck if we trusted him. He said we could take a photo of his tag on his truck. I couldn't believe that people still helped one another out like that. He almost renewed my faith in humanity just in that small gesture of kindness.

Okay now, that I have your attention! All that really did happen except it wasn't a tall, good-looking older gentlemen who came over to me. In my dreams!!! SIGH!!! It was a couple and they were so nice. I really was amazed at their generosity. They put my wheel barrow on the back of their truck and brought it to my house. My son tried to pay them, but they refused. To pay it forward, we figured we would find some charity and donate some money to it. I think I'd like to donate to an animal charity. Maybe I'll ask my vet when I bring my Shih Tzu for blood work this week if they know of a local rescue place or something that needs a donation. I just hate giving money to places that don't use the money for the cause.

Anyway, so as soon as we get the wheel barrow unloaded, we load it up with the rocks I'm going to use for my statue and take the load to the spot in the backyard I want to build the statue. Then we go get the other load. In the process of doing this I find a two huge colonies of fire ants. I had my yard treated about 3 weeks ago for fire ants and it's supposed to be good for one year. I make a mental note to call Florida Pest Control in the morning and get them back out here.  After all, the treatment was rather pricey and it's guaranteed for one year. The wheel barrow I chose was one of those wheel barrows with two wheels and the bed is made of some kind of hard durable plastic.  I figured for what I would be using it for in my yard it would be fine. Oh Mildred, you need to just stop thinking and when you do think, do the complete opposite.

My son started tossing the rocks (some of them are really large) into the wheel barrow before I could tell him to take it easy that it isn't made of metal. The next thing I know the base of the wheel barrow had a large crack in it. Oops! I ended up having to call Lowe's and had to set up a date to have them come pick up this wheel barrow and have them issue me a refund, then I had to buy a new wheel barrow that is made of metal and pay a hefty delivery fee that is as much as what the wheel barrow costs. So when they come to pick up the the "old" wheel barrow, they'll bring me my new wheel barrow and all this is supposed to happen on the 30th.

Hallelujah! I'm having a Wheel Barrow Party on the 30th. I'm going to get drunk and sleep in my new wheel barrow or better yet, I'm going to get stoned and sleep in my new wheel barrow.  Or maybe I'll get drunk and stoned and maybe some tall, handsome older gentleman will wheel me off somewhere...but, ONLY if he has a toolbelt and a truck and he knows how to use his tools! The S.O.B. better know how to use his tools or else he's outta here... Mildred isn't fooling around!

THE NON-BELIEVER'S SUNDAY SERMON

To err is human, but creativity is divine...

A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

Lynne and I stuck our thumbs out to hitch a ride home. We had a small walk-up flat on the fifth floor located on Commonwealth Avenue several buildings up from the Public Gardens in Boston. We'd been at the Sizzleboard in Kenmore Square just to hangout for a while. The first time I ever walked in the Sizzleboard and saw Panama Red and Acapulco Gold listed as two flavors on their ice cream menu I knew Boston was where I belonged. No, they didn't have marijuana in their ice cream. They just borrowed various names of marijuana to put on the menu as flavors. To say it was a popular idea was an understatement. After all Boston and vicinity is a huge college city and so was marijuana in 1971.

Ordinarily, we might walk home, but it had just started to snow. You know, it was that kind of huge, lacy snowflakes that stick to your eyelashes and the end of your nose before melting. A VW bug pulled over and we quickly got in the back. It wasn't until that moment that our real adventure of the evening began. Immediately both of us were handed a thin piece of rope and were told to pull them back and forth. Sure thing! We did as instructed and lo and behold the windshield wipers worked and kept the flourishing accumulation of snow off the windshield.

It seems we weren't in the car more than a minute before a joint was lit. The next thing I know we were pulling up in front of their place to do a little partying, but I had no idea where we were because I hadn't paid attention to where the driver had taken us.  Lynne gave me the nod to let me know that it was cool, so we all piled out of the car and went upstairs to their apartment. Their living room was all the way in the back of the building. Lynne and I settled into spots next to each other on the floor in front of a homemade chunky wooden coffee table adorned with a large bowl of Fritos corn chips and various drug paraphernalia. I had the munchies so I immediately started eating the Fritos and one guy lit a joint and started passing it around while the other guy put some music on the stereo.

Yes, I was only 15, but I was already very well-versed in drugs by that age. I knew my way around as well as someone much older than me so when I started noticing that I was much higher than I should be I got a little concerned. At first, I didn't do anything, but sit back and observe what was going on around me to see if I could make any sense out of the situation. The two guys seemed to be talking in a language I didn't understand. No, it wasn't a foreign language. It was one I'd never heard before. It was a non-sensical one. One that only they understood, but as I looked at Lynne, she didn't seem concerned at all by this so I assumed this was just me. This was just in my mind. Oh goodie! I'm fucked up and don't know why!  Then all my senses seemed to fade away into a psychedelic haze. Was I tripping? Wait a minute! All I had done was smoke a little dope. How could I be tripping? Everyone else seemed fine. This just didn't make any sense to me.

At this point I stood up and asked if I could use their bathroom. Lynne seemed to sense something was wrong so she tagged along with me. As soon as we were out of ear shot, she started quizzing me about what was going on. I'm not one who is prone to paranoia, but in this case, it started to rear its ugly head. All I could think of was getting the hell out of Dodge. I told her what was going on and that I needed to leave. NOW! She went back in and grabbed our jackets and we immediately left.

The cold winter air had a momentary sobering effect on both of us and then holy shit! We realized neither of us knew where the hell we were. Boston is a big place and generally, we knew our way around, but it was the middle of the night by then and we were both high as hell so we had to take a moment to regroup. We usually used the Prudential Building as a beacon or landmark because it was the tallest building and we always seemed to be able to see it wherever we were. But it wasn't anywhere in sight. Where the hell were we? Why hadn't we paid attention to where these guys took us?

As we walked and talked, I told Lynne how I felt and as best I could figure I was the only one of the four who ate any of the Fritos. They had to have been laced with some hallucinogenic drug. What a cheap trick to pick up two females and try to drug them. I wonder what else they planned for us that night. I'm so glad we got out of there when we did.

As we walked I didn't want to walk too close to the buildings and the alleyways because I was afraid of being grabbed so I walked close to the street and Lynne didn't want to walk close to the street because she was afraid of being grabbed by someone in a car even though there wasn't any traffic. And she wasn't high like I was. Weren't we a pair? The longer we walked the worse I got and nothing looked familiar. Lynne kept assuring me she knew where she was, but I knew she was lying to me. I knew she was just trying to make me feel better because I was right on the verge on losing it. We came upon a car repair garage named Hampden Automotive Repairs and we both stopped dead in our tracks. My eyes filled with tears as I looked at Lynne and quizzically asked her if we had walked that far. You see, Hampden is a small town next to Bangor where we are both from in Maine. How could we have walked that far? It was another holy shit moment. Bangor was about a 6 hour drive from Boston.

Lynne finally gave up and walked close to the street with me because she saw I was starting to really unravel. As we slowly trucked along a cop car pulled over and asked us if we needed a ride. Lynne and I just looked at each other for a second. I took a deep breath because I knew this wasn't the good time to get busted and sent home.  Actually, no time was the good time to get busted and sent home but I was high as hell and I really didn't want to get hassled by the man while I was high.  We both knew there was no way around not getting in the cop car, so we eased our way into the back seat expecting the interrogation to begin.  We were surprised when it didn't. When I noticed the two "cops" didn't look like cops at all, but two scruffy-looking hippies instead, I started wondering what was going on.  Undercover, perhaps?  Had two young yahoos stolen a cop car and gone on a joy ride?  Tonight, anything was possible!

When we weren't asked for identification or asked where we live, we knew something was wrong, but we just looked at it like a gift from the Bostonian gods from old. They did, however, ask what we were doing walking at that time of night. We got a lecture about it not being a good thing to do because women can get raped doing stuff like that. Of course, we made up some bullshit story about being at a friend's house and getting lost when we left. I guess that wasn't too far from the truth except they weren't friends. They were assholes!

When asked where we were going, we chimed in and both said we were going to Stanetsky Memorial Chapels. The two hippie-looking cops gave each other a weird look when we said that, but then said to us that they couldn't take us all the way there because it's in a different district, but they could drop us off at the foot of the bridge. We knew that was a weird place to go in the middle of the night or anytime for that matter because it was a funeral parlor.  Lynne explained that we had a close friend that worked there on the weekends and that he'd make sure we'd get home safely and he did exactly that, but only after being subjected to hearing us ramble on about yet another one of our BIG adventures.  Thank you, Kenny Goldstein for being a lifesaver!

THE FACE OF A KILLER

My little 12 lb. doodle (dachshund/poodle mix) is a total love bug. The first thing he does whenever anyone comes to my house is brings them one of his toys so they can play with him. He loves to play fetch. Now, if the person doesn't follow his lead then he starts coaxing the person by "talking" to them by making his cute noises until the person pays attention. Hey, wake up! You're in my house and there's certain rules one must abide by in this house and playing with the doodle is one of them. It's mandatory.

His name is B.A. which doesn't mean anything. B. A. = Be Anything, but after the other night I think it needs to stand for BADASS.  My Shih Tzu, Fenway is the Queen and the alpha dog of the house. She runs the roost.  Fenway weighs about 16 lbs. Libby is a Dandie Dinmont Terrier and she weighs about 16 lbs. Although Fenway runs the roosts, she doesn't have what I would say is an aggressive personality. She's just bossy! Libby is generally pretty laid back until she's provoked or agitated and then she becomes very aggressive. 

One of the first things a person notices when they come here is the amount of toys my dogs have, but the toys aren't for my dogs. They belong to B.A.!!! You see, if B.A. didn't have those toys to chew on, we wouldn't have a house. When he was younger, he chewed everything! And when I say everything. I mean EVERYTHING! He ate my box spring to my bed. He ate the living room carpet. He ate countless comforters on my bed. He ate eyeglasses. He ate my mother's false teeth. He ate furniture like he was a beaver. The question should be what didn't he eat?  He doesn't do that stuff now, but he has his toys to chew on and he "husks" his toys.  By husking them I mean he pulls all the stuffing and the squeakers out of them. And once he husks them we can't throw them away. So we have a toy box filled with toys in various stages of being destroyed, but to B.A. they're still great. He still drags them around like they're brand new.

One of B.A.'s duties is to protect the house and the yard and he takes that job very seriously. He has no idea that he's only a 12 pound lean mean fighting machine. Each time he goes outside he patrols the backyard and the inside of the garage. It's really funny to watch him follow the same route each time.  He goes in back of each bush and sniffs everything all over. Nothing happens in the yard that he doesn't know about. He's on top of everything! Once he killed a mole and brought it inside for us to praise him. When we tried to take it away from him he took it under the bed. Yuck! He doesn't bother the birds or squirrels and that surprises me. But I think that may be because he sees me interact with them. Libby chases the squirrels, but they're too quick for her to catch. Fenway wouldn't care if an elephant was standing in the middle of the yard, but she will bark if she hears a dog down the street barking. She wants them to know where the queen lives. I suppose in their own way they do their jobs and that's what they're supposed to do.

The other evening after dinner I took all three dogs. I go out with them even though I do have a large fenced backyard. Before we knew it Libby and B.A. had cornered a raccoon, and then B. A. got it and killed it. I tried my best to intercede and tried to get B.A. to release the raccoon, but he wouldn't let go of it. He had a death grip on it and kept shaking it. By the time he did let go, it was dead. The other racoon kept trying to crawl up my pant leg because it was terrorized. I finally got it to leave before Libby noticed it and I hope it got scared enough to not come back in the yard again.

What freaked me out was how ferocious B.A. was. He's only 12 pounds...he kills rats, he kills moles. Who knows what else he kills. I know he runs off feral cats, but I think he'd have his hands full with a feral cat if he got in a fight with one. I realized once I started feeding the birds, the birdseed would attract other creatures, but I don't want a whole zoo in my yard and I definitely don't want my dogs fighting with wild animals. Sigh! I guess I need to start paying closer attention to what's happening outside in the menagerie before I let the killer hounds outside at dusk.

And I still feel horrible about the raccoon...
I'm an animal lover
Well, I don't love rats and stuff like that, but raccoons are cute.
And I know B.A. was only doing what his instinct told him to do, but it still made me feel bad...

Is There A Contractor In The House?

I was just sitting here scanning over my adult life in respect to the serious relationships I've had and well...it didn't paint a very pretty picture. It probably most resembled a Jackson Pollack masterpiece "Male and Female."  Understand that and you might understand the jumbled mess inside my head. I can't say I've ever had a healthy, intimate relationship with the opposite sex.  Once sex got thrown into the picture all bets came off the table.  Why that is I most likely can come up with a fairly accurate answer, but at this stage in my life I'm wondering how much does it really matter. Don't we all have baggage? Some suitcases just weigh more than others.

When my last relationship ended, I put myself in what I called "time out."   I guess for most people after a break up, they need time to adjust before they get back out there and throw their line back in the water to do some fishing again, but my time out has lasted 15+ years. Oh yes, you read that right. I have been celibate for 15+ years and I'll go a step further...I haven't even been on a date in that time period. Before all of you scream "WHY?" in unison, I'll give you my five cent explanation. It's rather hard to go on a date or to meet anyone if you've become a hermit. I had a rather cozy cave.

I jokingly referred to myself as a hermit on my blog over the years, but I don't know how many people actually took me seriously or knew to what extent my being an actual hermit had become a reality.  I think I was really on the verge of developing agoraphobia. When someone once called me a troglodyte as an insult, I adopted the word because I liked it better than the word 'hermit". Hermit sounded too common and who likes being thought of as being common or ordinary...or normal? Certainly, not me!

Anyway, in January of 2019 my hermit days abruptly came to an end. A childhood friend, came for a visit and ended up moving in right next door to me. Martha (Linda) was the little red-headed girl who lived next door to me in Maine and we grew up together. We've known each other since we were 4 years old and did typical Mildred and Martha secret, naughty things growing up.  Having Martha back in my life was a much needed wake up call. It was one that I hadn't fully realized I needed until now.

Physically, I was barely living when she arrived. I couldn't stand up for more than a few minutes without the pain being too intense for me to bear.  In fact, I struggled to stand up from a sitting position and sitting was uncomfortable. Doing anything seemed like a struggle.  I had fallen down the stairs and fractured my vertebrae and the recovery was very slow.  Sometimes I wondered if I was ever going to recover. My legs and feet were swollen to the size of tree trunks, but not from the fall. I didn't find out until later that I had fluid around my heart. Before Martha moved here I went days without getting out of bed and I just didn't care about myself anymore. I had given up and no one was getting on my ass about it.  Nobody wanted to deal with the wrath of Mildred so my family just left me alone unless it dealt with my safety like when my adult children banded together and moved my bedroom downstairs after I fell. They banded together because they expected me to give them a real hard time about it, but I fooled them when I never said a word.  I knew I couldn't walk up and down the stairs and they were doing the right thing. I would have been a real bitch if I had given them a hard time about being concerned about my well-being. I'm a lot of things, but being a real bitch isn't one of them. All you assholes out there who think I'm a real bitch better keep your opinions to yourself or else Mildred will have her way with you! lol 

After Martha got here, I started doing more physical things and now I can work outside all day long in the heat and humidity of Florida like I did when I was younger. In fact, I'm in better shape now than I have been in 20 or 25 years. I've lost a ton of weight and I feel good physically and mentally most of the time.  And when I don't, I smoke some weed and then I feel better. When my back hurts, the weed comes out.  When I have trouble sleeping, you know the drill. And when I just feel like kicking back and getting stoned, well I kick back and get stoned. What can I say? I'm a hedonist!

When a person becomes a hermit they forsake their need for other people.  When I went into "time out" I went into time out all the way. I wanted to cushion myself from the world and I did a great job of it for 15+ years. Nobody came knocking until Martha rapped on my door. You see, I thought it was just going to be a visit and then she left to move to South Florida. but when she left I knew she was going to move back here even though she didn't know it at the time. It was just a feeling I had and I was okay with that feeling. It didn't put me in a panic to think about not being a hermit anymore. 

And I was right! She moved here shortly after she left for South Florida. Who wants to live in South Florida with all those people anyway? (There goes that hermit in me talking!) When the house next door to me came up for rent, Martha jumped on it and moved in. What I discovered is that I'm not a hermit after all. I enjoyed having a friend to do stuff with and even when we weren't doing anything, but goofing off doing nothing we still had a good time doing it. You know why? Because we're Mildred and Martha and Martha and Mildred, that's why! We're one hell of a team!

Unfortunately, Martha moved back to Maine about a week ago.  Sometimes things happen and make it so we have to make difficult decisions.  Doing the right thing is rarely easy.  Right now, we all live in difficult times.

I'm empty now and I'm scared. I definitely know how to be a hermit, but I don't want to be a hermit again.  Is it wrong that I want someone? That I need someone?  Oh, I know we're in a pandemic...blah, blah...BLAH and social distancing and all that hoopla and I have to be a hermit to some extent and yeah, I can do that. I'm good excellent at it, remember? I did it for a very long time! Geez! I thought something was wrong with me when I kept reading on other people's blogs about how blue they were about being locked down during the coronavirus. I was afraid to tell anyone that I was okay with it because I had been doing it for so long that it was just second nature to me. It was no big deal. But now, what?

My grand plan that Martha and I used laugh about was that when the pandemic was over and I felt I was back to my old running shape I was going to start hanging out....not in bars...fuck that! but I'd go to Lowe's or Home Depot in the Contractor's section and pick-up a contractor so I could get someone to help me to fix my house (you know we could work something out in trade...). I'd say, "Baby, show me your tool belt, your tools and your truck...and definitely your financial statement!"  He'd probably call security on me and have me kicked out of the store.  Hey, it's been awhile since I've picked someone up, but I bet I can still do it.  My daughter gets aggravated whenever we go anywhere together and men flirt with me and not with her. ha! I think it's hysterical.  My pheromones must be stronger than hers.

Anyway, I miss my Martha. I talk to my dogs. I talk to the birds and of course, Cecil. I talk to all the plants I planted in my backyard. I talk to myself. That's a trip. Damn it! I need a person. Maybe I should buy a mannequin or a blow-up doll. What do you think?  Does anyone want to volunteer to be my person?  Mildred does not bite! Much :)