It's been about a year since I've even looked at these blogs I started. If there is such a thing as senior/adult attention deficit disorder - well I have it - and probably should be the spokesperson.
I'll throw that out there but only if it's a paid position as money is getting scarcer and scarcer around this household. NBC keeps telling me things are better across the board; I don't believe a word they say.
As for the 3 blogs I gave birth to since I started, I was and am serious about them.
I am serious about writing and I start things with good intentions but somehow along the way, I get distracted by something else. The end result is more started projectes that never get finished.
It drives me nuts but I don't seem to be able to break the cycle of having all these new and bright ideas to occupy my time.
Perhaps I should combine the 3 blogs to one, since they are after all, the same me. I tend to compartmentalize many things in my mind - yes, it is a scary habit but not one that is well understood by those around me. My mind is like an old pin ball machine...ideas pop in my head in the form of those silver balls, they launch and ricochet all over my head and eventually they end up in a large file cabinet of gray matter. It's not an easy way to live; as I've mentioned before, my brain is like a car parked in the driveway - the key is in the ignition, the engine is running, the car is in park and my accelerator is all the way to the floor.
It's not easy to have my mind but I know some others who are brave enough to admit their method of operating is the same as mine. That should explain 75 per cent of what is wrong with me; it's the other 25 percent I'm still trying to get a handle on.
I'm going to try to figure it all out and I guess I should start with some attempt at consolidating "The Real Trailer Housewife", "Musings from the Peninsula" and the "PinkBeehive" blogs all into one: I'm going to give it some consideration.
Your input is welcome: and if there's anyone out there who has any advise; and of course, diagnosed bipolar and multipersonality readers comments are greatly appreciated. You should get where I'm coming from.
Those who run with very sharp scissors may comment as well. Just don't hurt yourselves in the process.
I'm not crazy but just a little bit all over the place; not that there is anything wrong with that. See you soon.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Friday, August 5, 2011
Down for the count...again
Every plan we made over the past year for this summer- travel wise - pretty much crashed and burned - and all because of me. I didn't go out of my way to have it all fall to pieces; but it was because of me that every plan did. That has not been an easy pill for me to swallow. I've prayed more Rosarys and lit more candles than even I consider to be normal. But I'm chalking it all up to God not wanting us to leave the wonderful Sunshine State. It's a safe statement to make and since I'm a woman of faith - I tend to believe that we are (or aren't) where we are supposed to be because of the man upstairs.
My husband's work schedule allowed for our departure the end of June.
My body had other ideas.
Diagnosed in March of 2011, I didn't do much in the way of researching the ailment but rather chose to celebrate the fact that I was not dying of bone cancer. The severity of my pain was such that I postponed seeing a doctor. All I wanted was to accomplish was to get through October when our youngest son was planning to marry. However, the pain was of such intensity in my lower extremities - I was secretly begging God each night to take me away. Well that didn't happen; but seeing a specialist was in the cards and her 'cocktail' of two RX drugs did the trick. I didn't have cancer I was going to live. After a few weeks on the magic pills I was doing so well that I set about planning a solo adventure to Maine and Nova Scotia. I was feeling great and I made plans only 9 days before departure. I actually boasted 'what could happen in the next 9 days???"
I had a major Rheumatoid Arthritis flare-up strike me the 2nd week of June. It's severity, and my lack of understanding of the ramifications of a flareup were not even on my radar.
On Thursday July 14 it was t - minus 6 days and counting. I was so excited and feeling great. I bought my road atlas for USA and Canada; new orthopedic insoles for my new expensive New Balance Sneakers and did all the things I needed to do to leave for 10 days. I was proud of me, Bob was proud of me, my sons were proud of me. I had never done a trip by myself. I was going to see my college roommate from the University of Maine and then to Vogler's Cove in Nova Scotia to see a friend who recently built their home. It was all about me. And if you know me - it is NEVER, EVER about me.
On July 15th the unthinkable happened; as I entered a grocery store to shop, I went to get a cart and an employee of the store slammed into me with a row of shopping carts she had brought in from the parking lot. I felt like I had been shot in the back!!! The searing, tearing pain made me feel as though I would pass out, I wanted to vomit and in the fraction of a second the impact generally took what air that was in my lungs - out of them. My ears were full of a hissing sound. I turned a bit but remember feeling glued to the floor; I was afraid to move; I was afraid my back was totally screwed up and the pain down the leg only added to my fears.
My mind sped like warp speed in my head; I can't possibly get Evan's birthday cake, I won't be able to make an extra pan of chicken Parmesan for him. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to call Bob. It was amazing to think back at how my damn mind was spinning in all directions. I wanted to close my eyes and open them and stroll over to get a birthday cake. Instead I was assisted into the store where I gingerly shuffled in and eventually sat down.
So here I sit weeks later; against an upside down horseshoe pillow people use when on their necks when they fly.
I spent 8-11 days solid lying on the floor in the rec room downstairs; ice, ice, more ice. The bruise slowly turned into an odd blend of blacks, purples, yellows and greens. The good news is I'm slowly improving.
I don't want to plan anything anymore. I'm too old for the curve balls life throws at me. It will be a very hard thing to do since I am not built that way. I am organized; have procedures for everything and take delight seeing a plan come together and am even more delighted when it all comes to fruition.
My plan from now on is to have no plan. I'll let you know how long that lasts.
My wish is that you are all having the most splendid of summers and your plans are working out.
Peace and Love.
My husband's work schedule allowed for our departure the end of June.
My body had other ideas.
Diagnosed in March of 2011, I didn't do much in the way of researching the ailment but rather chose to celebrate the fact that I was not dying of bone cancer. The severity of my pain was such that I postponed seeing a doctor. All I wanted was to accomplish was to get through October when our youngest son was planning to marry. However, the pain was of such intensity in my lower extremities - I was secretly begging God each night to take me away. Well that didn't happen; but seeing a specialist was in the cards and her 'cocktail' of two RX drugs did the trick. I didn't have cancer I was going to live. After a few weeks on the magic pills I was doing so well that I set about planning a solo adventure to Maine and Nova Scotia. I was feeling great and I made plans only 9 days before departure. I actually boasted 'what could happen in the next 9 days???"
I had a major Rheumatoid Arthritis flare-up strike me the 2nd week of June. It's severity, and my lack of understanding of the ramifications of a flareup were not even on my radar.
On Thursday July 14 it was t - minus 6 days and counting. I was so excited and feeling great. I bought my road atlas for USA and Canada; new orthopedic insoles for my new expensive New Balance Sneakers and did all the things I needed to do to leave for 10 days. I was proud of me, Bob was proud of me, my sons were proud of me. I had never done a trip by myself. I was going to see my college roommate from the University of Maine and then to Vogler's Cove in Nova Scotia to see a friend who recently built their home. It was all about me. And if you know me - it is NEVER, EVER about me.
On July 15th the unthinkable happened; as I entered a grocery store to shop, I went to get a cart and an employee of the store slammed into me with a row of shopping carts she had brought in from the parking lot. I felt like I had been shot in the back!!! The searing, tearing pain made me feel as though I would pass out, I wanted to vomit and in the fraction of a second the impact generally took what air that was in my lungs - out of them. My ears were full of a hissing sound. I turned a bit but remember feeling glued to the floor; I was afraid to move; I was afraid my back was totally screwed up and the pain down the leg only added to my fears.
My mind sped like warp speed in my head; I can't possibly get Evan's birthday cake, I won't be able to make an extra pan of chicken Parmesan for him. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to call Bob. It was amazing to think back at how my damn mind was spinning in all directions. I wanted to close my eyes and open them and stroll over to get a birthday cake. Instead I was assisted into the store where I gingerly shuffled in and eventually sat down.
So here I sit weeks later; against an upside down horseshoe pillow people use when on their necks when they fly.
I spent 8-11 days solid lying on the floor in the rec room downstairs; ice, ice, more ice. The bruise slowly turned into an odd blend of blacks, purples, yellows and greens. The good news is I'm slowly improving.
I don't want to plan anything anymore. I'm too old for the curve balls life throws at me. It will be a very hard thing to do since I am not built that way. I am organized; have procedures for everything and take delight seeing a plan come together and am even more delighted when it all comes to fruition.
My plan from now on is to have no plan. I'll let you know how long that lasts.
My wish is that you are all having the most splendid of summers and your plans are working out.
Peace and Love.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Happy Anniversary to the Love of My Life
It was late August, 1970 and the location was a college campus in Orono, Maine.
It was love at first sight.
That is what got us to today. Call it Divine Intervention; call it insanity; call it marriage; it’s my life.
I was just a girl and a freshman in college. My eyes and mind were probably wandering as he was walking in the door of the 700 seat auditorium. The lecture/lab class was Botany 101. My daze ended and my gaze caught him and I followed his every step in awe as this lithe figure moved past the humming of eager students settling in their seats. His destination was an aisle seat as he was very tall and his seat choice was necessary – absolutely necessary so those long, washed-out, leather and bandana-patched-Levi-covered legs could spill out into the aisle…
…he had the finest mustache I had ever seen. He wore cowboy boots. He looked like David Crosby.It was love at first sight.
It does happen - and it happened to me.
Of course, he didn’t know I existed.
I was from New Jersey. I talked like I was from New Jersey. I had mousey brown wild, long, wavy hair. I was petite. I was 10 hours from home by choice and I didn’t think even that was far enough.
I wanted to go to Cornell or Syracuse or University of Miami and I was early accepted to all – my other life path wish was enlisting in the Air Force. My father wanted me safe from protests, party schools and wars. He wanted me to go to work at the New York Port Authority for God’s sake!! He was my Daddy and I did what I was told. Daddy could only afford tuition in Maine - so Maine it was.
Easy peasy. I had my whole life ahead of me. I didn’t know what I didn’t know and I didn’t even know I didn’t know that…in fact, I thought I pretty much had my act together.
Life was good and mine was simple. Study and be a good girl. I didn’t drink. I did what I was told. I was an angel because I never got caught.
Then, without notice - life slammed me in the head. I wasn’t prepared for any of what was to come.
My 'future husband' had a Ford Econoline van and a dog. He was a junior. He had a reputation. He was prettier than me and in the romance department - he owned that campus. He could have any woman he wanted and he acted on that option whenever possible. He had gone to an all boys prep school. Women threw themselves at him and I heard he didn’t acknowledge freshman women. He had his own dreams and I wasn’t in them. I was okay with that. I found all these facts out from girls in my dorm. Girls talk and they don't shut up. Even when you ask them politely. My stand was 'well, I still think he's cool' to the resounding song of 'he'll break your heart'. I continued to dig....He lives off campus. No he doesn't. He lives in the frat house with all the crazy guys. The house with the broken windows. They were not preppies like the other houses. They had parties and they made girls walk home. They weren’t men who you wanted to take home to Daddy. I was a good girl and all that scared me; but I did find it fascinating none the less. Luckily, I didn't listen to any of those girls in my dorm.
I had loved from afar before - only to have been dismissed by every young man I had ever expressed ANY interest in - during my entire young life. I pretty much figured that was going to be my journey. Don’t get me wrong; most guys liked me and they liked to hang out with me and tell me their problems. I’m a good talker and a better listener. I’m a good friend. After all these years - I haven’t changed. I’d rather live in a house with 20 guys than share an apartment with one woman.
By mid-September of 1970 though, and with no manipulation on my part, my life was about to change. I fell in love and I fell so hard – it still hurts!!!! LOL
I will not take time here to bore you with all the college stories we have to look back on together. Someday I may write of some I find humorous; but just not now.
This blog is my opportunity to reflect on the last 38 years of my life as a married woman.
We were married May 26, 1973…only thirteen thousand, eight-hundred and seventy days ago.
I won’t expose a secret formula because there isn’t one; I’ll share no words of wisdom on what works or does not. I can tell you that marriage is not much different than life itself – you get up every day and you participate - or you don’t. It’s your choice. Some days are better than others and some days you just don’t care.
Marriage, like life, is a highway with a lot of tolls along the way…some come with a heavy price to pay and others are – well, priceless.
Marriage is loving someone with all of your heart one minute and hating their guts the next. I say that because I know that to be true. How a couple can go 180 degrees on the happiness wheel to pure rage in the span of 60 minutes is beyond me – but it happens. That may seem a little too brutal or too graphic for you but I’m not going to lie.
Some marriages are better than others; some couples skate through years of love struck bliss with no problems at all. Let’s hear it for them because I really think if you choose correctly, that’s the way it should be. Marriage should not be a daily beating nor should life. But I don’t make the rules; I just play the game and I play to win.
My problem was I didn’t choose anything; I fell in love: I fell into it head over heels and so did he. I may be sugarcoating his emotions a bit - but he’s on the same page now.
We weren’t concerned about each other’s bank accounts, warranty deeds, car titles, land acquisitions or stock portfolios. It was love - pure and simple LOVE. We didn’t have anything except our love – well, we did have the dog and the Ford Econoline. We also had our clothes and that stupid spool coffee table.
We didn’t have an agenda other than to try to follow those vows we took at 3 o’clock that sunny and warm Saturday afternoon in May. Looking back, at all the events and circumstances, at all of the trials and tribulations that were thrown our way: we did the best we could.
We’re still here, we’re still talking and we’re still giving this marriage all we got left to give.
We’re still here, we’re still talking and we’re still giving this marriage all we got left to give.
I can honestly say - looking back - the whole thing is just beautiful. Of course, I can also recall the times things weren't too pretty. They just don't matter anymore.
Marriage is unbridled passion, infinite patience, bullet proof intestines and sheer perseverance – it is love, hate, laughter and sorrow and oddly enough, many times, it is all of those things occurring simultaneously. There are good times, great times and all those times in between. If marriage were an amusement ride it would be the kind that would damn near kill you. Many say you can’t prepare for marriage but, in many ways you can. I was Catholic - divorce was never an option. Neither is murder nor suicide. That’s probably not the soundest of thought processes, but that is who I am and I don’t apologize for that.
There have been scary times and times so sad I can’t even begin to think of how I could have gone through any of it alone. Even when he was the scary one or I was the crazy one we have always been there for each other. He’s pulled me and I’ve pulled him. I have pushed his buttons, driven him crazy and called his bluff. We’ve pushed and pulled each other for better for worse – and when one of us stopped pulling or pushing – the other, thankfully, held on for dear life untill there was nothing but the bare bone left. We still hold on. It's a rule.That is what got us to today. Call it Divine Intervention; call it insanity; call it marriage; it’s my life.
I took early charge of the check book which was a bold move but a good one. There was never any of ‘this is mine or this is yours’ crap. Everything is ‘ours’ and everything is ‘us’. If you screw with him - you screw with me; and vice versa. I’m with him and he’s with me – we are together – do you get it? I may have lost the accent but I'm still from New Jersey. Are you okay with that?
Good.
Good.
All I know is that I have loved my husband from the moment I saw him. I bore him two sons we adore. I have his back and he has mine. He is my protector and my life. He makes me feel safe when the world seems like it’s blowing apart. I can’t imagine going on any mission without him as my co-pilot. He’s the driver and I’m the navigator and he’s driven me here to my wonderful life….
…. and I would change absolutely nothing.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Musings From the Peninsula: Blogging is a Lonely Life - a Repeat
Musings From the Peninsula: Blogging is a Lonely Life - a Repeat: "Good Day to You, This is my second attempt at blogging....life got in the way of my creativity. After I announced my first Blog, one of ..."
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Blogging is a Lonely Life - a Repeat
Good Day to You,
This is my second attempt at blogging....life got in the way of my creativity.
After I announced my first Blog, one of my 2 adult sons simply 'rolled his eyes' and said something that was not unkind - but I didn't consider it an endorsement either.
My beloved spouse probably didn't quite grab the concept at first and I do not believe that has changed.
And this is a shortened re-post of my other blog; oddly enough, due to the wonders of technology I do not understand - it's still exactly where I left it.
I want to assure any who become my audience, to be mindful of the fact that I have 'self imposed rules'.
If you know me in any way, you will know that it is good for me to have rules.
Since kindergarten I have had to be told to calm down. I don't consider it a fault but it is something I deal with daily. My brain is like a car that is parked in the driveway, the ignition is in park and the motor is running - unfortunately, the gas pedal is stuck to the floor. That is the only way I can explain how my brain works. I'm not normal.
Anyway, as far as those rules I'm talking about: there will be no swearing; and this is huge for me because I have been known to have a tendency to use words I should not.
Also I will never name real names (except for my dedication)...partly because I don't want to get sued for any reason and mostly because since I can't remember simple things like where I put my keys or where I parked my car; all of those types of issues puts me at risk of not giving credit to the right person for saying or doing something I feel worthy of note. So don't expect to be discovered because of me.
I abide by the rule 'to be anonymous is to be content'.....so if you decide to 'Follow' me - you're safe. Actually following is creepy so just read my stuff and comment or not; like it or not; I can't bring peace to the world.
I'm cool with that.
If you live in my small town you may read something that may be familiar. Take no offense and I'll give you no credit - we're all pretty laid back so no worries.
It's not like Oprah's people will call me up to do a segment on what I have on my mind.
Which brings up Oprah. I'm sure she's nice but there are more important things in the world: I think it's actually too bad that her fans like her because she gives them 'stuff'. Really, great stuff. But it's only stuff.
I'm not into stuff or things. I am not about any of it though I have some nice things to show for working my entire life. I am not apologizing to anyone for having any of it either.
I started as nothing, was given nothing and worked for what I have.
I own that and I'm proud of that.
I will close today by saying that I'm not going to stop blogging because no one is 'Following' me or posting comments. This may at times take a backseat to other things more important in my life...which pretty much is God and my family. And in that order.
Greatness takes time and after all, I have to pay my dues.
Happy trails till we meet again....
Peace and love,
Patricia
This is my second attempt at blogging....life got in the way of my creativity.
After I announced my first Blog, one of my 2 adult sons simply 'rolled his eyes' and said something that was not unkind - but I didn't consider it an endorsement either.
My beloved spouse probably didn't quite grab the concept at first and I do not believe that has changed.
And this is a shortened re-post of my other blog; oddly enough, due to the wonders of technology I do not understand - it's still exactly where I left it.
I want to assure any who become my audience, to be mindful of the fact that I have 'self imposed rules'.
If you know me in any way, you will know that it is good for me to have rules.
Since kindergarten I have had to be told to calm down. I don't consider it a fault but it is something I deal with daily. My brain is like a car that is parked in the driveway, the ignition is in park and the motor is running - unfortunately, the gas pedal is stuck to the floor. That is the only way I can explain how my brain works. I'm not normal.
Anyway, as far as those rules I'm talking about: there will be no swearing; and this is huge for me because I have been known to have a tendency to use words I should not.
Also I will never name real names (except for my dedication)...partly because I don't want to get sued for any reason and mostly because since I can't remember simple things like where I put my keys or where I parked my car; all of those types of issues puts me at risk of not giving credit to the right person for saying or doing something I feel worthy of note. So don't expect to be discovered because of me.
I abide by the rule 'to be anonymous is to be content'.....so if you decide to 'Follow' me - you're safe. Actually following is creepy so just read my stuff and comment or not; like it or not; I can't bring peace to the world.
I'm cool with that.
If you live in my small town you may read something that may be familiar. Take no offense and I'll give you no credit - we're all pretty laid back so no worries.
It's not like Oprah's people will call me up to do a segment on what I have on my mind.
Which brings up Oprah. I'm sure she's nice but there are more important things in the world: I think it's actually too bad that her fans like her because she gives them 'stuff'. Really, great stuff. But it's only stuff.
I'm not into stuff or things. I am not about any of it though I have some nice things to show for working my entire life. I am not apologizing to anyone for having any of it either.
I started as nothing, was given nothing and worked for what I have.
I own that and I'm proud of that.
I will close today by saying that I'm not going to stop blogging because no one is 'Following' me or posting comments. This may at times take a backseat to other things more important in my life...which pretty much is God and my family. And in that order.
Greatness takes time and after all, I have to pay my dues.
Happy trails till we meet again....
Peace and love,
Patricia
Monday, May 16, 2011
Her Name Was Mimi
The last 12 days has been a series of moguls on a really icy run........
I used to snow ski in the late 60's - it was a rush - I yearned for it each and every day of the week until weekends would come and I could get to the mountain. There were not a lot of us. It was New Jersey for God's sake!! But we took it seriously, my friends and I. We were hard core...we hitchhiked to get there and back home. We rode with complete strangers, people who we knew, people who had too much to drink and people who had smoked too much pot. A ride was a ride. I skied under ridiculously poor, dangerous, moronic northern New Jersey conditions. I took lessons but bailed because as the instructor said 'I was a natural' - which was a lie. He wanted to take my virginity from me.
I was young, okay in the looks department but nothing special. I was also too smart for my own good and I wanted to go fast; I wanted it to be so icy cold out it would cause my eyes to tear and my nose to run. I wanted my tears to freeze on my face. I wanted to not feel my face. The colder and crappier the weather - the better I liked it. There were faster lift lines - nobody up there except crazies like me - the bars were full because the weather sucked, the snow sucked, the mountain sucked. Apres ski was pretty much the order of the day since you could sit inside and pretend you actually went skiing. Cold air (hopefully) and crappy machine made snow was all we had. We prayed for cold and we prayed for drizzle to freeze over the terrible conditions of rocks and tree branches and dirt lurking below the slightest cover of frozen water...we were die hard weekend bums on the attack......knees snapping up slamming into our chests, cutting edges keeping upper bodies level and straight while we did untold damage to our lower bodies. My earlobes froze and I actually had an earring tear out of the lobe and I never felt it. I didn't bleed a lot and my mother worried that she wouldn't be able to get the blood out of the ski jacket my father spent half a paycheck on because I was a good kid. He wanted for me what he never had.
I don't ever remember feeling any pain of any kind after any of my antics. Sometimes my mind would stray and then actually realize I'd not taken a breath since I'd left the top and then, without warning an edge caught some wood that had moments before been hidden just below the ice and randomly exposed itself. It was like nature wanted to show you who was boss. Then as your brain tells your lungs to fill up with the coldest frigging air - you eat it.
Mountain 1 Patricia 0.
I'd do that till 11 at night on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturday and Sunday I would stay home and study to keep my straight A average. My friends and I prayed there were sober people still there that had a car so we could get home. There was also a bus. Some school bus with a cool driver who'd play Led Zeppelin and Cream and Blind Faith.
It was so much fun that I don't know why it took till today to even think about it. There were cute guys all over the place. I was a teenager and life was great. I was 15, then 16 and I got away with all of these weekends, my parents supporting my addiction until a guy came to the front door for one of the very few dates I ever had in high school. I was barely 17 and when I was dropped on the doorstep at my curfew. Then without thinking on my part, my dad smelled wine on my breath when I leaned over him on the sofa watching Johnny Carson and kissed him good nite. That's how stupid I was. His fierce cross examination of my evening's activities ended up in a full blown fight of wills, words and trying to be grown up while not knowing what I didn't know. I didn't think it was a big deal the guy was 28 who was a Science teacher.
My father put me on lock down.
I just remembered all of this tonite while I was working on another blog...........
So excuse the random rambling. It's been a tough couple of weeks.
A son came home who lives in another state. He is a breath of freezing cold air in my lungs. He's full of life and hopes and dreams. He doesn't come home often. When he does, the aftermath of his visit leaves me wondering about that area of pressure and pain in my chest - I don't need a doctor to tell me there's a big hole within me after he leaves that is not terminal...and after 10 years of him living half a country away, it never gets easier.
My sons and my life are leaving me...just like the young girl from Jersey did a long time ago.
I'm on the down side of the mountain. I feel pain when I do nothing. There are medical reasons for it. Still the pain is real but when people along the Mississippi are losing homes and everything else, I don't have a problem in the world.
You have to put things in perspective.
Then there is Mimi.
A week ago we had to put our 15+ year old Jack Russell/Shitzu down.
It was love at first sight for me and I saw her the day she was born. It was only fitting I should be with her when she died. I named her after the crazy secretary with the overdone blue eyeshadow from the Drew Carey Show. Mimi had a good run and she had a good life. She made us laugh till we cried and she entertained with or without any prodding from us. We pushed her buttons to make her even crazier and she never let us down. She was nuts. Once, years ago Mimi vaulted off the bow of our boat and my husband's quick reflex saved her from sure injury and possible death. She wanted to get on that island so she just went for it.
Mimi never dug here at the house but she loved to dig at the island - sand would flail in every direction causing folks to move out of the way of torrents of sand being thrown their way. I would have to keep moving my chair as the hole consumed me. She dug and dug and dug till you couldn't see her eyes for the sand on her face.
Her last year was tough but she was tougher. Eventually she couldn't see, couldn't remember eating and always thought it was dinnertime. Oddly, she knew when you touched the cookie box or the clang of the stainless steel dinner bowls and what that meant. She never missed a meal, loved a good belly scratching and had a bark that would drive you to the brink of madness. She hated being bathed and was fired as a customer by two groomers one of whom came to the house. She was so freaked out all the time...till the day she left. She needed to be sedated to be euthanized. That, in and of itself, describes Mimi. She was a funny, fun loving dog - she was a good dog.
So here I sit, watching Dancing With the Stars and wondering about life: living it, loving it and leaving it. A dog made me think about those long ago faces and places who formed me into the woman I have become. We are, after all, a product of our life's experiences. A dog's death has me coming to the conclusion that leaving someone you love or somewhere you love to be - whether it's for forever or until next time you meet again is painful, but not really. The pain and tightness you feel in your chest is very real and it's not fatal. I'm embracing it because I know it is good because it is life.
I used to snow ski in the late 60's - it was a rush - I yearned for it each and every day of the week until weekends would come and I could get to the mountain. There were not a lot of us. It was New Jersey for God's sake!! But we took it seriously, my friends and I. We were hard core...we hitchhiked to get there and back home. We rode with complete strangers, people who we knew, people who had too much to drink and people who had smoked too much pot. A ride was a ride. I skied under ridiculously poor, dangerous, moronic northern New Jersey conditions. I took lessons but bailed because as the instructor said 'I was a natural' - which was a lie. He wanted to take my virginity from me.
I was young, okay in the looks department but nothing special. I was also too smart for my own good and I wanted to go fast; I wanted it to be so icy cold out it would cause my eyes to tear and my nose to run. I wanted my tears to freeze on my face. I wanted to not feel my face. The colder and crappier the weather - the better I liked it. There were faster lift lines - nobody up there except crazies like me - the bars were full because the weather sucked, the snow sucked, the mountain sucked. Apres ski was pretty much the order of the day since you could sit inside and pretend you actually went skiing. Cold air (hopefully) and crappy machine made snow was all we had. We prayed for cold and we prayed for drizzle to freeze over the terrible conditions of rocks and tree branches and dirt lurking below the slightest cover of frozen water...we were die hard weekend bums on the attack......knees snapping up slamming into our chests, cutting edges keeping upper bodies level and straight while we did untold damage to our lower bodies. My earlobes froze and I actually had an earring tear out of the lobe and I never felt it. I didn't bleed a lot and my mother worried that she wouldn't be able to get the blood out of the ski jacket my father spent half a paycheck on because I was a good kid. He wanted for me what he never had.
I don't ever remember feeling any pain of any kind after any of my antics. Sometimes my mind would stray and then actually realize I'd not taken a breath since I'd left the top and then, without warning an edge caught some wood that had moments before been hidden just below the ice and randomly exposed itself. It was like nature wanted to show you who was boss. Then as your brain tells your lungs to fill up with the coldest frigging air - you eat it.
Mountain 1 Patricia 0.
I'd do that till 11 at night on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturday and Sunday I would stay home and study to keep my straight A average. My friends and I prayed there were sober people still there that had a car so we could get home. There was also a bus. Some school bus with a cool driver who'd play Led Zeppelin and Cream and Blind Faith.
It was so much fun that I don't know why it took till today to even think about it. There were cute guys all over the place. I was a teenager and life was great. I was 15, then 16 and I got away with all of these weekends, my parents supporting my addiction until a guy came to the front door for one of the very few dates I ever had in high school. I was barely 17 and when I was dropped on the doorstep at my curfew. Then without thinking on my part, my dad smelled wine on my breath when I leaned over him on the sofa watching Johnny Carson and kissed him good nite. That's how stupid I was. His fierce cross examination of my evening's activities ended up in a full blown fight of wills, words and trying to be grown up while not knowing what I didn't know. I didn't think it was a big deal the guy was 28 who was a Science teacher.
My father put me on lock down.
I just remembered all of this tonite while I was working on another blog...........
So excuse the random rambling. It's been a tough couple of weeks.
A son came home who lives in another state. He is a breath of freezing cold air in my lungs. He's full of life and hopes and dreams. He doesn't come home often. When he does, the aftermath of his visit leaves me wondering about that area of pressure and pain in my chest - I don't need a doctor to tell me there's a big hole within me after he leaves that is not terminal...and after 10 years of him living half a country away, it never gets easier.
My sons and my life are leaving me...just like the young girl from Jersey did a long time ago.
I'm on the down side of the mountain. I feel pain when I do nothing. There are medical reasons for it. Still the pain is real but when people along the Mississippi are losing homes and everything else, I don't have a problem in the world.
You have to put things in perspective.
Then there is Mimi.
A week ago we had to put our 15+ year old Jack Russell/Shitzu down.
It was love at first sight for me and I saw her the day she was born. It was only fitting I should be with her when she died. I named her after the crazy secretary with the overdone blue eyeshadow from the Drew Carey Show. Mimi had a good run and she had a good life. She made us laugh till we cried and she entertained with or without any prodding from us. We pushed her buttons to make her even crazier and she never let us down. She was nuts. Once, years ago Mimi vaulted off the bow of our boat and my husband's quick reflex saved her from sure injury and possible death. She wanted to get on that island so she just went for it.
Mimi never dug here at the house but she loved to dig at the island - sand would flail in every direction causing folks to move out of the way of torrents of sand being thrown their way. I would have to keep moving my chair as the hole consumed me. She dug and dug and dug till you couldn't see her eyes for the sand on her face.
Her last year was tough but she was tougher. Eventually she couldn't see, couldn't remember eating and always thought it was dinnertime. Oddly, she knew when you touched the cookie box or the clang of the stainless steel dinner bowls and what that meant. She never missed a meal, loved a good belly scratching and had a bark that would drive you to the brink of madness. She hated being bathed and was fired as a customer by two groomers one of whom came to the house. She was so freaked out all the time...till the day she left. She needed to be sedated to be euthanized. That, in and of itself, describes Mimi. She was a funny, fun loving dog - she was a good dog.
So here I sit, watching Dancing With the Stars and wondering about life: living it, loving it and leaving it. A dog made me think about those long ago faces and places who formed me into the woman I have become. We are, after all, a product of our life's experiences. A dog's death has me coming to the conclusion that leaving someone you love or somewhere you love to be - whether it's for forever or until next time you meet again is painful, but not really. The pain and tightness you feel in your chest is very real and it's not fatal. I'm embracing it because I know it is good because it is life.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Debut Blog of Musings From the Peninsula
Tomorrow is Mother's Day so I thought it fitting that I would give life to a new blog.
Compared to real childbirth though, there's no comparison. Clearly there will be no screaming, water-breaking and/or contractions. You won't read of any profane-laced crying (well, maybe some), and last but not least there will be no epidurals - this Mother's Day is a piece of cake.
I guess I'm going to start out with the eternal optimism we mothers all have when we first have children. For the most part, mothers are on the younger side of life and so full of energy they want to spend all of it chasing little ankle biters around the house.
MOM 101: there are no schools, no boot camps...nothing to prepare you for it! Oh sure, there are those 'raising children how-to' books at Barnes and Noble. Save your money because nothing, absolutely nothing is like they describe it in those books. Trust me on that.
So it's Mother's Day...You may get a gift, flowers, a card or a phone call....or you may get nothing.
That's reality. I know women who get nothing. They cry, as well they should.
You see, one gives their heart and soul to raise a child. There are supposed to be two people doing it together, but many times there is only one. That's sad but it's a fact.
For there to be a child, there has to be a mother. That's another fact. Even if the baby daddy isn't in the picture, the mother is. If you are a new mother, welcome to the club. If you're a single mother, hang in there. If you're an older than 45 yr. old mother, bless your heart...are you happy now?
Seriously though, for the purposes here - my perspective is of being an almost 60 year old mother for many years. I'm talking here to the 'seasoned mother'.
God gives you ONE mother. That's a blessing and a curse. Some people have step-mothers too and some have even more than one of them! Good Luck with that.
But in the real world you still have ONE real mother even if she's the worst mother imaginable. She being the one who gave birth to you. She could have left town the week after you were born...she's still your mother. She can be in prison but she's your mother. Good, bad or indifferent - we all get only one. Deal with her as best you can. You can't pick your mother. For nine months, hopefully, she's put you in front of everyone and everything, especially herself. Some women don't deserve to be mothers but that doesn't stop them from being one. Some of you don't deserve to have that kind of mother either but that's another blog in the future.
Let's not get maudlin; after all it's Mother's Day.
For many of you, your mother may be gone now. Other mothers, even really old ones, and I'm talking over 85, are still full of life and living alone (you are fortunate). The other scenario is your mother can be living with you or somewhere else with your sister or brother. She can be in assisted living or a nursing home. She can be healthy as a horse, if you're lucky; or she can suffering with a terrible illness. I've ridden the entire mother rodeo so I truly know what you are experiencing no matter what you're going through. It's not easy.
I thank God I had one mother and one mother-in-law: but I still miss them so much it hurts. Especially on Mother's Day.
As for me, I am a mother of two sons. Sometimes it seems like there are more but I'm happy with only two and God knew what he was doing when he gave me boys. I'm a hard-talking mother; it's never been easy to be my child. I am my father's daughter and he ran a tight ship...same with me. I hold high expectations and admit I've always loved my sons but there were times I did not like them. Things are great now but we still have our episodes. They are great young men and their father was the best man for the job I ever hoped he would be. Not only does he put up with me but he's been a great role model, motivator and guidance counselor to our sons.
So kudos to each and every mother who has dried and cried enough tears to fill a field of flowers.
Motherhood is not for sissies.
Your mom will get worn out, called out, put out, stressed out and wiped out. Sometimes she will out of touch, out of sync, out of money, out of time and out of her mind.
Mother/son/daughter talk is not cheap. It comes with a price to pay, usually at the expense of the mother. Children are not told to 'listen to your mother' for nothing - mothers know a lot more than kids think.
Most of us know the phrase 'one hand washes the other' and in most cases you will find a mother doing the laundry too. There's also a saying 'a new broom sweeps clean' - well your mother makes that broom work and occasionally is accused of riding it!
Your mother will be your biggest ally in good and bad times and she should and can be your worst enemy if you cross the line. And you will cross it. We all cross it. We barge through life and don't give her the thanks she deserves and then before you know it you have children of your own ripping your heart out of your chest because they don't know what they don't know. (If your mother is around to witness this - you can bet she'll remind you that you did it to her too!) It's called Karma.
So honor your mother when she's driving you nuts...God says so.
On this day, I will dedicate 'Musings From the Peninsula' to my own mother, Dorothy Catherine - we didn't always see things the same way but I loved her with all of my heart and miss her to this day. I would do some things and not say others. I have regrets but those are mine to deal with and mine alone.
To my other special mother/friends, especially Carolyn and all of the millions of women who didn't or couldn't have their own children but are raising other's. Then there are those who have the calling to take care of dogs or cats and are mommies in their own special way to them...tomorrow is your day too.
God Bless You, Peace and Love,
Patricia
Compared to real childbirth though, there's no comparison. Clearly there will be no screaming, water-breaking and/or contractions. You won't read of any profane-laced crying (well, maybe some), and last but not least there will be no epidurals - this Mother's Day is a piece of cake.
I guess I'm going to start out with the eternal optimism we mothers all have when we first have children. For the most part, mothers are on the younger side of life and so full of energy they want to spend all of it chasing little ankle biters around the house.
MOM 101: there are no schools, no boot camps...nothing to prepare you for it! Oh sure, there are those 'raising children how-to' books at Barnes and Noble. Save your money because nothing, absolutely nothing is like they describe it in those books. Trust me on that.
So it's Mother's Day...You may get a gift, flowers, a card or a phone call....or you may get nothing.
That's reality. I know women who get nothing. They cry, as well they should.
You see, one gives their heart and soul to raise a child. There are supposed to be two people doing it together, but many times there is only one. That's sad but it's a fact.
For there to be a child, there has to be a mother. That's another fact. Even if the baby daddy isn't in the picture, the mother is. If you are a new mother, welcome to the club. If you're a single mother, hang in there. If you're an older than 45 yr. old mother, bless your heart...are you happy now?
Seriously though, for the purposes here - my perspective is of being an almost 60 year old mother for many years. I'm talking here to the 'seasoned mother'.
God gives you ONE mother. That's a blessing and a curse. Some people have step-mothers too and some have even more than one of them! Good Luck with that.
But in the real world you still have ONE real mother even if she's the worst mother imaginable. She being the one who gave birth to you. She could have left town the week after you were born...she's still your mother. She can be in prison but she's your mother. Good, bad or indifferent - we all get only one. Deal with her as best you can. You can't pick your mother. For nine months, hopefully, she's put you in front of everyone and everything, especially herself. Some women don't deserve to be mothers but that doesn't stop them from being one. Some of you don't deserve to have that kind of mother either but that's another blog in the future.
Let's not get maudlin; after all it's Mother's Day.
For many of you, your mother may be gone now. Other mothers, even really old ones, and I'm talking over 85, are still full of life and living alone (you are fortunate). The other scenario is your mother can be living with you or somewhere else with your sister or brother. She can be in assisted living or a nursing home. She can be healthy as a horse, if you're lucky; or she can suffering with a terrible illness. I've ridden the entire mother rodeo so I truly know what you are experiencing no matter what you're going through. It's not easy.
I thank God I had one mother and one mother-in-law: but I still miss them so much it hurts. Especially on Mother's Day.
As for me, I am a mother of two sons. Sometimes it seems like there are more but I'm happy with only two and God knew what he was doing when he gave me boys. I'm a hard-talking mother; it's never been easy to be my child. I am my father's daughter and he ran a tight ship...same with me. I hold high expectations and admit I've always loved my sons but there were times I did not like them. Things are great now but we still have our episodes. They are great young men and their father was the best man for the job I ever hoped he would be. Not only does he put up with me but he's been a great role model, motivator and guidance counselor to our sons.
So kudos to each and every mother who has dried and cried enough tears to fill a field of flowers.
Motherhood is not for sissies.
Your mom will get worn out, called out, put out, stressed out and wiped out. Sometimes she will out of touch, out of sync, out of money, out of time and out of her mind.
Mother/son/daughter talk is not cheap. It comes with a price to pay, usually at the expense of the mother. Children are not told to 'listen to your mother' for nothing - mothers know a lot more than kids think.
Most of us know the phrase 'one hand washes the other' and in most cases you will find a mother doing the laundry too. There's also a saying 'a new broom sweeps clean' - well your mother makes that broom work and occasionally is accused of riding it!
Your mother will be your biggest ally in good and bad times and she should and can be your worst enemy if you cross the line. And you will cross it. We all cross it. We barge through life and don't give her the thanks she deserves and then before you know it you have children of your own ripping your heart out of your chest because they don't know what they don't know. (If your mother is around to witness this - you can bet she'll remind you that you did it to her too!) It's called Karma.
So honor your mother when she's driving you nuts...God says so.
On this day, I will dedicate 'Musings From the Peninsula' to my own mother, Dorothy Catherine - we didn't always see things the same way but I loved her with all of my heart and miss her to this day. I would do some things and not say others. I have regrets but those are mine to deal with and mine alone.
To my other special mother/friends, especially Carolyn and all of the millions of women who didn't or couldn't have their own children but are raising other's. Then there are those who have the calling to take care of dogs or cats and are mommies in their own special way to them...tomorrow is your day too.
God Bless You, Peace and Love,
Patricia
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