Some Things Friday for January 16, 2015

We picked up Mackenzie from the shelter late Wednesday afternoon. She had been spayed earlier in the day, so she was pretty loopy recovering from the anesthesia.

As you can see, she is apparently crate trained. When we went to bed Wednesday night, Tom put her new bed in the crate in our bedroom and she walked right in, fell asleep almost instantly, and slept through the night.

What we've learned about Mackenzie in barely 48 hours:

1. She has little to no idea what dog food is, but if we head to the kitchen cabinets or refrigerator and she is at our feet, tail wagging in anticipation, waiting to be fed any human morsel we are willing to share. We're not willing. This does not please her. We started her off Wednesday afternoon with a cup of kibble in her bowl and 48 hours later over a half of a cup remains. All that people food she's been used to eating has made her fat. She's too fat, eighteen pounds, and could stand to lose about six or eight pounds at the very least.

2. She may have been housebroken, but we've had two "accidents" in two days. This appears to be precipitated by excitement and/or anxiety. It's as if she has no control. We will have to work on that.

3. She wasn't given a lot of affection or attention by her previous owner. It's not that she's afraid or timid. She just doesn't seem to care one way or another. However, if we make a specific effort to pet her or pay attention to her, she seems to enjoy it. Otherwise she is content to go back into her crate and sleep most of the day away. But we'll keep trying to socialize her more.

4. For no apparent reason, she will begin walking in circles, always to her left.

5. The shelter described her as Lhasa Apso mix, but in the original photo taken at the shelter, she looks like Gizmo, a Shih Tzu we had about 25 years ago. Mackenzie was groomed while in the shelter and the groomer cut most of her coat away because her hair was matted and dirty. Now she looks completely different. The groomer told the shelter staff that she was probably a Lhasa/Pomeranian mix. We might just have to do a doggy DNA test for a definitive answer.

So, now for Some Things Friday...


Some Things I Love:

• Sunshine
• Finally finding a new doctor who looks at me when he's talking to me, performs a thorough exam, and provides many alternatives on how to proceed. Thanks to my friend Tammy for recommending Dr. Lea. My doctor's appointment yesterday went really well, but we'll know more when the blood work results come back.
• Pedicures
• Finishing paying bills and filing the invoices away.
• Only 63 days until Spring!!!

Some Things I Hate:

• Cold weather. And the older I get, the more I hate it.
• Walking on my treadmill in the garage instead of walking outside.
• Not living near a coastline.
• The Republican National Committee just announced there will be at least nine GOP presidential debates and as many as twelve. One clown show is all I can tolerate. Twelve is tantamount to torture, which is unconstitutional.
• Rand Paul makes my skin crawl. That is all.

Some Things I Just Don't Get:

• Ted Cruz, a climate science denier, was appointed to chair the Senate subcommittee on Space, Science, and Competitiveness. {Head meet desk.}
• When Fox News says "More blacks kill blacks than whites". And somehow that makes white cop gun-happy racism okay? {My desk is getting a work out and my forehead is starting to hurt.}
• This Georgia pastor prays for the opportunity to kill first.
• Former Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee (oh, yes, I'm so freaking proud) has criticized President and Mrs. Obama's parenting skills because they allow their daughters to listen to Beyonce. Perhaps he shouldn't be so quick to judge someone else's parenting skills. In 1998 Huckabee's then 18 year old son, while working as a counselor at a Boy Scout camp (you know, as a mentor and role model for younger boy scouts), tortured a stray dog by hanging it from a tree, threw rocks at it in an attempt to beat it to death, and finally slit the dog's throat. Someone please tell me what kind of parenting skills it takes to raise a child who would do such a horrible thing. Oh, and yes, the Boy Scout camp director apparently thought it wasn't the best example for younger boys and his son was fired from his job.
• And finally, this.....

Changing Our Reality

Where do I begin? Florida is a good place.

We left Arkansas on December 16th, first to South Carolina then on to Florida for a little over 2-1/2 weeks. Except for a couple of days of spotty rain, the weather was glorious. We ate fish of every kind imaginable for lunch and dinner, except for when our son Chris cooked. He and Kelly had returned from a trip to Belize the week before and he came back with a spice mix, Recado, and made the most delicious stewed chicken I've ever eaten in my entire life. For Christmas dinner he whipped up a pepper crusted pork loin roast with an apricot glaze and a pan of rustic mushroom risotto. Christmas dinners at their house are almost always non-traditional and I love it.

I got a much needed pedicure and my granddaughter Hagan opted for a full set of acrylic nails. Tom opted not to participate although he was invited.

And we slept. The first couple of nights were a little rough. KOA campgrounds are almost always situated on a frontage road of some major highway. The first night was no exception. Interstate 20 at one end of the campground and a railroad track at the other end. A train whistle at 4:30 am. Enough said. Each night after that sleeping was better and most days we didn't get out of bed until 7:30 or 8:00 am, an anomaly for those of us used to starting our day around 6:00 without an alarm clock. I haven't slept that soundly and felt that rested in months.

The gulf was a beautiful bright blue. The air was warm. Pelicans, blue herons, egrets, seagulls and ducks greeted us everywhere we went. The mullet were running so there were lots of boats bobbing out in the water. We talked about everything, laughed, cried, hugged, kissed and snuggled. It was perfect. In every way.

We've been home since the evening of January 2nd. I haven't put on a pair of flip-flops since. The footwear norm is ultra thick hiking socks and my feet are still cold.

It was harder to come home this time than any previous visit. Tom has been talking more and more of retirement. I finally submitted my retirement papers before we left. It's getting closer to being a reality. And it feels really good.

I need to make an appointment with another doctor to address some potentially serious health issues. I cannot go back to the doctor I've been seeing. I don't really trust him or his staff. They continue to blow off my symptoms. I received a doctor recommendation from a friend and I will follow up this week. I found the doctor I'd seen for over 15 years as a result of a recommendation from a friend. I'm hoping this turns out the same way.

We're picking up our new furry family member sometime on Wednesday after she is spayed. The shelter staff found out her name is Mackenzie. Being a HUGE fan of The Newsroom, we will add a middle name: McHale, after the character Mackenzie McHale, the Executive Producer of News Night. What a fun coincidence. We've visited Mackenzie three times already and can't wait to bring her home. Bed, food and water dishes, leash and collar, dog food and training treats await her. Pictures coming the end of this week.

Getting Ready

Well, most of my Christmas shopping is done. Now I need to get stuff shipped. I think I'm going to pass on doing a ton of baking this year. I'd have to squeeze it all into this week and I just don't know if I want to pressure myself that much.

Tom is having The Bea$t de-winterized this coming Friday. We'll load it up over the weekend and take off on Tuesday for South Carolina where we'll stay until Saturday, then head out for Florida for two full weeks.

We've made some nice changes to The Bea$t. It is so much nicer and feels more like "Us."

The first change we made was to the bedroom. It went from this....

To this...

I couldn't find a photo of the old television. It was a really old one that required a analog to digital converter. Gone and replaced with an HD flat screen.

Next was the mirror backsplash behind the sink, counter and stove. I'm not all that fond of constantly seeing myself reflected while cooking or washing dishes, or even catching a glimpse of myself across the walkway sitting at the dining table. It's a little unnerving.

So Tom pulled it off and now it looks a lot cleaner. We also replaced the faucet.

The biggest project so far was the flooring. The light blue carpeting was stained, ugly and difficult to clean.

We opted for a vinyl peel and stick tile that looks like driftwood. I like it so much better.

So there you have it. Oh wait. We made one more little change.

The Bea$t has tons of storage. So much so that we have a hard time filling up all the drawers, closets and pantry shelves. Tom decided to take one of these drawers in the hallway and convert it...

I mean, we couldn't possibly be expected travel without a decent wine cellar could we?

I think we're ready to travel.

Blowfish, Emergency Rooms and Hope

It's been several months since I've written anything here. I've pretty much made myself scarce on most social media. I'm sick of all the negativity and vitriol which increased tenfold leading up to the elections. It permeated both sides of the political spectrum. Even Tom has withdrawn from some social media by deleting the Facebook app from his phone.

I read an article this morning in the Business Insider, Science Says Lasting Relationships Come Down To 2 Basic Traits, those being kindness and generosity. Unlike Ebola apparently, there's clearly not a lot of that going around.

We are about to embark on winter. Tom had The Bea$t winterized yesterday in anticipation of some freezing temperatures. When I got up this morning it was 64 degrees and within the last two hours the temperature has dropped 10 degrees. You know how I hate winter. Meteorologists aren't calling it a Polar Vortex this year, or at least not yet. My Weather app refers to it as "Relentless Arctic Outbreak." Sounds like an ominous case of acne.

On the up side, today is my fourth day without pain and meds. Whoo Hoo! It's been a rough couple of weeks. First with a severe allergic reaction to some unknown allergen that caused by lips to swell up like a blowfish and the skin around them turn bright red. I was mortified and there wasn't a lot of sensitivity going on at my doctor's office that afternoon. The most the nurse practitioner could muster was, "Whoa!" and "If you start to have trouble breathing, come on back." Yeah, okay.

After the steroid shot, I headed to the pharmacy in the huge Kroger monstrosity in my backyard. I used the entrance closest to the drug counter so I wouldn't frighten everyone shopping for milk, eggs and bread, or worse yet, terrify the store manager, who would then call the fire department Ebola isolation team to have me quarantined.

I grabbed a box of Benedryl from the shelf and took it to the pharmacy check out, where I encountered the pharmacy tech and pharmacist, both of whom oozed sensitivity and concern. It was a nice change of pace, but I wasn't in the mood to linger in a public place for any length of time.

"Are you okay?"

"No." I wanted to add, Obviously not, but I wisely refrained.

"Have you seen your doctor?"

"Yes, just came from there and had a steroid shot."

"Do you know what you're allergic to? Did they do an allergy panel?"

"No and no."

"Well are they going to do an allergy panel?"

"No, that would mean they actually cared." Yes, I did say that. I wasn't feeling quite like myself... or maybe I was feeling exactly like myself. It was hard to tell.

"You've taken Bendryl before, right?"

"Nope. Never have. I gave it to my kids periodically when they were growing up, but I've never taken it myself."

"Did your doctor give you any instructions for taking it?"

"That would be a hell no." Yes, I said that, too.

As the pharmacy tech rang up my purchase, the pharmacist proceeded to educate me on proper dosage, then said, "You've had a pretty severe allergic reaction. If you start feeling like your throat or tongue is swelling or closing up or you start feeling like it's hard to breathe, go to the emergency room right away, okay?"

"Yes, I will. Thank you."

The swelling went down considerably within a day or so, but the red rashy skin around my lips lingered and peeled and lingered and peeled and lingered and peeled. It was disgusting.

Just a few days after the Blowfish Incident, I got a spasm in my back. I've had them periodically over the last 30 years or so, but this was the worst it's ever been. I didn't have any pain pills left, but I had plenty of muscle relaxers so I started taking those. They didn't help. At all. I sat with my back against a massage cushion for hours on end until the skin on my back was rubbed raw. And I couldn't sleep through the pain. Finally after two days of pain and no sleep for 24 hours, at 2:00 a.m. on a Wednesday morning, unable to tolerate any further misery or massaging, I asked Tom to take me to the Emergency Room.

Two hours later, with a shot of Demerol in my hip and a prescription for painkillers in my hand, we headed for home. The Demerol did little to relieve the pain, but it eased it somewhat and made me sleepy. But as soon as the pharmacy opened, I headed over to have my painkiller prescription filled. I dropped it off at the drop off window, then settled into a chair in the small waiting area to rest while it was being filled. The rash around my mouth was still bright red and peeling in places so I kept my head tilted down feigning deep interest in Facebook and Twitter on my phone.

The pharmacy tech who checked me out was the same one from the Blowfish Incident. He recognized me (hard not to....not too many old women running around with what looks like a nasty and highly contagious disease).

"Wow. You are really having trouble with that. Has your doctor determined what it is you're allergic to?"

"Nope. They haven't tried."

He just shook his head.

I paid for my pills and headed to my car. I had taken a muscle relaxer just before I left home and I had a bottle of water in my car, so I immediately took a pain pill. It took all of 120 seconds to get home, pull into the garage and walk through the house to the living room couch. Within 45 minutes I was sound asleep. Thank God!

But as I mentioned, this one was a bad one. And a very stubborn one. For a week and a half, it would seemingly go away, then come back, then go away, then come back. Just when I was ready to go to the doctor and plead for a steroid or Botox shot in my back, it finally healed. Today is the fourth day with no pain without meds. Yay me!

And last Thursday I went back to my doctor for my "wellness" visit. The nurse practitioner actually noticing the lingering redness around my lips, "Hmmmm. Do you know what you're allergic to?"

"No. I have no idea."

"Well, we'll probably never know."

"Nope." And taking a que from the pharmacist, I added, "Not unless we do an allergy panel."

"Yeah, well, it could be anything. Obviously it's something you're ingesting," she said, completely dismissing my remark.

At the end of my visit, she said she would call in a prescription for a steroid cream.

When I paid for my pain pills for my back, I also bought a tube of Vaseline Lip Therapy and began using it consistently for about a week and it seemed to work really well so by the time I picked up the steroid cream I only used it once. So now I am pain-free and rash-free.

So that's my couple of months in a nutshell.

Oh wait. One more thing. We got a dog. Her name is Hope and she is a rescue from Arkansas Paws in Prison. She's a black German shepherd that was supposedly trained as a service dog, however, we're finding out that she's pretty independent and that's why she wasn't placed with someone who is confined to a wheelchair.

I'm sure I'll have plenty to write about her.

Falling Into Place??

The ad for our travel trailer went live on Craigslist this afternoon.

We're looking to buy this motorhome:

Yes, it's just a photo of the couch and dinette areas. The slideout is open, so it looks pretty spacious. It shows some wear but nothing we can't fix or change with time. And a huge plus is that it doesn't smell like cigarette smoke!

If you'd like to see the rest of the photos, you can find them HERE

It's an older one, 1998. We'll do a little work on it, like get rid of the light blue carpeting (I'm not a fan)and replace it with wood flooring; replace the closet doors; remove the mirror backsplash behind the sink and stove and replace it with a nice looking formica; plus some general clean up.

Next step is to buy another smaller car we can tow behind the RV and sell the Expedition.

If everything pans out and we take possession this month, Tom wants to take a short trip sometime in October. I don't know where we will go, but I don't think very far or for very long. We're saving our off time for the holidays. Rest assured though, we'll be going somewhere in our near future.

Let The Fun Begin...

I haven't posted in quite a while. I've still been writing, just not here.

We had a glorious two week vacation in Florida in June and spent a couple of extra days in South Carolina visiting our niece and nephew. We hated to come home. Retirement can't come soon enough for me. But if we're going to travel some, we need to make other arrangements besides our little travel trailer. I think I mentioned in a previous post that we were going to look at motorhomes. Certainly not the huge brand new ones. Tom has his eye on an older one that has low miles and just about everything we could ask for in an RV. But, we need to sell the boat first. Priorities.

Now I'm planning for the arrival of our niece and her three kids next Wednesday. They come every year the first part of July and it's always a real fun time. The bedroom is ready. The menu is written. The hot tub blower is repaired. All is ready except the grocery shopping!

Packing It In

I hate this computer. I hate this computer. I hate this computer. It's a Samsung notebook with Windows 8. I hate Windows 8. Microsoft finally came out with Windows 8.1 and I've tried to download it at least a half a dozen times. UNSUCCESSFUL! I can't figure it out and it makes me feel stupid.

I also can't figure out how to download the photos from my SD card from my camera, so any photos I share from this beautiful vacation are from my phone.

I don't think it's that I can't do it. I just don't want to spend the time needed to figure it out. So I'm kicking myself for not bringing my bigger, older, more cumbersome laptop, the one that has all the programs I use for accounting, photo downloading and editing and just about everything else.

Anyway, as I mentioned, we are on vacation. We left April 26th and took two full days to drive to South Carolina to visit with our niece and nephew for three days, then headed down to St. Augustine, Florida for the night.

The last time we visited Florida during the Christmas holidays we reserved three days at an RV park in St. Augustine, but had to cancel because I broke a tooth and needed to have it repaired. I'm glad we had to cancel because the one night there was plenty. It's completely overbuilt.

We've been here at Buttonwood RV Park in Cortez, Florida since May 1st. It's awesome. Clean, quiet and just a mile from Anna Maria Island, an easy bike ride over the Cortez draw bridge.

We've learned a few things about ourselves since we've been here. Our trailer, a homely 1980 24-ft Aljo that Tom gutted and completely rebuilt, is a little small for extended periods of time. A while ago we talked about maybe spending December, January and February here. The trailer (or as Tom calls it "our motorless home") is too small for that. No couch or comfortable chairs. We have to either sit at the dinette or lay on the bed. The seating arrangement gets old really quick even though we're not spending a good deal of time in it most of the day.

And, besides, there aren't any spaces available for those months any way. They are already booked solid. So, I guess we'll have to make our reservations sooner than we anticipated, but it won't be happening this year. That's okay. It will give us time to decide what we want to do about living conditions. We're leaning toward buying a larger used motorhome, then selling the Expedition and buying another smaller car to pull behind it. We have plenty of time to figure it out.

Another thing....who knew I'd get tired of eating out and start craving a simple marinated grilled shrimp kabob, chicken breast, lamb chop or steak and a big salad. Every day for lunch and dinner I have to put on big girl clothes (including a bra.....ARGGGHHH!) and go some place to eat. However, our son Chris has graciously invited us to dinner at his house several times and prepared some pretty tasty meals and I can wear schlep clothes there and not hear a complaint.

Tonight we are going out for dinner again after our granddaughter's choral concert, a place in Bradenton called Habaneros. One more night won't kill me. Besides I love Mexican food.

We have one more vacation week left. It's gone so fast. When we scheduled the time, we didn't realize that our son's and grandson's birthday was right in the middle. And I had no idea where Mother's Day fell this year either and was shocked when our daughter-in-law mentioned it was the Sunday after the birthdays. We're packing a lot in.

If Mondays Were Shoes, They'd Be Crocs

Just for your information, I stole the title from a meme I saw.

I'm hoping this week is better than last. First of all, I was sick almost all week.

Getting old sucks. There I said it. It's true. While I'm doing significantly better than some other people my age, I'm finding as I get older, I'm not bouncing back as quickly as I would like. The worse I feel, the worse I sleep, which makes matters worse because I'm not resting so I'm not healing.

Last Sunday night, I slept like crap and dragged my ass around all day Monday. I thought for sure, being so tired, I'd sleep well Monday night, but I didn't, only sleeping about two hours total. Tuesday morning, even after coffee, I felt like I could barely function so I begged off on my volunteer shift at the Clothes Closet. By mid morning I was running a fever and by early afternoon, after a visit to the bathroom, I discovered I had a full-blown bladder infection. But luckily, since this has been a fairly common occurrence for me since I was about 10 years old, I have a nice stash of meds I keep around just in case.

I took two pills instead of one initially so I could try to get ahead of it. While the pain subsided quickly, my fever and physical stamina persisted. I think I only cooked dinner one night last week. Unheard of for me. I felt like I was in a sleep deprived stupor until late Thursday when I finally started to feel stronger and a little more normal, which some would argue is not necessarily a good thing.

Last night was my first really good night's sleep in over a week. I can't say I'm rarin' to tackle the week. I can say that I believe I'm going to make it.

Winter Needs an Intervention

Just when I thought winter was pretty much over, it is currently snowing in the northern half of the state. I'm ready to fast forward to the part of the year where I bitch constantly about the heat.

Anyway, two things today. I guess it's three things because I already mentioned one and I have two more items on my bad mood, grumpy agenda today.

I'm really tired of surfing various news web pages and coming across yet another disgusting photo of Miley Cyrus with her tongue sticking out. Her mother needs to tell her to stop it. It's not attractive.

And the media needs to understand we are pretty disgusted by the whole thing and they need to stop enabling her.

Item number 3: I have this small little laptop/notebook, which by some miracle I am using at the moment. I call it a laptop/notebook because I don't even know the difference between the two which probably tells you something about my capacity to adapt.

I call her Sam simply because she is a Samsung product and I'm not very creative with names.

As I said, Sam is small and very lightweight. I bought her thinking I'd use her as my main computer, attached at the hip we would be, and I'd switch Tom from his old, dying desktop to my slightly younger, faster, but bigger, more cumbersome laptop. Currently, we are both using my older laptop and Sam has been banished to her bag for months. Why? I hate her. I was going to say it wasn't anything personal, but I'd be lying. She came with Windows 8, the most convoluted operating system Microsoft has ever developed. The learning curve for me for Windows 8 is like learning Spanish when I was in high school. Obviously it's a foreign language, but worse is that I didn't retain anything. I can say "gracias," "por favor," "Señor," "Señora," and "Señorita" without difficulty, but anything else might as well be Greek, a class I did not take in high school.

So it is with Sam and Windows 8. Navigating is simply painful. Menus aren't where they are supposed to be and when you can find what you're looking for, it's often incomplete or nonfunctional. The keyboard and mouse pad are overly sensitive and in one click I'm in the realm of the unknown and don't know how to get out.

The more time I spent with Sam, the more frustrated I became. Apparently, I am not alone. I read article after article, comment after comment, review after review slamming Windows 8. I no longer felt alone.

Then the news came that Microsoft was developing Windows 8.1. I decided to slip Sam into her case until it was released.

Finally yesterday I decided to give it a go. I took Sam out of the bag, plugged her into an outlet and hit the power button. So far so good. But it went down hill from there.

I won't bore you with the details. I've tried loading Windows 8.1 at least 6 times. I get an error message every time and "Try again!" I can't even get the Windows Update menu to load. After tweaking (oh, good god, I almost wrote twerking!) numerous settings, some of which also would not populate, I finally gave up. I'll try another day. Definitely not tomorrow. Probably not even next week. For today, Sam's getting unplugged, powered down, going back into her bag, in the dark where she can think about her bad behavior for awhile.

No, Is The Answer

The question: Is it Spring yet?

First we got ice. The tree limbs have been so heavy with ice accumulation, they almost touch the ground.

And a couple of days later, we got snow.

The pond is frozen solid several inches and the snow accumulated on top of it.





Birds are walking through the light snow on the edge of the patio searching for shelter.


More snow and ice is forecasted for Monday and Tuesday. I can't wait. {/sarcasm}

But Baby It's Cold Outside...

It was 11 degrees at 6:30 this morning. We're more fortunate than the folks living up north. I heard it was -27 degrees in one of the Dakotas. Dang. That is cold!

We came home early from our Christmas vacation. Had to cancel St. Augustine and South Carolina. I broke a tooth biting down on a stone crab claw shell the Monday night before Christmas day. Every dentist I called in the Bradenton area was only seeing "patients of record." For seven days, I chewed...very carefully...on the opposite side.

I have the distinct advantage of having a little experience with dentistry. I was dental assistant in my very early twenties with just enough residual knowledge to be dangerous. My mind went from best case scenario (a simple crown would restore the tooth to it's former self, approximately $1,000) to worst case scenario (the tooth would be beyond repair, would be extracted and I would need a bridge, upwards of $4,500). When I walked into the dentist's office the Monday after our return home, I had, of course, resigned myself to worst case scenario.

But, an hour and a half later, with a numb lip and a temporary crown in place, I paid for the best case scenario and that night happily chewed my food once again on the left side of my mouth.

With still a week left of our Christmas vacation, Tom decided not to go to back to work. Instead, he chose to work at home. He scraped the popcorn ceiling in the living room and painted it. He painted and installed crown molding around the newly painted ceiling. Then he installed the hardwood flooring that's been "acclimating" in the guest room closet for a year and a half. It looks beautiful.

We'd work on the house most of the day, Tom scraping, painting and installing while I dusted, culled out and reorganized. Late afternoons we'd sit and watch the news, anticipating the approach of the "polar vortex." We'd left Florida and 80 degree weather, definitely our preference. Tom posed the idea first...

TOM: What if we spent three months in Florida next year? The coldest months - December, January and February. We could stay at that RV park across Cortez Road from Star Fish Company.

ME: I don't know. I hadn't thought about it at all.

TOM: Do you think you could live in the travel trailer that long?

ME: Yeah, because we would be outside almost all the time, except when it rains.

TOM: Do you think we could swing it financially?

ME: I think we might be able to if we shift some priorities.

So, that's the priority this year. I mean, who wouldn't want to spend several afternoons a week having lunch with a view while friends and family are back in Arkansas dealing with frigid temperatures and ice storms?

Movin' On Out

We're leaving for Florida. First to Anna Maria Island, then after Christmas, we'll head to St. Augustine on the east side for a few days and finally, to visit our niece and nephew in South Carolina.

Tom is on his way to drop Joe off at the "spa" (wink, wink) where he will reside for the next two weeks.

I'm headed for the shower.

The trailer is packed and decorated for Christmas. I'll post photos of that later.

In the meantime, it's Friday folks. The weekend has, for all intents and purposes, begun and we're about slam into Christmas. Too late to put on the brakes.

Intuition ~ A Curse or Gift

According to Dictionary.com, intuition is:

1. direct perception of truth, fact, etc., independent of any reasoning process; immediate apprehension.
2. a fact, truth, etc., perceived in this way.
3. a keen and quick insight.
4. the quality or ability of having such direct perception or quick insight.
5. pure, untaught, noninferential knowledge.

I notice things. Little things that other people don't usually notice. I may notice one small thing strictly by accident which, by itself, has no special importance, meaning or relevance. But, then I'll come across one more thing, then another and wham! The whole picture falls into place. I can't remember a time when my intuition wasn't spot on.

For example, I have a very regular reader/lurker/stalker. What I should have said was my blog has a very regular reader/lurker/stalker.

At first, the reader visited only periodically and then stopped for awhile, but lately, over the last month or so, the reader visits nearly every single day, and yesterday searched at least three separate categories and clicked eight pages.

I guess I should feel grateful and honored that someone would find my writing so interesting, and I probably would if I didn't know the identity of the reader/lurker/stalker. But I do know the reader's identity and, coupled with several other seemingly random bits of other information, I know the reader's motive.

I know my amplified intuition developed in my childhood as a defense mechanism. I had to develop the ability in order to react to the instability and to help me determine whether I was in danger or safe. At some level being highly intuitive is a curse. Sometimes I would love to be blind to the small stuff, the whole ignorance-is-bliss thing. But most of the time I feel like it's a gift. It helps me see the bigger, broader picture and provides a closure of sorts. I can say, "Okay. That's what it's all about," then move on.

Blogging Lite

I got the nicest comment today on this old post on my Food Blog. I didn't remember what the post was about so I had to go back a read it. It actually was kinda funny, even if I do say so myself. I realized I hadn't written much humor lately. I'm going to have to fix that.

Tom finally was able to fix the leak in the travel trailer and change the dining area a little from this...

to this...


Bigger table, but more floor space. We really didn't need the extra bench seat because it's just the two of us.

We bought a bike rack for the back of the trailer and Tom took our bikes into the shop today for maintenance and repair, so we'll be ready to take them with us when we leave next weekend.

But about that humor thing I mentioned earlier. Just go read the paper or watch tv news. You'll laugh so hard it will make you cry.

Moondoggie To The Rescue

I enjoy reading my horoscope every day. I don't live my life in accordance with my horoscope, but it's fun to see how accurate or prophetic it is at any given time.

Today's was particularly interesting. It read, in part...

"...There can be a sense of lost innocence as you learn that somethings are not as they appeared or you might have hoped for... You can't lose faith though, there is a silver lining in this!!"

Holy shit! That couldn't be more accurate. That is exactly what Tom and I were discussing last night. Not so much lost innocence as a realization that many things are not what they have appeared to be and definitely not what I would have hoped for.

I think I may have been deluding or lying to myself all along, investing too much time, thought, care and energy and trying way too hard with little or no benefit and certainly not even coming close to meeting any expectation I might have had. I think I need to step back, take a deep breath and re-evaluate.

I hate this part of self-examination. It's hard. Really hard. The new truth is sometimes hard to swallow. Then, of course, there is the necessity to view things with a new perspective and adjust my thought processes accordingly so I can modify my behavior. I need to keep in check that old need and desire to do and invest myself. It's necessary, but often messy.

Well, at least I've been assured of a silver lining.

Making Up

Saturdays around our house are spent tying up loose ends: laundry, maybe some yard work, last minute grocery shopping. A phone call from a customer changed Tom's plans. He had spoken to his customer earlier in the week but had forgotten that he promised to meet her on Saturday morning. Damn. It would take two hours out of his morning because the customer lives in a small suburb outside of Little Rock.

Tom finally arrived back home about 11:30. I was in the office accomplishing nothing more than reading the news websites and logging in and out of Facebook responding to messages from family and friends.

As is his custom, Joe stood looking at Tom, tail fluttering rapidly, waiting for his god to acknowledge his presence and lift him to his rightful perch on Tom's lap. But once there, Joe began sniffing around Tom's body, up his arms then down to his hands, the stopped abruptly with his paws on Tom's chest, staring at his face.

"Yes, Joe. I've been unfaithful," Tom said. "I've been with another dog."

The customer owned a big, black, friendly lab that left his saliva and scent on Tom's hands, arms and legs in appreciation for the attention Tom bestowed on him.

Joe stood still staring at Tom's face for a long time, then turned around and climbed onto his lap, balancing on Tom's right thigh. Tom reached over and lifted Joe to the floor and got up from his desk chair and headed for the laundry room.

The usual laundry routine is simple. Tom goes through the den to the laundry room and Joe goes to the fireplace hearth in the den and waits for Tom to sit down in his chair next to the hearth, at which point Tom picks up Joe and places him on the chair next to him where Joe promptly goes to sleep.

Not this time.

"I think Joe did something he's not supposed to do," I heard Tom yell at me.

"Why?" I yelled back.

"Because he's acting weird," Tom replied.

I got up from my chair in the office and we both started wandering around the house looking at the floor for an "accident." Nothing.

Tom walked back into the den and Joe didn't follow. Tom called him. Joe walked in the opposite direction.

Completely out of character, Joe refused to go into the den. He wandered aimlessly around the house and finally sat hiding between the couch and coffee table in the living room. When I found him, I carried him into the kitchen and placed him in his bed thinking he would get bored without company and go into the den beside Tom to get comfortable. When I finished filling my water glass, I turned around and Joe was gone, so I looked in the den.

"Is Joe with you?"

"No."

I went back into the living room assuming he would be between the couch and coffee table. No Joe. I looked in the office. Nope. I looked in our bedroom. No sign of him... until I turned toward the bathroom where I could barely see him in the dark on the white rug. Very. Weird. Behavior.

Of course, by this time I am envisioning vet bills in multiple thousands because Joe has most likely ingested some sort of poison that our neighbors sprayed so carelessly in their yard which then seeped into our yard because of the rain this morning, so I start examining him for foaming at the mouth, blood from his anus, pale gums and signs of vomiting. Nothing. I put him back down on the floor and he just stood there.

"We need to watch him closely, Tom. He's acting way too weird."

I went back to the kitchen, grabbed my glass of water and went to the office to work on my food blog. As soon as I settled in my chair and took a sip of water, Tom yelled from our bedroom.

"He's under the bed!"

"Well, get him out from underneath the bed," which was accompanied by a silent eye roll.

"I can't! He's too little and keeps backing up!"

Exasperated, I got up from my chair and walked the few steps to the door of our bedroom. Tom was laying on his side on the floor on the opposite side of the bed and I looked over to my left as Joe walked out from underneath the other side of the bed.

I picked Joe up, tail wagging a little, but as Tom stood up and approached, it stopped.

"Did you inadvertently step on him or something?" I asked.

"No."

"Are you sure? He just doesn't want to come near you."

This is the dog that, beginning at 2:00 sharp every single work day, stands in the kitchen next to the table staring out toward the living room window until he catches a glimpse of Tom's work van pull into the driveway and proceeds to go berserk until he finally comes through the garage door into the laundry room.

I handed Joe to Tom and said, "Maybe you just need to take him into the den and sit him on the chair next to you and see what he does."

I followed them into the den.

Tom sat down and sat Joe down beside him in "his spot." But instead of laying down next to him, Joe climbed up on Tom's lap, then up his chest and started sniffing again, then commenced licking furiously, starting at the shoulder then working his way down Tom's arm.

As I write this, Joe is finally sound asleep in "his spot" next to Tom, so I guess Tom has finally been forgiven for his blatant infidelity. However, I will insist that Tom take a shower before he climbs into bed tonight.

Today...

I deactivated my Facebook account a few days ago. I've done exactly the opposite of what I've encouraged several friends and family members to do. Don't let them chase you away, I've said. Don't let them get the best of you. Don't give them the satisfaction. But I couldn't even take my own advice. I couldn't stay. I just wasn't strong enough.

A little over a month ago, we received an email from our oldest son informing us that he had been searching for his biological father - my ex - for a number of years, had finally located him and had every intention of contacting him. I took offense to the manner in which we were informed and sent a short and somewhat curt response, then took to my password protected blog to vent my frustration.

My son took offense to the titles of those blogs in a scathing email. I have not responded.

A couple of days later, our son posted the information in a public announcement on Facebook, then we noticed that he and his wife had "friended" my ex, his wife, his son and his son's wife, then later my ex's sister.

Over the last month, Tom and our son have emailed back and forth several times, each trying to explain his thoughts and feelings, but tempers quickly escalated and have remained high. The emails they exchanged weren't accomplishing anything. There wasn't any resolution or foundation for any sort of understanding or agreement.

A few days ago, I decided to read those emails and just a few sentences into one of them, I stopped. I stared at the computer screen. It didn't seem to matter that his revelations created more questions than answers for us. He made it clear he didn't even want to talk to us about it.

I sat there just staring at his words. I couldn't move my gaze past them. My eyes teared up. I took a deep breath and wiped my cheek. One word: Wow.

How did this happen? When did he stop caring? Why didn't I notice? How did I miss it? I felt completely disrespected and I started an emotional downward spiral I couldn't keep in check. What did I do? Where did I go wrong? Bad mom, bad mom, bad mom.

Then a couple of days later, my son posted on Facebook an old photo he received from my ex's family, a "family" portrait of me, my ex, his parents, sister and my son. I remembered it well. The negative body language was discernible and the staged "happy family" photo was almost laughable since it was taken just weeks before we separated for the second and last time and I filed for divorce. It made my stomach turn. Later that same evening, my daughter-in-law posted a photo, oddly enough, of my ex's old car at the 1970 Winternationals in southern California. I shook my head. Ironically, it was my ex's trip to the 1968 Winternationals with all of our money in hand, driving our only car and leaving me with a baby just over a year old, a half gallon of milk, 6 eggs, a few slices of bread, no money and no transportation, that was the final straw, the week I'd finally had enough, moved out and filed for divorce. Old, ugly memories came flooding back. This was exactly what I didn't want and what I feared the most - the possibility of being forced daily to view remnants of some of the worst times of my life. I immediately deactivated my Facebook page in order to detach myself from all of it.

But, last night I had a moment of clarity, or what the Greeks call an epiphany, or what my father-in-law calls a revelation, or what some of my friends might call divine inspiration.

I've had some really tough times in my life. I've written about some of them here. I've moved on and have lived a pretty damn good life with a man I love deeply and who has loved and supported me for over 45 years. A person can overcome and move on from almost anything when you have that on your side of the court.

But, it's impossible to move on or even maintain your integrity and a positive equilibrium if you're forced to sit on the floor surrounded by old yellowed photographs that constantly remind you of how miserable you used to be. It achieves nothing and disrespects any positive outcome you try to create. Yes, the key is to move on and create new, positive and uplifting experiences and memories, but it's also choosing not to resurrect the hurtful past by taking control of who and what enters or reenters your life, your space. I have to admit that I've not been really good about doing that in the past. I've allowed people back into my life repeatedly, knowing the baggage they carry with them and the memories they stir within me, only to be forced, once again, to demand their exit.

I have no idea what my ex is like today. I don't care because it doesn't matter. What matters is how I feel when I see his name or his photo. I see the person who treated me and my son with utter disdain and such neglect that it endangered, on more than one occasion, my son's health and well-being. I see a person who chose to abandon his human responsibility in order to serve his own selfish material desires. That is my bias. That is my history. I choose not to relive it or resurrect it in any form.

While I can ask others to respect my history, my personal space and my boundaries, I must first respect myself enough to control these areas in my life. Today I am saying, "Do not enter. You are not welcome here and I'm not going back there, even if it's just for a minute."

I don't know what my son will do or how far he will take this. Only time will tell. It's his life. He's an adult. I love him and I want to give him all the space and time he needs to follow his journey, wherever it leads him. But it doesn't mean I have to go with him.

I have missed my friends and family on Facebook, but to be free of the reminders and negative input has been so uplifting. I feel lighter than I have all month. I may reactivate my account some time in the future, but I'll set my parameters to weed out as much of the peripheral negativity as I can. If that doesn't work, I'll have to deactivate it permanently.

Finally, just for the record, there seems to be some confusion about what constitutes a "real dad." When a man deposits his sperm, wipes his hands clean and abandons his responsibility for the life it helped create, he's a sperm donor. When a man commits to opening his heart and raising a child, supports, gives freely of hugs, kisses and laughter, heals wounds, cleans up vomit, changes diapers, attends parent/teacher conferences, cheers at soccer and baseball games, teaches integrity and respect, and loves unconditionally, regardless of whether sperm is involved, he's a "real dad."

My New Anthem

Diana Nyad = a). never give up and b). you're never too old

I'm tired. My stomach hurts. I'm depressed. I have bills to pay, filing to do, an office/sewing room to organize. I haven't made my bed yet. I need to put away the clean dishes in the dishwasher and reload it. I need to do some prep work for dinner and make a loaf of bread. I have work to do.

But, instead, I'm going to put on my walking shoes, grab a large glass of water and go out to the garage and walk on the treadmill for a minimum of 30 minutes. Because....Diana Nyad.

Risky Behavior

I'm going through my emails again, purging old ones. I'm not really good about doing it daily, cleaning as I go, so to speak. I always feel like I have better things to do. Then I wind up spending a couple of hours a couple of times a year deleting.

As I was going through the emails, deciding which ones to delete and which ones to keep for future reference because they contain recipes or some other information I find pertinent, I found an email from my cousin that I had forgotten to add to my "quotes" file. It made me chuckle this morning, which I needed, so I thought I would share.

IMPORTANT RULES TO REMEMBER IN LIFE:

1. Money cannot buy happiness but it’s more comfortable to cry in a Mercedes than on a bicycle.

2. Forgive your enemy, but remember the bastard’s name. (I've already discussed this here...)

3. Help a man when he is in trouble, and he will remember you when he is in trouble again.

4. Many people are alive only because it’s illegal to shoot them.

5. Alcohol does not solve any problems, but then, neither does milk.

6. Vodka and ice will ruin your kidneys. Rum and ice will ruin your liver. Whiskey and ice will ruin your heart. Gin and ice will ruin your brain. Coke and ice will ruin your teeth. Apparently ice is lethal!!! Warn all your friends: Lay off the ice!!

I happen to like ice in my drinks (but not my wine), so I suppose I will continue to partake at my peril. So far the odds have been in my favor.

There Is Only Healing

I’ve been scolded for holding a 45-year old “grudge” and told I should just “get over it.”

You can call it what you will: a grudge, animosity, resentment, anger, bitterness. I own up to all of them when faced with dredging up past neglect, abandonment and abuse, whether at the hands of my parents or ex-husband.

And, my reaction to the demand to "get over it" is strong. Don’t tell me how I should feel. I know how I feel and I’m allowed to have and own my feelings, whether anyone considers them valid or not.

My internet friend, Karin @ Altadenhiker, commented a few posts ago, “I think forgiveness is vastly overrated.” I do, too, and even more so the “getting over it” part.

While some people will tell you that forgiveness is for yourself, in my heart and at the very core of my being, I cannot and will not forgive any abuser, mine or anyone else’s, for subjecting their victim to neglect, abandonment or verbal, physical or sexual abuse, regardless of how recent or distant the abuse.

It makes me angry when our society implies that the victim should forgive the abuser. I reject the group mentality that protects the abuser and blames and brainwashes the victim into believing they are the problem because they are unable or unwilling to forget and forgive the perpetrator for the neglect or abuse. Blame is placing the responsibility for the abuse where it belongs, on the abuser. S/He abuses, then moves on, leaving the victim to clean up the mess.

Still so many people cry out impatiently for the survivor to “just get over it,” which is usually followed by more invalidation and dismissive demands to then “forget it and move on.”

Is it any wonder why so many victims DON’T tell? Society has convinced the victim that the guilt and shame is theirs to bear and that they must have somehow deserved or invited this kind of mistreatment.

Getting over it or forgiveness denies the victim the permission to be angry, permission to speak, to have a voice, to vent and rage and FEEL all the emotions that he/she was not allowed to feel before as a victim.

Victims are further victimized by being required to deny their anger and pain when they are forced to interact in some way, directly or indirectly, with the abuser. Just ask the adult man who was emotionally and physically abused for two years of his young life how he feels about the man, his abuser, still being “friends” with his mom. Or ask the adult woman who was sexually molested at a very early age how she feels about constantly being confronted by her abuser because he’s allowed to continue being part of the “family” on Facebook.

I cannot and will not ever get over or forgive people who have hurt me or my children, regardless of how old they are or how long ago it was. Those people are not deserving of my forgiveness.

If there is anyone to forgive, it’s me. Forgiving the years of running and hiding and denying truths I either suspected or knew all along. Forgiving myself for not paying attention to my own needs. Forgiving myself for not walking away when I could (but not when I was unable) and forgiving myself for prolonging all the pain and neglect that was inflicted on me and my child by denying for so long that it was even there in the first place.

I had a wonderful therapist years ago. After several tearful sessions, I asked her, “How do I get over this?”

She said, “There is no ‘getting over.’ There is only healing.”

She was right.