WHEN IT RAIN, IT POURS

After all the health issues these past several months, Dad jokingly stated he was waiting for the doctors to find something else; however, I think he really was serious. Although the cancer might not be as much of an issue as originally thought, Dad now has been diagnosed with gout. The diet was already quite restrictive, but now--WHAT JOY! Sense a disheartened spirit in Dad especially when it comes to the one thing that he looked forward to in the day--FOOD.

Gout can be a one-time occurrence, so hopefully with eating a more restricted diet and taking medication, Dad can return to eating beans; soups; rich and creamy desserts; chocolate candies; more than a daily two-ounce serving of certain meat, poultry, and fish......

Please continue to keep Mom and Dad in your prayers.

A NEW TASTE SENSATION

Culinary magic. Trying new recipes. Experimenting with favorite cuisines. Inventing recipes for prize money at the annual Pillsbury bake-off. Yesterday I discovered a new taste treat purely by accident. Every morning for breakfast I ingest a large bowl of oatmeal and load it down with cinnamon not only for flavor but to stabilize the blood sugar due to possible carb overload. While pouring out the cinnamon, I noticed a strange color and realized that the paprika was in my hand (they are in identical containers). It was too difficult to remove the paprika and didn’t want to start over, so just added the cinnamon and would try to choke it down (waste not, want not they say).

What a surprise! There was a slight difference in taste but not too overpowering; actually it was much better than usual. So this morning, out of curiosity, I added a little paprika to my cholesterol-reducing concoction. Yes, it definitely does taste better. You might want to try it sometime.

LOOKING FOR LOVE IN ALL THE WRONG PLACES

Life is funny isn’t it? Oh, not comical or laughable, although it certainly can be that and more, but strange and bizarre. Never thought I would be one to participate in internet dating. Of course, never thought I would ever be interested in looking for love period after losing Carl almost six years ago.

Tried to come up with an ingenuous title for my ongoing love life (eHarmony Update seems so boring) so this will have to do, although don’t consider it all that clever. How is it going, you might ask. Not too bad. Actually I’m in the pursuit of two gents (is that even proper internet dating etiquette), one who lives in California, actually in the same town, and the other in that sin-filled city in Nevada.

As you may know, eHarmony matches up men and women who seem compatible in their responses to some 400+ questions. Have had many matches and closed many, mainly because of the physical distance. Changed the age range in my match ups to 46-61. A ten-year age difference is the max for me; however, if he looked like Tom Selleck or George Clooney, well…oh, never mind.

After waiting for the gentleman in Long Beach to respond to my communication request, I closed the match; however, he asked me to reconsider since he thought we had great potential, so I obliged. It’s somewhat annoying that he takes his time to respond to anything, but he might have limited access to the internet, so patience is a virtue they say (and come to think of it, one of his “can’t stands” is someone without patience.) His name is Larry… Why did Larry the Cable Guy just come to mind?

Now on to Mr. Vegas. What can I say about this man? Ken was one of my first matches, and we’ve been corresponding for almost a month and seem to have great chemistry--at least on paper. He’s self-sufficient; is spiritual and attends church; is involved in a homeless ministry; is Italian and considers himself a great cook (learned from his mom and was in restaurant management for many years); has a great sense of humor… Need I go on? He seems level headed and hasn’t been scared off by my openness, honesty, and telling it like it is. Case in point--told him when I first saw his photo, thought I was watching an episode of the Sopranos but to please take that as my warped sense of humor. He got a big kick out of that. Also, Ken actually addresses all of my concerns in a way that I can understand.

Although it can be difficult to build a relationship from afar, we’ve agreed to take it one day at a time. Will admit I’m quite hopeful and the heart strings are pulling; however, there is also a sense of trepidation of getting my heart broken, smashed, or snapped in two. Really do like this guy and consider him a great big teddy bear.

In any case, a lot of excitement has certainly been added to this humdrum life.

Stay tuned.....

SECRET SANTA STRIKES AGAIN

Last year I was most appreciative and quite humbled to be one of the recipients of the LBCC anonymous Santa who so graciously and lovingly bestows monetary gifts to those who have had financial hardships throughout the year.

On Friday, as I collected the mail that was delivered to my box, therein lay an envelope from the church. After opening it there was a typed written note attached with the words, “You have been selected to receive this gift by an anonymous donor in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Please accept this in the spirit it has been given. God Bless & Merry Christmas.” It was deja vu. What a generous soul! What a heartfelt individual who displays such unselfish behavior.

This year I was not the only one in my immediate family who was a recipient of this special blessing. Mom and Dad also received an envelope in the mail with a check and the same note attached. Mom was dumbfounded because she doesn’t consider themselves financially burdened; however, it was obvious that their exorbitant medical bills over the last several months were deemed a financial crisis. Yes, the bills were steep, but Mom still felt quite embarrassed and undeserving and her first inclination was to return the check by means of the Sunday morning contribution plate because she knew there were so many others who needed the money more. I reminded her of the words in the note--“Please accept this in the spirit it has been given”--and that she should do so.

My parents have always been generous with their means whether it be giving every Sunday or a worthy cause here and there (which is more than I can say), but they have gone over and beyond in their unselfish quest to assist their own family with no strings attached. I can’t think of two people who deserve this special gift more.

What do you say to such a remarkable human being? “Thank you, Secret Santa,” seems so trivial. There really are no words to express what this wonderful gift has meant to me these past two years.

ANXIETIES OF A NEW JOB

Well, the first week of the new job is now history. Can’t believe how nervous I was the Sunday before that big first day. Commented to Arlene about that fact so they had a special prayer for me at the conclusion of our monthly Sunday night prayer meeting. Joked after the “Amen” that I was no longer scared; however, it must have worked because the week went quite well.

The position is an intermediate clerk. The job is in the health and wellness center of a community college in Orange County. It literally is a medical office inside a college campus. Never new there was such a thing. The hours are part-time at 30 hours a week (right now only work Monday through Thursday) with 75% medical coverage, and the insurance is darn good. Although didn’t realize that I will only be working 10 months out of the year, there is a positive angle--can work in another area of interest during this hiatus.

The job is hectic with lots of variety---right down my alley. There’s a lot to learn and seemed to catch on quickly, especially the computer programs which to me were considered just more in a long line of software I’ve had to use over the years. Left work every day with nothing more than a great attitude and the desire to return (haven’t experienced those feelings for a while), except the first day--left with a massive headache. Try to avoid taking any type of pain reliever but knew this sucker would not go away without popping a generic Advil.

Another interesting event happened at work that somewhat surprised me. On Wednesday a student came in to inquire about getting a TB test. Tests are only given on Mondays and Tuesdays. I understood his inquiries, and he understood my answers. He seemed appreciative and three coworkers were standing on the sidelines somewhat flabbergasted. Must say I was taken aback myself. The reason--this student was deaf, and we were signing back and forth to each other. I fumbled a little but felt proud of being able to communicate with this young man, since I haven’t used sign language much over the last 20 years.

Knew working at a college would be a good deal. When the school is closed, our office is closed. So after December 13 with only two weeks under my belt, I’ll be off for three weeks, and, yes, I do get paid. And there is a flex week in February, and spring break, and….

The people are nice and everyone seems glad that I am there and no wonder--my position had been vacant for 1-½ years. Now there is just one problem--the Human Resource Department called to schedule me for an interview. The same position but in a different department. Since I really like what I’m doing there would be no difficulty in making a decision; however, this position is full-time and that means more money. What’s a person to do?

FOR ALL THOSE INQUISITIVE MINDS

Good grief! If I knew the last paragraph of Sunday’s blog was going to cause such a stir, I would have expounded upon it. So, no, there is no potential suitor yet; however, this time I did break through the preliminary stage of being considered a compatible female for the male population of e-Harmony’s website. Subscribed to a 3-month Thanksgiving special and have already received quite a few matches. Unfortunately, many of these males are in their mid-60s, but they say that 60 is considered the new 50, and, hey, they might be loaded but.... ooh.....too much of an age difference and have passed them by. It shouldn’t bother me that much since there is a 13-year age difference between Don and Nat; however, if I found one as good looking as my brother (sans the beard and bushy hair) then...

It should be an interesting three months. So, tune in again for another edition of Debbie’s love life (or lack thereof).

ANOTHER THANKSGIVING BITES THE DUST

November 22, 2007, has come and gone. It snuck up on us once again and seemed to come a week earlier than usual; others mentioned it so must not just be my imagination.

For the last couple of years Thanksgiving dinner has been eaten either in a restaurant or retirement center dining room, actually since my parents stopped owning a home. To the women folk, not having to prepare a Thanksgiving feast would be music to the ear but to be honest, I miss the hustle and bustle of a hot kitchen and the disagreements caused by having too many cooks getting in each other’s way. Maybe it’s the homemade taste but think it’s more of having done something special for those you love. This year Mom said I could fix the meal at their place but politely declined. It still would not be the same. Of course, my place is too small and a majority of those cooking utensils are in storage. Maybe when I move and get that nice apartment Mom thinks I deserve...

On Thursday, Dad was able to go down to dinner. The first time he has been down since coming home from surgery, and he actually packed it away, including a piece of pecan and pumpkin pie. Several months ago the dining room changed the “rules”--no “take out” if eating downstairs--however, there was an extra piece of pecan pie on our table and knew it would be trashed, so Debbie had no problem sneaking it out in two of those cheap paper napkins. What were they going to do, arrest me? But Mom and Dad had no problem with it. I also will admit to having done that in eating establishments in the past for a different reason--if it’s left and I’m paying for it, it’s going with me. And before you ask, no, there was never any premeditation involved--never got something with the intent of taking it home.

The next several hours were spent in front of the TV--Don insisted there would be football with Thanksgiving--but he kept surfing the channels. They ended up watching the Miracle on 34th Street, and I sat and read a Prevention magazine, but you’re with family; that is what’s most important. Wished Jonathan could have been there, but the distance was far too great to go down and pick him up and then take him home.

My calendar is usually blank, and if you were to ask me to do something even on the spur of the moment, I would undoubtedly be free; however, this weekend the plate was quite full. Practicing keyboard to accompany a friend for an Elk’s Lodge memorial service. Going out of town to spend some quality time with special friends. Visited, ate, watched TV, played board games... What is it about board games that when the competition gets fierce, the horns come out and shocking phrases spill out of the mouth. Oh, I was quite disillusioned with a particular individual, but she is still A-OK in my book.

Guess it still bothers me that I’m not very talkative especially in bigger groups, although Jonathan would disagree, but that’s who I am and there’s nothing wrong with that; however, I have never laughed so hard for so long. Already knew these people were nuts, but at the end of our 24 hours together, that opinion was raised to a whole new level.

Great time. Great company. Great hospitality. Great food. Where do you find such an assortment of jellies, some even homemade, and juices where you have the choice of no pulp, medium pulp, and extra pulp? Not in any eating establishment I’ve ever patronized. This visit confirmed what I already knew--wish Carl, Jonathan, and I had met these fine folks many moons ago.

Another bonus feature to this weekend--I’m no longer an e-Harmony reject. Yes, this was one of the best Thanksgiving weekends ever.

AIN’T IT PRETTY!

Remember the days of “Show and Tell” in elementary school? If Dad had this done 40 years ago, doubt I would have taken him to school to show off the scars, but he's sure proud of them. However, this last one was a beaut and just felt the need to share it with my loyal subjects. In my opinion the artistic, meticulous detail of Dr. S’s work was extraordinary! Such symmetry! It actually is in alignment with the bypass scar.

All the kidding aside, it’s good to have Dad back home. He’s doing okay, although quite weak and still awaiting the results of the pathology report. But whatever the outcome, we’ll face it one day at a time with God’s help and the prayers, thoughts, and concerns of all our friends and loved ones (guess our friends are also our loved ones, though, huh?).

FAMILIAR TERRITORY

Here we sit once again in a hospital waiting room. Although in a different room on a different floor, the reasons are still the same. Waiting while Dad has surgery. Waiting to be informed of the results of the surgery. Waiting to see Dad in the recovery room.

This summer after receiving a pacemaker, having a triple bypass, and being in the hospital for a 10-week stretch, Dad is in the final stage of resolving all of his known health issues--colon surgery. Removing the large mass that has caused his anemia since first being diagnosed in April. Not encouraging news back then with regard to the tumor being cancerous, but the doctor believed it was localized. Hopefully that part will still be the case.

As we sat, Don made a crack that it was nice being together to visit. I call it a crack because we were sitting there in silence--Don on his laptop writing articles for the school district, Mom reading, and me writing a blog. However, we had just had a long visit on Saturday, so it didn’t appear rude, but we did talk a little more as the time dragged on.

After about three hours, the doctor informed us that Dad was doing fine and the surgery went as expected. The surgeon still believes the tumor is cancerous but that will be a pathologist’s call and those results will be known sometime next week. Dr. S said we’ll just take this one day at a time. Since Dad could be in recovery a good three hours, Don took us to lunch at the Yard House in downtown Long Beach. Although Mom and I weren’t too hungry, according to Don--we all seemed to “do some damage.”

Returned to the hospital two hours later. Dad was still in recovery and could only have one visitor. It made sense to let Mom be the one to go. She came back through the double doors after only a few minutes. Dad was not at all comfortable and drifting in and out of sleep. Don tried to go see him so he could head back home but the nursing staff was busy with Dad--probably checking vitals and administering some more “happy juice.“ We all decided to head on home.

Received a call from a staff member that Dad was now in a hospital room. Mom and I will go see him for a little while. Think we can take a deep breath and sigh of relief that the home stretch is near. It’s been quite an ordeal these last few months, especially for Mom. She seems so tired today.

DON’T GIVE UP

Don’t get discouraged. Don’t lose hope. Things will turn around. This too shall pass. I constantly have to repeat these things to myself, but it sure is hard to keep the chin up. The job search has continued and interview after interview still leads to nowhere; however, there has been one consolation--I still have that 15-hour a week job and now get to work some additional hours every week. Jonathan is also having enormous difficulty landing a job and it really takes great human strength for me to tell him those same reminders.

In the Believing God series, the concept of miracles is discussed. The Old and New Testament is full of signs and wonders. Wonders never cease--we just tend to believe our own eyes and not the fact that God can do what He says He can do. Beth Moore says it all, “The world is in desperate need of a true spiritual awakening. The church is in desperate need of great revival. Believers are in desperate need of a fresh infusion of faith. Beloved, we need some miracles.” After going through this particular part of the lessons, I decided that it would take a miracle for us to find suitable employment.

Call it bad karma or bad luck, but it seems like everything that Jonathan does or touches goes south and only a creative writer could possibly come up with some of the predicaments Jonathan gets into, and I seemingly have to resolve. Although not always his fault, and I would have to admit some culpability in a few of the outcomes, Jonathan has a tendency to not consider the consequences of his actions until it’s too late. Have you ever heard of anybody having two different cars impounded within a month’s time? Well, you have now. (Automobiles are a sore subject with me on many levels, so don’t get me started.) As you recall, last month Jonathan’s vehicle was stolen and tow charges were paid. Unbeknownst to me, he traded this car for another one from his friend. Another relic. Will spare you the ludicrous details, but suffice it to say, this week I spent a day down in San Diego County discussing the matter at the Police Department and the tow yard. After weighing all the options, Jonathan no longer is the proud owner of any motor vehicle. The only cost will be a traffic ticket.

Have tried to instill in my son to do what is right, but he has his own mindset and after going round and round with this kid, I finally said, “I think God is trying to tell you something.” Jonathan was thinking the same thing. Spent some quality time talking. Jonathan is trying to get into shape so helped him shop for a better selection of groceries. Since I was in the area, considered paying a surprise visit to some special people and get a tour of their new digs (residence and business) but some people don’t relish surprises and the surprise could have been on me--they might not have been there. However, it was getting too late anyway, so headed on home.

That night I watched an episode of an old Andy Griffith show. Opie received a straight A report card from his teacher. They all made a fuss over him, and Andy was so proud that he bought Opie a bicycle. Unfortunately, Miss Crump erred in transposing the grades and gave Opie his corrected report card. There was an “F” in math. Opie saw the bike but kept his mouth shut. Miss Crump apologized to Andy for the mistake which caught him off guard. Andy was upset and went home to confront Opie and found the runaway note. Andy found Opie walking and asked him why he was running away. Opie told Andy about his grades and had said nothing because he didn’t want his dad to be disappointed in him. Opie said he would come home when his dad could be proud of him again. With a look of embarrassment, Andy said he was proud of Opie for just being his son. Wow, did that smack me right between the eyes! Realized I would have trouble admitting I was proud of Jonathan because of all the things he has done and put me through. In that moment I felt shame and had to tell Jonathan that I was proud to have him as my son.


NEWSFLASH---Well, after yesterday afternoon, I definitely can say, “Yes, miracles do happen.” Excuse my grammar, but Debbie done got herself a decent, good paying job with a college district; yes, I said college, and not just an entry level position! Since I don’t like to commute will consider relocating, but will worry about that down the road.


Now, could we have at least one more miracle please?

FOOTLOOSE AND FANCY FREE

An idiom to describe the word, “single” which has many synonyms such as only, solitary, unique, particular, and separate. However, in this instance, I am referring to the synonyms: unattached, unfettered, spouseless, and unmarried; and in this case, a group--a singles group. Why do so many people cringe or get bent out of shape and want to steer clear of any involvement with a singles group? Possibly they don’t want to be labeled. Perhaps it connotes being a loser or undesirable. Maybe it’s the age difference. Or simply they don’t want to be reminded of their status. Of course, some married individuals would love to be included in this group once again.

Speaking as a member of the single population, I admit at times being considered a single person is non too flattering, but it’s who I am and being a part of any group gives me a sense of belonging. Although a bigger congregation lends for bigger group participation, it can hamper a close camaraderie among its members; but in a small church, it’s hard to get enough participants. Although Long Beach is a small church and it has been difficult to spark an interest, we do have a singles group with only a limited number, but a faithful number nonetheless.

Last month we went out to lunch after Sunday morning service. The total number in attendance was seven, but we had a good time. Didn’t want it just to be strictly a time for socializing, so plan to undertake different types of projects throughout the year.

On Saturday, five of us met to clean the church kitchen. A filthy mess. A kitchen that should have been shut down by the health department a long time ago. We had an arsenal of rags, buckets, degreaser, Comet, Lysol, vacuum, mop, broom, ladder, and stepstool. We each took a section and cleaned from inside to outside, top to bottom, all the while reorganizing all contents in the cabinets and drawers and on the countertops. Scrubbed and scoured. Bent and knelt. Climbed and reached. Yes, we all got down and dirty and called it quits after six hours. Although Joe mopped the entire floor, we only managed to finish one-half of the kitchen. Despite having to endure Joe’s old-time ditty every time Comet was mentioned, and an almost attempt at pole dancing (you had to have been there), we had a lot of laughs and think everyone felt good about what had been done. It was determined that every fifth Saturday, the singles group would undertake the ministry of cleaning the church kitchen.

Besides the laughter, there were a lot of barbs, jabs, sarcasm, and snide remarks. Yes, Barbara, Peggy, Joe, Cindy, and I definitely turned into a close knit family.

EVACUATION

Rolling sea of flames have covered several counties in Southern California causing deaths and leaving behind millions of dollars worth of destruction. Many are still not contained. We should care and be concerned about all involved including the brave individuals who fight these infernos, and I’ve only known a few individuals who were threatened by these hazards. Dad’s sister-in-law’s sister lives in an area of San Diego County that has had many fires. Was relieved when Janice was out of danger during the fire on Catalina Island earlier this year. Fortunately, never had to experience an immediate family member in the threshold of losing it all. If it were 1973, my brother would have been part of Sunday’s mass exodus of the Pepperdine campus in Malibu. Even though I’ve seen the fallen ash and smelled the smoke from the Cedar wildfire in San Diego County in 2003, to write about such a devastation would be more telling if I were to experience the imminent danger first hand.

On Monday I came home from work with a headache, bad enough to diminish the eyesight and nauseate the stomach. The pain seemed to intensify after receiving a call from Jonathan.

It looked like a third-world country--sirens piercing the air, seeing the orange glow over the hill, embers flying through the sky and igniting wherever landing, causing people from several surrounding blocks to abandon their homes and prized possessions. Jonathan had a flat tire and packed his car but would not leave until it was absolutely necessary. Urged my son not to wait too long--he could not be replaced, but Jonathan said he would be fine and would keep me posted. His reassurances fell on deaf ears, and I constantly picked up the phone to check on him. For hours sat on pins and needles, full of trepidation, anxiety and helplessness--I could not go to the rescue.

Everything seemed fine after Jonathan called four hours later. He had unpacked his car, and I could finally relax; however, an hour later the phone rang--Jonathan had evacuated because the back of the apartment complex was on fire. He had aired his tire and was on his way to a friend’s house in Oceanside. The dread returned until he had safely arrived at his destination.

Writing my Godstops (those bedtime meditations from the Believing God series) that night was difficult. However, I was fortunate not to have been threatened by any of the fires. Also realized that although Jonathan was in harm’s way, he was now safe and the experience could actually produce some life-altering changes, possibly for the better.

Jonathan was one of the lucky ones who was able to return home.

BELIEVING GOD

While growing up listened to the sermons, tried to walk the straight and narrow (might have been considered a prude), and acknowledged the basic truths--the Trinity (although don’t understand it), the five steps to inherit eternal life, Jesus was raised from the dead to take away our sins, the ten commandments, the greatest commandment, and prayer. I’m not exactly that goody-goody girl now and often experienced those peak and valley stages but found myself down in the valley the majority of the time.

In all honesty, my life has lacked spiritual meaning. Seem to just go through the motions. Prayer time is sporadic. Bible reading is sporadic. Bible study is nonexistent. Seem to have taken most everything for granted.

Two weeks ago a nighttime ladies’ class was started at Long Beach. Believing God is one of numerous Bible studies and books penned by Beth Moore. The study analyzes what it means to believe God, not just believe in Him. Beth is a Christian speaker, author, and ministry leader who founded Living Proof Ministries to help teach women how to love and live on God’s Word. She has spoken and held conferences world wide.

A significant amount of study time (homework) is involved including journaling and at the end of each day’s lesson is bedtime meditations called Godstops--“any means by which God seems to go out of his way during your day to make Himself known to you.” Liked one statement in particular--“The more we learn to recognize and appreciate His intervention and revelations, the more we are likely to receive them.” Have never thought about that before, but it does make sense. Also, there are five pledges of faith we are to memorize backwards and forwards. These declarations will be thoroughly explored to help explain what we are believing. The five pledges are:
1. God is who He says He is.
2. God can do what He says He can do.
3. I am who God says I am.
4. I can do all things through Christ.
5. God’s Word is alive and active in me.

Just after two weeks, I’ve already noticed significant changes in myself and realized that I only believed in God; didn’t really believe Him. Scripture is full of God’s truths and promises, but lived much of life not believing that God was in my corner and felt bitterly angry and resentful for my circumstances, especially after Carl died. Now I do believe that God is there for me for the long haul, and He always wants what is best for me, even though I may not understand it. Some days I have to struggle to see those Godstops and a few of them may be considered downright silly, but, hey, it is making me stop taking things for granted and do feel closer to Him than ever before. Thinking about Him more often would tend to do that.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. Life isn’t all roses now. There are still disappointments, heartaches, frustrations, tears… but I’m trying to keep my attitude focused on the positive and allow God to guide my path. Unfortunately, have to constantly remind myself of that decision--habits are hard to break. For me this study came just at the right time (what a coincidence, huh?), but I must have faith in this concept of believing God because it was sure stressed to the max when Jonathan called the other day. Told him to pray and lean on God--it will make a difference and it just wasn’t lip service. I actually believed what I was telling my son. There are a lot of challenges to face, but I’ve already seen good things happening in these past two weeks.

Jonathan is very troubled, and I solicit your prayers on his behalf as well as my own to be the mother I should have been long ago.

THE BIG TRANSITION

Yesterday was an emotional roller coaster for many of us at Long Beach. The time had finally arrived. A time we knew was coming several months prior. Tears that had already flowed more times than could be counted. The “passing of the torch” from one minister to another. The final good-bye to a much loved man and his family. The welcoming of a man who seems passionate about his new work, a sweet wife, three girls with a fourth arriving by way of adoption at the beginning of the year, two kitty cats, and no “psycho” dog.

This was supposedly a rare event for a church of Christ, but I venture to guess a transition such as this, and done with such fervor, does not happen often in any church let alone a place of employment. Don’t recall passing a torch to any of my replacements, except one that I trained in a law firm, and we’re still friends to this day.

It was different for sure, and all in all, a very nice concept to initiate for this congregation. Jessica prayed over the girls, Janice prayed over Kenrie, and Greg prayed over Geron. Then the elders prayed over the family with the entire congregation surrounding them. Geron was touched and somewhat speechless at the outset.

But the big shocker--Greg and Steve actually wore suits. Have seen the others in the more formal Sunday attire a few times, but think Greg and Steve are the rebels when it comes to ties and suits,:) but what a fun pair to be around. When Steve walked down the hall, I introduced myself. Don’t think Steve was amused until I said how good he looked.:) Greg blew my plans to do the same when he changed to a Stooge shirt after service was concluded. Nevertheless, they all looked very dapper.

Greg may be remembered for “passing the torch” to the next preacher at Long Beach, but each of us will have our own personal memories. Although only a short-time member here, I saw the love many had for Greg, Janice, Josh, and Jessica. They always will be missed, and they always will be a welcome sight.

Noticed a few tears and the scrambling around for tissue, when Greg was talking, but I kept my composure. Figured I had no more tears to cry after all these months. Although gone from our midst, this won’t necessarily be the last thing I ever will write about this man and his Southern belle whom I have come to love very much. My memories go so deep.

I didn’t want Greg to leave and hate that Greg is gone. Although no one is irreplaceable, in my heart no one can ever fill Greg’s shoes, but people, especially ministers, come and go and you learn to accept the inevitable--things never stay the same. Have finally come to terms with this transition and wish the Bryan family success in their new ministry.

Where’s the tissue?

TRANSCENDENCE

Never thought of myself an art connoisseur and didn’t invest in high-end artifacts or drawings but was surrounded by some who had talent. My brother was the artist in our family. I wanted to draw but settled for tracing over pictures of horses from the encyclopedia by either projecting the picture onto a piece of paper taped to the wall or laying tracing paper over the picture in the book.

Dad’s mother was an artist and two oil paintings hung on our hallway wall. Carl was quite the artist although not many people knew about this talent. I even tried to check out a few books from the library to learn the basic techniques of drawing. Many things can be self-taught, but artistic talent seems to demand classroom time with an instructor.

Sunday afternoon I went to the Laguna Art Museum with a friend. Have visited a few art museums in the past but not of this genre. The current exhibit was Heart and Soul--Rick Griffin’s Transcendence. This artist was a major presence and set the stage for pictorial illustration during the counterculture movement of the 60s and 70s. His art work influenced surf and psychedelic rock movements and conveyed idealism and hope with a mixture of hedonism, politics, and new and experimental expression. Griffin created the cartoon character Murphy that was in Surf Magazine. His work includes album covers for The Grateful Dead, Jimi Hendrix, and Bob Dylan; posters for The Doors, Jefferson Airplane, The Who, and Janis Joplin; and the logo for Rolling Stone Magazine.

I was not a part of the hippie scene. Did not listen to rock or heavy metal music. Never experimented with psychedelic drugs. As a matter of fact, one of many messages drummed into me while growing up was that those who participated in such things were considered rabble and should be avoided at all cost. Being one who didn’t want to do anything wrong, I complied wholeheartedly and steered clear of such practices and associations.

So why would I be interested in going to such an exhibition? Well, for one my friend asked; that was enough reason for me, but did some research prior to going and something caught my eye--Griffin’s work also influenced the born-again Christian movement. That aspect intrigued me. After Rick became a Christian around 1971, his work was instilled with Christian themes and symbolism. He did album covers for Mustard Seed and posters for Calvary Chapel in Costa Mesa and Harvest Christian Fellowship. He also did a project for Maranatha Music--an illustration of The Gospel of John done in acrylic and ink.

Rick Griffin was a talented artist whose life was cut short when he was involved in a fatal motorcycle accident in the Northern part of California in 1991. His work, especially after he became a Christian, was done with such exquisite detail. So vivid. Great focus. His last picture was used in “The City” magazine--Rick kneeling in front of an open Bible at Heaven’s gate.

EARLY MORNING SURPRISES

By now you already know that my parents live in a retirement facility near the church. One building is considered assisted living. The one Mom and Dad live in is known as independent living; however, there you probably can find just as many caregivers, walkers, and dementia-related illnesses. The laundry room, with six washers and dryers, is down in the basement. The exercise room, complete with treadmill, bicycle, Total Gym, Nustep, and elliptical machine, is on the top floor of the 14-story building.

Mom hates the inconvenience of going elsewhere to do laundry and goes before dawn to avoid the rush. This particular morning after putting the clothes in the dryer, Mom went to work out in the exercise room. The door was closed--an unusual sight. Mom opened the door and turned on the light. On the Total Gym sat one of the male residents. Mom walked over to the Nustep and looked over at the gentleman and as Gomer Pyle would say, “Surprise! Surprise! Surprise!” He had on a t-shirt. That’s it. Nothing else. Nearby on the floor lay a white piece of material. Mom kept looking to make sure he was bottomless (don’t tell Dad). The man got up (Mom thought he was going to put on his underwear), but he walked passed it toward another machine.

Mom went to the lobby to get some assistance. Finally found a female custodian who went with Mom to the exercise room. The man told her his name and Mom and the custodian walked him to his apartment located at the end of the hall. His wife answered the door. Both have Alzheimer’s and only have a caregiver during the day. Have a feeling that will soon change. By the way, the white lump of material on the floor--a wet washcloth.

Reminds me of a joke I recently heard--A man was walking down the street and noticed three elderly women lying in the front yard with no clothes on. When a neighbor walked up, the man asked him, “What are those elderly women doing in that yard with no clothes on?” He said, “Oh, those are former prostitutes and they are having a yard sale.”

VIOLATED

Physical assault and rape usually comes to mind but other definitions include breached, broken, trespassed, trampled on, infringed. What about those violators who mess with our personal stuff and who have so much disregard for other people’s property? It stirs up mixed emotions. You are filled with infuriation. You are incensed and enraged, but at the same time remember how you should act as a Christian; however, you still want to drop kick them into the next county.

Only have experienced a major violation once when my parents’ house was burglarized in the mid ’60s. It happened in the summertime on a Wednesday night while we attended church. In the desert country of New Mexico a prominent fixture in the majority of homes was a swamp cooler where a window needed to be left ajar. It’s still quite a vivid memory after all of these years and can recall those same disturbing sensations.

Walked in through the front door and turned on the light switch. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. On the desk in the living room sat a board game we played numerous times as a family--“Sorry.” Don and I looked at each other and tried to recall whether we had played earlier in the day. No. Turning we noticed a scattering of phonograph albums from Roger Miller to Les Paul lying on the floor by the stereo near the large paned glass window. Something was definitely wrong. No nerves of steel but trepidation as we walked through the rest of the house. In Mom and Dad’s bedroom the dresser drawers had been rummaged through and the window screen removed. After taking inventory it was determined not to be a lucrative heist just some money, an electric razor, and eggs. The cops arrived and took their usual report. I stared at the gun the entire time. Apparently the intruders (believed to be some kids who lived down the street in the cul-de-sac) came through the mesa, jumped the wall and entered through the opened bedroom window. During the night as I lay in bed, constantly saw eerie shadows in the bedroom window. It was not a peaceful night’s sleep. The violation felt just as strong the following morning.

While living in Houston, Mom and Dad’s Oldsmobile Cutlass was stolen twice while parked at their gated apartment complex. The first time they didn’t know it was stolen until the cops called and they had to go to court to prove ownership. One of the small windows on the backseat side was smashed and a hole was cut in the steering column. The second time Mom and Dad discovered the car missing when they were getting ready to go somewhere. The same window was smashed and although it was not stripped, it still cost to repair.

Last week Jonathan’s car was stolen. It was locked. No shattered glass on the ground. Not a fancy car--a ’95 Nissan--but the rims were not of the ordinary and wheels seem to be the target in that section of San Diego County. After two days, the car was found, stripped of all four wheels, several miles north near a popular casino. It sits in a tow yard accumulating daily charges. Do not know if it is salvageable and since it’s not the greatest of vehicles, somewhat hope it is not--will have to be towed and will need to be stored until new wheels are purchased. The Nissan is the only significant asset Jonathan owns, and I just paid the registration renewal. Unfortunately, Jonathan has no job and no money so it takes no genius to guess who will end up paying. Technically you could say I am also a victim, and yes, I do want to drop kick that individual(s) into more than just the next county.

EQUAL RIGHTS

Sibling rivalry. The jealousy. The struggle to be the center of attention. More often than not something that happens when the lonely child is no longer number one. Whether those feelings last depends on each individual family.

Don’t know if Don had those feelings when I came along. Jonathan would have been in the minority though--he would have loved a brother or sister and never hesitated to let his sentiments be known. He still feels the void.

This rivalry undoubtedly extends to the animal world. Puppy got fair billing, so it seemed right to do the same for Quinn; after all, he was first. He’s a smart, personable dog with great expressions who would be excellent on the silver screen.

THE PUPPY WITH NO NAME

You would think I’m a brand new Mom with all the pictures I’ve taken with my cell phone. With no help from my Spanish manual, figured out how to send images to e-mail. From e-mail to blog was another issue to resolve. So after lots of research and some coaxing to do this in the first place, here are some pics of that little fellow that has stolen my heart. But believe me, these pictures don’t do him justice.

PUPPY LOVE

“And they called it puppy love…” but not that Donny Osmond song from the 1970s about young love between a boy and a girl. We’re talking about the real thing here, and as my brother used to say, with Jonathan emulating, in a somewhat breathless, distorted voice, “Puppy, Puppy, Puppy!”

My boss bought a companion for Quinn, you remember, the office Jack Russell mascot. See even less work getting done now, but, oh, what a joy! A miniature poodle Bichon mix, tan in color, who loves snuggling in tight-knit places as if bonding with its mother. Need to be cautious where we step or, “Oops!” He’s always at your feet. Fast as lightning.

No names have been picked yet, but my heart is full of love for this little guy. My little buddy. Sweetheart. Precious (doubt a male of any kind would appreciate those last two names). I’m a sucker for puppies and kittens and would rather they stay that way. That mindset alone is one way to avoid the temptation of ownership and quite an enticement it can be until I remember Dante and the mess under the pool table. Guess it’s like grandkids--nice to have around but can return them at the end of the day.

Not so sure I can leave this particular place of employment now but can add dog sitter, referee (between the two dogs), and elimination duty to my job description. Can honestly say I have never worked with a little bundle of fur either lying between my feet or wrapped around my foot. There are no words to express that feeling.

STUCK…

Fill in the blank (phrases accepted).
Stuck up.
Stuck with the bill.
Stuck with the check.
Stuck in traffic.
Stuck in the mud.
Stuck in quicksand.
Stuck to my teeth.
Stuck to my chair.
Stuck to my shoe.
Stuck on you.
Stuck on a deserted island.

Maybe you thought of more; possibly one more. The one I purposely omitted from this list. One I had never experienced before until yesterday afternoon and an experience I hope never to repeat.

Always tried to avoid them. Not that I’m claustrophobic, but don’t care for that whoosh sensation that tingles throughout the body as you go up or down, especially on those with glass panels. However, in total honesty, it has more to do with wanting to take the stairs for the exercise.

Would always take the stairs if there was access from the ground level floor; however, in most places those doors are locked and used only in emergencies, but I’ve been known to ride to the second floor and take the stairs to wherever the destination.

Mom and Dad live on the eighth floor of a retirement facility. I visit them on a regular basis and believe not just to use their computer. It was the dinner hour and would not have gone this day except to retrieve some paperwork needed for the next morning. Went up with three residents. Two got off on the sixth floor. The doors closed. The surge of propelling upward was disrupted by a loud clunk. The lights flickered. Darkness. The control panel blank. No movement. Susan and I stare at each other. We are going nowhere. The emergency lights come on and apparently I’m lucky to be in the one that has a running fan. Susan pushed the button that connects to the lobby desk. There is a power outage in the entire building and the paramedics have been called to come to the rescue.

No panic attacks. No heart palpitations. But you still think about all those movies and television shows with scenes of jumping up and crawling through the shaft or rapidly plummeting several feet to the bottom. The paramedics came and with our assistance the door opened. The time was minimal--15 minutes tops but annoying nevertheless.

Stuck on an elevator--not the highlight of my day.

WHAT A DOPE!

When’s the last time you did something stupid? Maybe it just comes naturally and happens on a daily basis.

Although cellular phones have been around for 30 years, I have only had mine about two years and only because it was a Christmas present from Jonathan (added for a family plan but guess who was paying the bills?) I know the basics or the “how tos”--dial, turn off, turn back on, add contact names, check balance and minutes, and take a picture.

If there is no room in my pocket for a cell phone, I’ll put it in my purse, and since I hate carrying a purse, have a tendency to leave it hidden in the car. After work I went to a job fair at the Courtyard Marriott. The purse with cell phone remained in the car. Before driving home I checked to see if anyone had called. The screen was blank. Confusion. Pressed a few buttons. Nothing. Dead as a doornail! It made no sense. The phone was working when placed in my purse this morning. Although the phone felt hot, it’s been hotter. “GREAT”!!!!!

Arrived home and pushed some more buttons. Utter frustration. Plugged the cell phone into the charger and the charging diagram appeared. Promising but still perplexing. The battery couldn’t have been dead, it’s always on the charger every single night and never had a problem. Maybe it was too hot. In the meantime, got out the manual to try and solve this mystery. Usually read the manuals of all gizmos and gadgets I buy (somewhat anal, I know) but obviously not for the cell phone--the manual was in Spanish and no pictures to suggest a solution. After a few hours checked the screen--fully charged. Still skeptical. Removed it from the charger but it still didn’t work. UGH!!!! For some unknown reason I pushed the orange receiver button (off/on) and VOILA!!

Apparently, cell phones can turn off all by themselves. So, when the screen of your cell phone is blank, try turning it on.

HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - THE FINAL CHAPTER

Some may think I am out of my ever loving mind to tell all, to air my dirty little secrets or my dirty laundry and can’t understand why I would want to do so. It could possibly be seen as a way to get attention or to convey “the woe is me” mentality. Will admit it was partly for myself but only in hopes of finally solving some issues that have plagued my life for many years. I’m one who needs to solve everything and find out reasons for why things happen. Although never being science oriented, if forensics had been all the rage back then as it is now, would have received a double major in criminology and forensic science.

To the reader this piece of work undoubtedly was considered autobiographical but to this writer it was strictly therapeutic. You can think on these things (that sounds biblical) and about these things but writing them down with such thought provoking agony (and it was) is a whole different ballgame. The eyes are open to really see what should have been so obvious and you face some rude awakenings. There is anger. There is sadness. There are tears. Focus is changed. Perspectives and philosophies are re-evaluated. A new determination emerges.

There is an end to every good book (not that this was)--a final chapter; an epilogue. But how do you conclude a seemingly life story that is still ongoing? Covered a lot of areas. Revealed a lot of baggage. Confessed to shameful acts. Admitted to failure of transforming many flaws. A fitting end to a seemingly therapy session would be a summary and diagnoses.

In retrospect believe the onset of unhealthy eating habits and subsequent eating disorder stemmed from my best friend moving away. Eating disorders are complicated and vary in form but most would agree that all involve a control issue. That always was the truth for me--the only thing I could control. Over the years the cycles changed and the intensity fluctuated but one thing remained constant--when faced with a myriad of difficulties, the focus became the food and exercise merry-go-round. And, yes, let’s not forget to add a little bit of that obsessive compulsive disorder for good measure. I may be overly ritualistic in the exercise department and won’t take a break unless literally puking my guts out, but I can do whatever is necessary.

Could counsel anybody in the proper ways of getting into shape. Am aware what needs to be done and know that I won’t get fat or lose control again but have difficulty conquering those thought processes that tend to lead toward regression. (Maybe another reason for the adage, “Do as I say; not as I do.”) Possibly it relates along the same lines as to why an alcoholic can’t stop drinking and a drug addict can’t stop using, although for me these addictions would be much easier to relinquish--you can live without booze and drugs, but you can’t live without food.

I’ve taken special notice of those women with meat on their bones such as Rachel and Giada from the Food Network Channel and like the muscular arm look. Will admit to being hooked on protein shakes and bars but better that than milkshakes and candy bars. However in all this mumbo jumbo one thing has changed, I do not want to lose any weight because it will inevitably be in the wrong places. (Let’s just say, I don’t think a job at Hooter’s is in the cards.) But I still won’t get on a scale. After almost 40 years, I now realize that long-held truth was a fallacy--I am not in control of the disease, the disease is in control of me.

Most of the shrinks I encountered would undoubtedly link the eating disorder with the depression and some have suggested that the depression was the result of a chemical imbalance. Since drug therapy is not an option, I would have to find alternative methods but will admit that when I don’t eat enough, am overly tired, or it’s that time of month I tend to notice a more disheartened spirit.

On Oprah several months ago a psychologist described depression--going through the motions, no joy, it lays dormant, hopelessness, helplessness, worthlessness, overwhelming guilt about everything and at anytime. Yeah, that sounds about right. Have fought this battle a long time and although don’t consider myself to be in quite the dire mess as in years’ past, there are still times when all of a sudden, for no apparent reason an overwhelming cloud of melancholy lingers. It’s frustrating. It’s disconcerting. It has consumed me with self-hatred. Always heard that you can’t love anybody else if you don’t love yourself. Although I don’t agree and have loved many people, just not myself, maybe the depth of the love is limited.

Recently, I was one of several recipients of an e-mail from a former coworker who sent this particular story as a way to tell us that we had made an impact in her life. The story, which I’ll paraphrase, centered around two high school students, John and Kyle. While walking home from school on a Friday, John was looking forward to a weekend of fun and football. He noticed another guy walking home loaded down with seemingly every textbook. John thought he must be a nerd--who else would study so hard on a weekend. A group of kids approached Kyle, knocked the books out of his hands and tripped him. Kyle’s glasses flew off and landed several feet away. John saw the sadness on Kyle’s face. felt sorry for him, and raced over to offer some assistance. John called those kids a bunch of jerks. Kyle’s smile showed his gratitude. John and Kyle walked home together with John carrying part of the books. He liked Kyle as did his friends and hung out the entire weekend together. Over the next four years Kyle and John became best friends. On graduation night, Kyle gave the valedictorian address and expressed his gratitude to John for the valued friendship that saved his life. Kyle expounded on their first encounter. Kyle stated that he had emptied out his locker that Friday afternoon so his mother would not have the burden of doing it. Kyle admitted that he had planned on committing suicide that weekend, but John’s kindness altered the course of events. A poignant story for sure; a tear jerker to many. We never can predict how our actions will affect others.

Although never intentionally planned like Kyle, I have admitted to being plagued with suicidal tendencies and possibly using the anorexia subconsciously as an untraditional method of “doing the deed” because of a prior family member’s demise at his own hands. But many times over the years I wanted to die; wished I could die; cared less if I were to die. Who else would quit a job with medical benefits to take another one without. It has been over eight years since I’ve been to a medical doctor. Really don’t want to know if something is wrong and unsure if I’d do anything about it once diagnosed. Up until not too very long ago if given a death sentence, my first thought--relief. Pathetic I know, but true nevertheless. Dad’s troubles the past few months have reminded me of the importance of having medical benefits. It can be financially devastating. Also, it is very selfish to have such apathy for one’s own life. There are others involved and you need to think about those that will be left behind. However, death does not frighten me, but I do not want to throw in the towel. Now for me one thing is certain, I would like to get it right before my time is up.

Wish I could be like Kyle in verbalizing my gratitude to those who have made a difference in my life, but it would be so inadequate and not convey the true depth of what is in my heart, and, yes, I’d rather not become a blubbering idiot (that happens enough when writing). Many people have blessed my life but in this particular instance I need to be like Kyle and acknowledge one particular individual who has been instrumental in altering the course of events for me. This by no means downgrades the significance of all the others in my life who have loved, influenced, supported, and encouraged me, many who are also here in Long Beach.

He helped not only from the pulpit, but reassured me with loving and caring words. He encouraged me to start blogging, advertised it, and linked my blog site to his blog site and has supported me throughout (the one comment I know I’ll always receive). He invited plus encouraged me to fill in on keyboard and still wanted me to play after the first rehearsal. He asked me to become a regular member of the Praise Band and continued to give me the confidence I needed to play. Even if the band folds, it has been an honor to be considered “one of the guys.” He trusted me to housesit and Chipper sit when he and Janice were away. So, Greg, your kindness, friendship, loving and caring words literally saved my life and helped me to believe in myself, give me confidence, and make me realize that life is truly worth living. Greg called me his friend, but to me he was more like a big brother who was watching out for me.

Doubt I would win the million dollars on the reality series, but in one of the comments Greg mentioned that we were survivors. Yes, I like that and feel as though I’ve persevered but know that there are so many others who have experienced much worse. Made a lot of blunders in my 51 years of living and always wished I could be transported back in time to alter those choices. However, those errors made me grow and become the person I am today, and now realize that I’m not so bad after all. Instead of feeling bad about mistakes, maybe they should be considered a learning tool in living life.

My spiritual strength is still significantly lacking. Thought marrying a devout man to keep me motivated or even becoming a missionary would get me to the level that would be acceptable in God’s eyes. Studying the scriptures and saying prayers are sporadic at best. I do believe in the power of prayer but tend to become skeptical especially when the outcome is not as expected. Very perplexing, the subject of prayer. Take illness. One individual recovers; another does not. There were many prayers for Dad who received a pacemaker and had triple bypass surgery within a two- week time frame. Several verbally acknowledged that prayer works wonders. What if Dad had died? What if he doesn’t make it through the colon surgery? What would you say about prayer then? Nonbelievers can’t wrap themselves around that concept. Christians, at least this one, struggles with it as well, but then I remember that God already knows the outcome and there is a reason for everything that happens even if we don’t understand why.

This past Saturday afternoon there was a two-hour prayer session, particularly for the search of the new pulpit minister. Who can pray for a solid two hours? If medically feasible, we were to fast and replace breakfast and lunch with prayer time. Needless to say I didn’t fast--somewhat unwise for someone with a history of an eating disorder not to eat and doubt anybody else had walked four miles and played tennis that morning; however, I did do some praying while I ate. We sat in groups of five with ideas presented but no particular format to follow. Public prayer is not my forte, but any form of public speaking is extremely uncomfortable. Contributed with what was on my heart and would have nothing more to say so would be sitting the remaining time in silence. The prayers kept flowing and after not too long a time I was surprised to find words gushing from my mouth several times over the next two hours. Toward the end our group had participated in fervent prayer and shared our inadequacies and innermost thoughts.

Always considered myself a romantic. Never could understand how a person could flit from one relationship to another with seemingly no emotion. Love so deeply and then easily hating so strongly, but it is said that there is a fine line between love and hate. Maybe I read too many romance novels or watched too many soap operas but believed every person had a soul mate--that one and only person they were meant to be with forever. Irreplaceable. No other person could compare or come close. So, for those who felt as I did, rest assured. There is life again. The heart actually has room to love again.

Absolutely adore this guy. Oh, he’s no George Clooney or even Tom Selleck, post Magnum, but he captivated me from the start. There was a very strong connection and it being the modern era, I became the pursuer and kept at it until it finally dawned on me the feeling was not mutual and never would be. (Could I possibly be a bigger boob?) So chalk it up to another learning experience. Oh, still hope to find a special person who will care about me as much as I care about him and if this guy has the same traits, talents, and spiritual devotion as two particular gentlemen (two of the neatest guys around), I will be a lucky gal. However, now it is known that I can fall for someone again completely, with no reservations and no guilt, something I never, ever thought was possible after Carl died. Unfortunately, it just isn’t meant to be with this man. Although he’s single at the moment, I need to get him out of my heart; otherwise, I could end up being in love with a married man. Now, wouldn’t that be rich (talk about your soap opera). It’s times such as these that I wish emotions were like a water faucet--can shut them off with just a turn of a knob.

So, here I sit. Have given up my dream of finding that “perfect” job and finally admit there is no such thing. It’s all a matter of attitude. Decided to again focus only on administrative positions; those that pay well and in stable, well-known places, in the government sector and in school districts. Applied to numerous jobs over the last three months and still tend to think it a waste of time. Have been down this road so many times before with no results and the answers (or should I say rejections) thus far are just as discouraging. Nowadays it’s who you know that counts. Don and Natalie have again taken pity on me and have offered their assistance in procuring a position for me in their school district. Unless something else happens my options are now clear and if I can’t get with a school district in Orange County or back in with the company I worked for several months back, will accept Don and Natalie’s help. (What do they say? Third time’s the charm.) Of course, I might have to sign something in blood. But seriously, whatever one it is will have a decent enough salary and will most likely mean relocating. There will be no more jumping ship. That will be it, but I’ve been known to say that a million times when it comes to bailing Jonathan out of his financial binds. But he’s my son and even if Dr. Phil disagrees, I just can’t seem to let him crash and burn. Would like this vocational pursuit behind me and concentrate on my personal and spiritual life and get off my duff and start doing those things intended as well as finishing those things started.

Writing this 17-part anthology was not a cure all and am aware there will be setbacks, but I am not delusional in stating that I have never been in a better place with attitude, determination, and self-worth. Conversions are difficult and half the battle is determining what changes need to be made and the willingness to take action. Changes from deep-seated courses have already begun but the work is not close to being finished and probably never will be.

Started this series over three months ago and possibly took so long to finish because of the fear of running out of ideas to post. But it’s back to normal length blogs; whatever that means. So, thank you for reading. Thank you for sharing. Some described this particular piece of writing as raw, riveting, and eloquent. Maybe I should use those words to land me a job.

To quote the first half of the title of the 1967 bestseller by Thomas A. Harris that I read as a student, “I’m OK.”

THE END

CROWNED WITH LAUREL

I have met a lot of people over the years on the street corner, while walking, in places patronized, in the work place, and in a religious atmosphere. Many are friendly. Many are caring. Many you soon learn are total jerks. Have socialized with several of these people both men and women alike (the jerks too). Some have become friends and hold a special place in my heart even though we don’t spend a lot of time together. One such individual stands out for me, but first…

Over 30 years ago, as a young adult, one of Dad’s nieces developed an autoimmune disorder that rendered her disabled. For years I struggled with the fear of contracting this disease because of the hereditary factor. However, Beth has been in remission for over 15 years, entered the seminary, and is an active pastor in the Methodist church.

Now to this special lady and she is a lady in every sense of the word. Recently, she was diagnosed with the same autoimmune disorder as my cousin. At least knowing the medical term and what is ahead somewhat lessens the anxiety but a devastating blow nonetheless. A strong family that will rally around her is vital and fortunately she has that and then some. I get caught off guard and choke up upon catching momentary glimpses of their mist-filled eyes, because I understand what they are experiencing. It’s rough. Life is changed and challenges are presented. Carl had a chronic illness so I know how the spouse feels. For 16 years I observed Jonathan coping with his diabetic father. Watching a parent struggle with any illness is hard at any age, but possibly more difficult to comprehend when the child is younger. But she has a supportive husband and children; another reason I wish Jonathan had been brought up at Long Beach--to be under this family’s influence.

Have been fortunate to have never had any major health problems, so I can’t relate to what she is feeling, but she is strong and she will persevere and thoughts and prayers are constant. She is a wonderful woman (and her hubby ain’t half bad either). A lady who shows compassion to others and one whom I’ve been privileged to be on the other side of one-on-one conversations. The only person, besides Mom, who called on my birthday and expressed disappointment in having to leave a voice message. (My son doesn’t even do that; doubt he even knows the date.) A lady while in the middle of a new-found medical crisis took the time to respond to e-mails concerning my dad. A lady who shared the name with my childhood friend. She has a great name. One of my favorite names. A name that means crowned with laurel, symbolic of honor and victory.

Her name is Laura.

MEN DON'T CRY

(I promise, really I do, to finish that final chapter soon. It’s there but not quite. Need to post this blog and write a second before too much time goes by.)

How many times have you heard that saying? Carl always apologized when he cried. Jonathan felt embarrassed whenever caught with a tear falling down his cheek. Dad rarely displayed any emotion, and probably in my teens when I saw him cry for the first time. Remember it well. In Albuquerque at night time. In the living room standing in the dark by the stereo, purchased with books of S & H green stamps, looking out the pane glass window. Upon entering the room I was taken aback to hear the sounds of sobbing coming from Dad’s direction. Dad had been watching the movie, “Spencer’s Mountain,” and a song during the funeral scene was the same song performed at his mother’s funeral. The next time he showed a similar display was when Jonathan was three and Dad was going to be separated from his one and only grandson when we decided to move to California. The breakdown occurred while Dad was saying the prayer before our last family meal together.

Never noticed any more visible evidence of salt-laden cheeks or tear-stained eyes until April of this year. Dad had been experiencing health problems over the last couple of years. Lately he was having trouble walking just short distances, experiencing shortness of breath, and was completing the preparation stages to receive a bypass. While at church he was dizzy and the paramedics were called out. Dad became very emotional, looked scared and had trouble catching his breath; somewhat resembling a panic attack. Thought Dad might get that bypass, but after several hours in the ER, Dad went home. It wasn’t the heart.

Dad was scheduled to have an angiogram but it was postponed because he was anemic. The next question--Why was Dad bleeding? Thus began the game called anticipation. Dad’s problem was twofold: heart and colon. In between the numerous tests and lab work Dad suffered a heart attack and was admitted into the hospital in June. Another waiting game ensued. More tests were run and several doctors who were considered the “A Team” consulted on what Dr. C called a “difficult case.” Dad received a pacemaker, had triple-bypass surgery, and entered rehab. On Saturday after a 10-week stay, Dad was released and obviously filled with a smorgasbord of sensations. When faced with one’s own mortality, it’s a wake up call and a time of reflection.

Dad stepped out of the car somewhat shaky and apprehensive but maneuvered his way into the building with the aid of a walker. It was lunchtime so he actually passed by a welcome home line. Everyone was thrilled to see my father. A man who was truly missed. Dad broke down but quickly composed himself. Knew he was grateful to finally be home.

It’s been a few days and Dad has been somewhat disheartened. He had forgotten about the colon surgery; however, as always, he is taking everything in stride and is now mobile without the walker. Doctor appointments have been scheduled and he’ll see the colon surgeon in two weeks.

Although it breaks my heart to see my father so upset, please don’t tell me that men should not cry. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It doesn’t diminish their masculinity. And on some it can be down right sexy. So change those sayings. Men can cry. There is crying in baseball. And lest we forget, Jesus wept.

No, I Haven't Quit

Sorry about the sporadic writing and still plan on continuing. It's been pretty hectic with Dad, Jonathan, working, applying for jobs, studying, taking tests, interviewing, keeping up with my favorite blogger, and practicing keyboard for Sunday night's performance. Something had to be put on the back burner and it does take a lot of time and effort to write this blog, especially this latest series. Guess I could have cut out some of my daily workout routine but as you already know, that ain't gonna happen.

For those of you who don't know, my dad is doing well--pacemaker and triple bypass surgery within 10 days apart and now in the hospital rehab program with the possibility of going home at the end of this week. (It will only have been 10 weeks.) Colon surgery will be the next battle to conquer, and we have appreciated so much the thoughts, prayers, cards, and visits during this time.

My goal at the end of next week is to finish that piece of work that some (well at least one) consider "raw" and "riveting." Of course, that was the plan several weeks ago, and we all know how that turned out. Believe it or not, there is only one part left and doubt it will be quite as long as the last two chapters. Anyway, thanks for not deserting me; can't really afford to lose you.

HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - PART 16

Still no closer to finding the answers to life. Total confusion as to what career path to follow. Again, Mom and Dad were nice enough to let me stay with them in their downtown Long Beach apartment. What a view from their sliding glass door--the Queen Mary. Watching cruise ships roll in to dock. Wow! Great, new walking routes along Shoreline Village and passing Catalina Express with full view of the ocean. These were peaceful times in the beginning. Although Carl’s ashes were scattered off the coast of Newport Beach, I felt closer to him somehow.

An intensive job search ensued. Decided to return to the legal field and got a clerical position with a law firm across the street. Failed to follow through on a great opportunity with the school district where Don and Natalie worked because had decided to become a paralegal and this was the best opportunity to do so, and would also be able to transition into the office manager position once Sheryl returned to her paralegal standing. Within two months realized this was not the place for me and didn’t want a career as a paralegal. One of the office managers in another law firm on the same floor told me that she had stopped introducing herself to any of my boss’s new employees because it was like a revolving door. That told you something. Wanted to leave and return to New Mexico to see whether or not to move back, but was asked to stay until the conclusion of a big trial. Two months later the trial was still going strong but it was determined I was no longer needed. Gee, thanks! I was nice to put my plans on hold only to be booted out at their convenience. Don lectures me often about looking out for myself.

Mom and Dad tried to find a church of Christ close by. Weren’t impressed with the choices but had attended one congregation on a previous visit to Long Beach. Not your typical C of C variety and it meant having to take the bus but it would have to do.

On Sunday you could find me on the internet or watching the Food Network channel. At the time church didn’t seem to be high on my priority list. Life was confusing and discombobulated enough without worrying about church. Either was still reeling in anger or having a pity party about my plight and had no desire to put on a mask as if everything was fine (had done that enough in my life).

I offered to drive my parents and come back to pick them up. They turned me down. Offered to just drive them or just pick them up. They still refused my generosity. (Now, if I had been willing to stay, that would have been a different story.) Mom and Dad never wanted to inconvenience anybody and even refused rides home from some of the members. This continued for several months up until Easter Sunday--sunrise service. Just one problem--no early morning bus routes. Finally, Mom and Dad had no choice but to accept my chauffeur service and even talked me into staying. What the heck. Will be like all those other individuals I saw over the years at church doing their once-a-year obligation to the Lord.

The service was different and it actually didn’t kill me. Over the next several weeks my parents still continued with the bus and my guilt started getting the best of me. Church wasn’t so bad the one time I came and they only met on Sunday morning (odd in itself for a C of C). Offered to take Mom and Dad and decided to stay. Know they were pleased. The preacher was pretty cool--great sense of humor, very innovative sermons and remember the phrase (or the gist of it anyway) that had me hooked--“everybody is weird.” I left that day feeling great! The more I went, the more my heart tugged but still only planned to be a pew warmer--had no intentions of placing membership, getting to know anybody, and it was only a temporary place until I decided what I was going to do in life. Really was only a means to appease my guilty conscious for letting my parents take a bus to church (couldn’t be a way to appease my guilty conscious for not attending). There always was something applicable and was amazed at some of the things individuals actually admitted to in public such as past drug and alcohol addictions, even at the communion table. Many were friendly but had been down that road before--they fall all over you and once you place membership, they drop you like a hot potato. The one Sunday I came in August, Greg was not there because his Mom had passed away. Although sad for his loss, was very disappointed because the main reason for my coming was Greg’s thought-provoking sermons and great delivery. A bearded gentleman spoke that day, a head doctor no less, with a quirky sense of humor. Interesting and quite different, but a fascinating character nevertheless.

The year lease on my parent’s apartment was ending and Mom determined a retirement facility environment would be the ideal place to live and it was right next door to church. I decided to seize the opportunity to become a nomad and travel around and would stay and work awhile to supplement expenses and return to Albuquerque or Austin to decide whether or not to move back. Except for family, there was nothing keeping me in Long Beach, let alone California, and all the people closest to me were elsewhere.

Went to New Mexico first. Paid for a weekly room with kitchenette and got a job as a caregiver for a sweet, Italian lady whose husband had owned one of the more popular shoe stores in its heyday. Two of his brothers were attorneys whom I had come into contact with while working for Judge Sanchez after graduating from high school. Found a studio apartment, furnished, free utilities/cable and month-to-month lease. Had to get phone service (one of the few who still didn’t have a cell phone). Quiet, clean, the perfect location (is there such a place?) all for $500 per month and much nicer than the one I live in now.

Ida had been quite ill before I started working, had gone through cancer treatment a year earlier, and was on oxygen. She had gone through a lot in life but her outlook was remarkable with a great sense of humor. Yes, Ida was a pretty tough cuss. Was disappointed I didn’t get to plan or fix her meals, but Ida was a very light and finicky eater and knew what she wanted--a Blake’s Lotaburger and fries for lunch (considered the red meat her daily iron intake), Haagen Daas ice cream, and wild cherry Pepsi; but at 87, guess she deserved to eat anything.

Visited several friends, many by way of attending several congregations, sometimes two different ones on the same Sunday morning. Although it was good to visit again with old friends and acquaintances, just wasn’t the same, missed my family and was reminded how much I hate the cold. For an early morning walker, below freezing doesn’t work even while wearing double gloves. The sides of my fingertips on both hands literally split open from overexposure to the cold.

So before the end of 2005, called Mom to find me an apartment--around the corner from their retirement facility and just across the street from church. Returned to lay stakes down in Long Beach. I did like the city and actually missed the church (so much different from those elsewhere) with those friendly people and that talented preacher, who hopefully realizes it by now after all the bragging I’ve done, and there’s not much time left to do so. :)

The hunt for that perfect job was on once again. But there is no such thing and maybe some day I’ll finally accept that fact. Searched and searched and searched. Again, Don and Natalie talked about getting me into the school district in LA County. Didn’t want to move or commute which left little other choice. Also was taking a chance on something that I hoped would transpire. It’s a good thing I don’t gamble much. Nothing happened and lost out on what could have been a great job. Not only learned a very important lesson in life, but learned a little something about my stupidity and am determined not to make that same mistake again.

Although never considered myself even close to being a virtuoso on any keyboard, missed having a musical instrument around after Mom and Dad sold the organ I sporadically played over the past 40 years. Purchased a keyboard from where else--Guitar Center. A Yamaha brand similar to Greg’s (how else do you suppose I found Guitar Center?) which had an adequate number of bells and whistles to do the job. A single keyboard was such a change from that two-keyboard organ but was determined to do it right so took a trip to the neighborhood public library to check out books covering the basics of music, playing keyboard for dummies and collections of pop songs. Many things started to make sense, from sharps to flats, and was amazed how much I learned or maybe how much had been forgotten after those first few lessons 40 years earlier. Just like anything else--all a matter of practice and needed to devote a significant amount of time to it if I wanted to exceed my limited talent with a musical instrument.

Had the hardest time finding a job and knew my age was a determining factor. Of course, the sporadic employment history over the past several years didn’t help matters any. I had shot myself in the foot and was now paying the price. To supplement expenses worked temporarily in a chiropractic office for a couple of months. In the summertime delivered flyers door to door--actually got paid to walk. Not a bad gig. Did it early mornings for a few hours and with Mom’s help, could get double the work done. For a 77-year-old, Mom could keep up with the best of them. Then Mom took a tumble which pretty much ended my desire to continue--much easier with two; however, it was just as well because the overexertion was making me lose weight and doubt the hours in the sun were doing my skin and the aging process any favors, although liked a tan. But it’s nice to know there’s some place to fall back on if I ever need some extra money. For a few weeks cleaned medical offices with Sharon until the owner decided my services were no longer needed. Can’t say I was disappointed. It’s a thankless job and cringed every time I thought about my college degree while cleaning a toilet seat. It’s amazing how many filthy pigs there are out in the world, and surprisingly not just men. Makes you wonder if they do the same at home.

I applied to anything and everything and still had aspirations to do something besides administrative/clerical work. The ideal scenario would be to own my own business--a bakery filled with cakes like carrot; pies like chocolate mousse with Oreo cookie crust; doughnuts like cream-filled, chocolate-covered long johns; cookies like macadamia chocolate chip, candy like walnut fudge all for the health conscious with the same great taste but without the saturated fats, sugar, and calories. Or even a bed and breakfast. Or maybe just about anything in order to avoid the annoyances of butting heads with employers who have different philosophies on how to operate a successful company.

While in New Mexico I had gained some insight about several things and was determined to make many changes. It’s not easy to start over and make changes. The saying, “Can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” is not true if you stay focused, don’t give up and keep persevering. Already felt I knew several people at church but still, anything new was a major hurdle for me. Becoming involved, attending after church functions especially with food included was going out of my comfort zone but had made a commitment to make those modifications. Was determined to go to the functions and stay when the eating began whether I ate or not. Will admit that in the beginning didn’t eat anything or ate very little (might as well have been nothing) so I could eat what I had planned at home; however, at the end of each of these activities the disappointment in myself remained for still being in the same sewer of misery after all of these years. It chipped away another piece of self-esteem thereby leading to another bout of depression. After some prodding started acting “normal” and ate; however, still was self-conscious and knew I would have eaten more at home. Did feel better about myself somewhat, but there was still a long way to go to claim victory. Will admit that the more I did it, the easier it became and truly believed I was doing better than ever before.

It was a huge accomplishment for me just to go to anything whether or not food was involved, but why does every function have to be centered around the consumption phase? Some would say it makes it easier to talk--not if you’re my dad--he’s more interested in eating than talking. That’s when he’s the quietest. Some would say that’s how you fellowship, socialize and it’s biblical--Acts 2:42-46 regarding the fellowship, the breaking of bread, and eating together with glad and sincere hearts. Personally I’d rather do without it thank you very much. It’s easier not having to struggle with the aftermath. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy my food and have been known to put it away at all-you-can-eat buffets.

After months of rejection, disappointment, frustration, and my fill of odd ball jobs, finally landed a decent job with a well-known company although not the ideal scenario I had hoped. A mail order pharmacy. A call center environment, but could put to use the medical terminology and reading doctor prescriptions I had learned in class from three years earlier. Taking a couple of walking breaks during the day didn’t seem to erase the fact that I was sitting on my butt for at least eight hours. Missed having a physically active job but kept plodding along with the help of Cheryl’s encouragement.

One thing about this place, they sure loved to eat! It was like potluck alley. One group celebrating one day, another group celebrating the next, and at times several groups celebrating on the same day. Food on every corner regularly. When there was reason to celebrate in our group, had every intention of participating. Didn’t make excuses as in years’ past or suddenly taken ill and not showing up to work. Brought something nutritionally appropriate (or in another words, something I knew I would eat), but when it was time, just couldn’t eat any of the other food, so suffice it to say I didn’t participate in any more food-related activities. Yes, Debbie was delusional to ever think she was actually winning this seemingly life-long battle. A lot was weighing on my mind during this time--Dad’s health, my aunt’s imminent death, death of a childhood friend, job frustration even though now employed full time, rejection, and ongoing issues with Jonathan. It should come as no surprise that I had donned that same old armor (my MO) that always contributed to my defeat.

Although not thrilled with the job, liked the stability of a regular paycheck and knowing there was medical coverage if ever needed, but at the time it wasn’t a major concern. Unfortunately made another mistake and left to take another position with a fire retardant company that seemingly was the be all and end all but with no benefits. The hours were cut before even starting and didn’t realize that her business had been pretty dead most of the year. (Guess who would be the overhead?) Again learned another one of life’s lessons--contentment. And, of course, it’s biblical--Philippians 4:11-12, learning to be content no matter what the situation. However, it bugged the h-e-double hockey sticks out of me how content Dad always was but in this moment had to admit I needed to be more like my father.

Became a contract typist for the LA Times, a part-time job working nights from 8-1 and overtime was required if needed. For an early morning riser, thought this still would be doable. However, the overtime was regular and the first part of the week didn’t get home until 5 a.m. Only got 1-½ to 2 hours of sleep. The second half of the week, worked only about 3 hours. Don’t care what people say about working graveyards--you get used to it. My body was never going to function well with this schedule so after a week, called it quits. It was my shortest employment tenure to date but was able to return to the fire retardant company working the measly 15 hours per week. At least it’s better than nothing.

Kept practicing the keyboard and felt honored to be asked to play in the church Praise Band. Have only participated in two performances but being a part of this group has been one of my proudest times. With the possible exception of tennis, it has been a joy of a lifetime (and I don’t bat around that word often). As you may recall, I really don’t know how to enjoy much of anything.

(to be continued)

HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - PART 15

Two moves in two months. An insane concept in normal circumstances. Changes should not be made six months after a death so they claim. Whoever penned that thought was right on the money. Seemed to stay in a fog and go through the motions for quite a long time but there was no deadline to meet or time frame to incorporate. Really didn’t know how to enjoy life and it only took my sister-in-law a short observation to determine that I didn’t know how to enjoy most anything. (Wonder how she became so smart, but she’s an educator who can speak multiple languages.) Whatever the case, she had it pegged right. Have no doubt it stemmed after the Christmas holiday in the 9th grade those many years ago.

The house was picture perfect. The nicest place I had ever lived. Exquisitely landscaped with palm trees and birds of paradise. After a two-week delay the moving company finally brought our items. Think my parents got tired of sleeping on the floor and take-out. It was an adjustment living with parents once again after so many years and now a new addition of a teenage grandson. There were difficult times, but we tried to make the most of it. Jonathan was back at the high school he attended one semester in the 9th grade. Mom and Dad found a Church of Christ that was in close proximity, and I periodically attended the evangelical covenant church Carl, Jonathan, and I had gone to years earlier. Also, our next door neighbor, Nina, was an opera singer, and we were blessed to be serenaded throughout the daytime hours while she practiced (can’t say the same when her son started practicing a musical instrument).

Experienced invasion of the Iridomyrmex humilis and not just on the outside of the house. Ants coming out of the electrical sockets, ceiling lights, and skylights; marching in droves over floors and carpets; emerging from cabinets and closets. A literal horror story. (Although names were changed and some of the dialogue was embellished, read my blog of 1/27-28/07, “The Eleventh Plague,” for the “E Truly Hollywood Story.”)

School was no different here than at the technology institute in New Mexico. Jonathan skipped numerous classes especially the last one of the day to the point that he was kicked out in his senior year at age 18. Because he was 18, California policy would not allow Jonathan to come back so his only option was to get a GED which he did and luckily was also awarded a regular high school diploma. Unfortunately, didn’t escape the trials and tribulations of the parent and teenager in the juvenile justice system. Jonathan’s moment of indiscretion came at the minimal price. Still it felt odd sitting in the office on the other side of the desk of the juvenile probation officer; a role I once held 14 years earlier. It was an experience I never wanted to reprise.

A majority of Jonathan’s friends, including his girlfriend at the time, were Mormon, and guess it didn’t surprise me when he decided to practice this faith and was baptized. Can’t confess disappointment in this turn of events--I was just glad Jonathan had a faith he chose to acknowledge. Although he had always acknowledged his belief in God, I questioned it at times, but who am I to judge? Jonathan no longer follows Mormonism; however, I cling to the hope in the truth from Proverbs 22:6--“Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it.”

Although my parents never expected it and Mom insisted I get a full-time job, I felt obligated to become their housekeeper, cook, chauffer, yardman, and maintenance worker. It was a way to say “thank you” for everything they had done for me and Jonathan during a very difficult time. Of course, if I had known my future job frustrations, would have heeded the advice. However, I did take the opportunity to take a few medical classes at the adult school, but never could land a job--something about not having any experience (So why does anybody bother getting an education?).

During the 4-½ month grocery strike, worked at Ralph’s just around the corner from the house. Started out as a courtesy clerk (an upper level term for bagger). Also had to gather the carts and push them back into the store. If there was any doubt about my lack of upper body strength, it was evident now. How I struggled and it was most embarrassing. Increased my weight lifting, researched protein powders and headed to the nutritional shops. After some inquiry, it was determined that whey protein would build muscle strength faster. Bought protein bars and the powder to make shakes and received one bit of advice--lots of ice in the shakes. Actually love the stuff even the bars; not at all the cardboard taste most claim. I was amazed at the results and my ever increasing strength and must say I liked it.

Had never worked in retail and many of us were fishes out of the water and trying to help the managers keep the store afloat. But we worked together as a team and tried to appease the customers who were visibly upset having to cross the picket lines. Really liked the job and also got to work in other departments, stock, and ring up the items. Averaged 51 hours a week and was paid VERY well. Several cars in the parking lot were keyed (didn’t take a genius to figure out the culprits but no proof). Glad I was within walking distance. Some of the young squirts developed ego-inflated heads with their supervisory titles, but it was an equal playing field--no one better than anyone else. Felt close to several of these people; sort of like a family, but had a special rapport with the produce guy, Ralph. The running joke--Ralph at Ralph’s. We were about the same age, had been employed by the government, and knew about work ethics.

Was promoted to price integrity coordinator and scanned the entire store to make sure the product matched the listed price. The freezer sections were a bear--needed thermals and gloves. However, the other position gave me more of a variety. Unfortunately, the strike ended and we could no longer stay; however, could be hired back as a bagger for minimum wage but the manager told me that I wouldn’t want to do that (Did she know something I didn’t?). The last day was quite somber for me.

Since Jonathan had graduated it was time to move on. Mom and Dad sold the house and rented an apartment in downtown Long Beach. I remained in Oceanside and house sat for our neighbors while Nina went on a European tour.

Went on my monthly sale’s jaunt to Vitamin World to appease my addiction to protein powder and bars. Up on the ladder adjusting a sign was a man who looked very familiar. As he came down and turned around--“Ralph.” “Debbie.” Yes, Ralph was now the manager and was desperate for help so asked if I would be interested. Not exactly what I was looking for but needed some income so Ralph hired me on a temporary basis--could leave at any time and if decided to stay, would transition me in as an assistant manager, with the long-range goal of manager. Although had the job, company policy dictated that I take one of those personality profile tests. Didn’t pass. What is this? In college I can graduate magna cum laude with a criminology degree but can’t pass a lousy personality profile--in retail, FBI, or internet dating. Ralph insisted that the district manager override my score and would vouch for me at the corporate office about my employability. Met the DM who had me geared to become the manager of this store while Ralph would move to one that needed a jump start. Never thought I would be any good at customer service or sales, but seemed to hold my own in these type of jobs.

After a couple of months decided to head for Long Beach to check out the prospects. Jonathan stayed behind--he had different plans.

(to be continued)