CSI - Candid Sharing, Inc.

AND IN CONCLUSION…

2009-02-22T20:11:00.000-08:00

Would imagine the majority of the population looks forward to retirement. No longer going through the rituals of waking up with the alarm, hitting the snooze button a myriad of times, plastering down the piece of hair that is sticking out, standing in the closet and trying to select an outfit that has not been recently worn, packing a lunch, scarfing down an unhealthy breakfast item, and slurping that first caffeine fix of the day while fighting bumper to bumper traffic in the hopes of getting to work on time.

Yes, the joys of retirement and being able to do, dare I say, whatever you want to do. Have fun, spend some of that hard earned money that was saved over the years, travel around the world…the sky is the limit. But what about those who retire whose lives are cut short before being able to enjoy the golden years? I’ve known several individuals who have passed away not very long after retirement. It’s quite sad. It’s very heartbreaking. It seems like such a waste.

In December of 2007, I started working in the health center at a community college in Orange Country. Although not mandatory, I was invited to attend a board meeting for official introductions of new employees. Having only met for a brief moment a few weeks earlier, the dean of our department came over and welcomed me to the district, again, and he knew me by name. My coworkers said that David was very kind, laid back, and for the most part let the health center do its own thing. He also had been diagnosed with prostate cancer two years previously but the cancer was in remission. Unfortunately, I only got to work with David for six months until he retired in June of last year.

A few months ago David’s cancer returned but insisted to his wife, Pam, they still take the trip to Italy they had saved up for, for so many years. They went on that trip in October. Three weeks ago I attended a memorial service for David. He was considered the “Dean of Everything” and the church was filled with many friends and colleagues from his numerous years of service. On the front of the program there was a beautiful poem by an unknown author that I would like to share:

God watched you as you suffered and knew you had your share.
He gently closed your weary eyes, and took you in His care.
Your memory is our keepsake, with that we will never part.
God had you in His keeping, and we have you in our heart.
Nothing could be more beautiful than the memories we have of you.
To us, you were someone special. God must have thought so, too.
All our lives we shall miss you, as the years come and go.
But, in our hearts you will live forever because we love you so.
God saw you were getting tired, and a cure was not to be.
So, he put His arms around you, and whispered, “Come with me.”
With tearful eyes we watched you suffer, and saw you fade away.
Although we love you dearly, we could not make you stay.
A golden heart stopped beating; hard working hands to rest.
God broke our hearts to prove, He only takes the best.

And in conclusion…With Greg’s encouragement and support I started blogging on November 23, 2006. It was therapeutic as well as enjoyable, and I’ve always been appreciative of the written and verbal comments received. Obviously I lost a lot of my limited readership because of the sporadic postings and must admit it takes up a significant amount of time. Would like to explore some other options, possibly take a few classes, improve my musical abilities, and learn a new language. This plus Mom, Dad, Jonathan and working ten-hour days puts a lot on my plate. So, this will be my last blog, but I might just add starting a novel to that already filled plate.

Thank you for your support over the last 27 months. It means more to me than you will ever know.

I DON’T THINK SO!

2009-01-22T22:42:00.000-08:00

Working in a medical office you see an assortment of ailments from a little scratch to a full-blown cold. Students can schedule appointments to see a male or female doctor twice a week for a variety of reasons including physicals, prescriptions, referrals, gynecology exams, and because they plain just don’t feel good. There is no cost to see the doctor (in other words, no copay); however, charges are attached depending on what is done. For example, a Pap test is $30.

Certain times of the year, specific diseases or causes are emphasized throughout the campus through posters or fairs or lectures or…well, you get the picture. For example, October was breast cancer awareness month. The importance was stressed that a woman should get a regular mammogram.

Other individuals, students and staff alike, come in to the health center to discuss obesity, alcoholism, smoking, immunizations, stomach disorders, and cancer. And you know what is recommended for those over 50—a colonoscopy.

It had been over 10 years since I had a medical appointment. During September I was having a few difficulties and scheduled an appointment to see the doctor chosen as my primary care physician when I moved to Orange. Dr. B did what he could, recommended that I return to have a Pap test, and scheduled me for a mammogram. In October I had the mammogram and the results were normal. Returned to the doctor in November and had the Pap test done. While still in the exam room, Dr. B noticed the age listed on my chart and instructed me to go to his secretary and schedule a colonoscopy. I walked out the door. (Two of the three tests were completed; that was enough.)

Dr. B was on top of his game, and I didn’t get away scot-free--the form was mailed to my home. Suffice it to say, I scheduled that dreaded test. During Christmas break had a consultation with Dr. C and the procedure would be done on January 7. The instructions were as follows: 1) A liquid diet with no orange, red, or purple substances the day before. My diet of choice that day consisted of 7-Up, chicken broth, apple juice, lime gelatin, white grape juice (don’t buy Wal-Mart’s brand; stick with Welch’s), and lots of water to keep hydrated. 2) Be home by 3:00 and take two Ducolax tablets. 3) At 4:00 mix a bottle of Miralax with a 64-oz bottle of Gatorade (luckily Gatorade now comes in a lemonade flavor) and drink an 8-oz glass every 10-15 minutes until finished. 4) At 8:00 take two more Ducolax tablets. 5) Nothing by mouth after midnight. For a time I wondered if this stuff would ever start working. It did and continued even when at the medical center…very uncomfortable.

There I was on the gurney with an IV drip stuck in the fold of my right arm. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting and then finally wheeled into the operating room and given a dose of them good drugs. Out like a light and woke up in recovery with Mom’s face in sight and given two oatmeal cookies to kill the hunger pains until the doctor came to report the findings. Dr. C gave me the good news—the colonoscopy could not be completed and had to do the prep one more time. Felt miserable and Jonathan picked us up and dropped by CVS to buy another bottle of Miralax and Gatorade (no lemonade flavor and just that yucky lemon-lime). Couldn’t stomach any more but the doctor said to drink as much as possible. To make a long story short, didn’t keep much down, if you know what I mean. Felt absolutely horrible and just kept sitting in a chair with my head against the wall with a robe keeping me warm until it was time to go to bed.

Thursday morning came and knew I was dehydrated but fortunately the colonoscopy could be completed. However, felt lousy and still didn’t have much of an appetite. Actually don’t really remember Jonathan ever picking me up that second day. Apparently I was a little loopy after each procedure, probably more so than most.

On Friday ate more solid food but came down with a cold and fought that for a few days. By the way, my walking papers said that my colonoscopy was normal and they would see me again in five years. My thoughts…What was the title of this blog?

A NEW FRIEND

2008-11-01T16:41:00.000-07:00

Jonathan has always been interested in technical gadgets and is quite knowledgeable with computers and video games. He’s currently going to school at DeVry University and majoring in Gaming and Simulation Programming--creating video games as well as simulation programs for the military.

A couple of weeks ago, Jonathan came up to pay us a visit for the first time since we moved to Orange County; however, the reason was two-fold and not just to come see his grandparents and mother. Jonathan had to come up to this neck of the woods to pick up an unusual item. Something I never would have guessed. A complete surprise as to the effect this thing would cause especially to an 80-year-old grandmother, who my son has fondly called since he could talk--“Dagey.”

Yes, as you can see from this picture it’s Star Wars revisited and yes, for those who thought it purely a fantasy, R2D2 truly exists, and I’ve seen it with my own eyes.

This little battery-operated creature measuring about a foot tall and made of plastic stood in the living room and walked backwards and forwards, talked, turned around, danced, beeped (a lot of beeping) and followed directions. It produced hours and hours of fascination, laughter, and delight and although she would deny it, Mom had the best time of all. What can I say? It was probably one of the most pleasant visits the four of us had ever had and R2D2 was not the only reason. Even with this new find…which some still would consider a “toy”…Jonathan is growing up and trying to be responsible and it’s being noticed by his family.

Jonathan thought R2D2 would also keep the cat company but from what I’ve heard, Deagan is not that crazy about his new companion.

LOVE IS NOT EASILY ANGERED

2008-10-19T18:10:00.000-07:00

Where have you gone on a first date? To a movie? To dinner in a nice restaurant? To a concert? To an entertainment park? To a museum? How about to church? Well, last Saturday that is where I went with a gentleman from Thousand Oaks. Let’s call him Jack. Jack had attended Saddleback for a few years, and I always wanted to go. Fortunately, this was the weekend Rick Warren would actually be speaking. Even after writing several best selling books, some people still have never heard of him, but now I’m sure Rick Warren is a household name since moderating the Obama/McCain forum last month.

Saddleback could be compared to a college campus. It is a huge place with several buildings on tons of acreage. Saddleback was continuing a sermon series titled “40 Days of Love” and this particular weekend (Saddleback has two services on Saturday evening and four services on Sunday) the topic was “Love is not Easily Angered.” (I Corinthians 13:5). The sermon was great. It spoke to me. The one sermon that I needed to hear. The one sermon that would have been so beneficial years ago but still pertinent now….Isn’t it amazing…first date…I wanted to try Saddleback…the sermon struck home (but most sermons do).

There was an outline, and I kept writing notes. The sermon was so thought provoking, it seemed appropriate to share this information with those who may need a little help in this area. So I’ll summarize and plagiarize, borrow, and steel what Rick Warren said on Saturday, October 11, 2008.

How do you tame your temper?

1. RESOLVE TO MANAGE IT
“A fool gives full vent to his anger, but a wise man keeps himself under control.” Prov. 29:11.
Stop making excuses. You choose to be angry. Nothing can make me mad; it’s my choice.

2. REMEMBER THE COST (of controlled anger)
“A hot-tempered man…gets into all kinds of trouble.” Prov. 29:22
“Hot tempers cause arguments.” Prov. 15:18
“…anger causes mistakes.” Prov. 14:29
“People with hot tempers do foolish things.” Prov. 14:17
“The fool who provokes his family to anger and resentment will finally have nothing worthwhile left.” Prov. 11:29
You always lose when you lose your temper.
Anger alienates and creates more anger.

3. REFLECT BEFORE REACTING (don’t respond impulsively)
“A stupid man gives free rein to his anger; a wise man waits and lets it grow cool.” Prov. 29:11
“A man’s wisdom gives him patience.” Prov 19:11
“Lord, help me control my tongue; help me be careful about what I say.” Psalm 141:3
“Drinking too much makes you loud and foolish. It’s stupid to get drunk.” Prov. 20:1
The #1 cause to react before reflecting is drinking.
Anger control is mouth control.
“Chill out” is a biblical tool.
Can’t put your foot in your mouth when it’s closed.

Ask 3 questions:
*Why am I angry?
*What do I really want?
*How can I get it?
Resentment is always sin.
Try to understand your anger and everybody else’s anger.
Try to look beyond anger and look at the hurt.

You get angry because:
*Hurt (physically and emotionally)
*Frustration (when you feel out of control you get angry)
*Fear (when feeling attacked, threatened)
Anger and insecurity go together

4. RELEASE MY ANGER APPROPRIATELY
“If you become angry, don’t let your anger lead you into sin.” Eph. 4:26
“A gentle answer quiets anger, but a harsh one stirs it up.” Prov. 15:1
Anger is learned
Talk slower and lower
Anger is contagious

Best way to deal with anger:
*Don’t suppress it (push it down)
*Don’t repress it (deny)
*Don’t express it
*Confess it (admit to self, God, and other person)

Repressed anger is depression (#1 reason for it)
Two words for marriage counseling: GROW UP (selfishness and immaturity)

5. REPATTERN MY MIND
“Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think.” Rom. 12:2a
“Keep away from angry, short-tempered people, or you will learn to be like them…” Prov. 22:24
To break the habit of anger you need to reprogram mind; change relationships
Battle for anger starts in the mind

6. RELY ON GOD’S HELP
“Patience and encouragement come from God. I pray God will help you all agree with each other the way Christ Jesus wants.” Rom. 15:5
“The fruit of the Spirit is…patience” Gal. 5:22
“Whatever is in your heart determines what you say.” Matt. 12:34
“I’ll give you a new heart, put a new spirit in you. I’ll remove the stone heart from our body and replace it with a heart that’s God-willed, not self-willed.” Ezek. 36:26
Heart of the problem is what’s in your heart.
What’s in your heart is what’s going to come out of your mouth.
God specializes in heart transplants

Rick also said men use 25,000 words a day and women 30,000. One day a man was asked, “Doesn’t it bother you when your wife has the last word? The man replied, “No, I’m grateful when it is her last.”

Hopefully, these little tidbits and some self-reflection have assisted you in getting a better handle on your anger issues. It certainly did for me. Who would have guessed that a week later this man named Jack would dump me because he didn’t find me physically attractive. (Can you imagine that?) Obviously, I was meant to hear this sermon on how to tame my temper.

TO APPEASE M-O-M

2008-10-07T19:52:00.000-07:00

I have been called many things in my 52 years of living, but being compared with the liberal, drive-by media who only tell half the story, well…

For those who thought my mother to be a wimp let me set the record straight. My mom thinks she fainted during her first root canal because she had suffered from pain all weekend. Years later, Mom had a second root canal. She was fully awake. No Novocain. No anesthesia. No ill effects. My mom is as tough as they come.

Love you, Mom. (Am I still in the will?)

OPEN WIDE

2008-10-06T20:18:00.000-07:00

If we were to play a round of the Family Feud: Of the 100 people surveyed, name a place people dread going to. Answer: The dentist (ding). I would say the dentist would probably have the highest percentage of the responses (unless you consider the electric chair). Wonder why? Choking? Blood? Feeling as if you are drowning in your own saliva? Sound of the drill? Never knowing what will be found? Pain? More pain? EXTREME PAIN?

Although it was uncomfortable and sometimes painful, going to the dentist never really bothered me. Hated getting fillings many years ago but newer procedures are being used that minimize the pain (of course, I haven’t had a root canal or wisdom teeth removed).

Throughout the majority of my employment career I’ve had medical benefits and received the two cleanings per year allotment. Had to pay a portion for a few crowns or some pre periodontal and gingivitis treatments. When you don’t have insurance, you tend not to go as regularly, but I’ve always brushed and flossed, and a few years ago started scraping the tongue…if you’ve never bought a tongue scraper, might I suggest you run out and buy one; it works wonders…this is starting to become a gross piece of writing…Anyway, since moving from San Diego County, I’ve gone to four different dentists and had four different opinions. Yes, it’s now a known fact that my gums are receding which seems a big deal to some and not so much to others. The last dentist charged $75 for deep cleaning and stain removal (had insurance). Inquired about the stains since I don’t smoke, drink coffee, or tea. Asked whether mouthwash or my insatiable craving of chocolate-coated protein bars could be the culprits. He said, “No.” Continued my regular teeth maintenance and the stains reappeared. Received a tidbit through the email regarding hydrogen peroxide—can use it as a mouthwash and decided to try it and sure enough the stains disappeared and also the occasional swelling of the gums no longer occurred.

After moving to Orange County I had to find another dentist. Luckily one dentist right next door was on my provider list. Made my first appointment for a cleaning. The first appointment of almost every dentist I’ve gone to consisted only of x-rays and examination. Never the main thing you wanted to have done and a succeeding appointment was necessary.

Went to my appointment Friday. By the name I sensed the dentist probably was Asian and sure enough everyone in the office was Asian (maybe they were all related). For the most part I’ve known Asians to be very polite and try to please and can be somewhat frugal but since working in the health center, there are some in that ethnic group, students and staff alike, who are very rude, obnoxious, and demanding.

While sitting in the waiting room filling out my paperwork, a female patient entered the front door and signed in. She was there for extractions and started asking what was being done. They were continuing with the root canal. She was somewhat confused and a little nervous and didn’t know what to expect. I could have chimed in and said my mother fainted when she had her first one, but thought it best to keep my mouth shut.

Dr. C introduced herself and asked if I was having any problems. Then a young kid took my x-rays. He was very polite. Dr. C showed me the results and said things looked good and acknowledged my receding gumline but there was no need for concern. Then she proceeded to do the cleaning and explained the new procedure that would be used that had been received with favorable comments and wanted my opinion at the end. She explained everything thoroughly and showed me the instrument and said, “Excuse me” before inserting it into my mouth. Her female assistant held the suction tube but did notice her head turning away quite frequently…What a gross sight it must be which makes me wonder why on earth anybody would ever choose to go into this profession. At the end I honestly can say that I only felt an occasional twinge. Told the doctor it was great and asked her about the staining problems. She advised that peroxide is a whitener so it would remove the stains but suggested it was unnecessary to use it full strength. The assistant commenced to polish my teeth and before she inserted the instrument she also said, “Excuse me.” Then later, “Open more please. Open more please. Thank you.” Yes, a very polite group of people.

The overall experience—didn’t wait long, didn’t have much pain, and didn’t cost me a cent. A very good experience indeed.

QUITE SURPRISED

2008-10-01T20:08:00.000-07:00

Have had my share of aches and pains or those “just don’t feel that great” days but usually ignore the discomfort and just go on with business with an occasional popping of a pill. Seldom do I feel bad enough to stay home or change my daily routine (or more accurately, my exercise routine).

Since moving from Long Beach the commuting switched from weekday roundtrips to work to Sunday roundtrips to church. Woke up Sunday morning and didn’t feel great and slept about two hours later than usual (making it around 6:30) but knew I would feel better if I went for my daily walk, but decided to cut it short. Offered to drive and pick up Mom and Dad at a church they have attended previously but decided I could at least make it through worship at Long Beach. Mom didn’t like the idea of my going so far just in case something happened and she would have to drive home. Rested a little and had every intention to go to Long Beach but at the moment a ½ mile commute and a 45-minute service was more alluring. Knew it would not be my cup of tea but you go to please and worship God, not to be entertained. And have always gotten some inspired tidbit from any sermon.

The building had architectural presence but attendance was sparse, those members being elderly with the majority living in the retirement center next door, including the pastor. The service started with a song from the hymnal…one I never heard before…along with piano accompaniment. The song leader needed to power it down. The pastor offered a prayer and gave the announcements, followed by the offering (communion is only once a month), and then another song--Bringing in the Sheaves (reminded me of an episode of The Waltons). Another gentleman led a prayer where he was sitting and then the Ladies Trio belted out a song (yes, I think that was their real name)—three ladies with similar white coiffures, dressed in identical-patterned attire but different colors each with matching stringed pearls. Not half bad. Sang on pitch but still a reminder of what I’d see on Lawrence Welk. After only 15 minutes into the service, the sermon began. It was titled, The Gospel, Paul Preached with Scrupulous Devotion (I Tim 4:6-16). Pastor Bob was a very good speaker and talked about the lack of sound doctrine being preached in many churches today and considered the five fundamentals of the gospel to be as follows: 1) belief in the Deity, 2) that Jesus is the son of God, 3) salvation only comes through Jesus, 4) belief in the resurrection, and 5) belief in the second coming. Although I’m sure these truisms were discussed, my only recollection while growing up in the C of C were the five steps to becoming a Christian: hear, believe, repent, confess, and be baptized.

The sermon ran 30 minutes long…and, yes, actually did time it because curiosity got the best of me to see if this guy would top some of those long-winded preachers I’ve been fortunate to hear.

We were home by 11:00 and it was surprisingly not as bad as I had expected, but still missed being at Long Beach. Decided to crash on my sleeping bag…You know, feeling sick is the only time I really miss having a bed.

WHEN THINGS DON'T GO AS PLANNED

2008-09-01T20:38:00.001-07:00

An athlete who is injured and can no longer play his chosen sport. An individual who has been employed with the same company for numerous years is overlooked for a promotion. An engaged couple break up and call off their wedding. Who hasn't experienced disappointment, frustration, and heartbreak when goals are not achieved, arrangements must be altered, invitations are rescinded, or long held ideals are not to be. I suspect that many parents want the best for their children and try to raise them accordingly. They want them to have a college degree, have successful careers, find love, get married, and have children, usually in that order, but many parents must overcome their disappointment when their children choose to follow a different path.

How do you convey the news of what should be a great event; something that would produce overwhelming excitement and an enormous smile? The best way for me would be to mention it in writing so in my last blog I casually threw in an interesting tidbit--"visiting my grandson for the first time"--to see who would catch it and had expected it to elicit a few comments. But nope. Nothing. Nada. Maybe you were too embarrassed to do so or were at a loss for words. Steve, however, did say something to me Sunday morning, so I felt it necessary to come up with an appropriate introduction to my news.

My grandson's name is Deagan. He is so cute, adorable, cuddly, and you could just squeeze him to death but not as docile as I had hoped. So with consent of the father, here is a picture of my gorgeous grandson.

I thought this would be funny and a couple of my friends agreed. Mom...didn't find it amusing whatsoever. What can I say? When things don't go as planned--this little joke of mine certainly fell flat on its face.

A WEEK IN THE LIFE OF...

2008-08-26T21:23:00.000-07:00

Don't recall having many jobs where I didn't look forward to some time off or unhappy that the work day had ended; however, since landing that great job of mine, I can honestly say I do not want time off and do not want to leave when it's time to go home. You won't find an imitation of Fred Flintstone when the whistle blew at the quarry. No "yabba dabba doos" here.

As I've said in previous writings, when school is on a break, the health center is closed and the staff stays home. Until my position becomes full time, these breaks aren't especially grand for me since salary is mostly null and void.

Never considered vacations, weekends, or holidays special basically because I never really did anything since 1) I have trouble doing anything for or spending anything on myself; and 2) if I were to do anything, didn't relish the fact that it probably would have to be done alone.

At school there was a break between summer and fall semesters so this past week I was unable to go to work (yeah, I know, poor me). At work, Pat always told me to do something fun and go exploring either on weekends or during our breaks. A male friend asked if I had difficulty venturing out alone. "No," I replied. So I heeded the advice and kept relatively busy most of the week.

On Monday I walked across the street and went browsing at the mall. Contemplated future purchases and possible Christmas gifts. I rarely go to a movie. The last movie I saw was The Devil Wears Prada and before that--Star Wars Episode I. Yeah, pretty sad. Usually wait until they are premiered on the boob tube; however, the mall has a discount theater. Movies are $1.75 and Tuesday is dollar day. Of course, the movies were out several months ago but I've never seen them so, hey....Tuesday I saw The Incredible Hulk. Not too bad. Wednesday I saw Ironman. Pretty good. I actually could get used to this but it still would be nice to go with someone, but at least I was doing something every day. On Thursday headed south to see Jonathan and had an expensive but good visit with my son and was able to see my grandson for the first time. The rest of the week was spent reading, writing, helping Mom with some errands, cooking a few meals, and visiting with my brother and sister-in-law on their first visit down to our new digs. Also was a little disappointed that I wasn't going to have a date (same guy) three Saturdays in a row and must wait until this Saturday.

For the most part it was not such a bad week after all.

EXODUS FROM HADES

2008-08-23T11:52:00.000-07:00

It was December 2005. After a two-month stay, I realized moving back to Albuquerque was not in the cards and returned to the "golden state" where parents, brother, and son still lived. Moved into a small apartment complex, in a Jewish community, behind a popular eating establishment, around the corner from a retirement center where my parents resided, and across the street from church. The apartment was a small studio with very few amenities, no air, no heat, but utilities were paid. Rather pricey so I thought after having lived in a furnished studio with air, heat and all utilities paid for approximately $300 less. However, it was only to be a temporary stay. Luckily Long Beach wasn't freezing all winter or sizzling hot all summer but there were some miserable moments.

When it was cold, it was cold and even with a ceramic heater, turning on the oven, and wearing thermals, socks, slippers and heavy robes or jackets still kept the chills inside the body and the nails a purplish blue. Going somewhere even if just standing outside in the sun brought a warmth of relief.

Now when it was hot...I was in the netherworld. That was pure torture. Drinking ice water, wrapping frigid wet cloths around the neck, sitting in front of a full-blown fan, and walking around with minimal attire didn't do much to relieve the constant stickiness and headaches. At times wondered why I took a cold shower--within minutes I was all hot and sticky again. Sometimes there was a comfortable breeze by opening the front door and the bathroom window; however, when the scent of cigarette smoke hit my nostrils, it was a world-record dash to shut the front door. As long as the temperature outside didn't go pass the 80 degree mark, it was tolerable but those weeks the gauge hit the 90 degree mark and higher, comfort had to be found in air-conditioned facilities, which usually meant the corner library, visiting my parents or across the street at church. It was soon learned that chocolate of any kind could not be kept out for very long--it would start melting within a matter of minutes.

My studio had been part of what used to be the third bedroom next door which explained why the corresponding wall was so paper thin, and I could hear everything from loud music, television, and the neighbor making out with his girlfriend. The complex lacked professional management and rules and regulations were not strictly enforced. Children running around and screaming even in front of my door made it feel like I was smack dab in the middle of recess or a day care facility. But all in all, I guess it was better than being homeless.

When I got my great job last December, there would be a 22-mile commute. It wasn't the ideal situation, but I continued the journey for seven months and actually learned how to become more patient along the way. Unfortunately, the gas prices reached the ridiculous stage and thought it wise to consider relocating. Could have done it long ago, but being across the street from church and close to my parents and friends made it a difficult transition to contemplate.

My mom had become disenchanted with living in a retirement facility environment and wanted to get back to the "real world" once again. Think Dad would rather stay, mainly because of the food; however, they both always wanted me to leave that "hell hole" and thought I deserved better. So after some discussion, it seemed logical to just rent something together, at least temporarily, and I would be there to offer some assistance. So, we rented a nice two-bedroom apartment in Orange County just three miles away from work. The apartment complex is in close proximity to the hospital, medical offices, shopping centers, and the all important (at least in Dad's opinion) eating establishments.

At this stage of the game, it's not easy living with your parents again and Mom and Dad could say the same thing about their daughter. Of course, there is an adjustment for each of us but for now, this is life as I know it.

You know, I somewhat understand how the children of Israel must have felt when they left Egypt and reached the promised land. It has air conditioning. It has heat. It is comfortable and relatively quiet. It has a short commute to work. It has numerous places that can be reached by foot. Yes, this is my land flowing with milk and honey.

GOOD DEEDS

2008-08-20T21:00:00.000-07:00

(Side Note: Life has been somewhat helter skelter since I last blogged and contemplated whether or not to write many more; however, there's something deep within that dictates that I must and that I'm better by doing so, even if it can take a significant amount of my time. Writing is not only enjoyable but can be quite therapeutic and if some of your comments have been truthful, you like that I do write, so I'll try to do it on a more regular basis.)

Asking for help does not come easily for me whether trying to find a destination or lifting heavy objects and usually turn down most offers for assistance. Think it's in the genes. No wonder my dad used to call my mother, grandmother, and me "three peas in a pod."

Several times I've taken my keyboard over to the church building for Praise Band practices and Celebration performances. A few have offered their assistance when time to take the equipment back home, which I politely declined. One particular instance comes to mind. Greg was the offerer. I, of course, refused and Steve chimed in that I probably had more strength than the preacher man anyway.

After the band's performance last month, I left my equipment in the church building until after I moved to a new apartment, in another county, and only three miles from work (an upcoming blog). After service this past Sunday, while people were still mingling in the auditorium, I entered the former "Holy Place" and took the keyboard stand out the side door, down the stairs to the car and came back in. Grabbed the keyboard case and lugged it out the door (while others watched and a few stepped aside), down the stairs to the parking lot heading toward the Saturn. A young man in shorts with several tatoos holding hands with his female companion was cutting across the parking lot and asked if I needed any help. I smiled and said "No, thanks" and kept on walking. He stopped and said, "Where are you going?" I pointed to the car and he walked up to me, took the case, and said, "Let me help you." I relinquished control and thanked him. Assisted him in getting the case into the trunk. I told this young man that it was very sweet of him and again expressed my appreciation. I went back into the building for the bench and brought it to the car.

I'm not writing this to knock those who saw me and didn't offer their assistance. I don't know...it just amazes me where you find people who do good deeds for others.

UNBELIEVABLE

2008-06-27T20:40:00.000-07:00

It’s good to be back at work after a two-week break. The summer session started Monday and although it was a zoo, still was glad to have my job.

There are rules and regulations for just about everything. The student health center at the community college I work at is no exception. There are set guidelines that must be followed. Students must be enrolled in the current semester and have paid the mandatory health fee in order to see a nurse, a doctor, or a counselor, free of charge; or to receive immunizations or other testing for various dollar amounts. Everyone who enters the health center, students and staff alike, must complete the sign-in sheet. Due to the privacy laws, or in other words, HIPAA, the names of those who sign in must be marked out. New patients must fill out three documents—general information, medical history, and sign a consent form giving permission to be treated. Simple. Easy to follow. Quite elementary. Well, apparently not for some people.

Wednesday afternoon a young gentleman (and I use that term loosely) came in and said he was sent by the trainer to see the nurse. Told him to sign in. After checking our records, advised him that a health fee needed to be paid in the cashier’s office first. He became agitated and told me he would pay it afterwards. I again told him our policy. He asked if he could pay it later and that someone else had told him he didn’t have to pay the fee first. We kept playing this song and dance; actually this individual kept questioning everything I said. I told him if he wanted to see the nurse, he would have to pay the fee now. With reluctance he left; but I kept my composure and it wasn’t easy.

One-half hour later we were graced with the presence of Mr. Attitude once again. Told him to sign back in. Mr. A peered down at the sign-in sheet and questioned why his name had been crossed out. Tried to explain the privacy regulations but it fell on deaf ears, and he continued to argue. I told Mr. A I didn’t need his attitude, and he gave it right back to me. Although he denied being a new patient, there was no history on record so I asked Mr. A to complete the necessary forms. He argued that he had already done so and refused to fill out any more. We went round and round again. I made a chart and attached a note of patient’s refusal to fill out the forms as well as his crappy behavior and put the file in the back.

Without the forms there would be no service and the personal trainer was called to come talk to Mr. A. She tried to explain. He just didn’t want to hear it. She went round and round with him but, of course, he was the victim and had done nothing wrong. In a few minutes there was the trainer, the coordinator/head nurse of the center, the office manager, and myself trying to reason with this guy. Nothing was accomplished. Just a waste of time. Mr. A still wouldn’t fill out the forms and left.

What else was there to do but shake our heads. UNREAL!!! Mr. A was as thick headed as they come and apparently has issues with being told what to do. The trainer said this was the first time in 20 years she was ever called to the health center to assist in problems with one of the athletes.

Our office manager always gets involved if she sees her staff being abused and during this time and his earlier visit, she kept turning around, but she realized I was holding my own. Later our health educator teased me by asking if I had anger issues.

All in all, I still love my job and will continue to do so no matter how many jackasses enter through the door.

AMITYVILLE HORROR REVISITED

2008-06-10T20:12:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had a feeling that something was wrong, amiss, not quite right, or a twinge in the gut that something dreadful was about to be discovered?

After eating dinner and finishing that nightly ritual of teeth maintenance, walked back into the bathroom for just a minute and don’t always find it necessary to turn on the light. As I turned to leave, my left barefoot felt something moist and wet. Not near the sink. Not near the shower. Not near the hand towel. As a matter of fact, not anywhere you would expect to find a little stray liquid. The first instinct was that it came from the ceiling and stared up as I turned on the light. Nothing noticeable and looked down to see more than half the floor covered in water and most of it accumulated around the toilet and spreading outward. There also was at least an inch of water inside the shower. For the past few weeks the shower had been draining very slowly and thought about taking a wire hanger and fishing out the gunk from the drain but would forget about it until starting to take the next shower. Although I had not used the shower that day, did hear the neighbors using theirs earlier.

The water level continued to double in volume as the gurgling actions bounced back and forth between the shower and the toilet, reminding me of the classic movie but without the green slime. Informed the manager who gave me a beach towel and mop to wipe up the mess and came to take a peek. The water was coming from the wall behind the toilet. Carol flushed my toilet and the water rose and stopped just before it overflowed. After checking next door, Carol advised that their toilet had indeed run over and the tub was full of water. She had my neighbor plug up the tub so the water in my shower would stop rising.

Unfortunately, I was told the plumber would not be coming until the next morning around 8, 9, or 10. So, where does one go to alleviate? Although Carol thought it would be okay to use the toilet, I wasn’t going to take a chance. Luckily I had two places to go—my parents or the church building. Church was closer and thought about staying and sleeping on a pew but came home, went to sleep and repeated the process at 1:30 am and again at 5:00 before going to walk. Went to play a little tennis and to get milk at Ralph’s and upon my return noticed the water level in the shower would soon be trickling out onto the floor. Spent a little time bailing out water and pouring it into the sink. Now I could somewhat understand the misfortune of those people whose houses flood during natural disasters.

By the time the plumber arrived, I had to bail out water two more times. The plumber snaked out the pipes from the rooftop as well as the showers and was surprised that he had not been called out last night. The owner had obviously thought it could wait, but whom is he kidding—it would have cost more money. What a cheapskate!

A SAD FAREWELL

2008-05-27T20:31:00.000-07:00

This morning my dad received a call that his brother, Gilbert, had passed away--the brother we flew down to see last month to celebrate his 90th birthday. His health was failing so it did not come as a shock. Although Dad says he’s doing fine, he tends to hide his feelings, but does realize that Gilbert is in a better place. Dad lost his sister, Lois, a year ago, his 92-year-old sister is not in top-notch shape, and Dad was questioning his own mortality not that long ago.

Dad won’t be going back for the funeral, but I’m sure it must be of some comfort to have been able to see his only brother before it was too late. Actually, I’m glad I was able to do the same.

To give you a little glimpse of this man’s life, the following is the poem I wrote for Uncle Gilbert’s 90th birthday.

THE YEAR WAS 1918,
THE BIRTH OF HOWARD COSELL,
AND THE FIRST FEMALE SHERIFF,
DOUBT THAT WENT OVER TOO WELL.

INVENTION OF THE FORTUNE COOKIE,
THE BIRTH OF PAUL HARVEY,
THE RED SOX BEAT THE CUBS,
WASN’T THAT JUST MARVEY.

MISSOURI TO CALIFORNIA,
FROM FARM BOY TO MARINE,
THEN YOU MET ELEANOR,
THE PRETTIEST GIRL YOU’D EVER SEEN.

RETURNED TO MISSOURI,
NOW FOUR KIDS TO RAISE,
STEVE, MARY, JOHN, AND PAUL,
THEM THER’ WERE THE DAYS.

SO HAPPY 90TH BIRTHDAY,
TO MY DAD’S FAVORITE BROTHER,
WHOSE NOT ONLY NUTS ABOUT CARS,
BUT METICULOUS LIKE NO OTHER.

Please keep the family in your prayers, especially Uncle Gilbert’s four children and his wife, Eleanor. They were married for over 63 years.

A HOPE SHATTERED

2008-05-26T20:13:00.000-07:00

As I have mentioned in a previous blog, Jonathan was five years old when he was diagnosed with a lazy eye and eye patch therapy would no longer be beneficial after he turned eight. Every time Jonathan has to renew his driver’s license, he has to take the written test, a driving test, and must turn in a DMV 62, Report of Vision Examination, completed by the examining doctor. One of the doctors at an eye center in the local Wal-Mart had a different perspective of the eye patch therapy and said it would only be beneficial at an early age—as an infant. Although being told that nothing could possibly be done, I always believed that diagnosis would change because of the advancement in modern technology.

Also had wondered whether or not Jonathan’s vision disorder had developed because of the many head-banging incidents over the years--rolled out of my arms as an infant, rolled off the bed in a cabin in Pagosa Springs, hit his head on the corner of the organ, tripped and cracked his head open on the cement stairway of an outdoor mall. However, during another visit to the eye doctor last weekend, Jonathan’s diagnosis was finally understood.

Jonathan has amblyopia in his right eye that cannot be corrected by glasses or contact lenses and is not caused by an eye disease. Also called lazy eye, the vision is limited because the eye and the brain are not working together properly and the brain is favoring the good eye. His right eye is 20/100 and also has hyperopia (farsightedness) and astigmatism. Jonathan is part of the 3% population who has this neurological eye disorder. It will not get worse. It will not get better. It was a very heartbreaking disappointment.

Jonathan took the form to the local DMV and afterwards called me with great news. His name was removed from the temporary list and was given a regular driver’s license. It must have been the notation the doctor wrote on the form that Jonathan’s vision has not changed since 1995. When it’s time for renewal in five years, there should be no more hassles with red tape bureaucracy.

PHENOMENAL

2008-05-24T21:42:00.000-07:00

In the past I’ve attended plays, sporting events, and concerts on both amateur and professional levels. Some were free while others a little more pricey, but not many can compare to the five dollars of entertainment witnessed last night on a folding chair in a large multi-purpose room (for lack of a better word) at a Christian junior and senior high school located in Orange County. The event—the annual “Big Night of Jazz” with three school bands performing with a special featured woodwind artist. This year was basically a night of Duke Ellington. School bands. Big deal. Have heard a few and you couldn’t pay me to attend another performance.

The first group was the Junior High Jazz Band. The musical director, Isaac, who looked like a kid himself, had only been at the school for two years. The group was quite impressive for being so young. The next band was the Jazz Workshop. The musical director for the high school band, Len, played trumpet with this group. Again, more great music. The last group to perform was the Eight O’clock Jazz Band including the featured guest artist, Keith Felch, a teacher and performer in Southern California for over 30 years. It was wonderful, exceptional, remarkable, and not just Mr. Felch who happened to play several instruments, but the entire group. The playing abilities of several of these young talents were emphasized throughout many of the songs, but a certain young gent on the ivories stood out, actually the only reason I was attending this concert.

Knew he was good after hearing him play in the church Praise Band. Found out just how good after hearing a solo during my first encounter of the church’s annual Gift for Jesus program. Realized how much this kid knew his stuff after I was asked to join the Praise Band as (what I call) a “background” keyboardist. Not only do I have a new found respect for this young man, but also I’m now even more intimidated. Do you suppose Daniel would teach me everything he knows if I paid him?

To me, Daniel is, well…phenomenal and in a class all his own. He is graduating this year and will be attending a popular California university majoring in Pre-Med. Definitely think Daniel would have a shot at receiving the title on America’s Got Talent and winning the million-dollar jackpot, which leads me to the million-dollar question. Why am I playing in the same group as Sir Daniel?

OH, GOOD GRIEF!

2008-05-19T17:55:00.000-07:00

Yes, Glenda, I agree and hope Charles doesn’t read yesterday's blog (would hate to see him beat me up; doubt I could hold my own). :) Guess I pulled a Geron. That was just too funny yesterday and apparently it stuck in my mind. Could say it’s Geron’s fault; could say I’ve watched too many episodes of JAG; could say my uncle who just celebrated his 90th birthday was a Marine or… but it was my goof. Guess it shouldn’t surprise me. When our student worker comes in and is going to microfilm, I see the cord sprawled across the floor but within five minutes, I’m tripping over it.

My apologies to Sir Charles. He is definitely an Army man.

A NEW BIRTH

2008-05-18T20:25:00.000-07:00

Believe it was around the ripe age of 11 when I walked down the aisle during the invitation song to confess that Jesus was my Lord and Savior and was ready to be baptized. That song might have been “Just as I Am” as it seemed to be the going song for invitational response. A good friend, Lora, had already gone forward to do the same. My parents were surprised. Never had I mentioned the desire to be baptized let alone the intention of doing it that evening (yes, for those in shock, church met three times a week). It was an important day and it would also be the last day my best friend’s father would be Candelaria Church of Christ’s pulpit minister. Not only would Laura be gone, but also a man I considered a significant part of my life (actually the entire family) and the only one I could ever imagine being involved in such a life-changing event.

Over the years have questioned my real motivation of that night and whether or not I became baptized for the right reason and not just because Bob was leaving. Have witnessed a handful of self-proclaimed Christians becoming baptized again for one reason or another and to be honest, wondered if I should be doing the same. However, I knew I loved the Lord and 40 years later still believe in the same basic principles, so I’d say I’m fine in God’s eyes.

This morning a pretty, young lady was baptized and unlike me, she let her desires be known but waited a week until her father would be home. Charles is a Marine and stationed in Northern California and periodically returns home to be with his family. Shelby not only wanted her dad home to observe this special time, but also to participate by baptizing her. Charles also baptized his son, Marcus, last year.

For some unknown reason, I grew up believing that only a “man of the cloth” could perform this ritual; otherwise, the baptism would be null and void. Actually having your own father dunking your body into that freezing, cold water in the baptistery. What a concept and a great concept at that. Who better than an earthly father turning over his child to the Heavenly Father. Charles is not the first father I have seen do this but did like what he said, “One of the best things you can do--baptize your child.” I was raised in a Bible-believing, God-fearing home and now wish that Dad could have had the privilege that night so many years ago.

Now subject to debate: What if a mother wanted to do the same? Yes, what if Glenda would have liked to baptize Shelby today? Personally, I don’t think God would mind at all.

FAMILY REUNIONS

2008-05-03T17:41:00.000-07:00

How many have you attended over the years? None that I can recall until this past week and it was a double whammy. Dad’s brother was celebrating his 90th birthday and the entire gang was coming from Georgia, Oregon, Texas, Iowa, Michigan, and California to the “Show-Me State.” There would be a family dinner at Steak and Ale on Friday night and a come and go birthday party for friends and family on Saturday afternoon. At the same time there was to be a cousin reunion in the same area on my mother’s side. Mom and Dad said although it would be nice if I would go, it was not necessary; however, it had been a long time since I had seen many of my relatives, probably 40 years to be exact, and their spouses, kids, and grandkids whom I had never met. It would be helpful to my parents and it would be a chance to do something different, so Debbie decided to go and would play chauffeur. Hey, who could turn down an opportunity to take an all-expense-paid vacation?

Mom found a great deal with Southwest Airlines--three round trip, nonstop tickets to Kansas City. Had to rent a car and drive three hours to Springfield, but who could beat the price of $507, not per ticket, but total cost.

It had been at least ten years since I had flown into the wild blue yonder. Never experienced the restrictive airline check-in tedium immediately following 9/11; however, it still was a pain in the butt and decided I’d rather drive anytime, anywhere. Actually packing your liquids in no more than three-ounce containers and putting them into a quart plastic, zip lock bag; removing jackets and shoes; and allowing only one carryon and one smaller personal item.

Woke up at 2:00 am, picked up at 4:15 am, and arrived at LAX long before take off at 6:40 am. To be honest, everything went quite smoothly. Dad was assisted through the security checkpoint in a wheelchair all the way to preboarding. The wait lasted forever and, of course, Dad decided to go to the bathroom right before they started to preboard, and I sat with the luggage. The other lady in the wheelchair boarded as well as an elderly couple and a few parents with their young children. The assistant pilot came out and inquired about Dad. He was still in the bathroom, but I could go ahead and board with the luggage. As I went down the ramp, here came my parents and the assistant pilot took Dad to the plane. Seemed like a long time in the air but finally arrived in Kansas City a few minutes early. Took the shuttle to Hertz and drove out the gate in a KIA Spectra (might be the next car I’ll purchase) down to Springfield. Apparently took the longer route by approximately 40 minutes; however, found the motel, checked in, grabbed some hamburgers at the next door McDonald’s, and crashed. It was a long day and we all were beat. I don’t know…the nerves and anxiety were pumping and somewhat wished I had stayed home and gone to work.

On Friday drove Mom and Dad to Ozark and visited a few of their old stomping grounds.

The first two pictures are where Dad grew up on the farm. No longer the same and now quite exquisite—called Equestrian Estates and beautifully landscaped and filled with one million dollar mansions.

The third picture is where Mom and Dad went to school--Mom from third grade through high school and Dad from sixth grade through high school.

The fourth pic is Garrison Springs where Mom ditched school for her first and only time. It was a shock to all as she was considered the goody, goody girl, at least in comparison to her twin sister, Mary.

We went to the cemetery (it was not Forest Lawn) to pay our respects and for me the first time to visit where both sets of grandparents were laid to rest as well as my mother’s brother, Jim, and several other relatives.

That evening 34 of the Gaither clan met at Steak and Ale to celebrate Uncle Gilbert’s 90th birthday. Strange seeing relatives I’ve never met, some I hadn’t seen since age nine, and the majority not since high school. Unfortunately my uncle is not doing well, heavily medicated and often doesn’t remember who people are--didn’t recognize his big sister when she entered the restaurant.

Saturday was the big day—Mom’s cousin reunion and the come and go birthday party for Uncle G. We met Mom’s side of the family at a small café in Ozark next door to a beautiful gift shop that is owned and operated by two of Mom’s cousins. One of their spouses made some of the jewelry out of old silverware patterns and insisted Mom and I pick out something to take home. Mom chose a necklace with a turquoise stone embedded, pattern dated 1948—the year my parents got married; and I picked a small, simple pattern pair of pierced earrings, but they insisted I select the rare Cupid pattern dated 1880 instead. Beautiful handiwork and a generous offer indeed. Didn’t remember ever meeting anyone before and the majority I had never met. The lunch buffet was nice. Pictures were taken and a PowerPoint presentation was shown of old and recent photos of all the family members. Didn’t realize how many had lived in New Mexico. Very interesting even though at the end I still was confused who was who. It was impossible to be in two places at once and missed part of my uncle’s party but caught the end and stayed several hours past to visit with family and then said our goodbyes. A very hectic day but it didn’t matter how long it had been—we were and always will be family who love each other.

On Sunday went to church and heard my third cousin preach, but he was not the regular preacher. Took Dad to visit his best friend since the sixth grade. Gene was tall and stood erect—no cane, no limp—with all his faculties intact and a great sense of humor. On Monday drove back up to Kansas City, turned in the rental car, and stayed overnight at a hotel near the airport. On Tuesday morning arrived at the airport to discover our nonstop flight had been cancelled and would have to change planes in Phoenix (should have known—everything on this trip had gone too smoothly). Had to play my patience card and alter our pickup arrangements; however, the flight attendant was a jokester, an impressionist and quite entertaining…possibly worth the change in routes. We made it to Phoenix. Caught the next plane and arrived at LAX only 1-1/2 hours later than originally planned

Although wish Dad was more mobile, it does make the flying experience much easier when traveling with someone considered “disabled”—always given priority over other passengers; however, Mom had to keep tipping the hired help. Still, from now on I’ll avoid flying if at all possible. And apparently, we got out of there just in time before the tornadoes came roaring in.

I’VE GOT BAD NEWS

2008-04-07T21:09:00.000-07:00

How did you feel when you read those words? How do you feel when someone says those words to you? I cringe and the heart goes up to my throat, especially when coming from one particular person. Jonathan is notorious for letting those four words be the first to greet me and they have never been at all welcoming.

It’s been nice not having heard them for a while until the cell phone rang and there was Jonathan once again using those dreaded words, “I’ve got bad news” but this time with an added twist—“sort of.” Everything inside ached as I prepared for the worst. It couldn’t be the car—he no longer had one. It couldn’t be a ticket—he had no car to drive. God only knew but whatever it was, it undoubtedly had to do with the all mighty dollar.

“Mom,” Jonathan said, “I got an 88 on my mid-term.” Jonathan had an A+ average, was proud of it and wanted that grade to remain in tact. This from a kid who never gave grades a second thought. This from a kid who would just be satisfied with a passing grade, even if it was a D. Assured my son that he should still be proud, the semester was not over yet, and that his mom was beaming.

Keep this bad news coming.

THE MOODY BLUES

2008-04-04T18:05:00.000-07:00

Not the British rock band, but that sad, melancholy sensation we all experience at different times, at different levels, and for a variety of reasons. Although the roller coaster ride of depression is less prevalent, I’ve felt down in the dumps as of late, but being at work seems to lessen those blahs, which is why I’m not particularly looking forward to being off for Spring break this coming week.

Before leaving for work one morning, read the daily devotional from Power for Today that reminded me of some simple truths that had slipped my mind. In Psalm 143: 8 we read: “Lord, show me your true love this morning. I trust you. Show me the things I should do. I put my life in your hands!” (English Version for the Deaf) Kerry Williams from Florence, Alabama, penned: “He assures us that He knows what is best in our lives and that we can trust Him to carry us. The only question is whether or not we will let go of the wheel, trust Him, and allow Him to take us there.”

Although still feeling somewhat blue, those words have kept my emotions from becoming too overwhelming. Maybe they can help you as well.

FEEDING THE HUNGRY

2008-03-29T15:29:00.000-07:00

You see them roaming the streets, some pushing shopping carts and some in wheelchairs, even the motorized variety. Some are digging through garbage bins. Some are lying on park benches or under overpasses bundled in dirty, unkempt bedding. Some stand on street corners while others sit at the end of major interstate off-ramps. Some walk up in parking lots, fast food drive-thrus or gas stations and ask if you can spare a dime or buy a burger. These are the male and female members of society, young and old alike, who have no place to call their own; God’s unforgotten misfits commonly known as homeless.

Never found it comfortable to render aid especially when requested. My cynical side felt they should spend their time looking for a job instead of sponging off those good-natured souls who would readily oblige. There was no doubt the money would be used for sustenance—in 100 proof liquid form to drink or in a form to inject, snort, or smoke. Why help them feed their habit. Not exactly the best Christian attitude to have but it’s a hard thing to overcome and even the times I helped out those few, that wonderful feeling a person should receive didn’t happen.

I admire those who choose to become involved in homeless ministries, working in shelters, teaching the Word, and volunteering in soup kitchens, especially during holiday times. Difficult breed to be around—filthy appearance, a possible drug addict, alcoholic, schizophrenic, or mentally unbalanced with no ability to pay for necessary medications.

Long Beach started a sack lunch ministry. The bags are filled with nonperishable items such as packaged cookies, crackers, and juices for members to take and have available when approached by someone in need. It relieves the anxiety of giving money. Have a problem with the can of Vienna sausages also inside the sacks because the lid is a viable weapon; however, Steve opined that anything could be grabbed and used, a broken plastic fork for example. Can’t argue with that logic. The church also invested in Bibles to hand out.

I took a sack lunch and Bible and left it in the car for almost two weeks. Thursday afternoon a man with a cardboard sign reading, “Need Help” was sitting on the I-405 off-ramp at the Long Beach Boulevard exit. I rolled down the window and handed him the lunch and Bible. Surprisingly, quite a young, good looking man. He seemed somewhat shocked, said “Thank you” and wished me a good day. I echoed the sentiment; however, words were unnecessary as the eyes and exchanged smiles said it all. What a great feeling as I drove away!

If I were to stop and really analyze these types of situations, this man could easily have been Jonathan many times over if my son didn’t have family members who were willing to assist with his necessities of life. Should stop being so hard nosed and reconsider each situation that crosses my path.

THE WALLS ARE TOO THIN WHEN…

2008-03-22T18:57:00.000-07:00

I’ve seen the scenario numerous times on television sitcoms. Big jokes that produce big laughs.

I’ve lived in my not so humble abode for over two years and recently decided to remain for another three years, or in other words, until I turn 55 and can move into an apartment complex exclusively rented to those 55 and over. Don’t really mind the commute and even with the higher gas prices will still save a considerable amount living in a cheaper apartment that includes all utilities and cable.

Knew the walls were thin when I had to put up with the noisy neighbors who at times were ten in number. It was a red-letter day when they were evicted last summer and a soon-to-be divorced older man (oops, he’s my age) moved in. It’s been relatively quiet except when his almost 20-year younger girlfriend is there who now seems to be a constant fixture. Although not often, I’ve been kept awake or awakened from a peaceful slumber by their domestic disputes. She’s like a screaming banshee. But, hey, is it all that surprising considering the age difference? Sorry…

Last night while watching a taped episode of Lost, heard some strange noises coming from next door; a female voice oohing and aahing, and an “Oh, Mark” in the mix. Must have been a wham, bam, and thank you ma’am moment because it didn’t last too long. Know the layout of that apartment so I definitely could say, “Please take it to the bedroom.” Yep, you know the walls are too thin when you hear your neighbors in the throws of passion.

Think I prefer the screaming.

DREGS OF SOCIETY

2008-03-19T22:14:00.000-07:00

“The wrong things our sinful self does are clear: being sexually unfaithful, not being pure, doing sexual sins…I warn you now like I warned you before: The people who do these things will not be in God’s kingdom.” (Galatians 5:19-21, English Version for the Deaf)

In one of my criminology classes my professor and former FBI agent, Dr. Wirth, discussed the ramifications of committing crimes in certain overseas countries. For example, in Turkey if you were convicted of stealing, a hand was severed. The punishment would seem to fit the crime but not here in the states; it would step on our civil liberties. Imagine the punishment for sexual predators, to me a punishment so befitting the crime (maybe not even strong enough).

A coworker told me about a website developed by John Walsh of America’s Most Wanted. Plug in your address and a registered offender map pops up of the surrounding area with a color-coded legend to follow. Click on one of the squares to see offender information including name, address, photo, description, and conviction(s). You can zoom in to see a more detailed map.

I plugged in my address…WOW…There are two rapists down the street, one child molester across the street, and a 73-year-old man convicted of “288(a) lewd or lascivious acts with child under 14 years” who lives one floor above my parents in the retirement facility next door to the church. Mom’s ears perked up when I told her the news, but now…have a feeling she would rather not know this tidbit of info about her neighbor.

Check it out. Not only will you be fascinated, you might just get the surprise of your life.

wwwFamilyWatchDogus

NOW I’VE SEEN IT ALL

2008-03-16T20:58:00.000-07:00

Driving south down the 405 interstate. Typical heavy morning traffic with much of the congestion attributed to the ever increasing presence of moving vans, semis, tractor trailers, and those pokey commuters in their passenger vehicles who never seem to find their way into the slow moving lanes.

Over the past 3-1/2 months I’ve used commuting as one of many learning tools for improving my patience. For the most part it has been successful but at times, especially in a traffic jam, there is a need to remind myself to remain calm.

Thursday morning one particular vehicle was tying up a seemingly free flowing commute. A Mustang-type vehicle generally seen zipping down any roadway, silver in color with a forest green roof, was crawling down the middle lane.

A touch of annoyance emerged. Figured she (yes, I said “she”) must be talking on her cell phone or doing her makeup; have seen that done many a time. I changed lanes, passed this vehicle and looked to the right. The driver was a female (sorry ladies) with long blonde hair, looking downward and actually reading. Should I give her the benefit of the doubt? Maybe she was studying for a test...

No wonder there is so many accidents.

QUOTE THE RAVEN, “NEVERMORE”

2008-03-08T17:53:00.001-08:00

If I had written this last week, it might have been titled, “Men Are Jerks,” but would not want to offend those I care about who don’t deserve to be labeled the “J” word.

After my first date in 25 years, thought I would at least hear from Ken before his return to Vegas. Nope, and nothing for an entire week. Assumed the worst, felt as if I was left hanging, and I was not about to go away quietly. Sent an e-mail expressing my confusion and my feelings (and by now you know how blunt and candid I can be). Mr. V replied with the same candor. Doubt many men would have responded with such class and openness, at least not the ones I know. Without going into specifics, we have an understanding and there is still a possibility; but no matter what develops, we’ll always be friends.

Sunday morning Geron talked about distractions. After much reflection, I decided that my participation in this concept of internet dating has become more than a consuming affair and have disregarded other areas of importance. E-Harmony automatically renews your subscription (that shouldn’t have come as a surprise), so after I play out the commercial realtor from Newport Beach and the pharmacist from Lakewood, plan to call it quits with this cyberspace pursuit of the heart and just let come what may.

It’s been a frustrating and emotional roller coaster ride, and for a sensitive person who tends to wear her heart on her sleeve and gets overwhelmed when it gets flicked off like a piece of lint, well… Not that I necessarily want to remarry, but maybe Paul had it right: “To the unmarried and the widows I say it is well for them to remain unmarried as I am.” (I Corinthians 7:8, NRSV) Maybe he should have mentioned something about the dating scene.

Internet dating has been successful, and a great guy did enter my life, and as of this morning, date numero dos has been scheduled with Mr. V for this coming week, but no more blogs about matters of the heart. However, if something of earth shattering proportion develops, you, my loyal subjects, will be one of the first to know.

A PROMISE KEPT

2008-02-26T19:38:00.000-08:00

Well, I'm keeping a promise to "My Little Buddy" and writing this with rapid speed, but don't think I'll be shouting it from the rafters. As a matter of fact, not quite sure what to think after the date ended in Costa Mesa at 6:00, and I walked through my apartment door in Long Beach by 6:41.

Have been on pins and needles for several days with great anticipation, anxiety, and downright terror. Cindy even spent Saturday afternoon teaching me the basics of hair styling. It looked great on Sunday, not quite as good on Monday, and after I got through with it last night, not at all the same but it would have to do. Actually forewarned Mr. Vegas not to judge me by the hair (such a pain trying to grow it out all the same length after 30 years of wearing short, layered coiffures).

Don't get me wrong, it was great finally meeting him and had a great time; and you know, the protocol for first-time internet dates, according to e-Harmony, aren't long, drawn out affairs, actually should only be 15 minutes. Of course, not many have waited for three months to meet for the first time and doubt the majority are long distance match ups.

Mr. Vegas was here on business, was tired, and is getting over his battle of that lingering creeping crud that has been going around. To end it early was the right call and should not label it anything more. Such a relaxing time. Such an enjoyable time. We got along. Not sure what he thought afterwards; however, he did say we would talk, and he hugged me up more than once. I gave him a couple of neck massages to relax, and he returned the favor. Had enough voyeurism?

But seriously, it is such a relief to have the first-time meeting behind us and actually don't feel quite as disheartened as I did two hours ago.

HOW THINGS CHANGE

2008-02-20T19:29:00.000-08:00

What a difference a year makes. It doesn’t seem all that long ago when I was bashing the lovers’ holiday known as Valentine’s Day or the annual “Bake Your Sweetheart Out” church celebration that made no sense to attend (or in all honesty who would want to attend) if you didn’t have a sweetheart.

Last Thursday Mr. Vegas e-mailed me and wished me a “Happy VD” (get the joke) and then clarified it. I called him when I got home from work and asked him if he would be my valentine. There was a short hesitation before he said, “Yes” (he was on a bus heading to the airport on his way home from a business trip).

This past Sunday was another in a long line of “Bake Your Sweetheart Out” galas. I really didn’t plan on attending, but Peggy said we would be each other’s valentines (don’t worry, no need for the tongues to wag). You’ve heard about the pie in the face, but the best part of the evening was Geron getting smacked with a small cake from the grand prizewinners for the second year in a row. It was quite an attractive tiered cake. I think retaliation is in the cards.

I wasn’t sure how the emotions would hold up this February in the year 2008. Februarys have been quite difficult since Carl’s death in 2002 and this is the first time the dates have corresponded to the actual days of six years ago. The memories will always be there and have kept my emotions in tact for the most part and have tried not to dwell on it.

Today on the commute home from work a few teardrops fell as I realized that on Wednesday, the 20th, I had to inform the powers that be to have all life support removed, and I stayed the night in Carl’s hospital room for what would be our last night together. Of course, I didn’t get a wink of sleep. Oops, the moisture has found its way down my cheeks once again.

I think Carl would be pleased that I’ve found a way to go on and find someone to fall in love with again. It seems somewhat uncouth (for lack of a better word) that I would be preparing to go on my first date during this time of year; however, I’m not consumed with guilt and feel good about myself and about life in general. Think that alone would put a smile on Carl’s face.

THE DUKE

2008-02-19T18:14:00.000-08:00

I always liked John Wayne. Maybe it stemmed from his appearance on a two-part episode of I Love Lucy. You remember, when Lucy and Ethel stole the cement block containing The Duke's footprints that was in front of Grauman's Chinese Theater. Maybe it was the movies he made with Maureen O'Hara, or the movie McClintock, or possibly the movie True Grit and his nomination as best actor. I was thrilled when his name was called during the 1969 Academy Award ceremony. In my opinion, the older Mr. Wayne got, the handsomer he became.

When I go to bed, I leave the TV on at a low volume to help drown out any noise from the neighbors. I surfed through the channels and there was one of my favorite John Wayne movies--The Shootist (with Lauren Bacall and Ron Howard) about an aging, infamous gunslinger who tries to come to terms with his impending death from cancer. What made this movie most extraordinary for me--John Wayne was also battling cancer and this would be his last movie. Touching. Poignant. Tearjerking. It couldn't have been scripted any better.

(PS - Mr. E, if the date goes great I'll want to shout it from the rafters; however, I promise no matter what happens to write a blog posthaste.)

WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?

2008-02-18T17:23:00.000-08:00

Wasn’t sure what to title this piece. There were so many choices—Irony, Just a Coincidence, Somebody is Trying to Tell You Something; Kind of Creepy. Many people believe certain circumstances are callings from God. Many people wonder if their circumstances in life are meant to be. Prayers are offered up for all kinds of reasons. How does one really know when it’s the real deal?

Soon my three-month subscription to e-Harmony will expire. The majority of my matches were closed due to proximity or failure to communicate. Forgot how frustrating relationships can be and the fluctuation of emotions—feeling up in the beginning of the week and down and depressed toward the end. The last time I reported on the challenges of internet dating, my hope about Mr. Vegas had dwindled. Well, we are still communicating and started talking on the phone two months ago; however, until recently, it was a roller coaster ride of emotions for me and it was necessary to accept that I was not a priority and unsure what rank I was on his list of importance; but things have seemed different this past week. The man is extremely busy and although he has an optimistic outlook on life, he’s much more cautious than me; however, from the outset Ken did say the worse case scenario--we would become friends; to me the start of any great relationship.

We still have not met but next week that will change when Ken comes to Orange County on business. We get along fabulously communicating in writing and on the phone, but he keeps reminding me that eyeball to eyeball will be the test and there may not be any vibes. No, no pressure here, folks. Just makes you want to get a complete makeover--facelift, nose job, hair transplant, boob job, and have the teeth capped. For me there’s no doubt that my feelings will become stronger, but my pessimistic side thinks he’ll just walk away…To say I’m very scared and nervous would be an understatement. Guess it’s do or die time.

In a past blog I alluded to the fact that Carl did a great impersonation of Donald Duck, in my opinion, one of the best. Actually, Donald was Carl’s alter ego and it was as if I had lost two great loves when Carl died.

Last week Mr. Vegas and I were talking about his coming down, and he said there was someone who wanted to talk to me. There was a hesitation and the voice on the other end became Donald Duck. There was silence. Can’t describe it, but I was at a loss for words. It seemed as if Donald had become resurrected. Don’t like keeping secrets, but this might be the one truth that will stay buried. Told a friend who admitted she would have hung up. Jonathan, who for a 22-year-old has kept me grounded and given me great relationship advice, called it “creepy.”

Well, is it irony, coincidence, or is somebody trying to tell me something?

INFIDELITY

2008-02-16T16:40:00.000-08:00

Blatantly portrayed on the silver screen and boob tube. Sensationalized in media print. But it's what sells tickets, newspapers, and best-selling novels. It makes hit TV shows and soap operas are one of the worst, but we still sit and watch. There can be no happy couples or monogamous relationships. Why? Because it is considered boring. Never could understand why spouses cheat and have only known a few people who have experienced such a betrayal of trust.

Mary was a student worker in the office last semester and now is volunteering a couple of hours every day to get some medical office experience to help in her pursuit of a medical assistant career. She is married with two young children.

Mary came to work Thursday and quickly disappeared, but her backpack was still on the floor. I was too busy to have observed anything out of the ordinary. Kept working and Pat told me what was wrong and that Mary was talking to one of the psych interns and would probably be a while. Mary found out her husband slept with her sister. I was taken aback as well as disgusted. Talk about a double whammy.

Now, how could that possibly be a forgivable offense? Like I said before, I just don't understand.

Please keep Mary in your prayers.

OPEN MOUTH, INSERT FOOT

2008-02-02T17:04:00.000-08:00

I'm sure, like me, you've done it many times--after certain words, phrases, and comments come trickling out of your mouth, you want to go crawl into a hole. Luckily, I can't remember most of my faux pas, but unfortunately I committed another boo boo.

Doing laundry on an early Saturday morning to beat the crowd; necessary when there are just two washers and dryers and only one washer working on this particular day. My neighbor had the same idea but would have to wait.

Although never had talked to Mark in depth, I knew he was divorced, and he could have been instrumental in landing me an administrative position with the Jewish association around the corner if I wasn't already working at the college.

Mark related that he had a 13-year-old son and a 19-year-old daughter who attends college. Admitted I had seen his son on occasion as well as his daughter. "No," Mark said, "that probably was my girlfriend." He kept talking quite casually about it--a 19-year age difference--he is 51 and she is 32. I just wanted to disappear and was glad when Mark left.

The more I thought about it, the more incensed I became and somewhat got a bee in my bonnet, enough to consider writing a blog on those relationships known as "May-December" romances, but probably would have stepped on some people's toes.

No wonder seasoned women have trouble finding a man.

FEEDING THE FLOCK

2008-01-12T10:37:00.000-08:00

For many people this phrase always connotes a shepherd who takes care of his sheep. This association is used in the Old Testament to describe God:
"He will feed his flock like a shepherd..." (Isaiah 40:11) and
"As shepherds seek out their flocks when they are among their scattered sheep, so I will seek out my sheep." (Ezekiel 34:12); and in the New Testament to describe Christ:
"I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep." (John 10:11) and "My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me." (John 10:27).
This phrase also refers to those individuals (also known as bishops, overseers, or elders) who tend to members of the church:
"Keep watch over us and over all the flock, of which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers, to shepherd the church..." (Acts 20:28) and
"...exhort the elders among you to tend the flock of God that is in your charge..." (I Peter 5:1-2).
Also, many sermons have been preached about the qualifications of the elders, listed in I Timothy 3:1-7, especially when a church is preparing to install additional men to this designation.

When growing up, I considered an elder of the church an old geezer who lacked a funny bone. In later years I came to realize that many of these men indeed had a great sense of humor but were quite stoic in a public assemblage. The two main churches of Christ I attended (one in NM and one in TX) would be considered enormous compared to California standards. Elders were expected to know each and every member--not an easy task. It was also felt that these leaders were responsible for everything and although I don't remember the accoulades, they sure were attacked for everything that went wrong; making a person muse, "Why would anybody want to hold such a position?"

Since attending church at Long Beach, my opinion has somewhat changed. The majority of the eldership is near my age (I can't be that old), so I can no longer in good conscience deem a church overseer as an old fuddy-duddy. Long Beach is blessed to have four very hard working, personable elders who are not intimidated to show their humorous side in front of the congregation. Will not try to show too much partiality, but here is my characterization of the four:

1) Chuck--a very caring man who has endured a rough life and overcame personal addictions to become a very knowledgeable, serious student of the Word.

2) Jim--the most reserved of the group (at least in front) who is a very dedicated, dependable man with a great tenor voice who doesn't give himself enough credit, but whose daughter I absolutely adore and would be proud to call my own.

3) Bruce--a sensible, loving man with tremendous devotion for the youth; a comedic genius with great one liners who should take his act on the road. Last, but certainly not least,

4) Steve--a great teacher with incredible musical talent, including voice, who always has something to say and is not afraid to say it. In my unbiased opinion, an absolute nut who with bushier hair and beard is probably not the ideal picture one would have of a church elder.

There are also four lovely, spiritual women who should be applauded just for putting up with these clowns. But seriously, Judy, Marilyn, Wanda, and Laura not only support their husbands but work laboriously behind the scenes.

The position of elder is unglamorous, time consuming, takes away from family life, and has no monetary compensation. It attracts blame, criticism, and insults. Instead of finding fault, we should admire and respect those who willingly accept this challenge and strive to do what they think is best for their flock.

[NOTE: I mistakenly gave Beth Moore a new name in my last blog. That’s what I get for relying on my memory.]

HAPPY NEW YEAR

2008-01-03T18:36:00.000-08:00

Another year has come and gone. Time for making new year's resolutions and a time for remembering those resolutions blown from the year just past. We should always strive for improvement, but in the year 2008, I don't particularly feel the need to profess any resolutions or eat the traditional black-eyed peas to guarantee a great coming year.

Although I didn't accomplish those goals set a year ago, 2007 turned out quite well. Cleaned out a lot of my baggage and after studying Beth Moreland's "Believing God" series, realized there were three issues facing me that I had trouble believing would ever transpire--1) finding a job I could be content in; 2) Jonathan making it through life and finally being at peace; and 3) finding love that will be right for me.

As you already know, I found that job. Actually can say I love the job and, yes, even though neither my passion nor related to my degree, I am content. And working only two weeks and getting off three with pay, well, hey.....

Have struggled with Jonathan for awhile. He's literally wasted four years of his life, and to admit that I was fearful of his fate would be an understatement. However, 2008 will be the beginning of a new phase in Jonathan's life. Jonathan has agreed to get an associate degree from a local community college in San Diego County. Can't say enough what a blessing my parents have been in my life. They have stood by me, tried to encourage me and gave me excellent advice (which many times my stupidity hindered me from taking), and financially supported me and Jonathan on numerous occasions. Mom and Dad have agreed to pay for Jonathan's schooling, room, and board as long as he finishes with passing grades. Everyone wants Jonathan to succeed. Don and Nat even showed their support by giving Jonathan a Mac laptop for Christmas. School will be the main focus; a job secondary. Jonathan is now renting a studio adjacent to a nice family residence in close proximity to the campus. This is Jonathan's last chance, and he knows it, and finally has the desire and determination to do what is expected and complete something started.

To find love in cyberspace may not be the best option, but it seems to be successful for many couples. Although that hopefulness about Mr. Vegas has dwindled, there are still many positive aspects to internet dating. Mmm, and they say women are hard to figure out and understand.

Well, two out of three ain't bad.

WHEN IT RAIN, IT POURS

2007-12-24T17:58:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-22T12:56:00.001-08:00

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

2007-12-21T17:13:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-17T17:59:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-08T18:00:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-27T16:52:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-25T18:53:00.000-08:00

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!

2007-11-20T19:39:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-13T17:21:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-10T11:42:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-01T18:42:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-25T18:12:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-14T16:16:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-08T19:39:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-05T18:49:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-01T19:08:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-25T19:16:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-23T17:59:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-20T16:53:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-14T20:01:00.000-07:00

“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…

2007-09-13T19:09:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-09-11T18:59:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-07T18:39:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-31T20:00:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-28T19:32:00.000-07:00

(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

2007-08-23T11:00:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-07T17:09:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-24T17:49:00.000-07:00

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)

INCONVENIENCES

2007-07-22T20:05:00.000-07:00

How often do things go the way you want or the way you had planned? Would guess that the majority would say seldom. Nobody likes to be inconvenienced but it seems to REALLY BUG me to the point I want to blow, especially when those inconveniences pile up on the same day.

The Metro Rail. Oh, it’s what it claims--gets you there fairly quickly, lets you avoid bumper to bumper traffic, runs pretty consistently without much waiting, reasonably priced, and several stations have free parking. What you don’t know until your first experience--that free parking has very limited spaces; the rest park on the street and how far away, depends on the time of day (hey, that rhymes). The seating--standing room only. More people board than get off and it’s a game of musical chairs at each stop--a mad rush to get the empty seats. Was relatively quiet until a man who was standing decided to preach to everybody within hearing capacity of our compartment. Fire and brimstone material, without the yelling, with Bible verses quoted. The guy didn’t miss a beat; no hesitation, and I looked around to see if he was reading a script. None. Have a feeling this individual does this on a regular basis. No wonder so many people ride--there are no security or checking systems to see whether everybody has paid.

Worked at the downtown LA Convention Center for four days, two of those days ten hours each and getting home at 9:00pm. Arrived in plenty of time and walked around to find the area we would be located. Sat for a while and then called the boss at the time she was to be there. Of course, she was still at the office in Orange County. Can’t say I was surprised. She is always late to the office and lives within walking distance.

Some of the rides were more relaxing than others because there was plenty of seating, but Saturday was the worse. The tracks between two stations were being repaired which meant getting off the train and taking a bus to the next station and catching the next train to go to your destination. Had I known that ahead of time, would have made other arrangements, meaning I just would not have worked (spent about three hours time round trip and only worked four). A homeless gal sat there with her bus pass and cart full of her belongings and felt somewhat sorry for her until I caught a glimpse of the empty Bacardi bottle in the mix. Also on this Saturday decided the majority of the commuters are either drunks, sluts, foul-mouth psychos, or ill-mannered teens (although felt it at the time, this is somewhat of an exaggeration, but it makes for more interesting reading). Yes, public transportation does seem to entertain and you can expect the unexpected.

However, after four days of this I will not get a job in downtown LA and drive or commute by train or any other means of public transportation.

HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - PART 14

2007-07-12T11:49:00.000-07:00

Back to my hometown. Back to the place Carl and I started our lives together. Back to Jonathan’s place of birth. As we near the city, traces of a recent March snowfall still covered some areas of the ground. It had been 12 years since we left (Jonathan was 3). What a change. Albuquerque was already considered the biggest metropolis in the state but the tiny northwest side of town was now a city all its own. Came to town with a full blown cold (haven’t had one since). Got some spicy chicken soup from a Greek restaurant. A miracle cure--it literally burned the cold right out of me.

The first order of business was to enroll Jonathan back into school. Grew up on the NE side and thought it would be great if Jonathan attended my high school alma mater and found an apartment in the same school zone. What a weird feeling walking on campus after 28 years. Had played tennis on the outside courts many times since graduating but never had stepped inside the compound. Don’t think Jonathan was all that thrilled but there was a twinge of excitement for me while entering the administrative office. Pulled out his records and all the information required for enrollment and was dumbfounded when told that the three months of home school made Jonathan’s first semester of high school in California null and void. In the opinion of the New Mexico Department of Education, Jonathan was still considered an 8th grade student and could not enroll in the Albuquerque Public School system. All the arguments in the world weren’t going to change the results. They gave me some phone numbers to call to make arrangements for alternative types of schooling. What a fiasco! Doubt we could have screwed up life more if we had planned it.

We were fortunate to find the first technology-based charter school of its kind in New Mexico that just opened up and even in close proximity to home. This school focused on individual needs, used computers as the main tool for instruction, and was certified as a college preparatory institute. At least the education problems seemed to be resolved for the moment. Jonathan could get credit for work study so he got a job as a waiter with a Marriott retirement facility just up the street from our apartment complex.

Saw an advertisement in the classified section regarding manager teams for self-storage facilities. Replied, interviewed, and Carl and I were the onsite management team for the Storage USA facility just ½ mile from where I grew up and across the street from Jonathan’s new school. Everything seemed to be falling into place. Our living quarters above the office had a huge kitchen with lots of cabinet space with a view of the city lights on one side and a view of the Sandia Mountains on the other. The living room was even big enough to hold a brand new pool table, not my choice, but soon learned to love playing. All we had to do was walk down the stairs to the office (once you do that or get a job within walking distance, nothing else compares). Didn’t mind the job and were given somewhat autonomy. But there must be something about first days on the job for me. Had a run in with one of the tenants. Part of the job involves collecting rent and if payments aren’t made--foreclosure process is followed. No phone number for the tenant but found a number in his file for a contact person. Called and left a message. The tenant called our District Manager (Mike) and wanted me fired. The history of this tenant--always late with payment to the point where his storage unit will be auctioned off. Mike appeased this “gentleman.” I met the guy and learned how to handle him. He was a timebomb ready to snap. Yep, this tenant was going to be a literal pain in the butt! Also became the self-storage police and had a tenant evicted for running a business in his unit which was against company policy. (He only had been doing it for two years but no one seemed to care until yours truly.)

Carl dealt with the maintenance and sales aspect of the position, and I pretty much ran the office. We made a great team and always considered Carl the best at dealing with people, but never did give myself much credit for anything. Mike came into the office to do his monthly observation and commented about one of Carl’s telephone conversations with a potential customer. Mike was amazed and said it sounded as if Carl was talking to his best friend.

Although living just across the street from school, it was like pulling teeth trying to get Jonathan to be on time. He was finding it difficult to even go and would feign sickness quite often. (It’s funny how he recovered after school was over and well enough to go to work. Although there was a basketball team, Jonathan hated to play with a "bunch of losers" so soon ended his association. Luckily the administrative staff was supportive in our attempts to want Jonathan in school and made him sign a contract--either buckle down or there was the door.

One of the tenants brought a couple of lab pups into the office. So adorable and decided to go to the facility in the mountain area that bred these gorgeous creatures. In the past had looked at animal shelters but never found the right one. Learned from a PBS program the proper technique of choosing the right one--lie on back and if doesn’t squirm (the dog, not the potential owner); raise your hand and if doesn’t flinch. There were several to pick from and chose the cutest male white lab. Went to the pet store and bought all the paraphernalia that goes with the territory. It was around Christmas time so Jonathan bought a little red doggie hat to mark the occasion. Decided a classy name for a classy canine would be appropriate so we chose Dante. The first day let Dante loose inside to roam. He stopped by the kitchen chair--SQUAT… Then made his way underneath the pool table--SQUAT. That night Dante whined and whined and whined. The crate was a mess--newspapers torn up and alleviation throughout. Cleaned the crate and decided to put Dante down into the office hallway but still could hear the whining. I sat with him for a while and decided to try the same technique as used for babies--leave alone and let them cry themselves to sleep. Still couldn’t sleep so went back downstairs. The crate was a mess again so decided to release the prisoner and let him roam the hallway the rest of the night and would deal with the mess in the morning. I didn’t have the patience of Job and after a few nights of this just couldn’t handle it anymore (had enough on my plate) and knew I would be the one who would end up doing all the work anyway. So Carl had the honors of returning Dante. It was a tearful goodbye.

A majority of companies offer counseling benefit assistance to employees and their families. Having difficulties with Jonathan and decided to get therapy as a family and one on one. Discussed my history of depression and eating disorders. The doc believed it to be a chemical imbalance and could prescribe some antidepressants. Ain’t gonna happen and didn’t want it changing my metabolism so for now chose to just use talk therapy. Completed our limited sessions and she would continue to “treat” me for a price or could recommend some other therapists. Should come as no surprise that I chose not to continue.

Came back to the church I knew so well but it was no longer the same. There was a split during our 12-year absence and the majority of the members scattered and not just to other churches of Christ. Just glad I wasn’t there to see it transpire. Although tried to go regularly at least on Sunday morning, attendance was somewhat sporadic. Periodically Carl, Jonathan, and I had to work or the aftermath of Carl’s insulin reactions.

The two-year looming dread of kidney failure was now a reality and dialysis was a necessity. In preparation took Carl to the hospital every week to receive either blood transfusions or iron shots. Acquired all the pertinent information regarding dialysis procedures to be done and choices to make and getting on the transplant list (seem to recall it was a seven-year wait). Carl would get extremely cold and stayed in the office standing in the sun a majority of the days. My brother and sister-in-law came for a visit and had front row seats to one of Carl’s reactions and acknowledged their new found appreciation for what I had endured over the last 17 years. Very scary for the first-time observer.

Carl hated his plight more and more each week. The poking and prodding and hours lying on a bed receiving numerous pints of anonymous donors’ blood through an IV. One of the final procedures to be done was a echocardiogram or in layman’s terms, heart echo. The doctor wanted to notate any fluid build up around the area. It was the end of the week, and Carl didn’t want to go so it was rescheduled for Monday afternoon.

Carl became exceedingly tired and seemed to walk at a snail’s pace one Sunday afternoon. After church got Carl to rest while Jonathan and I went downstairs to the office. We heard a thud and ran upstairs. Carl had become light headed and fell out of his chair but seemed all right.

Started out as a typical Monday morning--exercising, getting ready for work, and fixing breakfast. Carl was sluggish and it took Jonathan’s prodding to get him to come to the table. My concentration of pouring the OJ was interrupted by Jonathan’s shouts of “Dad!” Carl’s head was slumped backwards; eyes affixed. Told Jonathan to call 9-1-1 as I pulled Carl down to the floor. The paramedics came and transported him to the ER, and we followed shortly thereafter.

It was a long wait and the doctors filed in and out of the room numerous times. Carl’s heart had stopped five times and was comatose (there was a lot of fluid around the heart). That night the neurologist advised that if Carl were to come out of the coma, he would be in a vegetative state. There was no hope. In the beginning of the year one of our tenants who was a lawyer composed living wills for us. It had never occurred to me it would be used so soon in our lives. Carl’s sister, Donna, flew out, Mom and Dad drove down, and many friends came from the church. They were my lifeline. Jonathan felt uncomfortable in the hospital environment and was quite stoic throughout the entire incident. The doctors tried dialysis to see if there would be any improvement but no luck. After a few days life support was disconnected and Carl died within 15 minutes with Donna and me in the room holding on to each other. Kissed Carl goodbye and walked out of the hospital with legs wobbling like bowls of strawberry jello and teeth chattering as if stuck in the Alaskan snow. Sorrow and heartache as never experienced.

A member of the church employed at one of the main mortuaries in town made sure all arrangements were done as requested. Decided on cremation and a memorial service at the church. Mom always thought it would be more difficult having a funeral at church instead of the funeral home, but our lives together started here; it made sense that it should end here as well. Family and friends came to pay their respects, even several teens from the youth group came in support of Jonathan. Most people didn’t know about Carl’s artistic side and received many favorable comments about the drawings we displayed out in the foyer along with some other memorabilia. Odies flew in to sing solo (as he did at our wedding), but he felt odd doing it at a funeral so lead the audience in a few songs instead.

I am a solver and try to find reasons for why things happen in my life, whether right or wrong; otherwise, nothing seems to make sense. Think it has helped me to keep going. Doubt it was a coincidence that we returned to the place I knew the best surrounded by life-long friends who would be my biggest support group. Some of those individuals who came to the memorial service were former members who hadn’t stepped foot inside that building since the split and those who could not bring themselves to go back personally dropped by to see me. Even old time friends who had lost touch for years became reacquainted.

There was a meeting for all the management teams in New Mexico the day before Carl died. Obviously, I was not in attendance, but Mike told me the room was full of tears. Thought I was going to lose my job because Carl and I were hired as a team (as was done at the retirement facility except under different circumstances). Mike and someone from the corporate office came by to assure me that my position was secure and to take as much time as needed. Worked one more month and resigned. Living and working in the same place did have one drawback--no daily break from the memories.

[You can read my blog of 2/24/07, “Death Call” for a more extensive look at the last few months of Carl’s life.]

Packed up and returned to the place Jonathan knew the best--Austin. Moved in with my parents, and Jonathan could go to the high school a few blocks up the street. Went to California to scatter Carl’s ashes in the ocean. Since Don (my brother) and Donna (Carl’s sister) lived in California, my parents felt it a good idea to relocate and after some searching, it was Murrieta or Oceanside. Mom and Jonathan wanted Murrieta (Mom liked the concept of a brand new house). Dad and I wanted Oceanside. (There was nothing in Murrieta.) The ocean won out. My parents put their house up for sale and bought one in Oceanside where Jonathan would be attending the same high school he started in the 9th grade. (I thought that would be easier for him; however, should have listened to my son--he wanted something new, but thought I knew better. And just think if we had chosen Murrieta--would now be in closer proximity to a certain family, but then again, it’s doubtful we ever would have moved to Long Beach and never would have met them in the first place.)

What a whirlwind! Oh, by the way, the original owners of the house in Oceanside--Tony Hawk’s parents.

(to be continued)

ANOTHER NEW FOUND RESPECT

2007-07-04T19:47:00.000-07:00

[Well, as you can see I still haven’t continued with my “therapy” and hopefully can post something before the week’s end. Dad’s still in the hospital and contracted a urinary tract infection but is on the road to recovery. All the thoughts and prayers we have received are very much appreciated. Why is it that hospital patients seem to become sicker than when they were admitted? But having hung around for the last 2-½ weeks, doesn’t surprise me. Not at all the sterile place it claims to be. Could be considered the least sanitary with the possible exception of the sewer.]

Besides people who live in their automobiles, also have a new found respect for those who work nights and graveyard shifts. On Monday I started a new job as an Ad Production Typist (wish I could say Editor in Chief) for the LA Times. It’s a temporary part-time position for at least six months with the hours of 8:00pm - 1:00am. Seemed doable and wouldn’t have to mess with traffic. By the time I arrived home and in bed could get a decent five hours of sleep and arise what still would be considered early for most people.

All of the ads have to be completed before anyone can leave no matter if it’s after your scheduled time to be off. The last two nights I’ve been getting home at 4am (the time when my alarm usually went off). I’m not having any trouble staying awake at work or even driving home. Feel tired but my eyes are opened wide as if on a caffeine high (and don’t drink coffee or eat much chocolate). Unfortunately, can’t seem to sleep more than three hours and trying to take naps are useless. Have been told that in time the body will become regulated to this new schedule. Hopefully that is true; otherwise, I’ll soon be dead on my feet.

DAD

2007-06-26T17:53:00.000-07:00

[Sorry about the long break but for those who don’t know, Dad has had some major health problems and is still in the hospital. I will try to get back to my “therapy session” (or as it seems--my autobiography) soon and I’m sure you are more than ready for the conclusion as I am to finish writing it. I’ve rarely been on the computer and have had somewhat of a writer’s block of late.]

In April, Dad’s bypass was postponed because the doctors discovered he was anemic. After several weeks of testing, the reason for the blood loss was due to a mass on his colon, along with numerous polyps. When I picked up my parents from the doctor’s office, both were somber. “Guess it runs in the family,” Dad blurted out as he got into the car. As we drove along, asked, “Well…” There was silence, followed by hesitations. Knew it couldn’t be good news. Mom said that we would talk about it when we got home. Although only a mile from office to home, the tears started to fall. That dreaded “c” word was now the new focal point and the doctors were not overly optimistic.

Dad was scheduled to have a CT scan in preparation for colon surgery last week. A few days prior Dad was extremely weak, had difficulty maneuvering, had little appetite and no interest in the “boob tube,” a sure sign to me that Dad was depressed. While observing Dad eating dinner last Monday night, it reminded me when Carl had insulin reactions. Thought he had a stroke. The paramedics took Dad to the ER and an angiogram showed that Dad had suffered a heart attack.

Although considered a “mild” attack, the lower lobe of the heart was pretty well kaput, and according to the specialists, Dad’s case was very difficult. Doing a bypass would not be advisable because of the blood issues--can’t put a patient on blood thinners when said patient is losing blood; and can’t attach necessary medical devices to the lower lobe when it is already severely damaged. The bypass issue was addressed two years ago when it was discovered that Dad’s arteries were over 90% blocked but too far gone to have stents inserted; however, someone Dad’s age only had a 50/50 chance of success, and he also had other health issues, and to be blunt, Dad just didn’t want to have it done. Dad has always said he would rather live one year of enjoyment (meaning eat what you want) versus two years of misery.

According to one of the nurses, Dad has had the “A Team” consulting on his case. Dad has to give his heart a rest before any medical procedure can be performed. Modern technology has changed over the last two years and now the plan is to stent the arteries as much as possible using several different techniques and the senior heart specialist will be on call to insert a pacemaker--outer or inner whichever the need. Of course, nothing really is for certain until the surgery is being performed. Still awaiting Dr. W’s return and hopefully some procedure will be performed before the end of this week. Then it will be back to focusing on the possibility of colon cancer.

Dad is still very weak and doesn’t have much of an appetite. But who does with hospital food, especially when it’s low sodium, fat, and cholesterol. He’ll have to change his diet and know Dad’s not going to be happy.

On a side note, I have a new found respect for people who live in their automobiles. Have passed by a few on my early morning jaunts but never really know the circumstances. My neighbors were evicted from their apartment for lack of payment and are moving out. Wouldn’t you know they decided to start at 10:00 last night and the U-Haul was parked below my bathroom window, with slamming doors and periodic yelling. Tried to sleep with high fan blowing and TV on but just tossed and turned. Got dressed, grabbed my keys and headed toward my car that is parked in the church lot. Tried to get comfortable and should have worn my sweats (much colder outside than in my apartment). Did manage to fall asleep but woke up and went back to my apartment to go to the bathroom. They were still at it!!!!!!!! It was 12:30. Decided to try and ignore the noise and luckily fell sound asleep until time to get up. Have a feeling I’ll be faced with the same situation again tonight. Lived next door to them for 1-½ years and they always do what they want, whenever they want with no consideration for anybody else. Although they are nice, and I like them, can't say I'll hate to see them go.

HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - PART 13

2007-06-15T18:59:00.000-07:00

It seemed like a bad dream but the effects were real. Dejection and discouragement, melancholy, and the falling of an already low self-esteem; like a balloon that had been deflated. Lived in Vista and the same problems still followed. Carl having even more difficulty controlling his blood sugars, Jonathan not too happy about his surroundings, and me back to focusing on the planning and preparation of our daily meals and the exercise regimen.

Carl went back to work for Marie Callender’s where he had been employed while living in Austin, and I went to work for the school district. Jonathan started the 9th grade at the high school across the street. Didn’t care for the three C of Cs in the area, so started attending an evangelical covenant church located in the Albertson’s shopping center within walking distance from our apartment complex. The musical direction, even with a band, was inspiring and the sermons were geared toward the present and made for easy listening. Afterwards Jonathan could even tell you what the sermon was about.

In the apartment complex our neighbors had a golden retriever, Sunshine. She was a sweet dog and very well trained. Susie was pregnant and also had a little girl and said Jonathan was welcome to walk Sunshine at any time. Jonathan did it half heartedly and with not as much regularity as I would have expected.

One afternoon Carl took Sunshine out. He was gone for quite some time. There was a knock on the door. It was Dean, our manager, who also lived below us. Carl was having some problems and was at the front of the complex waiting for the paramedics. I hurried over and met the driver that stopped after seeing Carl staggering and falling down. He also got another neighbor to give him some orange juice and called for assistance. This man’s profession--a former paramedic who was the editor of the Journal of Emergency Medical Services. Said he was fascinated how this golden retriever stayed by Carl’s side the entire time--they both were sitting and Carl had his arm around her. Dean’s daughter recognized Carl and Sunshine and went to tell her dad to get me.

After the paramedics were ready to leave, Carl stood up and couldn’t walk. They took him to the ER. At the time the closest hospital (5 miles) was only accepting life threatening cases so, of course, had to go to the hospital in Escondido which was 12 miles away. Carl fractured his leg in three places and was going to be out of commission for a couple of months. Carl explained that even with all his confusion, he just wanted to hold on to Sunshine and keep her safe. Actually I think Sunshine was protecting Carl. After all the tests were done in the ER, it was advised that Carl see a specialist regarding his kidneys. The doc reaffirmed what the nephrologist said in Austin and gave us information about transplants and dialysis. Besides full cast, Carl started having fainting episodes and had to be careful when sitting up for long periods of time.

Jonathan made it through a semester of high school before Carl took a promotion as assistant manager and relocated to Santa Barbara. Home schooled Jonathan for a while but the cost of living was too high. (I must be crazy--didn’t care for Santa Barbara at all.) Packed up and headed to Albuquerque to decide whether to stay there or return to Austin. Guess one thing could be said--our lives were not boring.

(to be continued)

HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - PART 12

2007-06-13T17:42:00.000-07:00

Carl and I had an opportunity to work together as comanagers at a retirement facility in Riverside. During the interview we had discussed the possibility of putting Jonathan into boarding school but were not certain. Jim didn’t seem concerned. When we got the offer, I again reiterated the fact about boarding school and what if Jonathan didn’t go. Jim said he could stay with us permanently. Verified my understanding by asking Jim, “You mean that if Jonathan doesn’t go to boarding school, he can stay with us permanently?” Jim said, “That’s what I’m saying.” We jumped at the chance of working together. Also wouldn’t have to worry quite as much about Carl since we’d be together almost 24/7.

We lived onsite and worked four 12-hour days and ate in the dining room twice a day during work. On our days off we could get food from the kitchen and usually went out to dinner at Sizzler. Loved the job. Worked part of the time in the office and the rest of the time in the dining room/kitchen or attending resident meetings or “walking the beat.” Jonathan even got a job as a kitchen helper. Carl gave the announcements during meal times and had to go out of town to attend his mother’s funeral (Carl would be dead two years later). When Carl was gone, I had to give the announcements and am not much of a public speaker but was proud of the results and the residents seemed to appreciate my delivery.

Loved the residents, especially Mildred, a gal in her 90s who reminded me of my grandmother. She could resolve any situation and whip everybody into line, and I started adding “Sergeant” to her name. But did have a run in with one in particular during the first week. Part of the job required pouring coffee during meal times and filled up this lady’s cup. She chewed me up and cussed me out, and I quietly retreated. Later learned that she had Alzheimer’s, and I knew there would be more interesting days ahead.

Overall I functioned quite well in this type of atmosphere and had a voracious appetite. There was a running joke around the corporation that all managers should only own inflatable furniture because of the constant relocating. Jim and Mary had to move to another facility and had us move into their apartment adjacent to the office not only in order to have extra room for Jonathan, but he thought we would eventually become the managers.

In came Art and Naomi, temporary managers who only would be staying until they were shipped out to Oklahoma. They had caused an uprise at another facility (apparently not the first) and one of the residents was the mayor’s mother. The district manager told Carl and me to keep an eye out and to call if there were any problems. Art was not to change anything. Couldn’t figure out why they were still employed with the company. Art started changing everything from no walkers in the dining room to no removing food from the dining room and didn’t want us coming into the kitchen on our days off. Residents were upset--here we go again. Called Linda. She would take care of it. Even called Jim who tried to give us reassurance. Linda had a meeting with the residents to assuage their concerns (she did it with lies).

Jim came down and talked to us and asked if Jonathan was going to go to boarding school. Jim seemed surprised he wasn’t going and pretty much said Jonathan couldn’t stay with us. Apparently Jim’s “permanently” meant until the end of the school year (sure it did) but thought something could be worked out as was done in another facility. Jim said that many of the managers didn’t understand why Art was still around either (he must have something on somebody). Art was two-faced and by the way he talked behind closed doors you could tell he had no concern or compassion for these people. When Art came in the room, Carl and I asked how we were doing. The response was quite favorable. Over the next two weeks there were secret meetings that didn’t include Carl and me. You just knew something was wrong.

Two weeks later Art gave us our evaluation--unsatisfactory on all fronts. It would be putting it mildly to say I was devastated. Never had a bad evaluation (and believe me I’ve had many jobs). Carl saw my face; saw my reaction and got upset. Didn’t understand. Asked for examples and got excuses. Words were exchanged between Carl and Art. Carl moved in closer and Art backed up and the wives tried to calm their husbands. Art also said we would have to move back into the other apartment during our days off (we had made plans to be out of town) and when the school year ended Jonathan could no longer live with us; otherwise, … (you get the picture). More words were exchanged. Carl said Jonathan was not leaving and refused to move on our days off. Art said he would then have to fire us. Carl got in Art’s face and dared Art to fire him. Art took the dare. I thought Carl was going to deck the guy (know it took everything he had not to).

The door to the office and our apartment was bolted, we were banned from entering the facility, couldn’t say anything to the residents, and given one week to get out. Probably the most humiliating time of my life. So out of character for Carl, but you could say he was defending my honor. Now, how could you not love this man!

Some of the residents could see us packing the U-Haul and we told them flat out the real reason--not the lies being told. They were upset to say the least. I can honestly say Art was the first individual I utterly despised who I thought was the devil incarnate. Must have been a conspiracy theory--trying to get us to quit after finding out Jonathan would be staying for fear of a lawsuit for misrepresentation or discrimination. Who knows. So, what did I learn from this experience--always cover your back by documenting everything, keeping records, and tape recording all conversations. And in case you were wondering, no, I still have yet to do those things. What can I say? I had to leave my second favorite job.

Jonathan wanted to stay in Riverside. He was doing well in school and looking forward to going to high school with his new found friends. We wanted to leave and went down to North San Diego County. Jonathan lost out again.

(to be continued)

HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - PART 11

2007-06-12T18:51:00.000-07:00

While living in Austin I was fortunate to have worked over eight years at the health department with decent pay, great benefits and convenience store name hours--7 to 11 (both a.m., folks). Also attended a church that was considered by some the most liberal church of Christ in town. Went on a regular basis, meaning three times a week including monthly small group meetings on Sunday nights. Also had monthly potlucks after the morning service. It was difficult for me to do especially the small group. The Bible study was great but the problem was the “breaking of bread” time. Either told people I wasn’t hungry or ate very little. The truth--had to eat what was planned at home. It felt uncomfortable sitting with the others and not eating and wondered what they must be thinking. If I had eaten a significant amount it would create more angst than not so always chose the lesser of two evils. Rotated groups every year and after a few years Carl knew the stress it was causing so explained to the last leader the real reason we were dropping out of the group. It did add to my already low self-esteem. Fared better with the noon potlucks because Carl and I worked in the kitchen and I didn’t have to worry about appearances for not eating. Most people would think I belong in the loony bin. I know it sounds crazy; even more so as I write this.

Seem to have the textbook signs of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and its different forms--frequent worry thoughts (obsessions), use repetitive behaviors as a means to stop the worry thoughts (compulsions), rigid, inflexible, perfectionist, overly conscientious… (shall I go on?). Was going to write a separate blog and title it “Life of a Monk.” Monk not referring to a member of a religious order who lives in a monastery, but Adrian Monk, a former legendary San Francisco homicide detective with severe psychological disorders and obsessive-compulsive tendencies. A character portrayed by Tony Shalhoub on the USA network. Great show, but I digress.

When Jonathan was in fifth grade he attended the Christian school that was associated with our church. The school was ranked very high academically and Jonathan could also benefit from the Christ-centered environment. Jonathan made it through the first five years of public school but now much more was expected especially in the amount of homework given and the complexity of the assignments. Jonathan played on the flag football team but found it more exciting watching him play on the basketball team and thought he had potential. During one tournament I played scorekeeper--loved hitting that buzzer!

Had difficulty with one of the teachers regarding missing assignments but they were found in the midst of her mounds of paperwork. Of course, by that time Jonathan had been suspended from playing on the team for three weeks. Found out a coworker’s daughter also attended the same school, and he gave me an earful about the school’s unreasonableness and indifference. After being lied to by the principal, who happened to be one of the elder’s wives, we decided to put Jonathan back into public school. We also decided to stop going to church there and got fed up with this denomination and had no plans to step foot in another one again. Wish I could go back and rewrite that history. This could have been handled much better, and Jonathan wouldn’t have been the one to suffer. Doubt we would have ever moved, left church or the school, and Jonathan would have had the best education and life-long friends.

Year after year the diabetes ravaged inside Carl’s body. The numerous insulin reactions gradually effecting his mental capacity and the erratic blood sugars destroying his kidneys. After a few minutes of poking and prodding the nephrologist said Carl would have complete kidney failure within two years. Carl scoffed at the news and thought the doctor was a quack (another state of denial). Decided to return to California (or as some might say, run away).

(to be continued)

HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - PART 10

2007-06-11T19:15:00.000-07:00

As I said earlier, all internal struggles were constant, some years worse than others, but you try to deal with it as best you can and learn to live with it. Was a stay-at-home mom the first year. Never planned to raise children and reading all the books about the subject matter still didn’t prepare you for reality. It was a bumpy ride and Jonathan having a strong-willed personality added to the pressures of life. Carl lost his job and I was able to return to work but not in the same position as before leaving on maternity leave. Now as a working mom taking care of a house, a child, and a husband and all the difficulties associated with his diabetes put a heavy burden on my shoulders. Took care of most everything and admit turning down any assistance Carl did offer. Find it hard to ask for any help, even from God but have no trouble offering help to others. I have to do it myself (some might say “have to control“) and it was probably a way not to dwell on my other hang-ups but you soon learn that you don’t control most things and it was back on the eating/exercise merry-go-round. Doesn’t make sense to those who have never experienced an eating disorder, but it seems to be the only thing you can control.

Started attending another congregation closer to home and tried to go on a regular basis but when you have an infant, that’s not always possible. I would stay home and Carl would go, mostly during the middle week service. One evening received a call that Carl was involved in a wreck in an intersection ½ mile from the house. Put Jonathan in the car seat (he was two) and drove to the scene. Luckily no one was severely hurt, but Carl was taken to the ER as he had apparently passed out behind the wheel and his blood sugar was extremely high. Carl said to go back home and he would call. He stayed overnight for observation.

The next afternoon Carl called and said he was being taken to the county jail for DWI. Can’t tell you how my heart sank. I felt the hatred and I was furious not because of the drinking, but the deception. Then I remembered what Lee had said two years earlier. Carl obviously had been drinking all this time. Boy, was I the fool! At that moment I was ready to call it quits.

Carl called to get picked up. All the “sorrys” fell on deaf ears. Didn’t really want to hear it. As I drove up to the front of the jail, there stood Carl. He looked like a whipped puppy with his tail between his legs. My heart softened somewhat. This man was also struggling and dealing with his own issues. As I write this, makes me think of the lines from A Few Good Men--Cruise: “I want the truth.” Nicholson: “You can’t handle the truth.” Doubt Carl thought I could handle knowing about his vices, so would lie in order not to disappoint me.

We talked. He kept apologizing. My trust was broken and it was going to be a long haul to earn it back. It would have been easy to walk away; Lord knows I had enough issues to deal with and a small child to think about, but I made a commitment and was determined to see it through no matter what the price. Although I chose not to drink, never was one who considered it a sin and at that time wasn’t particularly wanting a spouse who imbibed. However, Carl was diabetic and it was in his best interests not to do so--that was my main concern.

When Jonathan was three, we moved to California, and I worked in the Vision Clinic at Juvenile Hall. While awaiting a promotion to be a probation officer, I had to get evaluated by a psychologist. Told him minute details (didn’t want to sabotage my chances) and about being raised in the church of Christ. The gist of his response--no wonder you are so screwed up. Gee, thanks. That really helped a lot. That sarcastic comment didn’t dissuade us from changing church affiliations.

Living nine months in San Bernardino County resulted in Jonathan and I contracting bronchitis three times each so decided to move to Arkansas where Carl’s parents were living. Coping with Carl’s diabetes became more difficult each and every year. Carl couldn’t get it, couldn’t accept it and continued to live as he saw fit.

Worry and frustration were constant. Restless nights of sleep. A son who the older he got the more defiant and the more volatile my mood swings became upon provocation. The yo-yo dieting and the increased exercise (added Tae Bo) pulled me further into depression. Suicidal thoughts could not be ignored. I knew the anguish many felt when a family member ended his life and knew I could not add to that heartache. Reverting back to the anorexia seemed to be the best solution of stopping the pain without actually pulling a trigger, slitting a wrist, or popping a bottle of pills. Calling the suicide hotline my only voice of reason. At times wondered if I was bipolar because of the erratic mood swings but it didn’t seem to compare to those few friends I knew wore that label.

I’m ashamed of many things but mostly the abuse raged against my son. Words a parent should never say in the moment to their child and uttered with such contempt. Words once spilled out can never be taken back. At times a slap on the face, a kick in the butt, or a tight grab of the wrist but there was no excuse for even those few incidents. Jonathan never hit back, but I’m sure he lost all respect for me and who can blame him. I didn’t have much for myself and it just verified another reason for my self-loathing. Although forgiven, I’m still seeking atonement.

(to be continued)

HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - PART 9

2007-06-05T18:50:00.000-07:00

When life was relatively calm it was easier to function with the wavering mood swings and eating cycles and tried to make some changes. At church became interested in sign language and started attending functions with the singles’ group, where I met Carl. Can’t say it was love at first sight. As a matter of fact, not interested at all in the beginning but soon how could you not be--Carl was very personable, comfortable to be around, and easy to talk to. (Miraculously my female plumbing returned to working mode.)

Carl introduced me to the world of a Type 1 diabetic. Insulin injections, pricking fingertips several times a day to test blood sugars, realizing when blood sugar levels are low and the actions necessary to avert the onset of a reaction. It was to be a constant learning process for the next 19 years.

Life before marriage and even after the engagement wasn’t always smooth sailing--smoking, drinking, and finding out about former marriages. During this same time I was promoted to a probation-parole officer and worked in the presentence unit interviewing defendants and investigating their backgrounds to determine a sentencing recommendation to the judge. Really did like my job except for one factor--going inside the jail or state penitentiary. It wouldn’t bother me now but then there was something about the environment and hearing those cell doors close. The stress took its toll on my stomach and after nine months resigned to work for a national research and development laboratory earning more salary.

Carl and I broke up but eventually found our way back. With the job change, breakup, reengagement, new job, and upcoming wedding my stomach aches and cramping became more severe. When something in your body goes awry, the first automatic response is cancer. Went to a gastroenterologist who diagnosed it as irritable bowel syndrome (IBS). Worry and stress aggrevate the symptoms. (It amazes me how doctors can look at, poke and prod for a few seconds and determine a diagnosis.) The doc gave me some over-the-counter fiber therapy samples to try. Metamucil was awful and Citracil tasted like Tang. Not hard to guess which one I chose and still use it to this day. I’m very surprised it hasn’t turned into an ulcer.

Can’t say the first two months of marriage were uneventful--I was involved in an automobile accident which luckily only resulted in a minor concussion, and Carl landed in the hospital with a 700+ blood sugar (considered too high if >240). Outside the hallway Lee asked me if Carl drank--an explanation why it was so high. To which I replied with an emphatic, “No!” and would later learn about my naivety. Lee’s face spoke volumes. I had given up the painstaking efforts to get Carl to take care of himself especially at meal time. Carl did as he pleased, but I still felt guilty and believed it was my fault for his hospitalization. Told Carl about Lee’s accusation which he resoundingly denied. I believed him and Carl no longer wanted Lee as his doctor (do you suppose that was a clue?).

Six months into the marriage I felt nauseated for a couple of weeks. A coworker suggested I might be pregnant and told me to go see the doctor. I laughed all the way to the office--years ago doctors told Carl that he had a low sperm count and the chances of having kids were pretty much zilch. Relayed this spiel to the nurse who could relate--the doctors told her husband the same thing. They now have three kids. Waited over the weekend for the results. On Monday the call came in--I was pregnant and called Carl at work. He fell out of his chair but was extremely happy. When I called my parents, there was silence. Guess it was the shock of imminent grandparenthood. I continued to work and the concept of gaining weight did not bode well for me. Started losing weight and after being weighed at the doctor’s office, Dr. Thompson was livid and chewed me out royally and ordered me to go home, pack a bag, and check in at the hospital admitting desk that afternoon. Stayed in the hospital for a week and was fed intravenously for the first few days. Received consultations from a psychiatrist and a dietician about the necessity of eating for two and to appease my fears associated with gaining weight. It was hard but there was a reason not to backslide--the unborn baby.

Went through the first trimester with absolute nausea and didn’t get any better and missed a lot of work so I was given an early maternity leave. Unfortunately the nausea lasted the entire term. Was all stomach with bean pole legs and although safe to keep running, chose to take daily walks of one hour. The smell of popcorn made me want to barf.

Carl would be returning home from a business trip on the day Jonathan was born. That day would not be spent enduring long hours of labor. Always wondered when you knew it was time. Had contractions in the early morning but Carl’s niece, Angel, said if you walk around and the pains disappear, it’s false labor. Stayed with my parents while Carl was away. Although somewhat uncomfortable, went with my parents while they bought a new mobile home then on to clean the new mobile home Carl, Jonathan, and I would be moving to after the birth. Became tired in the early afternoon and went home to rest. Mom and Dad went next door to visit a neighbor who had returned home from the hospital, and I told them I’d be fine. Within ten minutes my water broke and called Jerry to send my parents home. It was around 4:30 p.m. By the time we got to the hospital it was 5:30 and Angel was my backup coach. I was already 9 centimeters and Jonathan was born at 6:15. Didn’t even get to use my goody bag. Carl’s parents met him at the airport and told him he was a new dad. Think it was a good thing that Carl wasn’t in the delivery room--would have either passed out or had an insulin reaction.

Jonathan had jaundice and stayed in an incubator the first week of life. The doctor made arrangements for us to take the equipment home so he would not have to stay in the hospital. It was heartbreaking seeing his little body lying inside a rectangular glass box, eyes covered with tiny white patches. The first day it was learned that while breastfeeding, I could no longer eat chocolate--it went right through Jonathan.

(to be continued)

HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - PART 8

2007-06-03T19:22:00.000-07:00

LAPD was hiring and the written test would be waived if an applicant had a college degree. Had turned down an opportunity to apply to the Dallas PD after graduation so decided to take a chance. It also would be the motivational factor to help me gain weight and get into shape in order to pass the physical agility test. Don’t remember how much I ate, but many lunches consisted of two hot dogs and a milkshake.

The agility test was on a Sunday and would decide where to stay the night before after my arrival. Mom told me to call a friend who worked at Pepperdine, but wanted to do this on my own. Flew to LA, got on a bus and had no clue where I was going. Pulled the cord and stepped off the bus as this seemed to be an appropriate location and would find a hotel. Turned out to be Hollywood and Vine and walked a few blocks until I found reasonable accommodations. (Luckily passed up one where the cops regularly came a calling for some criminal activity or another.) Walked around for a couple of hours, decided where to have dinner and went back to the hotel room. Ended up calling Jenny who was appalled after telling her where I was. She told me not to go out after dark and would pick me up in the morning and take me to the academy. Well, I knew what I was having for dinner so did go out and walked at a rapid pace for several blocks and picked up my burger, onion rings, and shake. There were many tourists milling around so didn’t think there was too much need for concern.

Arrived at the academy. There it was--LAPD Academy--the sign I had seen numerous times in the opening credits of Charlie’s Angels. Got through each phase of the test without any trouble and outran many of the guys there. It was on to the six foot wall--had climbed over the backyard wall many times and this seemed easy enough. Almost but not quite and after several attempts had to stop. I could return during the week and learn the proper technique in order to pass but gave up. Jenny had waited for me the entire time and took me back to the Malibu campus to stay with her until I got a flight back home. Disappointment and feelings of failure emerged again. So, a six-foot wall kept me from becoming an LA cop. Many thought that was a good thing.

The Albuquerque PD was hiring and I had to take the written test. Passed with flying colors but looked at what comprised their agility test. Pulling a patrol car several feet--what’s the use and decided not to continue in the hiring process. Had been keeping up with my eating but after awhile thought I would become fat (or should I say, lose control) and after realizing I needed that amount to maintain my weight, it was too late--had dropped down to around 105. The cycle was starting all over again.

Applied to the FBI but couldn’t get past the personality profile phase. Decided the closest thing to a detective would be a probation officer so took the state test to get on the eligibility list. In the meantime, continued working at Bankruptcy Court. Got an interview for a probation-parole officer (PPO) position. Received a call at work--I didn’t get the job but was their second choice. Went into the bathroom and cried. Wasn’t working enough hours at the court so was hired as a secretary at a law firm.

One of the supervisors who had interviewed me for the PPO position called and told me about an opening as a secretary in the Probation Department and made arrangements for me to take the test. It was a way to get my foot in the door. Got the job and would be working in the same unit as the individual who had been chosen for the PPO job earlier, but Anita and I became fast friends. Had to wait 1-½ years before landing that promotion.

(to be continued)

HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - PART 7

2007-06-01T19:20:00.000-07:00

Back at home went to our family doctor who also was a member at church. After a thorough examination Lee’s diagnosis--mild anorexia. It might as will have been a foreign word--had never heard anything about it. My parents didn’t understand it and for a long time I blamed them for letting this happen and not doing anything about it before it reached this level, but there really wasn’t any information about it at that time. An eating disorder that can cause major health problems and where you are literally starving yourself to death. An issue not discussed with as much intensity as it is now or the impact generated after Karen Carpenter’s death in 1983. The “mild” slapped in front of it possibly because my weight wasn’t at a severe enough level. Lee referred me to a psychiatrist.

Had several therapy sessions with the shrink. My belief was that I had a fear of getting fat, but the doc said that was the cart before the horse and concluded that my fear was losing control. Yes, that made sense. Refused to take any medications so he sent me to another specialist who used hypnosis in his practice. It was an odd sensation--had always seen it done on TV shows or on one of those talk shows where someone will hypnotize a person to act like a duck or do some other ridiculous antic. Remember lying on a couch (yeah, that actually does happen) and focusing on a swinging oval shaped object. It’s like you’re awake and can hear everything being said. Can’t repeat verbatim all the doc said but the gist of it was that I could eat without any worries or anxieties. For a week ate without any hang-ups and felt like I had been released after years of being in solitary confinement. The doctor wanted to see me again to reinforce the procedure. This time everything was reversed, and I was back behind bars. Stopped going to therapy--just wasn’t doing any good.

Watched news stories, documentaries, and made-for-TV movies regarding anorexia or other types of eating disorders to get some insight on the subject matter and hopefully find a solution to my problem. The more I watched, the worse Mom thought I became but didn’t consider myself as bad as those televised and learned the extremes some will go to stay thin. One concept was the use of laxatives. Stomach cramps along with diarrhea--not something I’d want to do. Bulimia was on the opposite end of the spectrum. Shoveling insane amounts of food into the mouth and then spewing it out using self-induced methods. Let’s see--kneeling in front of the toilet, sticking a finger down your throat and puking your guts out until there is nothing left with the aftermath of a burning esophagus. Although loved the idea of eating lots of food especially the fats and sugars that were so limited in my daily intake, the vomiting aspect left a lot to be desired--hated it when I had the flu. It would appear that eating very little or exercising more than I consumed would be my MO.

(to be continued)

HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - PART 6

2007-05-30T19:02:00.000-07:00

After graduation worked a few temporary jobs while deciding what route to take with my degree. A friend at church decided to move back to Houston and suggested I move there too. With no obligations and knowing my grandparents and Odies (my brother’s roommate for many years whom I considered a second brother) and Kathie (his wife who later was my matron of honor) lived there, I took the plunge and moved to Texas. Was excited about the change and stayed with my grandparents for a short time until I found a job and an apartment. Moved to the other end of town which would be closer to church and landed a job as a court clerk trainee in Criminal District Court.

When we talked on the phone, Joy seemed glad I was in town but always had an excuse for never getting together. I finally came to church and Odies and Kathie were pleased to see me after having talked on the phone a few times since my arrival. Joy appeared to be pleased to see me and we went to lunch and over to her friend’s house to hang out with some of the other singles. Being reserved I felt somewhat apprehensive with the new surroundings and people but tried my best to fit in. We weren’t there long and Joy had to go, leaving me with a room full of total strangers. Something seemed off but didn’t try to make anything of it. That night Joy saw me in the foyer before service but somewhat brushed me off. Great, another one bites the dust. Didn’t understand. Very confusing and should have called her on it. It would be a lie to say that it didn’t hurt.

While staying at my grandparents earlier, my relationship with my granddad became severed so even with Odies and Kathie around felt pretty much alone but was determined to make the most of the situation and concentrate on work. There was speculation that Joy really liked my brother when in New Mexico and Mom or Don wondered if she was using me to get closer to him. Whether that’s true, I have no idea but it sounded plausible and the only thing that made sense.

Tried to function and do recollect pushing myself, running hard, having mental lapses at work, and collapsing in bed every night from pure exhaustion. After four months, wanted to move back to Albuquerque. Although I had a car, my parents knew something was wrong and flew out to take me home. What can I say? Apparently I wasn’t eating much and they were horrified to see standing in front of them their 24-year-old, 5’6-½” tall, emaciated daughter who weighed 95 pounds. Every setback plummets you further down into a gutter of despair and failure and knew my parents were disappointed in me once again, and I was disappointed in myself.

(to be continued)

HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - Part 5

2007-05-29T19:10:00.000-07:00

The focus shifted back to food and exercise and continued to go through the motions. Continued the tennis lessons and got a job as a waitress at Dennys, a job I had always thought would be fun. Most would find it odd for a person with eating issues wanting to work around food. At least I could observe other people salivating over great looking food and not have to worry about the calories. Lasted three days because our pulpit minister called and offered me a job as the church secretary to the youth and personal evangelist ministers (my second and final job that fell into my lap). Continued working for six months until an old friend talked me into attending Oklahoma Christian College. Had my reservations but decided it would be good to get away.

Since there were no Criminal Justice or Police Science degrees so chose Mass Communications as my major in hopes of becoming a sports broadcaster. There were two tennis courts located between the men’s and women’s dorms. Outside of class or study time, that’s where you would find me. Played in an intramural tournament and was runner up. Became the top ranked player on the women’s tennis team (only two women on the team but a major feat for me). Fell in love. Ate in the school cafeteria with surprisingly very little hang-ups and so much ease that I was constantly teased about the full content of my tray, always to include a dessert with soft-serve ice cream. Still ran every day and Mom said that was the best I had ever looked--an ideal weight of 120. Part of our Phys Ed grade consisted of running a mile every day and documenting each time. My goal was to run it in under six minutes. Did accomplish that goal and the reward--a Brahm’s quarter pounder, onion rings, and a German chocolate shake.

Although broke up with Mark, still had tennis to get me through the rest of the school year without too many ill effects, but I had no desire to return the next year. Teresa said not to let Mark ruin things and talked me into returning and we would live in an apartment across from campus and would not be eating in the cafeteria. It was not one of my better decisions. Seeing Mark bothered me and with the other issues in school started to focus on my apparent “comfort zone”--food and exercise. Daily meals became instant oatmeal, granola bars, V-8, soup, apple, and peanut butter on celery and the weight started to drop, along with feeling cold and very depressed. No, there would be no glee or joy this semester.

Left after the Christmas break and transferred to the University of Albuquerque and changed majors to Criminology. Life revolved around studying and not much else. Continued the summer tennis lessons and met Cindy. We became tennis partners and played in a doubles match during one city tournament. Cindy knew I wasn’t much of a partygoer and thought I needed to loosen up so she took me to a bar--my first time at age 21. My parents didn’t drink and I always had steered clear of any temptation, which wasn’t hard since I never socialized much outside a church setting (and if you were a church member who drank, it was not advertised). Took a taste of an Amaretto Sour and it was--sour. Did nothing for my taste buds. Took a sip of a Pina Colada. Tasted like a pineapple soda (pineapple juice over vanilla ice cream for those of you unaware) so why drink it and destroy my brain cells. No, Debbie would stick with an orange juice on the rocks. Took a trip with her to LA and stayed at Pepperdine where my brother worked. She tried to change my appearance with makeup and a different hairstyle. My brother knew that Cindy and I were on different planes and was skeptical of a lasting friendship. He was right.

No fun. No enjoyment. Just going through the motions. Sadness. Crying spells. Not wanting to wake up in the morning and start the cycle all over again. The severity of these emotions fluctuated year to year, but I still pretended to be fine and exercised harder and planned the meals day to day and month to month with more rigidity. My parents knew there was a need for professional assistance and offered to pay, but their generosity was declined. Knew eventually I would get better on my own once this happened or that was completed.

Started working and going to school at night but wanted to finish sooner so quit work and became a full-time student including an overload during the summer. At least it kept my mind occupied. Finished in 1-½ years and graduated with honors but still felt the emptiness inside. After so long it gets to the point that you want to either crawl into a hole, go into a coma and wake up with amnesia, or just plain die.

(to be continued)

HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - PART IV

2007-05-28T18:43:00.000-07:00

Judge Sanchez was very intimidating. The man was tough and strict and not a favorite of many of the attorneys. Each month all the judges would rotate types of cases--domestic relations, and criminal and civil jury trials. The jury months, especially the criminal cases were the best times. (Know the judge tried at least one major case because a senior moment is only letting me remember the TV cameras present.) Confidentiality was imperative which at times was difficult especially when you see court files of couples you know who go to church and have filed for divorce, or a school acquaintance who is being charged with a crime.

Besides a secretary, I also was the jury clerk so had the opportunity to be in the courtroom numerous times. Civil was okay but there were some real snoozers. Tony nodded off in his chair many times, but what a pleasant guy to be around, except when he smoked those nasty cigars. There were no smoke-free environments so when Tony went into the courtroom, he would leave his lit cigar in the ashtray adjacent to my desk. I constantly moved it out of smell range and not always in the spot. The smell of cigarette smoke gives me terrible headaches but cigar smoke leaves me quite nauseous. Lest you forget, Tony’s eyesight was not to keen, so it did make for an amusing source of entertainment to watch Tony find it. John smoked a pipe and although not quite as bad as cigarettes or cigars, I still didn’t care for the smell, but when Tony would switch to a pipe, he used cherry tobacco. Must admit it smelled pretty good.

Might have already blogged about this, but I’ll always attribute my work ethic to Judge Sanchez. Always like to be busy and never did like to twiddle my thumbs so one day saved what the judge gave me that morning for the afternoon. Later that morning Judge Sanchez asked for the letter and, of course, it was not done. He ripped into me and since that time, I’ve always completed everything post haste. I’ll confess, the judge had me in tears quite a bit the first year but oh what a great job!

After my heel surgeries, felt so blessed and was so thankful to be walking and not a cripple that I took up running. Started out gradually at first and then consistently ran daily at least two miles, interspersed with three to four miles and at times pushed myself to five. Also decided to pick up the sport my family had begged me to play several years earlier. Became a tennis fanatic and took city lessons every summer with my brother being one of my instructors. Lessons were on weekdays in the early evening or Saturday mornings. Soon you could habitually find me on the court practicing serves for an hour in the early mornings. Watched every match on TV, and read Tennis and World Tennis magazines. Wanted to be the best I could possibly be (a perfectionist’s frame of mind).

Thoughts of food were constant. Every morsel thoroughly contemplated. Comparing sizes of apples, potatoes, or slices of bread to see which one was smaller or larger depending on what was eaten earlier in the day. It would go in cycles, once you eat something for either breakfast, lunch, or dinner, it had to become a daily ritual and would continue for quite some time until some change was made and a different cycle would begin. All meals were planned with utmost thought with dinner being the largest and the most well balanced. Any deviation from the menu plan whether it be an invite to go out, a party, or something else either being brought to work or home would produce tremendous anxiety. Each meal was planned and dependent on the other. Calories counted. And in order to eat, exercise had to be done. Constantly obsessed about the looks of my body, especially the stomach area and at each opportunity when passing a mirror, would lift the shirt and check on its shape. In my eyes, not flat enough, hence, was still too big but a warped perception to all others.

Losing the weight with the daily exercise grind gradually lead to the disruption of my female plumbing. Went to a doctor, tried some pills and had a catscan but no answers and nothing to be done except wait until the time came to bear a child. Functioned in the real world and nothing seemed out of the ordinary at least in terms of how others perceived me. Didn’t do much socializing in church or outside church but still kept up with tennis. Had a few friends but would seem to always sabotage at least one of those relationships for one reason or another. Had a few crushes on some of my brother’s friends at church but never thought any of them would be interested. There just was no joy in much of anything, but could lose myself in tennis and TV. The running did produce a euphoric feeling but didn’t last long enough.

After 2-½ years, quit working for the judge in order to attend a community college in Tyler, TX. In one of the tennis magazines read about a school tennis program that offered students an opportunity to manage a tennis club. The tennis coach was a member of the Church of Christ, the one our local minister had attended years earlier. The program also included practicing with the school’s tennis team and attending a few courses off campus. Although I didn’t have an automobile, the coach offered to get me there and back. Shared a dorm room with Donna and got acquainted with her two other friends and everything seemed fine. Of course, appearances are deceiving. Practiced with the team a few times and felt so inferior and not good enough not only to play but not good enough for the program as well. Felt guilty Coach Fred had to take me to class--just don’t like inconveniencing people because of my situations. Also, I was just plain homesick and decided I was not meant to be a manager in a tennis facility. Called my parents and with my brother they advised me to stay and switch majors to Police Science, something I had talked about and had wanted to become a cop since watching Mod Squad. Their pleas fell on deaf ears and Mom and Dad came and took me back home. What a huge disappointment I must be and felt like a total failure. (And I couldn’t go back to work for Judge Sanchez.)

(to be continued)

HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - PART 3

2007-05-27T15:50:00.000-07:00

At that moment I was determined to make a change. So on January 1, 1971, decided to lose weight--or in other words, the start of my downward spiral into hell. (Mom had gone back to work after a 15-year hiatus and was not aware of the mistakes her daughter was to make.) Daily fare consisted of ½ grapefruit for breakfast, ½ cheese sandwich or a small box of raisins for lunch, and a well-balanced dinner with the first two weeks having no dessert (a major accomplishment for a sugar addict). Didn’t really exercise except some calisthenics, whatever was done in PE class, and walking to and from school. Stopped hanging with friends during lunch breaks and gradually stopped socializing (didn’t want to be around anything involving food). Lost at least 25 pounds within a relatively short period of time (not surprising since I ate very little). Although proud of my accomplishment, I became a recluse and unsociable; pretty much a loner who studied hard. Television was still the main focus of entertainment up through high school graduation.

Hated school and during my junior year had enough credits to graduate. Had no plans to attend college and wanted to become a legal secretary. Took Advanced Typing, Shorthand, Bookkeeping, Creative Writing, and Business Law and finally achieved the one goal that had alluded me throughout high school--making straight As.

During that year had difficulty with my heels and put padding in the back of each shoe. A few months before graduation saw an orthopedic surgeon who diagnosed my problem as “pump bumps” (bone spurs) and operated on the right heel two months before graduation. Although off the crutches by graduation, it was painful limping down the stairway of the university sports complex to get my diploma and should have stayed down on ground level with another disabled graduate. A week later had an operation on the left heel.

While in bed recuperating, received a phone call from John, a long-time church friend who happened to be a court reporter. He was going to be working in District Court for Judge Sanchez who was appointed by Governor King, and the judge needed a secretary. After I had recovered and was off the crutches, had an interview and the job was mine (wish jobs would fall into my lap now). So there I was on my first day, a 16-year-old high school graduate working for a 61-year-old judge. The rest of our group consisted of Tony, the bailiff, a sweet man around 60 who had very poor vision, and, of course, John (my mom’s age) and the reason I had the one job that is still my favorite to this day.

(to be continued)

HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - PART 2

2007-05-26T18:13:00.000-07:00

During that time there were no computers, Gameboys, video games; just television, at least in our household. Did not participate in any school sport or extracurricular activity. Just played with neighbors, school and church friends or sat on my butt and watched television. I did do my fair share of reading--mystery novels mainly, but the boob tube was my favorite source of entertainment. And it would be fair to say it was our main nightly family activity at least with Dad. Mom would sit there but was usually preoccupied with a book or completing an unfinished chore from earlier in the day.

We were a typical middle-class family who had clothes on our back, enough food on the table and never really in desperate need of anything but as a kid you’re always in want. Don’t consider myself or my brother ever spoiled or catered to. I tried to manipulate the system to get what I wanted but did not always succeed. Manipulation meaning running around the house screaming especially in the summertime when the windows were opened (a necessity when having a swamp cooler). Mom didn’t want the neighbors thinking she was abusing her child.

Also during that time food was food. There was no concern regarding fats, transfats, too much sugar, too much caffeine, limited number of eggs per week, butter versus margarine, or whole milk versus skim. I ate exactly as I pleased. Received a weekly allowance for doing chores and every jaunt to the store resulted in purchases of candy especially cinnamon balls or Jolly Roger sticks or something else to appease my sweet tooth. In the summertime the hand was literally in the cookie jar first thing in the morning. Didn’t matter what kind as long as it was sweet. In New Mexico you could receive a home delivery of Charlie’s Chips that came in a golden tin can and were considered the best chips you could possibly eat. My favorite thing to do was sit with the can of chips and dip each chip in a jar of peanut butter. Every Christmas--screw the gifts and let me at my stocking where hopefully was a Lifesaver book and box of chocolate covered cherries.

The family took up the game of tennis and tried to get me to play. No, thanks, I was too busy watching Gilligan’s Island or I Love Lucy. The more my parents and brother tried to get me to cut down, the more Debbie kept at it. Hey, things were going fine and still had friends but deep down knew it bothered me especially during PE class in middle school. We had to wear these awful short, blue one-piece gym suits with a sewed on belt around the waist and elastic around the legs which really accentuated my thunder thighs. Became friends with Mary who was heavier than me. Don’t recall ever having discussions about our weight but felt comfortable being together. The worst part of class was the gymnastic portion and getting on the balance beam. Shook like a leaf--not a pretty sight and did wonder what others were thinking or if they were laughing behind our backs.

Went to a brand new high school which was the first in the city to start with the 9th grade. Soon became acclimated to the surroundings. Had been within walking distance during elementary school and was bused to junior high but now we had to make the long 1-½ mile trek each way. At least got some exercise but not enough for what food was still inhaled. One side of the cafeteria served the traditional fare as in most school cafeterias, but the other side had a new concept--vending-type selections. Debbie’s daily lunch of choice: chicken fried steak sandwich, bag of Fritos, container of orange drink, and a Nestle’s Crunch. Nourishing, ain‘t it?

Had considered making a change but kept procrastinating. Christmas came again and got the presents and the goodies in the stocking. Ate them with the usual flair. Dad always took home movies and still shots during major holidays or celebrations. My brother had just had major hip surgery and one particular picture caught my eye. Around the tree stood my brother with crutches, and me sitting on the couch, an out-of-shape 12 year old who weighed 135 pounds. The picture still haunts me to this day.

(to be continued)

HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - PART 1

2007-05-24T18:14:00.000-07:00

Doubt many of us remember when we were little kids and either ask our parents or watch home movies of those moments they are always so eager to capture on film. Mom said I was an active tyke who liked to tease and was not afraid of anything. Ran all over the place but for the first 17 months more so on my hands and knees than on my feet because it seemed to be the fastest way to maneuver around the house.

At a very young age I was a gad about, the happy-go-lucky child who had no problems with eating; the total opposite from my brother who was reserved and quiet with a finicky peanut butter appetite. Of course, now those roles have been reversed--I’m the more reserved and my brother is the one with the quirky mannerisms, a kook, or for lack of a better word, a total nut. But who is a great teacher, is fun to be around, and is quite entertaining. (Reminds me of two bearded gents I know.)

As a youngster I was quite the tomboy. Oh, I played with my Barbie dolls, but I also was out there with the neighborhood kids riding bikes, shooting hoops, playing hide and seek, and in the dirt creating a baseball field on the mesa behind our house. I was considered the homerun king on our little neighborhood baseball team--the Golden Hurricanes--wearing our little green shirts with a golden hurricane proudly displayed on our chests that were so meticulously drawn by my brother.

Yes, those were the days--a child not bogged down with psychological hang-ups but only troubled with the usual day to day problems such as fights with an older brother, scraped knees, or having to ingest creamed asparagus on toast while tightly clamping the nasal passages with the right hand.

So, what went wrong?

(to be continued)

HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - THE SERIES

2007-05-22T18:17:00.000-07:00

I’ve delayed this long enough. Figured out other blogs to write about in order to postpone the inevitable. You’d think there wouldn’t be any more baggage left to share, but those of you who have chosen to read these postings over the last six months know I have no qualms about sharing my life and revealing innermost parts that most would just as soon sweep under the rug. Not quite sure where this will head, how many parts will be written, or when it will end. And doubt I’ll start posting daily unless the words start flowing. All I know, it will be hard to write about--how can you explain what you fully don’t understand; and difficult to share. But as I’ve said before, if I didn’t share, it would defeat the purpose for starting this weblog in the first place. Blogging has become a therapeutic release to help knock down some walls and try to stop putting on a façade--afraid if people knew the “real me,” nobody would like me (of course, so far from your comments, I now know that’s not true.)

My immediate family and a few old friends are somewhat aware of the issues that will be addressed, but no one knows the full extent of the turmoil and torment which has plagued me for 37 years (since the 9th grade), with the possible exception of Carl. Will start from the very beginning and talk it through. You might say it will be my own therapy session and the issues are interrelated. Tried the counseling route (will be talked about in greater detail later on), but I’m one who thinks I must solve everything myself. And it has been said that shrinks are more screwed up than their patients (hey, that sounds like the career for me). Even if nobody read these next several postings, it undoubtedly will produce beneficial results. Meaning--the weight of my baggage will become lighter. Who knows, this could possibly turn into my autobiography and could change the title to, “Don’t Let This Happen to You.”

MEEKNESS

2007-05-20T19:12:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago Greg started a great series on the beatitudes. Don’t know about you, but I’ve heard countless sermons on Matthew 5:3-11 and studied the same in various Bible classes, but never quite understood its meaning until now. I’ve told Greg before, have written about it before, and will continue to sing his praises, but Greg presents things in a way that makes it easier to comprehend and the mind (at least mine) doesn’t seem to wander quite so much. (Yes, call me a fan and Greg’s going to owe me big time for all the nice things I‘ve said.)

Today’s “beatitude” was “Blessed are the meek….” What does meek mean? The correct synonyms found in a thesaurus would include mild, gentle, tame, and patient, but most would agree with Steve’s “namby-pamby.” Yes, most people would think that meek people are weak people; or as I would call, a “total wimp.” But that could be further from the truth as Greg said, “Meekness takes more strength than most of us can muster.”

One question in particular caught my attention--“Do I do what I want to do, or what God wants me to do“? Greg mentioned a few things he should have done but chose not to do and was even embarrassed to admit to them. Made me stop and think about my own should haves, could haves, and would haves. We all make excuses, have other plans, and don’t like to be inconvenienced. My biggest excuse--it’s out of my comfort zone. Will definitely need to start changing some things and think more of the other person and less of myself.

With Chipper’s beautiful mug splashed up on the screen, Greg made an analogy of his half-obedient “psycho pup” to those of us who are “mostly” obedient. Really, what good are we if only obedient part of the time? Guess that would make us a part-time Christian. Doubt that’s what God has in mind.

CAREER FRUSTRATION

2007-05-12T18:57:00.000-07:00

I don’t know about you, but deciding what type of career to have can be very mind boggling especially for those who graduate from high school, enter college, and wonder what they are going to do with their lives; or college graduates coming out and really wondering if the degree they now have in their hot little hand was actually the correct choice. You would think by the time you reach the golden age of 50 all those decisions would be long behind you. That doesn’t seem to be the case for this soon to be 51 year old. They say the average person will change jobs 7-10 times in a lifetime. Seems like I’ve done that many in just the last five years.

Haven’t had much luck with employment lately. Constantly seem to be making wrong choices. Have had a lot of interests over the years. Have tried a lot of different things and usually know within the first two weeks if it’s going to be a good fit. Probably accepted the mail order pharmacy position last November out of pure desperation as no other offers were coming my way. Always avoided call center environments like the plague, so I really shouldn’t have been surprised at what transpired. Applied to numerous jobs of interest but since money was a factor, always chose or returned to the administrative (meaning clerical) route. Knew I was good at it, but just wasn’t my passion. Read an article a few weeks ago about middle aged people seeking employment or having career changes. One of those factors to consider--What is your passion? So, Debbie, what is your passion?

Went to the Arco station the other day to get gas. Pumped the gas, put the cap back on the tank and observed an elderly woman coming out of the store who looked very confused. Got in my car and watched her for a minute as she struggled with the hose. Started my car and noticed the woman was still struggling, so turned off the ignition, got out and went over to help. Got the hose to work properly. The woman thanked me. It felt great. Yes, in that moment I realized what I always knew deep down--my passion is helping people.

When Carl died and everything was blown out of the water, Jonathan and I moved in with my parents. During the next couple of years I helped cook and clean and in my mind was “taking care of” my parents even though my parents were quite capable of taking care of themselves. In my job confusion, thought I wanted to take care of something, but in actuality it was somebody. Have been a nonmedical caregiver for an elderly lady and helped my aunt numerous times. After many anxious prayers, a 100-watt light bulb came on the other day. My passion--taking care of ELDERLY people. So I went over to the retirement facility where my parents reside and applied for an activity assistant position and anything in food service. Of course, the salary won’t be as good, but that is secondary.

Watched a story on Oprah this week proving the fact that it is never too late to fulfill your dreams. Karen wanted to be a doctor and was deemed to be the first one to enter college, but she got pregnant while in high school. Had no support from her husband to pursue college and by the time she was 29, she had five kids. Eventually she graduated from nursing school but still wanted to be a doctor. Secretly applied to medical schools as Karen thought people would think her crazy. Crazy? Don‘t think so--she is the first grandmother to graduate from Yale School of Medicine. Karen also has school loans to pay off. A national skincare company was so impressed with Karen’s story they have agreed to pay the $160,000 school debt.

Although still would like to be a cop, that ship has sailed even though I consider myself in better physical shape than at 25. Also, don’t think being a veterinarian is the way to go. So, I’ll consider getting trained as a certified nursing assistant and possibly even pursue a nursing career. In the meantime, I’ll still work at the fire retardant business until something develops. It is quite a relief to have “figured out” what career to pursue. Now my only downfall is thinking too much and making excuses why it won’t work. And if a great job in an administrative field with tremendous salary and minimal commute drops in my lap, will have no qualms about accepting the offer.

Troubled Water

2007-05-09T17:08:00.000-07:00

Moved my keyboard to my parents' place two weeks ago to practice in a better environment. Would be able to turn the volume up without disturbing the neighbors (the hearing in a retirement facility is not as keen), but seriously, the walls are actually quite soundproof. Mom also would be able to play once in a while when the mood strikes.

Yesterday, practiced that song I so wanted to learn many moons ago. Struggled with it for over two hours. All I can say is that I felt sorry for Mom having to experience such torture. (Dad was in the bedroom with the door closed watching TV which tells you something.) Usually have no problem quitting after utter frustration and surprised I lasted so long. Surprised myself even more by returning today although won’t be practicing quite as long. So, apparently I’m determined to persevere until it’s right. Who knows, it might sound bearable by the end of the year.

HODGEPODGE

2007-05-03T19:06:00.000-07:00

Been a little behind in blogging but besides the few hours working at the job that made life suck, have been spending my free time practicing. Now since there’s a little reprieve there are a few thoughts I wanted to say over the past week and will encompass them all into one. (Yeah, it would probably be easier, and shorter, making separate blogs for each, but then I would have to come up with more than one title, or do it in parts.)

Well, it became official Sunday, April 22, 2007, around 11:45 a.m. The announcement, which I knew, was coming for quite some time. It’s just more real when stated from the pulpit in front of a 100+ people. Worked in with a sermon about the neglected parable from Mark 4:26-29, or in other words, the parable of the growing seed. Done in quite an articulate fashion with the background of Josh, the acquisition of the soon to be England Family Mortuary, and father and son who will be getting an opportunity of a lifetime--working side by side in a family-owned business.

Greg and Janice are two of the nicest and most caring people I have had the privilege of knowing. Who you don’t want to see leave but are happy for them and who will be sorely missed. A man who speaks and writes with such adoration about his lovely wife of 32 years and who would never tell any of those “take my wife please” jokes. (I was fortunate to have had such a man in my life and hope to have again some day.) Have only known this couple for 1-½ years, but think I’ll miss them just as much as those who’ve been at LBCC the entire 14 years. Although not the only reason, they are a big part of why I’m here.

Although raised in the Church of Christ and attending the same most of married life, we became disgruntled after some Christian school experiences regarding Jonathan while living in Texas and never planned to step foot in a Church of Christ again. After moving to California tried different denominations but they all seem to have the same fundamental thought--we’re right and everybody else is wrong. We went to a Baptist congregation and the minister was raised in the Church of Christ and started knocking…… Thanks, but no thanks! We became fed up with the whole concept of denominations and started attending nondenominational assemblies.

After Carl passed away, Jonathan and I moved in with my parents until he graduated from high school. Mom and Dad sold their house in Oceanside and moved into an apartment complex in downtown Long Beach. They had visited LBCC once and decided to attend on a regular basis. Mode of transportation--the Metro bus. I moved up to Long Beach a couple of months later and stayed with my parents on a short-term basis. I was a less than stellar churchgoer. My parents went to church and I was on the Internet and watching the Food Network channel. I offered to drop my parents off at church and they could take the bus home, but they refused. This continued for several weeks and Debbie started to get a guilty conscience. Something is wrong with this picture. Who lets their parents take a bus to church? Decided to take my parents. It wouldn’t hurt to sit in a pew for 1-½ hours. Would just sit. Had no interest in becoming involved, getting to know anyone, or placing membership. This would be a short-term basis only.

Know Mom and Dad had talked about “their daughter” and several people came and introduced themselves. (I have always appreciated those who are nice to and take an interest in my parents.) Every week a lovely, sweet, and pleasant Southern belle always asked me how things were going in my job search. Her name was Janice, the preacher’s wife. Ed and I related about job search struggles. Steve and Laura talked about a fellow acquaintance, the same person who was the best man at Ed and Sylvia’s wedding. Barbara and Pam who had taken my parents up to the Pepperdine Lectureship. Arlene who had grown up in the same town and whose father I had heard preach. Bruce and Chuck who always acknowledged my presence. Sharon who invited me to the singles’ Christmas party. Was somewhat skeptical at first because I’ve attended congregations where the people are overly attentive to you until you place membership, then drop you like a hot potato. Reminds me of a membership sales department in a club-type atmosphere. It soon became apparent that people at LBCC do indeed care about others.

The minister preached sermons that were innovative and thought provoking. Sermons that were out of the C of C philosophy, at least the ones I attended. Issues I actually agreed with and wondered why others hadn’t preached about a long time ago. Praise team, hands raised in the air, clapping. Who cares? A preacher who admitted his infirmities--in public! An elder who admitted past addictions and struggles! People who celebrated other individuals’ sobrieties! Made you want to go outside and look at the sign. Yep, it says Church of Christ.

Suffice it to say, I was hooked and placed membership. I’m continually amazed how this group of people love and support each other and feel so lucky to be included. Greg is a special person (you don’t write a poem for just anyone) who has been such an encourager and supporter to me. They say every person is replaceable. All I know is Greg will be a hard act to follow and there is no one I’d rather have perform my wedding or funeral (whichever comes first). Greg and Janice, I’m going to miss you. (Oh, and Chipper too.)

***********************************************************************
Medicine. Doctors. Lab tests. No wonder people get frustrated and fed up. Dad was scheduled to have his angiogram on Monday of last week and the bypass on Tuesday. Drove Mom and Dad to the hospital and dropped them off two hours before the procedure. I would come back at noon.

When I returned, Mom, B and D were surrounding Dad while he lay on a bed in the Heart Institute. No angiogram or bypass would be done. The doctors determined that Dad’s red blood cell count (RBC) was low, he was anemic, and needed a blood transfusion. Excuse me? I knew his RBC count was low after the lab tests came back when Dad was taken to the ER three weeks earlier. One of the doctors explained how minute differences in RBCs from month to month are not vital but when compared with lab results from nine months ago, there was a significant drop. Hm, I would have checked that before ever scheduling Dad for surgery and wouldn’t have waited until he was already in the hospital before figuring it out; but they don’t pay me the big bucks for my medical opinions. At least I should be grateful that it was discovered before the procedure had started. Dad will have to see his primary doc in two weeks and his heart doc in one month. We’ll then be back to square one and start this whole process all over again.

***********************************************************************
I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be at work but am getting used to Master Quinn (the dog). The first thing I wanted to be growing up was a veterinarian until finding out how much schooling was involved. Unfortunately, I let that keep me from what could have been a satisfying and lucrative career. Who knows, I might have turned into a great animal activist.

Still hating the commute but bought a digital voice recorder to use for blogging so commuting won’t feel as much of a waste of time and money. (However, I should be looking for a new job instead of writing blogs.)

************************************************************************
Well, the day finally arrived. Sunday, the day of my debut. Had helped set up Saturday morning and got to meet Randy and see Keith again. They came out for the annual Pepperdine Lectureship and would be playing in the band. We had a great rehearsal that night and the nerves were already off the charts. High anxiety. Adrenaline pumping. Very antsy. All four emotions were to remain until the conclusion of the gig. Decided during our first practice session that the pinky ring was too much of a hindrance so there would be no good luck charm this night (Still can’t figure out how Liberace played with all those huge rocks, but his response: “Very well, thank you.”)

Morning worship service was not only very inspirational but also very emotional. Cecil, an elder at a church of Christ in Florida, who was also here for the lectureship, gave the communion talk. He spoke from the heart about his church combining membership with a non C of C entity and
being ostracized from a place he had been a key force in for many years.

Keith was prepared to give a sermon on “HOPE” (I know, because I had asked him Saturday), but Cecil’s testimony moved him to speak of his own Christian life battles. You know, I just don’t get it. Christians are commanded to love each other. Traditions, philosophies, disagreements should not matter--a common belief in Christ and the Bible, trying to live a Christ-like life, helping others…these basic things should be our focus. No wonder people take the nondenominational route--they don’t get bogged down with the inane things like instrumental music, raising hands, clapping….

Before our performance that night I had a good talk with Keith. Appreciated what he and Cecil had said. What a neat guy with a great sense of humor! Told Keith if I ever were to move to Northern Alabama, Creekside would gain one new member. Unfortunately, I didn’t get that same chance to talk to Cecil.
The Praise Band was on stage ready to start. Have always enjoyed their performances. Now I was part of this group and standing in front of the Yamaha keyboard. Camille, one of our teens, was to sing the first song. During practice, Camille had trouble projecting. Before she was to perform, told her to think American Idol audition with Simon sitting there (actually I wanted to tell her to picture Greg as Simon--that would make anyone belt out in song). Camille has a sweet voice and didn’t disappoint. Other guests performers: Randy who sang and played guitar and Keith who played the drums. Very talented. The regulars: 1) Steve who looks the part with beard and longer hair, a diverse player of several instruments with an exceptional voice; 2) Ross who plays bass and as Keith noted “fast as greased lightin’”; to me the knowledgeable professional; 3) Greg who is musically gifted but not sure he actually believes it, and now with facial hair looks quite bandish, meaning belongs in a band (okay, so I made up that word). Seem to remember the growth as a Pepperdine tradition, but maybe I’m mistaken. However, it looks good and he should keep it. Miss hearing Joanna sing with the band since she’s been away to college. Think she has a “voice of an angel” and should be the next American Idol.

Greg gave me a nice introduction and said I “blew him away.” Not sure of his meaning, but that would be the last thing to describe my playing. Although having dabbled on a keyboard for 40 years, if you were to calculate actual playing time, I doubt it would total five years. The one who would blow somebody away would be the regular keyboard player, Daniel, a junior in high school. He’s a member of his school’s jazz band and has played some solo performances at church. Greg asked me to fill in for Daniel as he would be out of town at a jazz festival. (His mom told me the band placed first in their division, so kudos.) Talked to Daniel once and have tried to on several other occasions. He seems reserved and has his head down when passing by. Maybe it’s just me, but seems like most teens put their head down when approaching an adult; however, at times I catch myself doing the same thing. Thought Jonathan was shy and reserved, but he told me otherwise. Having a 21-year-old son, you’d think I could have a repartee with a teen without appearing to be a total dweeb (Mom asked if I made up that word too). Anyway, I’ve been invited to become a regular member of the band and think Daniel will be able to teach me a thing or two.

Still hard to believe I was on a stage playing music with a band (only in my wildest dreams). My parents had listened to me for an entire week practicing the songs along with a CD. Received many compliments and Mom said we sounded better than the artists on the CD. After the performance, we all enjoyed a meal and fellowship together.

Will just say this--Practicing, performing Sunday night, and being a part of a band is the biggest thrill this 50-year-old broad has seen in a LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO NG time!!!!!

************************************************************************
Just a side note--Again, want to thank you all for taking the time to read my blogs, whether you comment or not. It means the world to me and has been great therapy. I love each and every one of you.

LIFE SUCKS!

2007-04-17T19:08:00.000-07:00

This is the thought of the day; actually since last night. Feel like smashing, kicking, throwing, or hitting something (and/or someone) so writing this blog seems to be a much smarter thing to do. Besides, it’s good therapy and lets me vent, but do apologize to my few unfortunate readers who will have to put up with these few paragraphs of acute frustration.

So, three guesses. Mom says I shouldn’t write about everything, and this time she might be right. The job that was the be-all and end-all to my existence. Even had a few calls for interviews from companies I previously submitted applications to which were promptly turned down because of this great job I just landed. (Opportunities I needed many months ago when the job hunt was producing zero results.) This job--not so grand after all. Delayed in starting. Business down. Hours cut. A discombobulated mess. A dog that seems to run the show. Who brings a pet to work anyway? It may be all the rage (at least in that area) but doesn’t work for me. Don’t get me wrong, I love animals, but not in a place of business that has nothing to do with the zoological field. (If my boss were to read this now--“To the unemployment line for you, Babe!”)

Although the owner/boss is very nice, it’s not worth going 21 miles for only 20 hours a week, in the hopes of being full time down the road (which I doubt will ever happen). Hate the commute and the wear and tear of the motor vehicle. And right now it is necessary for me to stay close to my parents. So, tomorrow, here I go again. “Sorry, but…..” and will stay until she gets somebody else.

But I do know things could be much worse, and this seems to keep me motivated and not to give up.

VIRTUOSO

2007-04-10T18:55:00.000-07:00

Sensation. Genius. Consummate. Masterful. Superstar. What great words to describe someone with musical talent. Wish those words could describe my musical flair. Although having dabbled with a musical instrument for 40 years, the words used would be more like inept, amateur, unskilled, rookie, neophyte, benchwarmer, loser, second-stringer, untrained, and greenhorn (never heard this one before, but sounds cool). Had I known how much fun music could be, might have strived for greatness on a keyboard and play at functions or become part of a band or even discover my own prodigy.

My parents bought an organ when I was about 10. Took lessons for a couple of years until my brother and I decided we didn’t want to take them anymore (or maybe we just didn’t like to practice). Have difficulty remembering a lot of specific details about the past which Mom contributes to my car accident over 20 years ago. Really have no recollection why my parents would buy an organ. Why an organ over a piano or some other “normal” musical instrument? All I remember is that when I went to my friends’ houses, they had pianos, and I wanted to sit down and play. Mom said she encouraged the organ because she liked the sound and my brother and I had no preference. Also, you didn’t have to be able to play very well to actually sound good. (You don’t suppose she was trying to avoid hours of excruciating pain listening to us practice?)

Even though my brother and I were no longer taking lessons, my parents kept the organ mainly for looks. Imagine many people have a baby grand in their living room and never tinkle the ivories. I decided to keep playing but never did understand the reason for sharps or flats and if chords were fancier than a C7, forget it. I’d find a familiar chord that sounded on pitch, although still knowing it was wrong. When we took lessons, had to play music from my parents’ generation (ugh) so I bought music books with the current pop songs, specifically 1972 and 1975 and played them as written. Thought playing straight chords was juvenile and not very challenging. Bought some other sheet music and my goal was to learn to play as written (and sound as good as) Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” I’ve yet to attain that goal. Now, if I could play all of Elton John’s and Lionel Richie’s hits and sound as good…..WHAT A FEAT!!!!

The organ became my possession when I got married and since it was never maintained, the keys and pedals eventually started wearing out. The organ followed us in all our moves until we left Austin and it found its way back into my parents’ living room. The organ was very heavy and it cost extra to transport so my parents decided to sell it after they sold their house in Oceanside and move to Long Beach. Keyboards are the trend and a lot less cumbersome.

This past summer I really missed playing and someone recommended going to Guitar Center. (Now, who do you suppose that could have been?) I purchased a Yamaha keyboard and checked out a book from the library. Not only did I learn the mechanics of music, it actually made sense (so that’s how you decipher sharps and flats) and was able to read the notes much easier (not perfect though by any means). The only drawback was going from two keyboards down to one. If only I had done this 40 years ago, who knows what could have been. There also is a claim that playing a musical instrument is good therapy, and heaven knows I could use a dose of that at any time.

As I mentioned in my previous blog, I was asked by one of the illustrious Praise Band members to rehearse and play keyboard during April’s Sunday Celebration. My dad’s unfortunate trip to the ER cancelled the first rehearsal but Greg, Steve and I practiced for a while Saturday night. They said I played well which was a relief and made me feel good but still felt somewhat skeptical. But, hey, they’re church people, and you know church people don’t lie.

This past week I practiced several hours a day and probably played more in a week’s time than I’ve played since purchasing my keyboard last summer. On Friday, I got to play in another setting and could crank up the sound of the CD player and keyboard. Except for lunch and an occasional stretch break, I played for about 6-½ hours. What a blast!! Even practiced my signing on some of the songs I didn’t yet have the lead sheets for. Don’t remember having so much fun and could have kept going, but you can only have so much of a good thing (and my fingers, neck, and back were getting stiff). Since the start of my new job is delayed for another week, I’ll spend the time practicing and it won’t have to be in a boxed up studio apartment with the volume down to barely audible.

Still have a couple of weeks to practice and about three rehearsals before the big event--my debut….my coming out….. Will be nervous. Will be anxious. Will wear my pinkie ring. Will be glad when it’s over (just kidding). More than likely, it will be in my blood and will have to start my own band (yeah, when you know what freezes over).

When things calm down, when time permits, and when I save up a little money, might utilize the services of a music teacher to help me accomplish my goal and set a deadline--By the end of this year, I’ll play “Bridge Over Troubled Water” as written.

I’ll keep you posted on the trials and tribulations of Debbie’s musical aspirations.

LIFE CHANGES - THE SEQUEL

2007-04-02T19:11:00.000-07:00

It still amazes me how one’s life can change so suddenly, whether it be in a split second or a few days. I have experienced both, the former being as recent as yesterday. Wonder why we can’t experience these changes only once in life? But I guess that wouldn’t be life.

It would be a typical Sunday--well almost. Walk four miles, play tennis, eat breakfast, go to church, and eat lunch with Mom and Dad. Usually have a blank social calendar but this afternoon I would be rehearsing with the Praise Band and possibly play keyboard on a couple of songs for April’s Sunday Celebration. I was very apprehensive but also very excited. Never have played before anyone but family and never with a band. There was a pinky ring I used to wear as a good luck charm when I interpreted and hadn’t worn it since. Today seemed to be an appropriate time to wear it once again.

As I sat waiting for Bible Class to start, Mom and Dad walked in. For several weeks Dad has been having trouble just walking a short distance from the retirement facility to church without getting winded and stopping numerous times. Today was no exception and Mom said Dad felt dizzy and more confused than usual. I didn’t think Dad’s coloring looked good. Mom was concerned and asked Dad if he wanted to go. Thought she meant home but she meant hospital. A debate ensued whether I should take Dad or call the ambulance. Greg called 9-1-1 and waited outside to guide the paramedics. They arrived within five minutes but, hey, they come to the retirement and assistant living facilities next door almost on a daily basis. Imagine they were somewhat surprised that the emergency was at church. Dad got very emotional, a not too familiar sight from the man who is constantly cracking jokes and making others laugh. He looked scared and was having trouble catching his breath. Many in class seemed to be stunned and as the paramedics attended to Dad, I could hear Chuck in the background offering up words of prayer. When circumstances close to home occur, they seem so surreal, like you’re watching from the inside out. I used to get visibly and verbally upset during these times, but the years with Carl taught me to be calm and collected in crisis situations.

When the paramedics took Dad, I drove Mom down to the ER. (It’s nice being so close to the hospital.) Joe, a member at church who is a cardiac nurse came down and sat with us. Not only was it a comfort having a friend with medical knowledge there, it also was gratifying for all of us to get to know each other better. The wait was long as is typical in the ER and family members took turns to go see Dad. Dad was completing the preparation stages to have a bypass soon and this incident led us to believe Dad would be getting that bypass sooner than anticipated. Greg, Janice, Steve, and Laura dropped by to check on Dad. Everyone seemed quite surprised that Dad would probably be released. Bruce came by just before Dad walked out. Yes, I said walked out. (Always thought hospitals had policies about patients leaving in a wheelchair.) When I drove my parents home, Dad got out and opened the car door for my mom. Typical Dad; always the gentleman. When I crossed the church parking lot, Chuck drove up. He had been to the hospital and was surprised that Dad was gone.

We’re blessed to have such loving and caring friends as we do at Long Beach.

HUCKLEBERRY PIE

2007-04-01T18:16:00.000-07:00

H U Huckle
B U Buckle
T U Tuckle Y

H U Huckle
B U Buckle
Huckleberry Pie.

That little ditty is the first thing that comes to mind when thinking about my grandmother. That was her version and she recited it often. I absolutely adored my grandmother. No "Nana" or "Grams;" just "Grandmother." My favorite relative to visit. My favorite relative to be around. Grandmother just made me feel good. She was feisty. She was spunky. She had a mind of her own. She was a stubborn cuss. Dad said Mom, Grandmother, and I were three peas in a pod. I always resented that statement, and Dad said it a lot, but now... Na, I'm honored to be compared to her.

Most of our summer trips were spent visiting relatives in Oklahoma and Missouri. My grandparents lived in a mobile home, and I always enjoyed spending time with them. Grandmother was a great cook and we ate well. Grandmother also took the time to play games and one of our favorites was caroom. This game was played on a square board with four netted pockets on each side. You use a cue stick to hit a round, white playing piece into a pile of shiny, round red and green pieces and try to get your designated color into one of the pockets. Grandmother didn't use the cue stick. She smacked that sucker around like a marble with thumb and middle finger. Of course, I had to lose the cue stick as well and the only thing I ever came away with were sore nails. Yes, Grandmother was tough.

Mom's brother had a stroke when he was 44 and moved in with my grandparents six years later. After Granddad died, the burden was all upon my grandmother's shoulders, and she did it for 18 years.

Grandmother's favorite place was the yard and flower bed--well, at least that's where she spent a lot of her time. She mowed the lawn, trimmed and edged, and knelt down in the flower beds to weed until she was 89 years old. Unfortunately, Grandmother's mowing days ended once the mower threw a rod which ruined the motor. It was as if she had lost her best friend.

Grandmother took aspirin and pain pills and developed bleeding ulcers--huge holes in the lining of her stomach with profuse bleeding. She was admitted to the ICU and Grandmother became confused and didn’t even believe she was in the hospital. She even palmed her meds and believed the nurses were trying to kill her. To ensure her safety, Grandmother had to be strapped down to the bed. Every time anyone came into her room, Grandmother pointed to the straps and asked, “Do you have a knife or a pair of scissors?” Later she had a stroke and was never the same.

Toward the end Grandmother was transported down from Houston to Austin into a nursing home to be closer to us. It was difficult going to see her and tears rolled down my face as I caught just a slight glimpse. Grandmother was asleep. She looked so weak and so fragile. Not the vibrant, gutsy lady that brightened up my days. The main thing I noticed was the sunken mouth and on the nightstand lay her set of false teeth. It's odd how the facial structure changes when one's teeth are gone. Visiting with Grandmother would have to wait for another day.

When we went back the next morning, the tears started falling before I could even get out of the car. I knew the end was near, and I didn't want to lose the person who made me smile and made me laugh. Grandmother was my role model…my rock…my heart. As I walked in her room, our eyes met. Although she could not speak, her eyes lit up--I knew she recognized me and believed it gave her comfort. That would be my last memory.

Grandmother died in 1999, two months short of her 95th birthday. Mom has always said Grandmother would have gotten the biggest kick knowing she died on April Fool's Day.

Whether it was true or not, I always thought I was her favorite. Although never really telling her the depth of my love, I'm sure Grandmother knew, possibly when our eyes met on that final day.

LIFE CHANGES

2007-03-31T18:12:00.000-07:00

It still amazes me how one’s life can change so suddenly, whether it be in a split second or a few days. I have experienced both, the latter being as recent as Wednesday. Wednesday morning I went to work at the mail order pharmacy and took the afternoon off to go to an interview ten miles farther down the road. Spent three hours talking to the owner and not only had the job, but felt as if I had known Ellen for years. We are compatible and have similar backgrounds and experiences. She was looking for an older, more mature employee, and I happened to fit the bill, although my mom might disagree about the mature part.

Went into work the next morning, talked to my supervisor and submitted my letter of resignation effective the end of business Friday and not in two weeks, but the following day. It’s not that I was indispensable. Hey, it’s a call center environment with a pond of other fish. I didn’t tell any of my coworkers until yesterday and debated whether to even say goodbye and would send a generic e-mail instead. Hate goodbyes and get too emotional. Can usually hide it until getting in the car and driving away and then the water works start. Well, the word got out and I ended up saying those goodbyes to the few that were special and to my surprise found out how special I seemed to be to them as well. Although the eyes misted somewhat when driving home, there was no flood.

So here I sit on Saturday, out of the drug business and into the fire retardant business. The new job has great potential. Many people have never heard about fire retardant. Fire retardant is flame proofing that results in stopping fires or impeding fire growth. It can be done to almost anything. This company is a consultant firm that offers fire protection and safety services to the public, government agencies, places of business, building construction, and the movie and entertainment industry. They also manufacture, distribute, and apply their own products. There are not many companies who offer these services so the market is huge and possibilities are endless. The biggest customer is Disney so that tells you something.

The business has been around for a long time although Ellen took it over seven years ago. Her fiance passed away and left the business in her hands. Ellen showed me around the office, warehouse, lab and showed me some of the products that have been and are being tested. It was really fascinating. My position is clerical in nature--answer phones, file, paperwork; you know, the usual. However, Ellen sees the position as going from office manager to her personal assistant, marketer, traveler… and if she decides to open up another office in Vegas or San Diego, I would have the option to manage or train somebody else to run it. As I said, the possibilities are endless. More office space is needed and the company might even move in and share space with Disney.

Ellen’s second passion is alternative medicine, and she ran a company for many years in Orange County. She hopes to do something along the same vein and now with me on board, it is feasible.

During our conversation, Ellen mentioned that she lives in a 3,000 square foot home with her dog and cat and within walking distance to the office. She made a comment that we could be roommates. Of course, I thought she was joking until Ellen brought up the subject again and told me to seriously consider it down the road. I was quite dumbfounded--I had just met this lady but like I said, we have great rapport and similarities. It’s also nice to know that Ellen is a Christian.

Commuting is a pain and you never know about the traffic on the interstate in Southern California. There’s always a wreck. For now I’ll commute 21 miles even though there is only a five minute difference than my previous job. Will eventually move but want to stay near my parents until Dad has his bypass and is on the road to recovery. We live around the corner from each other and just a little over a mile from the hospital.

So exciting things are happening. Now, if I only could find a boyfriend. Just kidding. Uh…….maybe not.

OUR SENSES

2007-03-25T17:56:00.000-07:00

There are so many things I take for granted and can wallow in self-pity about my plights but forget that I can do five basic things--smell, taste, touch, see, and hear.

SMELL AND TASTE
There are approximately 2 million adult Americans who have a taste and/or smell disorder. Anosmia is a complete smell loss and Ageusia is a complete taste loss, with many other disorders in between. With a bad cold you can’t smell because of a stopped up nose and can’t taste food because the nose is stopped up. Can you imagine living life that way every single day? Yes, I’m lucky to have the sense of smell and taste.

TOUCH
Myelopathy is a disease of the spinal cord which can result in loss of sensation and/or mobility. Having paralysis--loss of feeling; no physical sensation. Not being able to feel that tender touch from somebody’s hand. Not being able to feel a warm embrace. Yes, I’m lucky to have the sense of touch.

SIGHT
Never gave much thought to our sight until I became an optometric technician at the Vision Clinic in Juvenile Hall almost 18 years ago. When Carl, Jonathan, and I moved to California for the first time, I got a temporary clerical job at the Probation Department. Blanche needed some help in the Vision Clinic, so I was assigned to work for her that day. That one day turned to many other days and a special friendship developed. Blanche hired me to fill a permanent position even though I was waiting to become employed as a probation officer.

Carl said he knew if I liked something. I always talked about this job. It was interesting. It was foreign to me. Never had done anything like it. Besides doing those mundane clerical tasks such as scheduling appointments, filing, and typing, I got to assist with the therapy. Although the clientele--teenagers--were not in my comfort zone, the work was fascinating and rewarding. It also allowed me the opportunity to become part of the acting scene. Graduate students from several colleges around the area spend part of their internship working at the clinic. They were given instructions and told to be observant at all times, but most still had no clue who they would be examining, so I gave them a taste of reality and played the part of a juvenile delinquent. I swiped pencils and instruments. I became unruly and belligerent. I walked around and went outside the boundaries. I made their life a living .... You get the picture. They learned quickly and, hey, it was GREAT FUN!!!!! When it was time to move on, Blanche wrote on my going away card, “Acting only as a second career.” The one truth taken from this experience that has stayed with me throughout--there is a correlation between eyesight and behavior.

When Jonathan was five years old, he was diagnosed with a lazy eye. The doctor stressed the importance of wearing a patch over his right eye as often as possible to strengthen the bad one and had Carl and me try it to see what our son would be experiencing. He also noted, that after a child turns eight, this type of therapy would no longer be beneficial. Jonathan did not want to wear the patch and it suddenly became a battle of wills. Guess who won? Jonathan also started wearing glasses and “lost” three pairs in the same year, and I use that term very loosely. Fortunately, Jonathan has 20/20 in that good eye but can’t pass an eye exam and must go through the red tape when time for driver’s license renewal. The correlation between eyesight and behavior--possibly explains some of the problems we encountered with Jonathan during those years.

Have asked myself the question--If I had to pick which sense to lose, would it be sight or hearing? It would not be sight. Can you imagine not seeing the face of a loved one, watching a television show, or going on a daily four-mile walk? Personally I never knew anyone who was completely blind. So, yes, I am blessed to have my sight, even if it’s no longer 20/20 and have to wear glasses.

HEARING
Never gave much thought to our hearing until I became involved with the deaf ministry at church. For two years I sat in the pew and observed the interpreter signing the songs, prayers, and sermons with flowing movements and facial expressions. It perked my interest enough to start taking lessons at church with two other friends. It felt like being in school again--studied hard and practiced, practiced, practiced. Soon it was time to take the plunge. We were nervous that first night. To combat the stage fright, Jeanne told us to look at the back wall of the auditorium. Others would tell you to pretend everyone is sitting in their underwear. Can’t remember which one I ended up doing.

The more I interpreted, the easier it became, but never quite shook off all the nerves. Mainly did the easier part of your traditional Church of Christ worship service--the announcements, opening prayer, two songs, communion, and another song. Rarely did the sermons and it could be quite a struggle keeping up. You’re always signing behind and have to remember what was said without losing too much of the translation. Although proud of my accomplishments, one thing was lacking--I could not reverse. That means if someone signed to me, it went right over my head. Oh, I could catch a word or two and possibly get the gist of what was being said, but still… It was embarrassing, and I felt inadequate. Jeanne, who I thought was great, was never a certified interpreter because she could not pass the reversing phase of the certification test. What were my chances?

It’s been 18 years since I interpreted and you know the adage--“Use it or lose it.” Still practice somewhat and do a lot of signing “in my head” especially sitting in church and have caught myself moving my hands during some of the Praise Team’s songs. Have thought about sitting in the back of the auditorium to practice signing, but don’t want to be conspicuous.

Those I know in the deaf community are extremely nice and very appreciative of those willing to learn how to sign. They also seem to accept their disability. Yes, I’m grateful for my hearing although sometimes it would be desirable to be deaf when the neighbors get loud and the music echoes through the wall.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GREG!

2007-03-18T14:12:00.000-07:00

Alabama born and bred
Who married his high school sweetheart,
It’s really no great mystery
Why you never want to be apart.

What a mischievous youngster
Who obviously had fun,
And I thought I had problems
With my one and only son.

Musically gifted,
Guitar, keyboard, and drums,
But you would make light of it
And say you’re all thumbs.

Camping and walking,
Amps and guitars,
At least you curb your desire
For those nasty old cigars.

Santana and Croce,
Tomlin and Stevie Ray,
Likes only Clint Eastwood westerns,
But not his “Go ahead, make my day?”

You like Jim Carrey movies,
Please say it ain’t so,
But let us not forget about
Larry, Curly, and Moe.

Hypnotist and chaplain,
Preacher for 30 years,
A licensed funeral director,
And admiration from your peers.

A Psych degree from Lipscomb,
A Master's from U.N.A.,
Graduate work at Harding,
So where is all that pay?

Your sermons are innovative,
Make you contemplate and think,
But if preached in certain areas,
They would cause a great big stink.

What can you say about
The psycho dog from hell?
Chipper is her name,
Who I think is just swell.

Joshua and Jessica,
And Heather, Josh did pick,
Soon we’ll be calling you Gramps,
Now that is just so “sick!”

When you and Janice leave,
What a sad day it will be,
But you won’t catch me begging,
Or bending down on one knee.

So here’s happy birthday wishes
To a truly heartfelt man,
But think Janice has me beat
As to who’s your biggest fan.

EPILOGUE

2007-03-11T14:16:00.000-07:00

It’s hard to believe five years have passed since Carl’s death and it has been a very emotional and disconcerting time. Life as you know it is suddenly ripped apart. Major changes should not be made in the next six months so they say. Jonathan and I didn’t follow that adage. At the time of Carl’s death, we were managers for a self-storage facility in New Mexico. The powers that be were kind to let me stay; however, we lived onsite and my mind was too consumed with the memories, so I resigned one month later.

My parents were living in Austin and offered to let Jonathan and me stay with them until he graduated from high school. Having lived in Austin ourselves for almost nine years, it would be familiar stomping grounds. Two months later my parents had put the house on the market and bought a house in Oceanside. What a whirlwind.

The next two years were quite an adjustment for the four of us. What can you say when there are three generation gaps living under one roof. There were major problems and difficult situations to face and hard decisions to make and we were the worse for wear. However, the love never disappeared, although at the time the youngest member of the household didn't quite see it that way. If asked whether we would do it all over again, you'd get an emphatic--"I don't think so!"

Jonathan seemed to have the hardest time. Jonathan really was never school material and during his senior year skipped so many classes that the school kicked him out. After sowing some wild oats and doing some serious soul searching, Jonathan wanted to return and be able to graduate with his friends; however, the school refused because Jonathan was 18. Something is wrong when a school turns down a student willing to get an education. Only in California. Jonathan got his GED through an adult school and the school district did an about face and also awarded Jonathan a high school diploma.

Because of Jonathan’s loss, I overcompensated in monetary terms and pretty much let Jonathan have whatever he wanted, and probably to his detriment. Others tried to dissuade me and warn me of the consequences, but it fell on deaf ears. What can I say in my defense? I felt sorry that my son no longer had his father. Let me also say, I could be the poster child for the adage--"Do as I say; not as I do."

Jonathan is just beginning to understand the magnitude of his loss. There are just some things Jonathan doesn't feel comfortable talking to Mom about. It does help that Jonathan can talk to his cousin who also suffered the loss of his dad at 16. But Jonathan has grown a lot and realizes his blunders and wishes he could change the past. (Don’t we all?) However, it’s too hard carrying around the guilt and stress of life’s mistakes.

I'm proud of Jonathan for making the necessary changes. Oh, there's a long way to go but do admire that he is trying to get his act together. Jonathan has what it takes to be successful and it won't surprise me when it happens. Jonathan is stubborn, won't let anybody push him around, and has a mind of his own. I somewhat admire those aspects of my son, not that I’m anything like that you understand. Even if I have screwed up in this job as a parent, I know that we love each other deeply, so maybe I didn't do such a bad job after all.

It probably took me longer than most to come to terms with a spouse’s death, although doubt there is any time frame. Life has been lonely and frustrating. Life has been lonely and confusing. Life has been... Did I mention lonely? Never thought I would be interested in finding someone else, let alone dating. How could I? Carl was my soul mate and always thought everybody had only one. Unfortunately, I lost mine far too soon. There also would be the guilt factor; however, several friends and family members have told me that Carl would want me to be happy and move on with life. Lois was forever advising me not to live life alone and regretted her missed opportunities. Dad's answer--"Find yourself a rich guy."

Suffice it to say, I have fallen for a couple of gents, but my timing is lousy and found out after the fact that both were unavailable. Richard said that if he wasn't engaged, he would have been interested in getting to know me better. Great! I was the also-ran. Who's the idiot that came up with that word? Just say what it is--LOSER--pure and simple. And a celebrity who says that it was an honor just to be nominated. Give me a break. You're a loser! But in all honesty, I must admit it felt good to know that somebody could be attracted to me again. Recently, there was a gentleman at work that caught my eye, and we seemed to have good rapport. Don't know why it took me so long to notice his wedding ring. Obviously my radar needs to be recalibrated.

Since I knew a few success stories with those who used a specific internet dating service, thought it wouldn't hurt to give it a shot. Answering those 400+ questions was time consuming and somewhat obscure, but there was great anticipation in finding possible suitors. Imagine the disillusionment when learning that Debbie was in the 2% of those categorized as incompatible. (Who would have thunk?) The dating service sent an e-mail inviting me to try again and not to take this first attempt as being undesirable (a little too late for that). Although not amused at the time, in retrospect, it really is hilarious; the kind of humor used to create those popular sitcoms we all enjoy watching. And now to know that I'm in the same demographic as Courtney Love--it just keeps getting better. But seriously, I'll try again and might even use the dating service associated with Dr. Phil. Like him or not, the guy has been instrumental in helping me face a few of my issues.

This site was created for all to share and to let you know the real me, baggage and all. This trilogy was not posted to receive sympathy, but to let you take a glimpse of what was a significant part of my life. Yes, it was a painful experience. Yes, there will be more to come. Yes, I will continue to do what all of you are doing--dealing with the challenges of everyday life.

What Special People!

2007-03-05T18:02:00.000-08:00

The memorial service for Lois was very touching. Beautiful surroundings. Outside with squirrels running up the hillside. Listening to the fountain flowing in the background during the minister's and Hospice chaplain's loving words. Peaceful. Serene. Tranquil. Poignant words to describe a wonderful lady.

No large crowds. Just special people coming to support and console those grieving for their loved one. We personally want to express our deepest appreciation to three ladies and two gentlemen for coming all the way from Long Beach to Encinitas to be there for us. But how can you only say "thank you"? It seems so inadequate. So, Greg, Laura, Judy, Chuck, and Barbara, let me just say that our family will never forget what you did for us today, Monday, March 5, 2007. Ed was blown away that you actually came all that distance. Your love and support means more than you will ever know.

MAY YOU REST IN PEACE

2007-03-04T18:04:00.000-08:00

[My Aunt Lois passed away early Thursday morning, March 1 at the age of 87. I will miss her deeply.]

Woodrow Wilson was the President,
Two cents for a letter to send,
The signing of the Versailles treaty,
Brought World War I to an end.

The enactment of prohibition,
The start of IBC root beer,
The first crossing of the Atlantic,
Yes, 1919 was a very good year.

A gal born in Wyoming,
With the same middle name,
Who never went back,
Or rose to great fame.

You were quite the nomad,
You always liked to roam,
But really think it was Roswell,
That you considered home.

Although you had three siblings,
You still were miles apart,
Which really didn’t matter much,
For Ed truly had your heart.

We all knew you were very upset,
You could no longer drive your car,
But at least there was one compensation,
You could always have a fudge bar.

We truly were kindred spirits,
You understood me the best,
Your advice to take one day at a time,
Helped better than all the rest.

Arthritic agony since early youth,
Made it difficult to bare,
With years of constant toil and stress,
Where was all of that gray hair?

The dreaded “c” word hit you thrice,
It started with the breast,
And then moved to the lung and bone,
Was this some sort of test?

There’s no more pain and suffering,
Now you can rest in peace,
You were much more than just my aunt,
And I was much more than just your niece.

IN MEMORIUM

2007-02-25T16:06:00.000-08:00

The following poem was read at Carl’s memorial service.

When tomorrow starts without me,
And I’m not there to see,
If the sun should rise and find your eyes
All filled with tears for me.
I wish so much you wouldn’t cry
The way you did today,
While thinking of the many things
We didn’t get to say.
I know how much you love me,
As much as I love you,
And each time that you think of me,
I know you’ll miss me too.

But when tomorrow starts without me,
Please try to understand,
That an angel came and called my name,
And took me by the hand,
And said my place was ready,
In heaven far above,
And that I’d have to leave behind
All those I dearly love.
But as I turned to walk away,
A tear fell from my eye,
For all my life, I’d always thought,
I didn’t want to die.

I had so much to live for,
So much left yet to do,
It seemed almost impossible,
That I was leaving you.
I thought of all the yesterdays,
The good ones and the bad,
I thought of all the love we shared,
And all the fun we had.
If I could relive yesterday,
Just even for a while,
I’d say good-bye and kiss you
And maybe see you smile.

But then I fully realized,
That this could never be,
For emptiness and memories,
Would take the place of me.
And when I thought of worldly things,
I might miss come tomorrow,
I thought of you, and when I did,
My heart was filled with sorrow.
But when I walked through heaven’s gates,
I felt so much at home,
When God looked down and smiled at me
From his great golden throne.

He said, “This is eternity,
And all I’ve promised you,”
Today your life on earth is past,
But here life starts anew.
I promise no tomorrow,
But today will always last,
And since each day’s the same way,
There’s no longing for the past.
You have been so faithful,
So trusting and so true,
Though there were times
You did some things
You knew you shouldn’t do.
But you have been forgiven
And now at last you’re free,
So won’t you come and take my hand
And share my life with me?

So when tomorrow starts without me,
Don’t think we’re far apart,
For every time you think of me,
I’m right here in your heart.
(Author Unknown)
-----------------------------------------

The following statements were written by various family members and also read at the service.

“Carl would want us to spend our grieving time with happy memories; memories of things he did that were funny, silly things he would say, or crazy situations he would get himself into. Carl and our sister Sondra’s lives were both cut short, but the short lives they did live were filled with more joy and laughter than many people who would live to be 100 years old.

When Carl was young Dad called him, ‘Captain of the Clouds.’ He is now truly ‘Captain of the Clouds.’ His great smile, the sound of his laughter, and wonderful sense of humor will be greatly missed.”
Donna
-------------------------------------------

“Carl was always my ‘Big Brother.’ I always looked up to him. He was the first to get the car; first to get a job; and first to begin dating. As the younger brother, there were times that I was envious of the time Carl spent with Dad, but as a father, I now realize how special every moment is that we are able to spend with our children.

My wife Molly’s first memory of Carl was the day of our wedding when we picked him up at the airport. Carl was the first person from the Bailey family to meet Molly. Before I could finish introducing them, Carl opened up his arms and said, ‘Welcome to the Bailey family!’ He always had a way of making people feel comfortable. Thoughts of him will be with us always.”
Don
--------------------------------------------

“One of the best times I can remember about Dad is when we went to play golf together. He always loved golf and he would take the time to teach me the fundamentals of the game. He was always patient with me and pretty soon I was becoming quite a challenge. Those were the greatest moments we had together.”
Jonathan
--------------------------------------------

“It was so easy to be around Carl. He could walk up to a total stranger and return with some intimate detail of that person’s life. Before we knew each other well, Carl and I would have discussions only friends would dare.

Carl and I enjoyed being together even after 17-½ years of marriage. He knew how to make me laugh, and he knew how to make me cry, but we still wanted to work together. We were fortunate to have had the opportunity twice.

Carl, you touched me with you heart.
You were not just my husband, you were my best friend.
I will never forget you.”
Debbie

DEATH CALL

2007-02-24T16:53:00.000-08:00

[Unlike Law & Order, Law & Order Criminal Intent, and Law & Order Special Victims’ Unit, the following story is real and does depict actual people and events.]

Teardrops fall as rushing seas of memories of eight months passing. The heartache has no end, no waning edge of reality. Sons without fathers. Wives without husbands. This is the reality of life as it has befallen us. What is to come? No one knows. The tragedy of loss that time can only heal. The male dominant factor evaporated in the midst of ocean waves. A boy who must become the grown up and watch after the remaining parent. The young man who must face life without his father. No male figure to imitate or speculate the whys and wherefores.

“I’ll get that Dad.”
“Thanks, Jonathan. I’m getting a little tired.”

Jonathan did not always make things easy for his dad, but lately it was different. Carl felt more tired the last four months. After struggling with diabetes for 17 years, Carl developed end stage renal disease and would soon need dialysis. The illness kept the father and son relationship distant although Carl tried to compensate by playing the role of scout leader and golf instructor. Baseball would have been the crowning glory, but the sport did not beckon Jonathan. Basketball had that honor.

“You gonna make it to the game or do I need to get a ride home?”
“I’ll be there, but not sure about your dad.” His face said it all--he would not hold his breath.
“He’ll try, but he has to get an iron injection this morning.”
Jonathan sighed. “I know, Mom, but he doesn’t seem to be able to do anything anymore.”
“And you know why--he has to get ready to begin dialysis. We already postponed it and should not have cancelled his heart echo last week.”
“I know.” His frown so sullen that the tips of his brown eyebrows met.
“Try not to worry about it. Uh, you better get. Have a good day, and I’ll see you at the gym this afternoon.”

It occurred to me how life conflicted with Henry David Thoreau’s sentence from Walden--”They were pleasant spring days, in which the winter of man’s discontent was thawing as well as the earth.” Our discontent was not dissolving.

Southwest Secondary Learning Center was regarded as New Mexico’s premier alternative educational institution. Four moves in four years was ludicrous for a nonmilitary family and it took its toll on Jonathan. Making and leaving friends and trying to excel in basketball was difficult and finding SSLC seemed to make it worthwhile. At least his grades did not suffer although satisfactory soon became the norm.

The bleachers were crowded and had to settle for a seat near the end with full view of the backboard. Carl was tired after spending more time than usual at the hospital. Besides the iron injection, Carl was given two pints of A+ blood. The game went into overtime. The Monarchs were never the favorite pick in tournaments, but were quite competitive. Travis and Robert were the spit fires like Karl Malone and Dave Stockton of the Utah Jazz, while Jonathan and Derrick were the Starsky and Hutch of the backfield.

Only ten seconds left. Monarchs behind by two. Their possession. Derrick dribbled down the court at a trot, his blue eyes focused on the net. He passed it to Travis. Travis to Robert. Back to Travis who was back at midcourt. To Jonathan. His six foot frame crouching down giving way to the muscular spring. Going for a three-point shot--swoosh. The buzzer. The crowd sprang to their feet cheering and screaming. The Monarchs won 85 to 82. Quite an upset. Jumping and shouting, high fives all around. They were going to the finals.

“Mom, did you see that? It was sweet!”
“I’m so proud of you.”
“Wish Dad could have been here, but...” His contemplation was obvious--no need to finish. Discontent one minute and jubilation the next. It was forgotten and Jonathan could relish in the victory.

“Hey, Dad. We won. I made the winning shot and we made it to the finals. His smile made the Golden Gate bridge seem minuscule.
“Great! Sorry I missed it. Just so...”
“Yeah, Mom told me,” sheer exasperation in his voice. Jonathan did not want to hear the same old excuse again.

Bedtime was a welcome change although living with a diabetic was difficult. Monitoring blood sugars, controlling diet, injecting insulin several times a day. Fear of insulin reactions consumed every thought especially at bedtime when the majority of the reactions occurred. Over the years it became apparent that Carl had lost a significant portion of his mental capacity.

What a day I thought lying under the plaid comforter with Carl peacefully by my side. Reaching over to softly caress his strong back, a cold wet mist filled the palm of my left hand. Bolting out of bed, I felt a twinge in my heart and a lump in my throat. Not unusual but still unexpected.

“Carl! Carl!” I shouted while shaking his body with urgency. “Wake up!”
“Uh...”the stuttering like a severely drunken sot who had tied on one too many the night before.
“Carl, come on.” Sheer reserve helped me lift Carl up to the side of the bed. There was no need to take his blood sugar--the proof slapped you in the face. “Stay there.”

I ran to the refrigerator and grabbed the can of Red Bull. This worked so much better than the claims of orange juice. With anxious haste I poured some into a crystal cut juice glass and hurried back to the bedroom.

“Here. Drink this,” as I steadied his hand as it reached to touch the tip of his lower lip. Half a cup of a sugared beverage every 15 minutes as needed. Not for Carl-- trial and error proved this fact a fallacy. When you had the chance to get something down, you needed to make it worthwhile.
“Carl, are you okay?” I queried while placing my left hand on his back. No more sweating.
Carl groaned. “Yeah, I’ll be all right.”

His blood sugar machine registered 60 but you could always tell without taking it--he became coherent. After changing to some dry pajamas, Carl fell asleep. Laying another blanket over the bed I was relieved that the paramedics were not needed this time.

Fog dissipated the morning light. A bright sunny dawn was the norm. Sunday morning. The day to remember the Lord. How odd since church played such a small part of the day. Grocery shopping, reading the paper, practicing golf and sports on television deluged the remainder of the day. The smell of bacon and freshly baked Grand biscuits filled the air. Eggs sizzling in the Pam-soaked skillet. Coffee slowly dripping down into the carafe of the Norelco Dial a Brew. Sundays were the exceptional breakfast--not the mundane of cereal.

“I’m starving. Dad not up yet?”
“No, he had a problem last night.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Oh.”
Poor kid, he had heard this so many times. What else is new?
“Are we going to church then?” He knew the pattern.
“Yeah, he will be fine.”
Jonathan devoured his breakfast with his usual gusto. How could anybody enjoy eating so fast. Could he even taste it?

Church was inspirational--"Faith be not Proud"--a living testament to over zealous arrogance. Judge not that ye be judged.

Sunday was a good day to shop. Vegetables and fruits were fresher. Shelves were fully stocked. Less dodging carts amid the aisles or kids manipulative screams to remedy their sweet tooths.

“If you won’t be long, I’ll wait in the car.”
Carl was somewhat ashen and the usual gleam in his large brown eyes lacked enthusiasm for life. He nodded off a few times in church. Insulin reactions usually exhausted him, but today seemed strange.
“I’ll try to hurry,” as I stepped out of the car.
“Mom, I’m going to Blockbuster.”
“Fine, just make it quick. I don’t want to come looking for you.”
After a few minutes, Carl was in the store. “I got tired of waiting,” he sighed.

Through the checkout and on the way to our Nissan, Carl had an unusually slow saunter similar to the old man Arte Johnson played on Laugh-In. Although observing changes in Carl’s movement and demeanor over the last two months, an eerie sensation shot up my back.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“Geez, Dad, you’re walking so slow.
“Nothing. Just feeling tired.”
Our confusing glance said it all--the remainder of the day would be uneventful.

The rush of Monday morning rituals. Getting ready for work. Jonathan arriving at school on time even when we only lived across the street. What a feat! Carl sat on the couch in his blue plaid pajamas. His eyes sunken in with big black circles underneath. I noticed how much older he looked. Illness was depleting his spirit.

“You gonna eat, Dad?”
“Yeah,” Carl replied as he slowly went over to the table.

It was quiet at the breakfast table. I was at the counter pouring the orange juice when Jonathan called out, “Dad!”

I turned around. Carl was shaking. In two seconds I was there supporting his body for fear of him passing out. Carl’s head suddenly rolled back; eyes opened and lifeless; his face turning a light shade of blue.

“Jonathan, call 9-1-1.” It never occurred to me that something besides an insulin reaction would cause such dread.
“9-1-1. What is your location?”
I rambled off the facts. “My God. He’s dead. Jonathan, I think he’s dead,” I wailed. ”Get him to the floor and elevate his head,“ the dispatcher said as he continued bellowing out instructions.

The cordless phone was difficult to hold to my ear while helping Carl. Jonathan grabbed the phone and continued talking to the dispatcher. I was in a frozen state, consumed with panic. Prior CPR training did not erase the sense of helplessness. Fortunately, the paramedics were at the door within minutes. Several times in the past year two of the EMTs had been at our residence and knew Carl’s medical history. They shoved over the loveseat and immediately grabbed the defibrillator paddles to begin resuscitation. One of the EMTs was on the phone with the ER doctor. The others lifted Carl onto a stretcher and rushed him out the door.

“Where do you want him taken?” the small Hispanic man asked. He had dark brown shoulder length hair that was tied back with a red band, one silver loop in his left earlobe overshadowed by the four inch scar just underneath, and a red dragon tattooed on his right arm.. Not the typical picture of a lifesaving hero.
“Presbyterian--downtown,” I said in shock. This was surreal.

Jonathan and I arrived at the hospital within an hour. Family members would be notified after there was a diagnosis. A petite blond nurse took us to Carl’s room. We were greeted by an orderly, nurse, and the attending doctor.

“We had to cut off his clothes and they are not salvageable.” He pointed to the clear plastic bag underneath Carl’s bed. “We can trash them for you.”
“That’s fine.” Nausea surfaced. Jonathan was very uncomfortable and went to the waiting room.

Carl was stable though comatose. I stood by his side and stared into his face trying to ignore the steady beeping in the background. The nurse--a male no doubt--came in periodically to check the monitor.

“Mrs. Bailey, please step outside for a few minutes.”
Confusion while waiting on the other side of the curtain--a drab pale yellow and stained smudges along the bottom perimeter. Four people ran into the room. Trepidation returned my focus. Something was wrong. The doctor emerged through the curtain.

“Um, Mrs. Bailey, we need to do a heart echo. There is a lot of fluid build up around his lungs and heart. We will then start dialysis. It’s critical. We will let you know.”
The doctor went back inside. Did I acknowledge him? Everything was a blank as if being aroused from a bad dream.

“Excuse me. I’m David Sloan, the hospital chaplain. The intern told me about your situation and thought I’d see if you needed anything.”
“Thank you. They’re in with my husband now and told me it’s not very good.”
What a nice man. David chose this profession somewhat late in life in order to help people. Actually a payback for when his wife had a debilitating illness.

People kept coming in and out of Carl’s room, not easing my mind that things were going to improve. Jonathan came back to see what was happening and knew things were bleak. David asked one of the nurses if there was a private place we could go to wait. She took us to a little room down the hall and would keep us posted. Time did not stand still. David tried to make conversation and led us in prayer. What was taking so long?

The doctor entered the room. “Mrs. Bailey, it was touch and go for a while. Your husband’s heart stopped five times. He’s stabilized but on a respirator. We’re taking him up to ICU and will start dialysis this afternoon.”
“Thank you, doctor,” I said as tears continued to well up in both eyes.

A slight grimace appeared on Chaplain Sloan’s face, sympathy exuding from his blue eyes. “Mrs. Bailey, if you need me, let someone know and they’ll page me. I’ll be on the pediatric floor most of the day.”
“Thank you. I appreciate you staying with us for such a long time.” As he walked down the hall, I was amazed how much he understood our sorrow.

It was hard to ignore the oxygen and feeding tubes that filled Carl’s mouth. Jonathan was uncomfortable staying so we went out to the waiting room. Carl’s nurse, Alice, told us to come in at any time. Now another waiting game would begin.

In and out, out and in. Hour after hour. Waiting. Wondering. Hoping. The neurologist would not be by until late afternoon.
Jonathan stared at the ground. “Mom, can we go yet? I’m hungry and nothing is going to happen. Can’t we just call later?”
“I need to be here when the neurologist comes. The nurse thought it would be around 5:30. Why don’t you go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat. It shouldn’t be too much longer.”
“That’s all right. I’ll wait,” Jonathan sighed. Jon got up from the padded chair and walked over to the drinking fountain.

A tall, muscular built man came through the double doors with Alice.
“Mrs. Bailey, I’m Dr. Levine. I just checked your husband and looked over the test results. Carl’s heart stopped five times in the ER. There was lack of sufficient oxygen to the brain that I doubt he will ever regain consciousness and if he does, he will be in a vegetative state. Dialysis might help, so tomorrow we’re going to give him another treatment. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, doctor,” I said somewhat half-heartedly. All hope ended.
“Jonathan, let’s go.”

Salt laden drops streamed down both sides of my face while driving home. Jonathan was sullen yet comforting. “Please calm down. It’s going to be all right.” Nothing was right and guilt surfaced for leaving Carl 15 miles away.
“Honey, let me fix you something to eat.”
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Not now.” Food had no appealing quality. “I’m going to call my parents and Donna.” I always wondered what it would be like to get a late night call about a loved one’s possible demise.

“Mom,” with a trembling sound, “it’s Carl.”
“Just a minute, let me get your dad on the other phone. “Paul, pick up the other phone.”
“Dad,” as the tears dropped, Carl had a heart attack at the house and in the ER room his heart stopped five times. He’s in a coma. The neurologist said that so much time had lapsed without sufficient oxygen to the brain that if Carl ever came out of the coma, he would be in a vegetative state.”
“We’ll start up there in the morning. Did you call anyone from church?”
“No, I don’t know if I should and it’s too late now.”
“You should. They are there to help you. We’ll call your brother. Anyway, try to get some sleep. We love you.”
“Love you too. Bye.”

“Donna, it’s Debbie. Uh, uh...Sorry. It’s Carl...” Rambling this off in seconds seemed like a finely rehearsed script.
“I’ll schedule a flight and call you in the morning to let you know my arrival. Are you okay?”
“I’ll be all right,” I lied. “Talk to you in the morning.” Donna was Carl’s little sister by 13 months. Their other sister had died in 1980 from ovarian cancer, and their mom had passed on just two years ago.

Numbness. How else to describe it? Utter shock and disbelief. Sleep was difficult. Looking over to the right side of the bed. My hand touched the blue pillowcase. No one there.

Waking up to a new day hoping all was a dream, but no Carl. I told Linda, the church secretary, and a few friends about Carl. They would be there to give comfort and support. Mom was right--in these times people do care.

Friends filed in and out of the hospital. What a change from yesterday--Jonathan and I alone in a dimly lit waiting room. The wait was more bearable and helped get my mind off the inevitable.

Another dialysis treatment was completed but still no change. Who were we kidding? Prolonging a life that really was no life at all. It’s ironic that two months ago Carl and I signed living wills. No artificial life support would keep us alive. Now Carl was cast in the role of a lifetime.

“Mrs. Bailey, there’s a call for you. You can take it over there.” John was Carl’s angel today. There seemed to be a lot of males in this profession I thought.
“This is Debbie.”
“Hi, it’s Donna. I’m at the airport and will just take a cab.”
“We’re at the Presbyterian Hospital--Downtown. I’m glad you’re here.”
“See you soon.” Donna was like the older sister--the protective kind and always on the ball.

Hugs with eyes of welled up tears. Donna went in to see Carl. It seemed difficult for her. No joyous merriment or excited discourse. We went home--Donna drove. She loved to drive and being pitch black outside, it was fine by me. The strain was there--not really knowing what to say--but everyone knew. The veggie pizza helped to soften the tension.

Mom and Dad arrived at noon. They were always there for Don and me. We took separate cars to the hospital.

More friends came to visit. People my parents had not seen in years. The love immense; the concern overwhelming. Prayers were lifted up to God. A few sang hymns at Carl’s bedside. His favorite--My Hope is Built on Nothing Less. Some believe that a comatose patient can hear and a few of the staff encouraged us to express our feelings to Carl on an individual basis.

Jonathan was apprehensive as he entered the room. “Hey, Dad, it’s me,” carefully placing his right hand by Carl’s thigh in an effort to be near but not touching. “Stay in there. Keep fighting. Make it through.” After five minutes Jonathan came out with a surly upturned grin.
This had to be hard on him, but Jonathan did not wear emotions on his sleeve. No hysterics; no tears. At times I wondered if he really cared.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. When are we going home?”

Donna and two others took their turns, then everyone went home. Emotions were strained but still wanted to remain with Carl overnight. Trying to sleep in the white chamois lounge chair proved futile.

“Carl, can you hear me? I’m here. I love you,” a torrent of tears blurring my vision. The fountain would never run dry. Standing by the side of his bed, I held his limp hand. A slight jerk. A response to my touch? No, I remembered. John said movements are normal. “Carl, I’m going to make you so proud of me.” As I bent down to kiss his soft pale cheek, a stench similar to formaldehyde invaded my nostrils. Another common element found in comatose patients.

The mind wanders when waiting for time to pass. Replaying different scenarios since the outset. Grief, heartache, confusion. Why was there still a tube helping Carl breath? There was no hope, and Carl’s wishes were not being honored. John came in again to shift Carl’s body to the right.
“John, why is he still hooked up to a machine? Carl did not want his life prolonged and the paperwork is in his file. If there is no hope...”
“He is breathing slightly on his own with a little help. The tube can be removed, but he may linger on indefinitely.”
“I want it removed.” How could I say such a thing? Selfish pride wanted the opposite, but Carl would be furious with me if this continued.
“I’ll tell the doctors and let you know.”
Confirmation. All the doctors agreed there was no hope and to discontinue all life support.

It was necessary to be in the room when Carl died. He could not be left with strangers. Although Donna had said her goodbyes the night before, she came back down to comfort me. We watched as the technician removed the final apparatus. Carefully. Meticulously. Piece by piece. A suction sound filled the room once the tube was removed from Carl’s mouth. A spasmodic display from Carl’s body while appearing to be catching his breath.

“Carl looks younger,” Donna declared.
She was right. Tan virility reappeared on his face. Donna and I held each other watching. Carl was breathing on his own. It could be hours or even days. Within 15 minutes Carl breathed his last. Sobs; overwhelming grief. I held his hand and bent over for one last kiss.
“I’ll always love you.”

Walking to the car with legs wobbling like bowls of strawberry jello and teeth chattering as if stuck in the Alaskan snow. Sorrow and heartache as never experienced.

Mom and Dad knew the moment we walked in the door. “He’s gone,” I wept as my head nestled in their loving arms. Jonathan and I hugged. An aura of sadness but no tears.

The memorial service was simple--Carl’s wishes. No caskets or expensive paraphernalia. Simple. Clean. Cremation; no burial. Burial at sea--his passion, his pride. The ocean--his calling.

Nausea became an intrusion. The white capped waves permeated all senses. Donna also became seasick.
“This would be a good place” the captain said as he cut the motor. The Yacht Club of Newport Beach started Burial at Sea ten years ago and was the better choice over scattering ashes from the sky.
Jonathan opened the small cardboard container and untied the plastic bag filled with a tan substance resembling fine sand. Leaning over the side he let Carl’s ashes slowly glide into the never ending deep. It was quiet on the way back to shore.

Back to actuality. Family gone but friends still remain. Me and Jonathan. The two of us without our tower. The stages of death to surface. What do they say? Denial, bargaining, anger, depression, and acceptance. What stage was Jonathan in?

“Better get to school,” I said as the tears welled up.
“Mom, don’t cry. It’ll be all right.”
Such a trooper, but still no sentiment. “Jonathan, sometimes I don’t think you care. You haven’t cried or shown any emotion.”
“I just don’t dwell on it.” He gave me a hug. “Bye.”

It was quiet, and I was alone for the first time since this ordeal began. Jonathan was strong. He had a sixth sense and had been preparing himself for the inevitable--his father’s death call.

THE END