tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18751958111848512682024-03-13T08:04:10.711-05:00From Beginning to End...and Back AgainLisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.comBlogger698125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-76767910785764255782024-02-28T14:57:00.000-06:002024-02-28T14:57:05.312-06:00AAUGH!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Lrzj1u4x86xOLOrTWk2Vs9sdXbod4188vymL-LvZXPps_PNBspQSjRxI1eU8HbM6_CjyVknafnB47edwrjbNfrBYg544v9Q3bD5nzOJwTRH3dRoUZw5aEgM0qZLaLQJKeZyH5OqsPA7_ndh7w13_PGPUmOSrDqdS8qLfR4r5cDxpN0MLTwUp6mSVbo_M/s600/88f9f81ed364e5d20a9748a620136919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Lrzj1u4x86xOLOrTWk2Vs9sdXbod4188vymL-LvZXPps_PNBspQSjRxI1eU8HbM6_CjyVknafnB47edwrjbNfrBYg544v9Q3bD5nzOJwTRH3dRoUZw5aEgM0qZLaLQJKeZyH5OqsPA7_ndh7w13_PGPUmOSrDqdS8qLfR4r5cDxpN0MLTwUp6mSVbo_M/s320/88f9f81ed364e5d20a9748a620136919.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Those of us of a certain age undoubtedly remember the cartoonist Charles Schultz and his beloved though bedraggled cartoon character Charlie Brown. Try as poor Charlie might, he was always thwarted by fellow character Lucy, every time he tried to kick the football, landing flat on his backside always exclaiming...<i><b>."Aaugh!"</b></i> Still though, it never stopped him from getting up, dusting himself off and trying again. Hope always sprang eternal with old Charles and so far in this new year, 2024, I feel as if I have stepped into his ever hopeful shoes, as I lie here for the umpteenth time flat on my derriere. </p><p>To say that this year has given me a run for my money would be an understatement. I feel as if God has said, <i>"Now we are really going to see what you are made of."</i> Honestly, He really didn't need to test me. He could have just asked and I would have simply told Him. <i>Mush!</i> I am made of mush! There is no consistency, no flavor, no nothing. Apparently though, He wants me to dig a little deeper. <i><b>Aauh!</b></i></p><p>Since the stroke of midnight that brought in this new year, I have seen the inside of not one but two different ER's, two different hospitals, learned my son had osteomyelitis, learned he might possibly lose his leg, have gone through three surgeries with David, had to watch him be in extreme pain, learn all about wound vacs, sweat through the placement of a PICC line, learn to give IV meds through a PICC line, become a 24/7 nurse, find myself in pain that I had not experienced since childbirth, find out that I had a perforated colon and that I was damn near septic, do my own stint in the hospital, and then as a follow up act, come down with a viral infection that dropped me to my knees. Every time I was up, I landed squarely right back on my backside. <b><i>Aaugh!!!!!!!</i></b></p><p>There is much that I contemplated about writing today. Aside from the joy ride of the last paragraph, there are other more personal and even emotionally painful things that have gone on that have left me emotionally raw and in moments, devastated. A part of me wanted to just lay all of that out right here and right now, but honestly, the story is still unfolding, and more over, I don't even have the words to process or make sense of any of it currently. Let's just leave it at, I am seeing people through different eyes, and I am standing back, to allow God to work so I don't try and step on his toes. <i><b>Aaugh!!!</b></i></p><p>In the midst of all of this, I have asked God to let me know what He wanted from me. Apparently there are lessons aplenty. </p><p>Sometimes, I have found over the years, that with David, I forget he is special needs, <i>i.e.</i> more fragile than the average human. When he is doing well (which is more often than not) life is normal. I don't spend a lot of time stressing or worrying about him. However, when his fragility rears its ugly head, it is never in a small inconspicuous way. No, it is always big, grandiose, and very unexpected. This abscess, resulting in the infection, which resulted in his osteomyelitis is one of these fragile moments. Of course the whole thing caught me off guard and gave me stress and worry that will remain with me for awhile to come, but in the midst of it all, some very important lessons were brought home too. </p><p>The first and most important lesson in all of this was how much David means to me (and to so many others.) He is not your average kid and because of this, no matter how good my efforts have been in the past to keep him well, healthy and safe, now that he is an adult and his body and system are changing, I have to double down on those efforts, pay closer attention and educate myself whenever possible. </p><p>The second lesson I have learned is <i>the power of David</i>. Oh, I have seen it a million times but in the last couple of months it has been awe inspiring. David carries a power of joy within him. Even in his worst moments, there is a light that touches others. When he was in the hospital this time, because he is now considered medically an adult, he was on adult floors. The first floor he was on was the cancer floor until they needed the bed, and then he was transferred to the Neuro/Trauma floor. As you can imagine, neither floor exuded much joy.....<i>until David showed up</i>. On both floors, the nurses loved him and as he felt better, his joyous sounds and laughter seemed to penetrate through any darkness that existed. Even nurses who didn't have him on their shift would come in to visit and get a shot of the joy David oh so willingly shared. In fact, the nurse supervisor of the Neuro/Trauma unit said that if he ever had to be hospitalized again, to ask that he be admitted to their unit. They needed the joy. </p><p>This same joy has touched his home healthcare nurses that come out to see him weekly, as well as the staff at the infectious medicine doctors office and the wound care clinic. As he goes through the doors clapping and laughing on arrival, the front desk people are always happy to see him and of course know him by name. Amidst the severely sick and wounded, David is a breath of fresh air that staff and other patients as well seem to enjoy and appreciate. </p><p>It occurred to me the other day, that if each of us just gave half the effort to love life the way David does, and to share that love the way he does, this world would be such an amazing place. As it is though, it is David's super power and nobody does it better than him. However, maybe this episode was God's reminder to me, not just to appreciate the amazingness that is David, but to also take a page from his book and up my game where it comes to joy, love and the sharing of both. </p><p>Lesson understood. </p><p>Possibly one of the biggest lessons I have learned throughout all of this is about me. I have spent the better part of the last 20+ years feeling that it was my responsibility to take care of everyone and everything, solicited or unsolicited. After awhile, I got so good at it (<i>is good really the word?</i>) that kids, adults, and even the dogs just let me do it. At some point in time, everyone in my world quit fully taking care of themselves, and allowed me to take over. Sadly though, with great power comes great consequences. The obvious enabling aside, I have worn my mind and body down to dust and are those I "helped" really any the better for it? </p><p>When you are so busy planning, directing, and implementing everyone elses life and needs, there is little time left for things like eating right, sleeping, giving myself time to heal when I'm sick, or even getting to know who I am at this stage of my life. Well, hold on to your hats because I got to come face to face with who I currently am and she ain't pretty. I am a woman who has a hole in her colon and needs a colonoscopy (don't think that doesn't terrify me in light of my brother) and has the back of a 90 year old. I have learned that just because I paint an "S" on my chest, it doesn't mean that I am superwoman, in fact I have no idea who I am. I also realized that I no longer want to be in control of anything but myself, and maybe when necessary David. It also occurred to me that anything my adult children are going to learn from me, chances are, they already have (bad habits/traits and all), it is time they go out and start implementing them and stop allowing me to guide their course. I am done accepting the credit for the fails. It's time they put on their big kid pants and find their own way. </p><p>I also became very aware that to want, need or expect help from others in most situations is a master class in futility. Everyone has their own lives and regardless of where you "think" you fit in others lives, the cold hard truth is that you are born alone, you die alone, and everything in between you usually find yourself doing alone. This is not a complaint, but more a realization that I seem to have to relearn over and over throughout my life. The fact is, most times, I am good alone. I am used to alone and I am pretty darn proficient at alone. It is only when others start acting as if I need help or tell me they are going to help (and in a moment of weakness I buy into it), that I start getting the need/want thing twisted. </p><p>This is not to say that I don't have people around who care about us and who aren't willing to help if the need is crucial, but the bottom line is, my life, my needs, etc, don't trump everyone elses needs, families and lives. No one should drop everything they have going on at the drop of a hat for me. I think the sore point though comes when at times, the ugly frustration pops up when I realize that with those closest to me, I often give till I have nothing left to give, but when my need is there, they have nothing to give straight out of the shoot. That is when I have to slap myself into perspective and remember that what I gave, I gave freely without strings or conditions. Just because I gave doesn't mean that I am owed anything from anyone. I made my choice to give and they make their choices too. That is simply life and life ain't always fair. <i><b>Aaugh! </b></i></p><p>My body is in fact very much need of rest and healing right now. My mind is anxious and I need some peace just all the way around. This point was driven home to me this last weekend. </p><p>Last summer, I bought tickets to go see the musical <i>Wicked</i> in OKC for Willow and Zach and I. It was a combined birthday gift for both Willow and Zach. This last Saturday was the date. Of course the Monday before I ended up in the hospital with the perforated diverticulitis. I was in until Wednesday and sweated every second wondering if I would make it to OKC. By Wednesday when I was released, in true <b>ME</b> fashion, I came home gangbusters, getting out of the hospital and immediately cleaning and cooking before my overnight bag even hit the floor. I spent the next two days cleaning and assuming that I was all healed, not once thinking about what my body might be going through trying to recover from such an infections. On top of this, my grandson was not <i>sick sick</i>, but obviously he wasn't 100% and he was sticking to me like glue, sitting in my lap every chance he got. I think for this particular virus, he was patient zero. </p><p>Saturday morning, the big day, I woke up coughing. <b>FOR REAL?????</b> Nope. I had too much invested in this day. I was going even if it killed me. By the time we got home, I thought it might. I will never regret the trip, the musical or the time I got to spend with two people I lover dearly, but by the time the play was over and we were headed to the car, I nearly cried thinking about the two and a half hour car ride home. My head hurt, my body hurt, I was coughing so hard it caused me pain, and I literally wanted to crawl into the fetal position and pass out. I ended up back in the ER with a 103 temp. It was only then that I realized I really was an idiot and that I might have caused more damage to myself by pushing so hard to do it all. Luckily (if you can call it luck), I had done no extra diverticulitis damage. Instead I had dehydrated myself to dust, and I had a viral infection that my already weak body was having a heck of a time fighting off. I could literally feel both the doctor and the nurses eyes roll to the backs of their heads as I told them of the stupidity of my week. <i><b>Aaugh!!!!</b></i></p><p>So here I sit. I am still fighting this nasty viral beast, but I think I am getting better. I do find myself concerned about the upcoming colonoscopy and its results, but for the moment my colon has to heal enough to even do the colonoscopy, so it is just a waiting game. All prayers appreciated. </p><p>David is healing so well that the wound vac is off and we are in the last stages of his wounds healing. Soon it will just be ticking the clock down until he is off his antibiotics and then this particular chapter of 2024 will be closed. Thank God. </p><p>As for the rest, I think sometimes God whispers to us what He wants us to know and the direction He wants us to go, but when we (ME) are too busy jumping in and out of our own lane, trying to control the whole world and everyone in it, and listening to our own wants and desires, I simply don't hear Him. That is when He hits me upside the head <b>LOUDLY</b>, and I have no choice but to listen.....and learn. I think that is what these last two months have been about. </p><p>Yes God! I am listening. <i><b>Aaugh!</b></i></p><p> Until next time.......</p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-53134711620960165502024-02-15T15:07:00.003-06:002024-02-15T15:08:22.430-06:00Toxic Family Traits<p><span style="background-color: #6aa84f; font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidTv8Jc8zO3y3p_KyL3hGZrIL0bRpiJk-olp36UDQKP2DH1vlML6I0pvR8WxB6b3wFwA_Bp5FtUTEnQyJq0p0Y1lyGZImbtr6RPtZ66bhHrHeavXB513PlulRBPXbZjMvm71w-5s0gj3cFUCV6-XKF28rZVR1TqJg3tjErkelulSvfVL9Itcr2ZFqH5Vvg/s225/images.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidTv8Jc8zO3y3p_KyL3hGZrIL0bRpiJk-olp36UDQKP2DH1vlML6I0pvR8WxB6b3wFwA_Bp5FtUTEnQyJq0p0Y1lyGZImbtr6RPtZ66bhHrHeavXB513PlulRBPXbZjMvm71w-5s0gj3cFUCV6-XKF28rZVR1TqJg3tjErkelulSvfVL9Itcr2ZFqH5Vvg/s1600/images.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><span style="background-color: #6aa84f; font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: #ff00fe; font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;">I believe I have mentioned before that although I post a great deal about David, there is much that goes on in my world that I never speak socially about. I say this here and now for two reasons. Right now there is a lot going on in my world and it is giving me B-I-G feelings and emotions, because of this, I may find myself blogging more. Yes, it is my therapy. </span></p><p style="font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #ff00fe;">The second reason I mention this is because when you live in a home with numerous people, sometimes there can't help but be drama and even trauma. It at times makes me crazy, frustrated and down right cranky, but if I pay attention, sometimes I learn things. Sometimes it is about others, sometimes it is about myself and sometimes it is a combination of the two. The last few days have been the latter. </span></p><p style="font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #ff00fe;">Now let me introduce you to myself. Well actually, lets go further back and let me introduce you to my mother. My mother was an amazing woman, but she was not a saint. Like all of us human beings, she had her quirks and issues. One thing though is that my mom didn't have the time or patience for anything that she considered <i>inactivity or nonsense.</i> Translated that means, if you were laying around looking lazy, you needed to get up and do something. Nothing was solved by doing nothing. And <b>nonsense</b> was anything that wasn't productive and/or healing which could be anything from a breakup with a boyfriend to simply being in a bad mood and having a bad day. If she or I fought, then we immediately had to get to the bottom of the problem and fix it then and there, even if it took all night. If there was a problem, then it had to be discussed, put into perspective as to how much of a problem it was and then fixed so we could move on. </span></p><p style="font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #ff00fe;">I never really thought much about any of this growing up and never did I think about the fact that I was given no time to process a situation. All I knew was that there was no time in my moms world for nonsense, and pretty much, <i>everything was nonsense.</i> </span></p><p style="font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #ff00fe;">My mom conducted her own life the same way. The only time I remember her not sprinting through one of her own problems was when she fell and broke her leg, ankle and foot and she was afraid she would never walk again. Even then though, she only allowed herself two weeks of a pity party and then she immediately put her situation and her leg into perspective, and then was on her way to fixing it. Within a few short months, she was up and walking and doing what the doctors feared she never might. So this is how I was raised and honestly, I knew no other way. </span></p><p style="font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #ff00fe;">Looking back on my mom now, I think this way of dealing with life was the only way she could survive. She was a single mom raising two kids. She was always busy and always dealing with something and my dad always let her know that if anything happened on her watch, it was her problem. I think she was under tremendous pressure and thus, she had no time for laziness or nonsense. </span></p><p style="font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #ff00fe;">I guess it only makes sense that some of this transferred to me and how I deal with things. I know that I have always tried to be a fixer in relationships and in life, so if there was a problem I was determined to fix it. How do I fix things? With words of course. <i>Lots of words.</i> Even with my friends when I was young, if there was a problem, I was either on the phone trying to talk it out, or I was penning a note baring my soul and trying to get to the bottom of the issue. My husband was much the same way which at times resulted in some long talks and late nights. </span></p><p style="font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #ff00fe;">With my kids, whenever there was a problem, just like my mom, I always wanted to get to the bottom of it immediately. I gave no time for decompression or thought. I would instantly be trying to find out the <i>who, what, where and why</i> of it all, and to "fix" things. Sometimes they would talk, but for the most part, I just unwittingly made the problem worse as they were both the kind of humans who needed time for thought and process and sometimes, just to be mad. I truly didn't understand the mind set of holding onto the negative any longer than necessary and that would frustrate me. I am sure, looking back that many fights we had could have been resolved much sooner or avoided altogether if I had simply not needed to fix things. </span></p><p style="font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #ff00fe;">Having 20/20 hindsight now, I am sure that my need to fix everyone and everything around me, resulted from what I saw and learned from my mom and was later exacerbated by the death of my husband. I couldn't fix his loss, so I went into overdrive trying to fix (and maybe control) everything else (including the feelings and emotions of my kids). </span></p><p style="font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #ff00fe;">It wasn't until my son became an addict and I went to Al-Anon, that I saw the negativity for both my kids and myself that trying to fix everything was causing. I was standing in the way of any true healing that they themselves could do by trying to force immediate conversation and not allowing them to feel, process and heal in their own way. Once this all sunk in, for a long while I was able to focus on myself and the things that needed fixing in my own world, and leave the rest of the world alone, It was downright peaceful for awhile. </span></p><p style="font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #ff00fe;">Over the last couple of years though, my need to fix has reared its ugly head again. I will say it is nowhere near where it once was, but it is bursting through the surface again, and let me just say, it is still not as helpful as I think it will be in my mind. Why am I doing this again? My guess is that there has been a great deal of stress and the catalyst I believe was others drawing me into their issues and looking for me to fix them. Unfortunately, when you are dealing with other adults, in most cases, those adults hold their own fixes for their situations. Often the answers and fixes aren't easy or pleasant so they draw others in looking for faster, less difficult fixes, which almost never work out and I end up getting the blame. Sadly though, "fixing" and words to do so by, are like crack to me. It doesn't take much and I can jump into another's issue just by hearing the simple words, <i>"What do I do? How can I fix this?"</i> And in the last couple of days, I didn't even need to hear the words. I simply jumped in. <br /></span></p><p style="font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #ff00fe;">Let's face it. None of us is perfect. We all have our flaws and less than stellar traits, but trust me when I say, nothing can shine a blindingly bright light on those traits quicker than your own child. After three attempts at "fixing" in the last couple of days, my fixing was thrown right back in my face, only guess what? In his vision of his not so saintly mother, he didn't consider what I was doing as <i>trying to fix</i> anything. He considered it bullying, pushing and not allowing him to process or if necessary, not even think about the situation. </span></p><p style="font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #ff00fe;"><b>WHAT? </b>You have a problem and you don't think it into the ground and then fix it?! Apparently that is the case with a lot of people, especially of the male species. He then ended it with the real zinger. He informed me that part of his issue was that he pushed too and he bullied "to fix things" with issues in his own life and it was a terrible trait. He said he was just like me and it was my fault he was because that was the way I had raised him. <b>WHOA!</b> </span></p><p style="font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #ff00fe;">What do you say when their words sting clear to your core and yet you know that there is a lot of truth in what he says. I did raise him like that, because I was raised like that. I envisioned myself as a "helper" for a good many years, but the fact was, my help was at times, anything but. In fact, perhaps this particular trait of <i>fixing</i> that I had forced down their throats was more toxic than anything. <b>OUCH!</b></span></p><p style="font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #ff00fe;">This has made me step back and reevaluate a bit. Just like when I first realized this in Al-Anon years back, his words brought me right back to the realization that I can't fix anyone but me and everyone is in charge of their own problems. I have to let them figure things out for themselves. Oh and it also dawned on me that I might need to hit a meeting every now and again. </span></p><p style="font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #ff00fe;">So the point of all of this? I know that I am not alone. I know there are lots of us brought up a certain way, that proceed in life the way we were taught, only to find out that what was our norm, is viewed as someone elses toxic family trait. It is a kick in the pants to realize it, but actually in this case, as I have processed it today, it has actually taken some pressure off me. In this moment, I no longer feel that because they live in my house, that it means I have to step in and fix things. Their problems are theirs and if I stay focused on me (and David of course), maybe their problems will be fixed by them in a much quicker and healing fashion. Whatever the case though, we all have problems and finding our own solutions and fixes is what makes us stronger and grow as human beings. And maybe, my son has found his own realization in his own behaviors and will not repeat this toxic trait with his own kids. We can only hope. </span></p><p style="font-family: Bentham; font-size: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #ff00fe;">Until next time...........</span></p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-75401500054701164382024-02-06T12:33:00.002-06:002024-02-06T12:33:17.504-06:00Conversation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdRpGT2rsnP6nQlTC3bMObW5t5EzAcM8VuRvfmo6RqNpUzvUbVGXar030zgVRrwpzC2eHt7XxCdAqT2aCpf5w2Qn77L1hyXlr1_U1iA_ra5xn7bs3x0foCd81QSE1gfBleh7XjV3NSrAL9tAhfY2TYKmDc1QGyragJ8GBzJQt5U2C50SsZ4YqYVM5qQQIX/s259/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="195" data-original-width="259" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdRpGT2rsnP6nQlTC3bMObW5t5EzAcM8VuRvfmo6RqNpUzvUbVGXar030zgVRrwpzC2eHt7XxCdAqT2aCpf5w2Qn77L1hyXlr1_U1iA_ra5xn7bs3x0foCd81QSE1gfBleh7XjV3NSrAL9tAhfY2TYKmDc1QGyragJ8GBzJQt5U2C50SsZ4YqYVM5qQQIX/s1600/download.jpg" width="259" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I have this friend that I have known most of my life. In some ways, she and I are as different as day and night and in others, we are connected at the soul. Our lives have had many parallels from our early penchant for finding trouble, to finding ourselves pregnant within months of each other more than once, to suffering loss on a large scale. Maybe it's because of this that she and I can have long philosophical conversations and really listen to each other when others (even those who love us dearly) may find both us and the conversations on the quirky side or even downright crazy. It's okay though, because we both know what we know and believe what we believe, and neither of us is asking for anyone else's opinion or approval. </p><p>After having a lengthy conversation with her yesterday, the first in a long while, I kept thinking about our conversations over the years. As our lives have grown and changed, so has the content of what we talk about. When we were young, it was boys and parties and yes, a lot of mischief. Later it was spouses, kids, jobs, school, and all that these things entailed. Now, at this season of our lives, we still talk about our kids and now our grandkids, but we also talk about our losses and how they affect us. We talk about God, what is out there after we are gone, and all the things in the universe that we don't know and more importantly, don't understand and simply cannot wrap our heads around. These are conversations we have never had before because we had no reason to. We were young and invincible and so were our families.....<i>until they weren't.</i> </p><p>It is a simple fact that the longer you live, the more you will feel loss as those around you leave this earth. I myself have been losing people that affected my life since I was 12 years old and I simply don't have enough hands to count the losses on my fingers anymore. With those losses, it seems that some hit us differently than others. It is not a comparison in the depth of our love for them, but perhaps there are those that we simply are connected to differently. Maybe our souls are more intertwined with some than we realized, and their loss takes us to emotional places we never dreamed possible. </p><p>Both my friend and I have incurred some very painful loss in the last few years and hers has taken her on a journey of incomprehensible pain. It has also changed her and maybe even woken her up to how big and mysterious the world is. In trying to understand her loss, it has opened her up to thoughts, possibilities, and even beliefs that she had never really entertained in the past. From my vantage point, I have also seen that with loss, she grew closer to the one she lost and she has come to know that person (her child) far better than she even did in life. This in itself is painful and beautiful and it has brought her to a place where she now sees the world much differently. Thus fodder for many of our conversations over the last couple of years. Because of this, she has opened me up to realizations that I had never really thought of before. </p><p>Prior to her loss, my friend questioned or maybe simply didn't fully believe anything spiritual, and honestly, like the rest of us, she was too busy surviving in this world to really pay much attention to really <i>experiencing</i> it. Now though, she is acutely aware of all the things we humans tend to miss on a daily basis. There is such beauty we don't see because of the blinders we wear. There is also so much we fill our lives with that really means nothing in the big scheme of things. I think one day the most profound thing she said to me was, <i>"Lisa, the only thing that matters in this world is love." </i>Now as long as I have known this girl, she has never once before prophisized about love, and yet, I know she now believes this to her core. </p><p>Due to the mother who raised me and my upbringing, I have always had a firm foundation of God, faith, and my own spirituality though at times it may struggle a bit, it is usually fairly on point and has gotten me through more trenches than I would like to remember. Through the years I have told my friend my beliefs and where I stood and while she never discarded my beliefs, she also never saw things as I did. We were good with feeling differently, but it also sometimes limits the conversation when you know the conversation can only go so far and you seem more like a preacher than a friend. Now though, our conversations can actually be endless. </p><p>Together, we have discussed God, heaven, religion, spirituality, and all the things out there that we can't even fathom. Yesterday we even talked about extraterrestrials. We were talking about Area 51, the incident at the Florida Mall, and the possibilities that if these things could be real, what that might mean in the big scheme of things. She said she felt funny talking about this stuff to others as people look at you sideways and some even find it a slap in the face to God. It kind of shocked me as my mother's words came to mind. My mother had her own legit experiences with the ET world and she told me one time that we were pretty egotistical to believe that just because God created us and "our world" that there wasn't more out there that He also created. After all, He is God and perhaps this world is all He felt the need to share with us. Like any parent, maybe He didn't feel the need to make us privy to all His creations, only the ones that He felt necessary we know about....<i>at least for the time being.</i> Honestly, it made sense to me. After sharing it with my friend, it made sense to her too. </p><p>Other conversations we have had, have taken us into the sensitiy of children. Coming into this world with an open heart and spirit, I do think they can be <i>sensitive</i> to things that we as adults have shut out of our minds. Children don't know that they "shouldn't" see things, while as we grow older, the world tells us many things "aren't" possible, <i>but aren't they?</i> I've had my own "unexplained" experiences as a child that have stayed with me my entire life, and I have watched other children experience things that there is simply no explanation for. Again, this is not a disrespect of God, but the belief that God can do anything, and perhaps because children are so innocent and open, He allows them to experience things such as this to widen their views and with a purpose to mold who they will become. </p><p>We have also talked about reincarnation which I can't really get my head around, but it is definitely an interesting concept and conversation, as well as Heaven and hell and people who have died (for minutes) and come back and what their experiences were. We have shared podcasts about all these topics, as well as thoughts about the paranormal and even ghosts. Yes, death can bring on a lot of questions, and some very interesting conversations if you allow it. </p><p>Through all of these conversations, I have realized that time and circumstance have brought my friend and myself closer together. We talk about the weird stuff, the hard stuff, and the really painful stuff. She has also made me more aware of the world around me. I find myself picking my battles more carefully and realizing that most of the stuff we, as humans fight over, is just that.....<i>stuff.</i> In a week, month, year, etc, most of it will not matter and actually probably does not matter now. I also have found myself having such mixed views of others. While so much of what goes on in the world right now is sheer ridiculousness and people on a whole make me avoid humans at all costs, I do also try to view people through the lens of walking a mile in their shoes. I try not to make instant judgments on what <i>I think</i> of someone and I try harder to see deeper than just the surface. I am doing my best to make kindness my "go-to" even when I feel anger or anything but kindness. Most of all though, I am trying hard to cherish the moments I have with those I love in my own life. I try to appreciate the sound of a full house and my grandkid's laughter, the cold outside, even when it makes me aggressive, the sound of the rain, the time I get to share with my own kids, and the moments I have that are quiet so that I can listen and pray and maybe even hear beyond the regular hum of life. </p><p>Yes, this particular friend, as with all of my friends, has a special place in my world. She has reminded me that life is short and we have to open our eyes and see its beauty and take in all that is given to us. She has also brought home the fact that sometimes the worst has to happen to us for us to be able to see things we never would have otherwise seen. She has helped me let go of all the <i>stuff</i> that clutters my mind and heart and most of all, she reminded me of what matters most......<i><b>love!</b></i></p><p>Until next time......</p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-51296992391879526552024-01-27T13:23:00.000-06:002024-01-27T13:23:02.806-06:00Body, Mind and Soul. How I'm Doing So Far!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhODsHzv0PeQpnVBmiQLzFSb7wmvM4hzB2lOT6wsUkODzr1BDNKCbvydiq8_ZxKedbV50H-PFLhuna4dub1yQ0Zc5qoPwXVUKSWeIx4XRUUg-ucIp5vs97CH3asq1NeqUFHhQqxOGUx9cw2DR0cVY3YSK2nAG-cget_ISX7Wy8bq3Jub0lO9UepRv8gFx_E/s2048/418477541_10224657145678391_5591133438545981458_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhODsHzv0PeQpnVBmiQLzFSb7wmvM4hzB2lOT6wsUkODzr1BDNKCbvydiq8_ZxKedbV50H-PFLhuna4dub1yQ0Zc5qoPwXVUKSWeIx4XRUUg-ucIp5vs97CH3asq1NeqUFHhQqxOGUx9cw2DR0cVY3YSK2nAG-cget_ISX7Wy8bq3Jub0lO9UepRv8gFx_E/s320/418477541_10224657145678391_5591133438545981458_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>No, I did not abandon ship these last couple of weeks. I in fact lost my laptop charger (which is a story in and of itself) and call me old school or a spoiled brat, I prefer to only write my blogs on my laptop. So thanks to Amazon, I now have a new charger and I am back in business. </p><p>Today, I write this from my bed. Yes, it is 11ish in the morning and I am in bed, with my dogs, writing a blog. Definitely not my normal Saturday routine, but today, and for the weekend, this is where I plan to stay. This is the closest thing to downtime that I am going to get, and even this is getting me sulky looks from others who reside here, but other than Davids needs this weekend, I am going to concentrate on myself mentally, physically and spiritually. </p><p>This last week, some things occurred to me. One of those things was that I am <i><b>not </b></i>really a pleasure to be around right now. My body hurts, my brain cannot stay engaged for longer than a few minutes and emotionally/spiritually I am struggling. I am exhausted physically and this exhaustion is playing havoc with everything else. So yeah, here I am venting a bit. </p><p>Do not ever get me wrong though. I feel grateful everyday for David and all the many wonderful blessings he has brought to my life, but I also won't lie, being the parent of a special needs child can be tough at times. Add to that, being a widowed mother of a special needs child and you have a new layer of stress, frustration and even loneliness that a two parent partnership doesn't experience. </p><p>Also, I think sometimes people think I put my whole life out there for the world to see, but the reality is, there is so much that goes on in my life behind the scenes that doesn't even have to do with David, that I never share. Heck, even my own family and friends don't know my <b>real</b> life. If I am completely honest, at times, David is the least stressful part of my world. I juggle so much in my daily life above and beyond David, and apparently I do it well enough, that even those that live in my home don't always see it, <i>or appreciate it.</i> </p><p>On a good day, I can put on a smile, look for the positive and plow through the day fixing this, taking care of that, and putting out small fires before the entire structure of the family succumb to them. However, when something big happens, like the last few weeks with David, it becomes very evident that I am only one insignificant human being in all of this craziness and I am completely incapable of being all things for everyone in my little world. That is when my focus is squarely on David, and this is also where everything else starts to crumble from the cleanliness of my house, to the needs of the others who live in my house, to even the attention my dogs think they need. With all of this, I start feeling tremendous pressure to up my game and do better, until my body and mind just start giving out. This is where I currently am and have been all week if not longer. </p><p>The truth is, to be a special needs parent, you have to be built differently because you see and feel the world differently. In David's case, while he looks like a hot mess on paper, he typically does not need or even want a lot of attention from me. Yes, he <i>"needs"</i> me to lift him and do his basic care, but once those things are accomplished, he has his own routines he likes and he is very independent with them. It's not that he doesn't like or love me, because he does, but at times, my overt presence becomes an irritation to him and I can't tell you the number of times he kicks me out of his space. For me, it is a constant back-and-forth of <i>am I doing too much or not enough for him?</i> After a time though, we do get into a routine, until something like major seizure activity takes place, or kidney stones, sepsis, or an abscess rears their ugly heads. Then, that resets us to a completely different mode, a survival mode if you will, where he needs me more and yet really gets to hating my presence when it overrides his independence. Add in the pain, frustration and stress these cause him, along with his inability to tell me exactly how he feels, and by day's end, I think we both want to sit down and cry. There are literally days that I go to bed feeling like a failure to both him and everyone else in my home. </p><p>While David has been a lot of my current struggle, he certainly is not all of it. It feels like since early fall, I have been dealing with <i><b>something</b></i>. We of course had family situations that pop up from time to time and trying to keep everyone (myself included) calm and focused on the big picture and what is truly important, isn't always easy here. Then there was my brother. While I knew he was very sick, I didn't know that he would be gone before the holidays. That whole situation did things to me emotionally that I still have not had time to process. Then just the normal stress of the holidays and David developing the original abscess. Nov. 26th was the day it all started, taking us to Dec. 30th which firmly planted him in the hospital for almost two full weeks. </p><p>As I stated earlier, as a special needs mom, I am built differently. I have people ask, <i>"Why don't you go home at night?"</i> or<i> "Can I come up and stay with David while you go home for a bit?"</i> or the kindest of all, <i>"Can I come up and sit with you awhile?"</i> What people don't understand is that David is non-verbal so he can't express himself verbally if there is an issue. Also, sadly, in this day and age, his inability to speak makes him vulnerable to others with bad intentions or a poor or lazy work ethic. <b>I WILL NEVER,</b> leave David alone in the hospital. In fact, I don't even go to the cafeteria. The fact is though, because he is non-verbal and the hospital is usually short staffed, they don't want me to leave. They <b>WANT</b> me there. </p><p>While offering to come up and relieve me is incredibly kind, I can't or won't allow anyone else to do this for the same reasons. If something happened and they don't know Davids noises or signs, I don't want to put them, myself, or David in a situation where there is lasting guilt over an attempt at a kind act. </p><p>Finally, when I am at the hospital with David, I am in a very different headspace. I have spent so many nights alone in the hospital with David, that I don't know how to be with others there. It is uncomfortable trying to make small talk and my brain shuts down and it just becomes exhausting. Even my family understand this and other than possibly bringing up some necessities from home, they don't even come up to the hospital. Weird yes, but it is how we roll in the hospital.</p><p>As per usual, David's abscess didn't come without extenuating circumstances. Before the abscess was found, David had been scheduled to have his VNS (which is an implant that regulates his seizures) changed out as the battery was about to die. It was to happen on the 29th I believe. Once the abscess was found and he had infection in his body, the surgery could not take place until all infection was gone. It was believed it would be fine though as he was expected to have enough battery to get through until the first of the year. As we know though, he is still struggling with the infection and the VNS will likely not get replaced until March or later. What this means is that he no longer has the VNS to stop or head off any seizure activity he has, so on top of everything else, I have to constantly monitor him for seizure tells that mean his well controlled seizures might start up again and we have no idea how those seizures might manifest. Yes, an added layer of stress. But that's not all. </p><p>Davids teeth have never had decay, but he has not been able to see a dentist in a couple of years because he has to be sedated for any dental proceedure and because of insurance, the anestesia team at his usual dentist (and the only one who sedates) would not accept his insurance. Then, in November, I was informed that they would now see him again. We were all set to go in, and just in time, as his front tooth had suddenly developed decay, but guess what? They can't see him until all of the infection is gone. And another layer of stress as I pray the tooth doesn't develope an abscess before it can be taken care of. </p><p>Finally, as part of his at home care, David has a PICC line in which he has to be given two IV antibiotics every day. Guess who gets to do that? Yep! That's right! The woman with not an ounce of medical training. Did you know that an LPN is not allowed to give IV meds through a PICC line, but me with no training, is not only expected to do so, but also expected not to set up any knew infection while doing so. <i><b>Ain't that some sh*t!</b></i> And it is a process. The meds must be given the same time everyday with saline flush given several times in the course of the process, along with timed push for each med and finishing off with heparin. I literally sweat blood each time making sure I clean the port thoroughly with alcohol before each push and making sure there are no air bubbles in the syringes. To say it is the least favorite time of my day would not be an exaggeration. </p><p>So as you see, my stress is still very high, even as David heals. </p><p>I don't dislike my life, nor do I regret the path laid out for me thus far. However, I am tired. While most of my friends are retiring and planning on vacations and new adventures, I am fully aware that their lives will never be mine. My life will always be waiting for the other shoe to drop, doctors, hospitals, worrying about how much longer my van will hold out, making sure I can stretch my fixed income to pay the bills, and lets not forget.....good old family drama. On most days, I don't even realize how different my life is from others, but coming off the last few months and feeling all of it clear to my soul without being able to have the time or space to process most of it, may just be getting to me a bit. Thus, my weekend in bed/semi vacation. </p><p>It is my hope that after some rest and relaxing my back a bit, that come Monday, I will be back to the usual me who sees things with a positive spin and a go get em attitude. </p><p>Thanks for letting me vent and please don't hold my imperfctions in life against me. I am not strong, nor fearless, nor great in any manner. I am just a special needs mom who has no choice but to fly by the seat of her pants and figure it out as she goes along, and truth be told, I wouldn't have it any other way. </p><p>Until next time.......</p><p><br /></p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-15954368685688744352024-01-10T14:12:00.002-06:002024-01-10T14:12:23.416-06:0010 Floors Up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfLy-0pwEu-rRW57H8xGSXSV4TJTfRrH13EjyaumVCmDeZam2iLQv8Eh7Gsuifbx1FYq5HcKkEBYDajncU76RxmKw4A1y4KCI0EudMS31ZJFnWqlZjERodODb2ig3K6Bajy3kQWmyifDZpWuvSEaqLX4CtfPNE6NfAqvzhGdhCpb1hj6j1LkDf-tEtfJJK/s4032/IMG_1114.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfLy-0pwEu-rRW57H8xGSXSV4TJTfRrH13EjyaumVCmDeZam2iLQv8Eh7Gsuifbx1FYq5HcKkEBYDajncU76RxmKw4A1y4KCI0EudMS31ZJFnWqlZjERodODb2ig3K6Bajy3kQWmyifDZpWuvSEaqLX4CtfPNE6NfAqvzhGdhCpb1hj6j1LkDf-tEtfJJK/s320/IMG_1114.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>Well, this is David’s 11th day in the hospital and here I sit. I am thinking that this has been his longest stay to date, and hopefully ever. </p><p>This whole ordeal has been a lesson in patience, prayer and the acceptance that life sometimes gives us things we have no control over. You would think though, that over the years I would have that last one committed to memory. </p><p>It is my hope that tomorrow we are out of here. It will be between storm fronts and will get us out before the temps drop to arctic degrees. He will be going home with a wound vac and a PICC line and he will receive IV meds for 4-6 weeks and the wound vac will stay in place until his wounds are closed and healed (possibly 4-6 weeks also). </p><p>The upside is that David will likely be able to get back to his normal routine and bonus…..he will be getting a hospital bed that will just help life in general. It will definitely help my back with lifting and positioning. And speaking of my back, it is going to be getting more of a workout as Mr. David LOVES the hospital food and has therefore put on about 4-5 pounds since he has been here. Of course he has. </p><p>Our stay here has taught me so many things and allowed me to get a close up view of a lot of things. Since arriving here on Dec. 30th, David’s has been in the ER, surgery, the oncology floor (it was the only place they had beds at the time), MRI (radiology) and finally he was transferred to the neuro/trauma floor when the oncology floor beds were needed by actual cancer patients. </p><p>The transfer from the pediatric unit where we spent all of our hospital stays his entire life before he aged out, to the adult units has been eye opening and to be honest, I was nervous. Everyone in peds knew David. We always saw familiar faces and sometimes the nurses even fought over getting to care for him. No matter how severe the situation, I never worried about his care. I have learned though, that moving to the adult world and hospital units has been a much easier than originally anticipated.</p><p>In our stay here, there have only been a couple of situations that left me less than happy, but for the most part, David has had amazing care and awesome staff. My only issues were an aide on the oncology floor that I knew was doing as little as she could to get by and what she was doing was half-assed. Luckily we didn’t even have her a full shift. The other issue was MRI. </p><p>Since we have dealt with radiology here for years, I have always known them to be very quick and on top of things, but getting the MRI that was crucial to get before having surgery was a literal nightmare this time. It took nearly a week, all the while David’s leg had a massive infection. As mom and a frustrated bordering on angry mom at that. I was ready to go have words with the head of radiology myself. Luckily it didn’t come to that, but another day and I would likely have been trespassed from the property. </p><p>In all fairness though, not only did we arrive on a holiday weekend when everyone was short staffed, but Davids was also a complicated case. He had metal and various implantations, that had to be worked around, so it wasn’t just a lack of care or effort on their part, although I do think a couple of things were overlooked which held up the process and prolonged the situation.</p><p>This time, because of the new issues (abscesses and infection) we got to experience the wound team who are absolutely amazing and we got up close and personal with the IV team who have been life savers and who will be placing the PICC line. </p><p>David has had such excellent care from the docs, residents, nurses, aides, lab techs, food service and cleaning people. I have been extremely impressed with 99% of everything we have experienced. Most of all, they all seem to really like David and even if they aren’t on his team that shift, they always drop in to say hi. </p><p>Even though this has been a fairly traumatic experience, I have tried hard to hold perspective through it all. I have tried to find the positive in even the most stressful moments and I do my best to always thank those who care for David and be respectful of everything they do. I don’t think these caregivers get the appreciation or respect they deserve and I fully believe that people give their best when they are treated your best.</p><p>I have had a lot of time to think up here and appreciate things that in my normal busy life I don’t always take the time to give my full attention to. It has become very clear to me that my grandkids are what keep me motivated and smiling. Being away from them has been tough. They do understand though that David has to currently be my priority and I love them all the more for that.</p><p>David in most cases has stayed positive and upbeat, enjoying his tablet and some toys we have up here for him. And as I said, the food here makes him ecstatically happy. He also enjoys anyone who walks in to talk to him, unless of course, they are holding what he perceives to be a needle of any kind.</p><p>It has snowed twice while we have been here and since we are on the 10th floor, we have had some exquisitely beautiful snow shows out our huge window. I have even gotten to play with the camera on my phone a bit and took some really pretty pictures of the snow during and after. I actually enjoyed that. </p><p>The days pass quickly up here with lots of people in and out, day and night. Most of the time though, when there is a quiet moment, I just pull into myself and think. Even being a mom of a special child for all these years, there is never a completely comfortable emotional place to secure myself in, and if I try to find one, things like abscesses will pop up out of nowhere and bring me back to the reality that mine and David’s life has always and will always be different than most. There will always be the terrifying moments that come with the territory, but there is also so much joy, laughter and love that scary moments fade away….until the next one comes along.</p><p>I know many people love and care about us, but I also feel a great loneliness at times. It is no one’s fault, and sadly it can’t be filled by anyone except the one who isn’t here. Tim and I started this journey together and had he lived, we would still be sharing it together. As David’s other parent, the weight of the scary times as well as the joy of the good times would have been evenly distributed and together we would have understood the depth of emotions that come with all of this. We would have supported not only David but each other thru both the best and the worst. With him gone though, I am alone where David is concerned. Every decision, every crisis, every moment is mine and mine alone to care for him, love him and most of all fight for him. There is just no one else that is his parent. There is no one to hold me up and so I have become very independent and closed off in moments of crisis. I don’t want to do it alone, but I also fight having anyone around. It is a weird place to be in and I have thought a lot about it looking out 10 floors up over the snowy city. </p><p>Hopefully, this speed bump is running its course and soon we will be back home, working our way back to whatever our new normal will be for 2024. </p><p>I hope you all know that I am beyond grateful for anyone who has come up, messaged, called and most of all prayed. Those prayers are huge and seem to be working and I hope to take each of those prayers and pray them forward. </p><p>Perhaps this less than stellar start for the new year has set the stage for something new, something joyful and maybe even something wonderful. I choose to stay on the most positive side of hope possible. </p><p>Until next time….</p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-48580776233903088482024-01-03T17:01:00.002-06:002024-01-03T17:01:19.639-06:00Hotel Hospital for The New Year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf61lalJZEiRVZOEuBeFA8gb_H_yWI1qW4dY41mstiOOm6MByM1ehDtUvHXeINO-lHo1ofSjYqthKlDUKHYzazqvHHXbvimXDz2V1JllxAuC1ivKWFHg3odmlzinOnCzt4VuiflRZekHpsHxiOS_dJyCt5MttKnKOsABs0MJkAibEmh2_G6fBgFqDuJf6U/s4032/IMG_0967.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf61lalJZEiRVZOEuBeFA8gb_H_yWI1qW4dY41mstiOOm6MByM1ehDtUvHXeINO-lHo1ofSjYqthKlDUKHYzazqvHHXbvimXDz2V1JllxAuC1ivKWFHg3odmlzinOnCzt4VuiflRZekHpsHxiOS_dJyCt5MttKnKOsABs0MJkAibEmh2_G6fBgFqDuJf6U/s320/IMG_0967.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p>Well isn’t this some funky monkey business?! David and I ended 2023 in the ER and started 2024 in the hospital….and we are still here. Once again I’d like to say that I have no words, but I actually have plenty and none of them are pleasant. </p><p>Since it’s been awhile since I have had a dedicated “David” blog piece, I believe that today should be the day to remedy that. So here we go.</p><p>For anyone who knows us or is on Facebook and reads my posts, you all probably know that the last 6-8 weeks hasn’t been a joyride for David. For those of you who don’t know the story, let me fill you in.</p><p>If you have never been introduced to David before, he is my youngest son who is 23 years old and has a laundry list of health issues that started when he was born at 27 weeks. He has cerebral palsy, hydrocephalus, he is developmentally delayed, non-verbal, hearing impaired, visually impaired and has a seizure disorder. On paper he sounds a mess, but his reality is he is a basically healthy young man, with a wicked sense of humor, who has to do somethings differently but loves life, love his family, SpongeBob, COPS, and the Foo Fighters. He is funny, active and the heart of our family. All in all, we live a fairly normal life. </p><p>So if things are basically good, then how did we end up at Hotel Hospital? Well, every few years David likes to go off script and do some wild thing with his health that catches me off guard, is scary as hell and forces me to learn “nursing skills” that I didn’t currently have and quite frankly, never wanted. Some of his past oldies but goodies include asperative pneumonia which resulted in sepsis, shunt malfunctions, post surgical sepsis, a year of chronic seizure activity, kidney stones and bladder retention that almost resulted in sepsis and now…..he has an abscess which has tried to run amuck in his body.</p><p>Our current story begins on November 26th (2023). David suddenly had a hard spot about the size of an egg, on the back of his right leg below his knee. Of course it was a Sunday so no docs were readily available. My first thought was that maybe it had to do with his CP and his muscles, so I called his on call ortho doc who said to get him to the ER. After one CT and a several hours wait, we learned that the hard egg was actually an abscess. They ended up opening the abscess at the bedside, drained it, packed it, bandaged it and sent us home with a 21 day supply of antibiotics and instructions on when to take the packing out. Then we were on our way.</p><p>All went smoothly and he was healing nicely until December 1st when the hardness came back. This was on a Friday, and after a call to his primary care doc who said, “back to the ER you go”…. It was back to the ER we went. After another hours long wait, the surgery team showed up, once again at bedside opened the incision, widened it and dug around trying to get out as much infection as possible. Then, as before, he was packed, bandaged and we were sent on our way with instructions to remove the packing in 24 hours and then only bandage if it was still draining. Oh and to continue the antibiotics. </p><p>Once again I followed the instructions to a “T”, except for the fact that it wouldn’t stop draining. I am not a nurse and my medical skills don’t go much past handing out medicine and putting on bandaids. I am however acutely aware of all the hardware David has in his body from shunts to metals plates and screws and how we don’t ever want infection getting to any of that, so daily as I changed gross and pusy bandages, my worry increased. I was neurotic when it came to his antibiotics and I regularly checked his incision for swelling or redness and took his temp so often he would lift his armpit for me every time he saw me coming. I also exhausted every nurse friend I had and some people I didn’t even know, showing them pictures and asking them questions. I think somewhere deep down, I knew this abscess was not just going to be a one or two and done deal. I hate it when I know these things and am right!</p><p>On December 30th, David had been up and in his chair most of the day. He hadn’t acted like he was hurting or anything, but when I laid him down, he grabbed his leg and refused to stretch it out. On further investigation, further up from the incision, on the outside of his leg where he had a previous surgery and he had a plate, it was red and swollen. I knew without a second thought that we had a problem. Back to the ER we went yet again, where by the Grace of God we hit a non-busy window of time and he was immediately given a CT. This time, the CT not only showed the original abscess still alive and well, but it also showed that it was possibly tracking up his leg. This was not good. It was at this point David went from an outpatient ER patient, to an inpatient awaiting a floor bed and surgery patient.</p><p>On December 31st, he was scheduled for surgery and I was given the details of what we were and could be looking at. They had done blood cultures that we had to wait for them to grow over the next three days, so they were watching that, and they were planning to culture the wound which meant we would have another 3 days to see what grew there. His white count was elevated which indicated infection and they also wanted to do an MRI to get a better look at where the infection might be. </p><p>The fear was that the infection might have contaminated the metal, which could mean long term IV antibiotics. Long term meaning for the rest of his life as you can’t kill infection on metal. There was also the worry that the infection might be on or in the bone. This brought us to more serious consequences. <i>Osteo</i> <i>Myelitis</i>. This is a chronic infection in the bone. If this were the case then his ortho doc would be brought in and they would have to decide along with his antibiotics, whether they would try to remove some of the metal, or if the bone were involved, to go in and remove it from the bone OR worst case scenario, remove his leg completely. HAPPY NEW YEARS EVE! I was and have been a mess ever since. </p><p>They went ahead and did surgery to clean out where the CT showed the pockets of infection. The surgery took only about 45 minutes and the surgeon drained both the original abscess as well as the pocket that was on the upper part of his leg. When done, she came out to tell me that they found very little infection, which surprised us all. Most of it was just fluid, but they stitched up the upper incision and put a wound vac on the original spot. </p><p>While it was good news that much of the infection had apparently drained prior to surgery, the fact that his white count was still elevated caused more worry that it was indeed <i>Osteo</i> <i>Myelitis</i>. The kicker is, we can’t know if the infection is in or on the bone without an MRI and as of this moment, we are STILL trying to get <i>that</i> illusive MRI! Yes, I am getting a bit fussy and it has to do (I believe) with someone in radiology’s inability to read information, but I’ll save that rant for another blog!</p><p>As of today, David has seen the hospitalist, someone from surgery, infectious med, and the wound care person. She checked the incision which looks amazing and cleaned out the wound vac. THAT David did not enjoy and he nearly pinched a hole in me. Other than that though, both of his cultures are clean and have grown nothing and his white count is normal. Also, in the last 30 minutes, his IV failed, so there are more needles in his future. Poor kid. </p><p>Things around here either crawl at a snails pace or they move at the speed of light. I was just this minute informed that all is a go for the MRI at 9 am tomorrow. Thank goodness. Hopefully it will come with answers we need.</p><p>The rest of today, David will get his IV changed, a bath (of sorts), dinner and TV. And let me tell you about David and this hospital food!!!</p><p>I think this child of mine is sending me a pretty strong message about my cooking at home. This boy LOVES his hospital food. Every morning he chooses pancakes, hash browns and yogurt. He also wants chocolate milk, but as of today, he has run them out of it. For lunch he always chooses a deli sandwich with turkey, cheese avocado and tomato, potato soup, steak cut fries, chocolate chip cookie and chocolate milk. Supper is chicken tenders (he doesn’t typically like chicken tenders…but whatever), steak cut fries, Mac and cheese, chocolate chip cookies and…..chocolate milk. When he knows it’s time for me to order he starts pointing towards the phone and he is not happy until it’s here. Silly boy! I guess mom is going to have to up her food game at home.</p><p>So now we wait. Tomorrow should give us the answers we need to move forward. Who knows, we may even be home this time tomorrow (hopefully before the snow). If you pray, please say a prayer that David’s bones are not affected by the infection and if you don’t pray, could you please do it anyway…just this once….for David?!</p><p>Until next time….</p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-18113667498100864432023-12-27T13:22:00.003-06:002023-12-27T13:22:21.322-06:00A Changing of the Years<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJqctySo3BPAd1c8r_xUbmgUHz0gLarWAYVk-9jw_h1mOC9-lY3V3TcNVbZItkCjeyVFYuSY5I7FA6Auu96BmtZlsAlJpTnrlcRAEj9h4yHEDHhX3WuU9jqx3Ts7qgIL94gLZYUxbeYDUBUhEnKnIEOM3ujm2Qn4HR2XgNyKPup57vJetrE9gSWlrWWPtq/s850/2024_new_year_istock_GettyImages-1507058661.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="476" data-original-width="850" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJqctySo3BPAd1c8r_xUbmgUHz0gLarWAYVk-9jw_h1mOC9-lY3V3TcNVbZItkCjeyVFYuSY5I7FA6Auu96BmtZlsAlJpTnrlcRAEj9h4yHEDHhX3WuU9jqx3Ts7qgIL94gLZYUxbeYDUBUhEnKnIEOM3ujm2Qn4HR2XgNyKPup57vJetrE9gSWlrWWPtq/s320/2024_new_year_istock_GettyImages-1507058661.webp" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>There are just a few days left of 2023. Soon we will have the changing of the years. I can't believe this year has just sped by in such a manner, of course at my age, that is all time does is speed by. </p><p>This year started out with my dad's funeral. It was a cold, blustery day that resulted in my getting sick and somehow I resentfully believed he might have had a hand in it all. Truthfully though, I think that I just held a lot of angry and uncertain emotions that I didn't know how to process and this kind of, sort of, may have set the stage for 2023 and many of the things that it was and that it manifested. </p><p>It has been a year of ups and downs as well as breaking and healing. I have come to the realizations of how short life is and how I want my life to be. I have opened up on some things and let go of others. I am starting to understand that if I want to leave <i>something</i> behind, then I better get off my butt and do something to actually have <i>something </i>to leave behind!</p><p>This year has also held some family discourse, as my house is overflowing, and not everyone involved agrees or behaves all the time. I am finally finding my voice and allowing those around me to know what I will accept, what I won't accept, and what is no longer negotiable. It seems that currently, for the most part, we are finding some compromise and common ground, cause if Mama ain't happy, others might be somewhat unhappy too. </p><p>One of the big happenings of this year, was us dismantling and getting rid of our backyard pool. It was so bittersweet for me, as this was David's pool, but for the last couple of years, he has not been able to use it. No matter how hot it was, his body just could not handle the pool water, thus dropping his blood pressure and in a couple of cases, causing him to have a seizure. </p><p>The little kids loved it and all of them learned to swim in it, but the few months of fun just did not end up outweighing the price and effort of upkeep and what it did to our electric bill. This was where we as a family voted on getting rid of it, and surprisingly, the vote was unanimous. While I know that the decision was the best one for us all, I was surprised at the sadness it left me with. A pool had been a part of my backyard since I was a junior in high school. To look out my kitchen window and only see a sand pit still leaves a bit of an ache in my stomach. The upside though is, the little boys have loved that sand, and never once have they or anyone complained that the pool is no longer there. </p><p>The summer of 2023 was a fun one though, even without the pool. David's para Miss Tony, and I, took the kids and David to many fun places this summer. Our state has what they call the Sunflower Card, which allows families into places and events (once throughout the summer) for free. We went to zoos, parks, and museums. It was so much fun and the memories we made and shared will be with us forever. </p><p>The kids and I also became very much into music and amazingly have had music be the background and sometimes even the foreground of our everyday life. It is funny how music can connect people and leave them knowing more about each other and creating moments that they will connect to for the rest of their lives. It is definitely something we all want to carry on into the coming years. </p><p>Since school started this year, life has been beyond busy. We have been through open houses, school projects, cheer practices, football games, 4H, parties, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and finally Christmas. The kids have all done well in school, with the little boys starting to mature and Willow starting to come into her own. I have to say that Willow joining 4H has been a great thing and who knew she was a dead aim with a BB gun?</p><p>This year has also held some unexpected moments and journeys for me, as I have started to see things differently and feel things differently about myself and life in general. One of the most unexpected and ultimately treasured journeys I got to have was the relationship with my younger brother in his final year. It was something that I wasn't sure would ever be achieved or that either one of us would be open to having. It turned out to be the greatest gift and it changed me in so many ways. I would like to think, maybe it changed us<i> both</i> for the better. His loss struck me in a way that I didn't see coming and has continued to change me since it happened. My holidays were in honor of him, and everything I did from cooking to decorating, was to honor the things he loved. </p><p>I am not an extremely Christmasy person, but this year, I stepped out of that and <i>stepped into Christmas</i> as Elton John says. The kids and I listened to Christmas music daily and knew every song, old and new. We went and saw the Griswald house as a family, which is a house that has made national news for all of its decorations and lights, and we started game nights where all the family can partake. I baked and made candy and cookies and Andy's favorite.....lemon bars, which I shared with his wife and son. I also got closer to my faith and found peace in going to Mass which for some time had seemed unavailable to me. </p><p>David, while usually one to enjoy life, his tablet, the show COPS, Spongebob, The Foo Fighters and the kids and dogs who roam our house, is not above occasionally throwing me for a loop just to keep things interesting. Apparently, he felt Nov. 26th was the day in 2023 to remind me that he can be medically fragile and throw out one of his crazy health scares. Since that day we have been dealing with an abscess on his leg. We discovered it on the 26th and since then, it has been opened up twice and he has been on antibiotics continually. It continues to drain to this day and I am waiting for a call from the infectious med doctor to get him in to be seen. It has kept me worried and stressed, but so far, he seems to be okay. </p><p>One of the greatest gifts we as a family have been given this year is the gift of a new family member in 2024. My son Zachary and his girlfriend are expecting their first child in July of 2024. July is typically a tough month as that is the month I lost my husband Tim, but with this new little life due to make an appearance in July, it will likely hold more joy in the year and years to come. I think Tim likely orchestrated that and it makes my heart smile. </p><p>So as the year is winding down, today I am sick. I don't think I am flu sick, but more, I have pushed my mind, soul, and body as far it can go since October and now I think I am, <i>I must just rest sick</i>. I am laying here feeling achy and uncomfortable, and not at all myself, but nothing that some rest, relaxation, and a little quiet can't fix. </p><p>A year ago today, my dad passed. There has been much since that day that I shoved aside in order to shut the door and not think about it all of, but of late, I have pulled the band-aid off the wound, and allowed it to start both oozing emotion and also hopefully healing through my blogging. Yes, after many suggestions and even some requests, back in October, I started blogging again. It has been both emotionally painful and also healing, and sometimes all in the same blog piece. Mostly though, I have just been grateful that anyone has wanted to read. </p><p>It is my plan that in 2024 I will continue to blog. I will continue to tell the story of "me" and I hope to continue to explore who I was in the past, and who I am turning into now. </p><p>Yes, I am sure that like any year, 2024 will hold joy, some pain, new and unexpected experiences, new people, maybe some old ones too, and with any luck, peace, laughter, and happiness. </p><p>If you have kept up with my blog and read it this year, thank you. I wish you all a happy and safe ending to 2023, and much joy, health, and happiness in 2024. </p><p>Happy New Year to you all!</p><p>Until next time........</p><p> </p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-8795438240236051982023-12-20T13:04:00.002-06:002023-12-20T13:32:22.317-06:00Five More Sleeps<p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoyvRmMGC6zidgoFN9sTqIxTEm_fTlWvFW2k1Av93CitDmGmqKWX1zY7sT4ft4ARDwkue3K2-v1zynIWSfuHnnbEK91Ye8uqftCEm9YahhiVlI_LlqKmRgGcz2BOhVvVIFDLkSE1xAXGxPf0djdtHRgQkXAkEJhulhYFNsgLZK5L6Wcscrw70NHJdoxvu0/s4160/IMG_20171225_160044.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4160" data-original-width="3120" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoyvRmMGC6zidgoFN9sTqIxTEm_fTlWvFW2k1Av93CitDmGmqKWX1zY7sT4ft4ARDwkue3K2-v1zynIWSfuHnnbEK91Ye8uqftCEm9YahhiVlI_LlqKmRgGcz2BOhVvVIFDLkSE1xAXGxPf0djdtHRgQkXAkEJhulhYFNsgLZK5L6Wcscrw70NHJdoxvu0/s320/IMG_20171225_160044.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />There are officially five (5) more sleeps until Christmas day. This will be my 61st Christmas and I am sad to say, that like everyone else in the world, I have often let the commercialism of the holiday, override <i>The Reason for the Season</i>. I guess it is all part of living in an ever-growing secular world, where <b>things</b> have become more important than the true reason we celebrate Christmas. Like most things, it's not rocket science. The purpose of December 25th is quite simply spelled out for us in the name...<i><b>Christ-mas</b></i>, but apparently even in all of its simplicity, we still forget. But I digress. <p></p><p>So as a kid, my parents if not on the same page with anything else, always had a cease fire during Christmas and we always celebrated Christmas together as a family. Yes I know, we were a strange bunch, and trust me, my divorced parent's weird relationship was never lost on me. </p><p>The first Christmas that I actually remember was in <i>"the horrible house."</i> I must have been about 6 or 7 and I was sick. <i>Really sick.</i> I had the flu and the pictures of me that Christmas show that I looked like walking death. I was pale and my eyes were dark. I looked awful and I imagine I felt awful too, but I don't remember that. </p><p>That Christmas, my not-so-adoring grandma, and my always-adoring grandpa came to our house Christmas Eve. Mom and Dad were either together at the time or at the very least, together for the evening. For most of my life, we always celebrated Christmas on Christmas morning, but for whatever reason, that year it was on Christmas Eve. I have glimpses of memory of my grandma telling me I looked awful (duh, I was sick) and my grandpa trying to make me smile. Our little Christmas tree was in our den area and Mom told me that I needed to go to my room and play for a while. I must have felt bad enough to be compliant, and in a bit, I was called back out, to find that during my time in my room, <i>Santa had arrived</i>. I remember being upset that I had missed him. If only I had not been so compliant. </p><p>The only gift I remember getting that year was a doll that was about three and a half feet tall. She was nearly as tall as me. She had some kind of mechanism in her that if you held her hand, she could kinda, sorta walk with you. I must have liked her a lot (although my history with dolls is long and sorted and a story for another time). I had that doll for many years, and during that time I gussied her up a bit, at one point cutting her bangs to a very fashionable (NOT), one-quarter of an inch. Not to worry though, later in her life, my brother Andy got a hold of her and appropriated the Native American culture all over her face. He also had a Native American kid's headdress that he adorned her with. He thought her a masterpiece, but looking back I think one, he watched too many westerns, and two if it happened now, he would most definitely have been canceled. </p><p>The next year was another Christmas Eve celebration, this time at my grandparent's house. I was not sick this particular year and along with us, Aunt May, Uncle Eldrid and Nancy were all there. I remember this being a fun Christmas because Nancy was there and I got an entire Barbie Kitchen. It was teal and gold and I loved it. I played with it for years. </p><p>A bittersweet Christmas that I remember was my grandpa's last Christmas. He was dying from prostate cancer and to keep him from being put in "a home" in his last months, my mom took him in. Yes, my mom and dad were long divorced by this time, but being the strange family that we were, Mom turned the guest bedroom into my grandpa's room and had a hospital bed brought in. When Grandpa came to live with us, so did my dad and grandma. It was a really strange setup, and definitely a story for another time, but we had Grandpa one last Christmas. </p><p>Grandpa's bedroom was upstairs (we no longer lived in the horrible house), and he never came downstairs, except for that Christmas day. Aunt May and Nancy came over, (Uncle Eldrid had sadly passed by then), and our house was full. Having all the people there seemed to make it festive and having Grandpa there, sitting down in the living room and opening gifts with us, made it beyond special. </p><p>I was about 11 this particular Christmas and even I could tell how hard coming down those stairs had been for him, but we listened to Christmas music and opened gifts and I remember knowing that this would never happen again. I was not wrong. </p><p>When we moved to Mulvane, Mom became Christmas-obsessed. She would start the day after Thanksgiving, and it would take her a full week to decorate. She had someone make her an eight-foot manger and the outside was decorated with a beautiful lighted nativity. On the inside, however, it looked like how I always imagined Santa's house would look. We had decorations that dated back to the 50s and every year Mom got more. She also saved every toothpaste box Santa, and Christmas artwork masterpiece that Andy and I brought home from school. Every cabinet, wall, stairway, and end table was covered in everything from the beautiful to the gaudy. </p><p>Our windows had Santa and a mix of mechanical dolls that moved, peering out. Our tree was always 8.5 feet and had every available inch covered with bulbs....and this is where my complete and total dislike for Christmas decorating came into play. Early on, I wanted to help decorate and was so excited <i>to</i> help with the tree, but after breaking several of Mom's (prized) bulbs, my services were no longer needed or appreciated. <b>IF</b> she dared let me help, it was under close supervision which took all of my creativity away. Because of Mom's extreme Christmas OCD, rather than fighting with me, she started decorating the tree while I was at school. Guess what? <i>I didn't care!</i> If the tree got decorated and I didn't have to get yelled at in the process.....cool! Andy's decorating experiences with Mom were much different. I think he had the same love for the process that she did and he had a gentler spirit and touch when it came to her prized bulbs. </p><p>The Christmas's we had in Mulvane, were always so fun. Maybe it was because we had finally found a place we truly called home, and we had friends and events that made the season amazing. I remember caroling with my friends, Christmas parties, and going to midnight Mass. On Christmas morning, my dad always showed up, and we unwrapped our gifts and then had Thanksgiving dinner all over again. It was here we grew up, grew as a family, and started many traditions that I still have today. </p><p>My first Christmas which was abjectly sad for me, was the Christmas of 1983. I had lost the person that I considered the love of my life. We had plans for the future, we were in love, but then like happens with many young college romances, it was just over. My heart was broken and being my first love and my first heartbreak, I was beyond miserable. I remember very little of that Christmas other than I cried day and night. I am sure I was a joy for my family and that I made that Christmas oh-so-special for them too. </p><p>As Andy and I grew up and moved away, we started our own families and traditions. On my first Christmas with my husband Tim, we had no money. I was pregnant with Zachary and a week before Christmas, we had no gifts under the tree. My older son Wesley heard me talking to Tim about how sad I was that we had nothing under the tree. He was a sweet soul at eight years old, and I walked into the living room to find that he had taken all of his stuffed animals and placed them under the tree. He said, <i>"Now we have something under the tree."</i> It looked beautiful and I had to leave the room to keep from bursting into tears in front of him. Miracle of miracles, Santa came through, as well as Tim's over time, and we were able to have a few gifts after all. </p><p>The Christmas of 2000, David was in the NICU. He had been there for three months already and he had another two months to go. By Christmas, he was doing well and we were just working on him gaining enough weight to leave the hospital. Most of that season was spent going back and forth daily to the NICU, but we did break away long enough to have Christmas Eve with my mom and dad at Andy's house. </p><p>The Christmas of 2001, I had just lost Tim, six months earlier. I can honestly say that I have no memory whatsoever of that Christmas. Then the Christmas of 2002, I lost my mom on December 22nd. The only thing that saved that Christmas for me was that my Uncle Pat and Aunt Rita were there. They had come to see my mom in the hospital, but she passed before they could get there. So instead of turning around and going back to MO to spend Christmas with their family, they stayed and helped heal our family. Their kids will never know how much their sacrifice of not spending Christmas with their parents meant to us. It is something that I will never forget. </p><p>The Christmas of 2003, I was living back in my childhood home. It was the home that in so many ways had healed me as a child and miraculously, would heal me again as an adult. It is here where I, my kids, and now my grandkids have celebrated every Christmas since. Yes, I still hate decorating, but with a little help from my friends, it always gets done, and I always enjoy it when it is.</p><p>This year, my heart hurts as Andy is never too far from my mind, and it is to honor his memory that I was able to decorate this year. I think about him almost daily and I try to remember all of our childhood Christmas's with Mom and Dad and him and I. Christmas was always a high point for our family. </p><p>I know we are not special this year. We have the same issues as everyone else. Money is tight if not non-existent, we are grieving, and we have stress, struggles, and speed bumps a plenty. We also have each other and one of the family's best gifts this Christmas is the upcoming birth of a new addition. Zachary and his girlfriend are going to be first-time parents in July. I also once again, get to see the joy and excitement of the season through my grandkid's eyes, and I am grateful that for another Christmas, we are here together, safe and sound. </p><p>This year I have turned on the Christmas music and blared it daily (something I never do) and made my grandkids listen and learn. There is pretty much no Christmas song, old or new that they don't know. We have gone and looked at lights as a family, and started spending more time together doing fun things and enjoying each other's company. I think this year of all years, we are critically aware of how short life can be and just how fast time flies. </p><p>I have also shut out the noise of the commercialism of the season and found myself looking towards both <i>the crib and the cross</i> more and more, and focusing on the birth of the Christ child. I think this alone has done more for my healing than anything else. </p><p>So yeah five more sleeps and Christmas will be here, and as Christmas's go, I hope that the kids and grandkids remember this one, for the music, the laughter, and the fact that we were once again given the gift of being together and sharing the joy and memories of not just the day, but also, all the days leading up to it. After all, not everyone gets the miracle that we have as a family. </p><p>I want to wish any of you who read this, a very Merry Christmas. I hope your heart is wrapped up in the beautiful Christmas Season and that you can share love and joy with your own families.</p><p><i>Happy Birthday baby Jesus.</i></p><p>Until next time.....</p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-6695779462898541252023-12-13T11:37:00.003-06:002023-12-13T11:53:11.446-06:00The Flipside<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnxO9fYvIVyEfxOHt8ibIfpny-voE30NalSKEdnN474nIBsCSDHbZ98wN5R9Uqr8u1eQqcWlqeR_YcrZ3W2UdgqyBu4R-tjAtJsxSRRVbKh1klmAQCPyylrTB2t0mgrrtZUin7BQdfJZ7FiJFYCEsyNARsR1KkU8cyvR-KPRQKogVvN7S9S97qAK-yuWcX/s225/download.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnxO9fYvIVyEfxOHt8ibIfpny-voE30NalSKEdnN474nIBsCSDHbZ98wN5R9Uqr8u1eQqcWlqeR_YcrZ3W2UdgqyBu4R-tjAtJsxSRRVbKh1klmAQCPyylrTB2t0mgrrtZUin7BQdfJZ7FiJFYCEsyNARsR1KkU8cyvR-KPRQKogVvN7S9S97qAK-yuWcX/s1600/download.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>As I have gotten older, I have amassed some knowledge about life, memories, thoughts, and feelings. While some of these things may be universal, it also may be that some are just personal to me. One of the things I have really come to understand though is.....<i>everything has a flipside, a positive and a negative, a good vs. evil</i>. </p><p>When speaking about memories, I think this is more universal. Often when we look back, depending on how our pasts unfolded, we seem to focus on just the positive or just the negative, especially the further away that past becomes. If we hold deep-seated anger about the past, then often, the negative is all we remember, whether the negative events happened only once or if they happened hundreds of times. The same holds true for the positive. Someone could have had a horrific childhood, but their memory of that time, could be wrapped around just one or two positive events and their brain has literally blocked out all of the negative. This is why two kids growing up in the same house, with the same parents, siblings, etc can have such different overall impressions of their pasts and wonder if they even grew up in the same house after all. </p><p>I have been writing about my past and this very thought process has been making me think much harder about my past than I really care to, but if I am going to give a clear and accurate picture of things and how they made me, well.....<i><b>me</b></i>, then a little thought and introspection are necessary. </p><p>After focusing on the <i>"horrible house,"</i> and looking through some pictures, other memories began resurfacing. In all honesty, what I wrote about the house was absolutely accurate (as I remember it from my childish viewpoint), but as I was writing it, I was also feeling a lot of anger. In truth, it was not a good time in my young life, but it was also the beginning of all the issues that I would have with my dad for the rest of our time together. </p><p>At the time I was writing about the horrible house, my brother was in the last days of his life and even though I was trying to deny the fact, my heart knew. There had been so much time missed between my brother and me for many reasons, but most of them boiled down to my dad and his constant pitting us against each other our entire lives. My emotions were getting big and my anger was simmering and because of this, I think my focus in the past was on the beginning of what in a lot of ways was the start of our unhealthy family dynamic and the slow and gradual destruction of my sibling relationship. </p><p>So looking back, I have been trying to refocus my view during the time at that house and see if anything positive came from it. Wouldn't you know it, with my anger if not somewhat gone, then tightly held in check, there were other memories and today that is what this blog is about. It is to remind myself that no situation is all good or all bad. There is always a little of both sprinkled in. Sometimes when you are focused on the anger, the negativity weighs heavier on your memory than the positive, but if you look hard enough, the positive is always present in one way or another. In other words, to tell a fair and balanced story, you must be fair and balanced with the facts. </p><p>When we moved into that house. The house with a brick-enclosed front patio, the fireplace, and the big backyard, I am not really sure what I thought. It was the first "house" that I had ever lived in and bonus, it wasn't just me and my mom. We now had Bob, my new dad. We were going to be a family. </p><p>At my young age, I am not sure how much I knew or understood about the world, but I did realize that most kids, especially in that day and time, had both a mom and dad living with them, and now I was one of the <i>normal</i> kids. I now had it all. I had the house, the mom and dad, and I also had my new dad's extended family. Through this marital joining, I gained a grandma, grandpa, aunt, uncle, and cousin. Suddenly this little girl who had moved a lot and spent a great deal of time with babysitters had a real home and family complete with bonus members. </p><p>My grandmother did <i><b>not </b></i>welcome me with open arms. Looking back, I think the reason was that my dad was a mama's boy and she saw my mom and by extension, me, as a threat or at the very least, competition for the attention of her son. My grandpa on the other hand was the most amazing man I have ever known. He was a big man, who by this time was retired from the railroad, and I loved him and he loved me, the first moment we met. I would follow him around his yard as he worked and puttered and he would tell me the most amazing stories of his life. I definitely won the jackpot with him. </p><p>My new aunt (May) was a tough nut to crack or figure out. In all fairness, her husband (Eldrid) had mental health issues from his time in the war. He had been one of those who had been in the <i>Bataan Death March</i>. He had survived the grueling march and the horrific torture that went with it, but the price of serving his country and undergoing such gruesome conditions was to spend a great deal of the rest of his life, in and out of mental hospitals. May, for all intense purposes became a single mom, raising their daughter, all the while dealing with his erratic behavior and hospital stays. </p><p>May was a true Oklahoma beauty, but the situation that the war left my uncle in, caused her to rebel, be angry and if my recollections are true, become a little unstable herself. Mom and I came into the family when things were really rough for May, and to her, I am sure we looked like competition for her parent's attention, especially me, as I was told by both her and my grandmother on more than one occasion that I was <b>NOT</b> a part of the family. Her daughter Nancy was the only granddaughter. </p><p>May was an interesting person right up until her death. Eldrid on the other hand, was a kind man for all that he had gone through. I wasn't around him a lot, but I do remember when I was, he was so kind and nice to me. I really liked him and to this day I can remember him picking me up and feeling like I was so high in the air as he was about 6' 5". The memory still makes me smile. </p><p>Eldrid and May had one daughter. Nancy was about six years older than me. Until I came along, she was not only an only child at home but also an only child in the family. I changed that for her and for both of us, being cousins became a bonding experience. </p><p>Nancy was a quiet girl, who was artistic and studious. She read a lot and stayed pretty much to herself. When I came into the picture, I gained not only another ally in the family but also someone who doted on me and actually enjoyed spending time with me. We had great adventures and she constantly gave me stuff that she had either outgrown (like her original Barbies, with clothes, cases, and a car) or things she had made. One time she constructed an entire village out of cardboard. I loved that village and played with it often. </p><p>At my house, just across the street and back a ways was a creek. Nancy would come and take me walking and we go to that creek. We would walk for hours and Nancy would talk to me about the rocks, the plants, and the insects we ran into. We even found crawdads in the creek. It was always fun to be with Nancy and she never made me feel like I didn't belong. </p><p>The horrible house also afforded me something that I had never had before. I had my own bedroom. During the day, I would play for hours with Barbies, my village, and all my toys. I had learned early on to not only play by myself but to also enjoy it. Don't get me wrong though, there were also friends. </p><p>My neighborhood had a fair amount of kids, I am sure the fact that we lived within a block from a school helped that along. For some reason, neighborhood kids liked to come to my house and play. I remember one little girl in particular, whose name was Ann. </p><p>Ann lived a block or so away and somehow she and I became friends. Ann was a tomboy who liked to climb trees and play in the mud, but she was also a quiet girl. She never went anywhere though, without her beautiful Collie dog named Bambi. Bambi was an amazing dog and very well-trained. My mom did not allow dogs in the house, so when Ann came over if we went inside, Bambi would lie down and wait at the front door until Ann came out and then the two of them were off again. At the time, Ann was about 5 or 6 years old and she traveled the neighborhood at will with Bambi. I later learned that the true story of Ann was that she was an only child and her mom was sick. I believe I heard that she had Multiple Sclerosis. Ann's parents had gotten Bambi for Ann as a playmate of sorts, but Bambi ended up being her companion, babysitter, and protector all in one. For all of Bambi's gentleness, I would have pitied anyone who ever tried to hurt Ann. </p><p>The horrible house is where I became a big sister. When I was six, my brother Andy came into the world. As stated previously, Andy's first year was a tough one for both him and my mom, but as he grew, I was in love with him. He had a jump seat that Mom put in the kitchen doorway. Andy would jump and jump and then let out belly laughs. I loved his laugh and I would egg his jumping on. </p><p>I also spent a great deal of time in our big empty living room/Andy's playroom with Andy. He knew how to make every inch of space count with his toys, and boy did he have toys, but his favorite toys were always boxes, plastic bowls, and kitchen utensils. Boxes fired his imagination, the kitchen utensils were usually used for drumming on anything that would make noise, and the plastic bowls were.....<i>hats of course.</i> Those bowls ignited and fed a lifelong love of hats for him. He was a goofy boy and I adored him. </p><p>One of my favorite things about that house was its covered back patio. It sat right outside our sliding glass doors connected to our small dining area. We had a big redwood picnic table, and my dad's charcoal grill also sat out there, and there was still room for added furniture if we had any. I loved that patio because I was close to the door should I need to run in (yes, I had fears and phobias at that young age), but the patio was also my special play area. It was my castle, my playhouse, or anything I wanted it to be. I spent hours on that porch. My favorite times though, were when it rained. On rainy days, I would take a blanket out and climb up on the picnic table, cover-up, and watch the rain. It was so calming and peaceful and it cultivated the love of rain that I have to this day. </p><p>In the brief times when my parents were under the same roof, we were very much that late 60s and early 70s stereotypical family. My dad was a Westerns fan and just about every night of the week, there was some form of Western TV show on, so after supper, we gathered in the den around our portable 18" black and white TV (portable meaning it was on a moveable stand) and we would watch Westerns....oh and Carol Burnett. </p><p>In the summer, Dad hosted barbecues and our house would be full of people drinking and eating, and being loud. On the daily, we ate every meal as a family and breakfast was always a ritual. Every breakfast was two pieces of toast and either bacon or sausage. One piece of toast was eaten with either peanut butter and honey or sorghum, and the other was eaten wrapped around the bacon or sausage. The only other breakfast we ever ate was the very rare Ralston and rolled oats. It was some kind of hot breakfast cereal that as I recall was really good but I have no idea what Ralston even is or was. </p><p>In the horrible house, there were good times, new times, and new beginnings. We had holidays and celebrations like my 7th birthday party. I had a few girls over and my mom went out of her way to make that day and that party special. <i>It was.</i> To this day, I remember my little white sleeveless dress, white go-go boots, and my long hair adorned with a top ponytail. I felt so pretty and so special that day. It was an unforgettable memory for me. </p><p>So yeah, that house was horrible, but it was also a place where memories were made and my family was grown. There were days when I was truly happy because my world was small and it didn't take much for me to feel happy. There were also moments when I was scared, unhappy, and angry, but I went with the flow and didn't allow the bad times to shut out the good ones. </p><p>Nothing is all black and white and nothing is all good or bad. There are shades in between that time and current emotions can fade. Perhaps that is why I am finding all of this to some extent quite healing. I am forcing myself to really think about and delve into my own memories. I of course am allowing the knee-jerk memories that easily pop to the surface, but I am also making myself go deeper. I am trying to step outside the memories of a little girl while trying to also think as an adult and to put myself into my parent's shoes. </p><p>I am asking the hard questions about my parents that begin with <i>"Why?"</i> and end with <i>"Who were these people and did I even really know them?"</i> It is easy to lose track of the fact that our parents were human beings and had lives before we even came into the picture. </p><p>Yeah, this whole process gets me up in my feels quite a lot, but it also is making who I am and why I am the way I am, somewhat clearer. </p><p>Thank you for continuing on this journey with me. While I know my life is probably of no great interest to anyone but me, I hope though, that there are things that you as the reader might connect with in your own life. </p><p>My greatest hope for writing all of this, is one, to leave something behind for my kids. My kids know "Mom", but they don't know me, and probably will have no real interest in knowing "me" until after I am gone, and then the questions that they wish they had asked start to surface. Second, I am writing this for myself. I am hoping to find glimpses of myself in these stories and maybe even be able to give myself some grace along the way, for my less-than-stellar life moments. And finally, I am hoping that maybe my story resonates with some of you. Perhaps my experiences are not too far off from some of your own and maybe there is something in my story that you will recognize and maybe even get some healing from.</p><p>So.....I think I have said just about all there is to say about the <i>horrible house</i>; the good, the bad, and the ugly. For now, that chapter is closed. </p><p>Until next time.......</p><p><br /></p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-11081641365263644302023-12-06T14:58:00.000-06:002023-12-06T14:58:17.422-06:00Sad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibfQQu1XbGlfwhtIAn7_Q9tDh7Eg4l-ZseQVxy1gSF7KPIWAk3s2ffXlkgArLkZMdwy-PPOjdbxqI1Oby_iBlbhfP9bR_bAPBKO__NqUiIPeLu8R2s4zZa4pmGTS-8I1rEovKpIaRjeuscCmQ8ALz1KEDip4MFotSzQxZ1KYyQMUzIPSRBkSy3-OrNUm5l/s310/images%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="163" data-original-width="310" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibfQQu1XbGlfwhtIAn7_Q9tDh7Eg4l-ZseQVxy1gSF7KPIWAk3s2ffXlkgArLkZMdwy-PPOjdbxqI1Oby_iBlbhfP9bR_bAPBKO__NqUiIPeLu8R2s4zZa4pmGTS-8I1rEovKpIaRjeuscCmQ8ALz1KEDip4MFotSzQxZ1KYyQMUzIPSRBkSy3-OrNUm5l/s1600/images%20(1).jpg" width="310" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Well, I did intend to get back to my past today, but I'm still just not feeling it. In fact, I am actually feeling so much, that telling my story of the past just isn't where my brain is. </p><p>Before my brother's death, my emotions were already in an upheaval. At times, my home life can get strained with all the personalities residing here, to the point we can severely grate on each other. Truth is, we had been actively <i>grating</i> for the last few months, and in the midst of it, I knew Andy's time here was waning. I found myself wondering after each text or conversation if that might be our last. I jumped every time the phone rang and if his or Gail's name came up on my phone, I literally had to take a breath before answering. In hindsight, my emotions were already preparing me for the inevitable, even though I tried to carry on as if the reality simply weren't real. </p><p>When Andy died, it unexpectedly shook me to my very core. The very thoughts and emotions that I thought I had tucked away or avoided, came rushing out and it felt like the biggest sucker punch I had ever had. I felt so off balance and maybe because he was the last of our original four (other than myself of course), losing him made me<i><b> feel</b></i> like an abandoned child. </p><p>For days, my mind could not allow me the last view of my brother's face as he died; tired, worn out, and ready to move on from the pain and suffering he had felt in the last six years. The only face I could see in my mind's eye was the little boy that I grew up with. I saw the blonde hair, blue eyes, and sweet smile. I heard his voice laughing, joking, and talking to me like we used to as kids. I heard him singing to<i> Rockin' The Paradise,</i> and I saw him painting. I watched his 13-year-old self behind the wheel of a car on Greenwich as Berty and I sat back holding our breath and hoping he wouldn't drive us all into a fence, and I remembered the hug I got the first time I came home from college. Never before had there been such a hug. My brain simply wouldn't allow the current reality, only the best of the past. </p><p>The day after Andy's passing, I found out that I was going to be a grandma again. My son's girlfriend had found out the day Andy died. I couldn't help but wonder if he had orchestrated this from his new home. Something so wonderful and so exciting though, I couldn't even get my head around. I sat dumbfounded and almost unable to comprehend the news. It was not the reaction they were hoping for and it certainly wasn't the reaction I would normally have given, but in the moment, it was all I had. And yes...I spent the next couple of days profusely apologizing for my lackluster reception of their amazing news. </p><p>I went through the following days, the funeral included, in a fog. I felt and still do feel to a certain extent as if I'm in a dream that I will wake up from and that Andy and I will still be kids with our whole lives ahead of us. Then reality hits and I am all too aware that there will be no waking up from this one. </p><p>In the course of all of this, my youngest son David, who has cerebral palsy and a multitude of other diagnoses, suddenly developed a lump that was hard as a rock on the back of his leg. A trip to the ER told us that he had a deep abscess which was drained while we were there, and we were sent home with a 21-day supply of antibiotics. By week's end, however, the abscess had filled back up and rehardened. We were back to the ER and once again, the abscess was opened and drained, this time to a much larger extent. </p><p>Now back at home, I have to use my non-existent medical skills to keep the abscess, cleaned, changed, and free from infection which is no small fete as I live with two six-year-old walking petri dishes as well as three dogs who love nothing more than to lick David every chance they get. Add to this the stress that he was supposed to have surgery to replace his VNS which is a device that controls his seizures and its battery life has almost run out. He currently can't have the surgery until all the infection is gone from his body and we don't know exactly how this will affect his seizures if the battery runs out before he can have the surgery. Needless to say, my nerves are a raw mess with the impending possibility of causing a complete emotional implosion. </p><p>It was on our second trip to the ER, that I found myself wondering why I wasn't handling all this medical stuff with David better. I usually do doctors, ERs, and hospitals without even batting an eye. Why was I not sleeping and spending most of my nights checking on David, walking the floor, and sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop? Why did I have moments of feeling like I couldn't breathe and other moments where I was so incredibly angry that I had to go to my room and not talk to anyone for fear of exploding in a tirade with no real provocation? Why was my tongue just oozing with sarcasm (much more than usual) and why did I have to force myself into cooking, cleaning, and putting up Christmas decorations? <i><b>Why? Why? Why?</b></i> Then it hit me as I watched the surgical resident digging inside David's incision feeling around for the abscess and causing blood to flow onto his newish Spongebob pants. My stomach was churning (not because of the blood), my head was pounding and my emotions felt like they were currently residing in my ribs. <i><b>I was sad</b></i>. I was completely and undeniably sad. In fact, I was so sad, that my mind and body were reacting as if this sadness was their new permanent residence. I was in that deep cavernous emotional spot, where it felt like no matter what the days and weeks held, they were somehow going to err on the side of negativity and feed into this deepening abyss that the last few months and weeks had created. What's worse is, that this was not my first rodeo with the feeling of abject sadness where my body remained constantly rigid and ready for that other shoe to hit the ground and bounce over and over again. </p><p>It was a little over 22 years ago when I had experienced this phenomenon for the first time and back then it had lasted several years. This was not just a passing emotional time for me. This was sadness and anger moving in bag and baggage to stay a while and all I could think was......<i>Not today satan, or sadness or emotional wreckage, or whatever this is</i>. <b>Not this time.</b> I have way too much in my world to just give in and give over my peace and serenity this time. It was at that moment that I emotionally slapped myself hard and pulled myself up by the bootstraps. If I knew nothing else, I knew that I was not honoring my brother by falling apart and I couldn't fix anything if I just let sadness, grief, and frustration consume me and pull me under.</p><p>So today I write all of this. Will anyone read it? Will anyone care? Does it even matter? Of course it does...<i>to me</i>, and by putting words to all of this, perhaps it will release some of this sadness and help me to move forward. </p><p>I can't control others, not even the sometimes overwhelming individuals that reside with me, but I can control how I react to their words and behaviors and what I am willing to allow for myself. I can also look for ways to honor Andy. He was not an ostentatious person, so quiet acts are how I will proceed. As for David, he will always keep things interesting and keep me on my toes. That is just who he is and each time we are met with seizures, sepsis, kidney stones, and abscesses, it is just a reminder of how strong he is and how strong he has made me. It also makes me realize that with every one of life's speed bumps, David touches someone's life (whether it be a doctor, nurse, or fellow patient) and leaves a lasting mark that only he can leave. Nothing happens without purpose. <i>Absolutely nothing. </i></p><p>So once again, I have opened my personal wound and let it bleed out on paper. There is a certain amount of relief for me, and maybe, whoever reads this, will find something in all of this that touches a chord for them. </p><p>No matter who you are, life is going to throw out some unexpected crap, that blindsides you and leaves you wondering....<b>WTF? </b>That is just life, but mixed in with all of the crap, there are also wonderful things like new grandbabies, beautiful grandchildren, memories of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed little boy, and the joy and laughter that a special young man brings to my life daily. </p><p>Yes, I am still sad, but I am aware I am sad and this time, I will take that sadness and create something beautiful, that only such sadness can create. </p><p>Until next time......</p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-30132640854129250922023-11-29T12:32:00.001-06:002023-11-29T12:32:16.291-06:00Just Built Different<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTjmtLLKUuCRjr8fmmHttaWv68k8BSrWyL3I6IJvIOoiY28k9mV70AM_NMyAlxifujlOK69Jw-fj6Si2p_f9Z6aa0H30u3fLUA7Nc-FGfsV_xK4qFE1lV8RRwmDsxLc6Qsa_MtutL171gta_a1vgP1YmTyXRLmbevAmBB7cS7LAtaIklUIOC_dgyIEp8fM/s225/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTjmtLLKUuCRjr8fmmHttaWv68k8BSrWyL3I6IJvIOoiY28k9mV70AM_NMyAlxifujlOK69Jw-fj6Si2p_f9Z6aa0H30u3fLUA7Nc-FGfsV_xK4qFE1lV8RRwmDsxLc6Qsa_MtutL171gta_a1vgP1YmTyXRLmbevAmBB7cS7LAtaIklUIOC_dgyIEp8fM/s1600/images.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>There is a mantra that those in their late teens, and early twenties like to currently throw around. It is, <i>"Nah. I'm just built different."</i> This last week and maybe for the last couple of decades, this seems to be a pretty good description of me, my life, and my view of the world. When I compare myself, from my beliefs to how I do things, sometimes even in my own home, I legitimately feel like I am a completely different being from most of those around me. </p><p>Okay, maybe this sounds a bit dramatic, but the fact is, anymore when I give my opinion (solicited or otherwise), share my beliefs, or even when I just converse with others, it is very hard to wrap my head around the vast differences that become glaringly evident. Even when I really try to understand the thought processes of others, and how they might possibly get from point A to point Z in their beliefs, I am often left baffled and wondering if we are even living on the same planet. </p><p>A perfect example of my <i>"built different"</i> theory is never more plain than when I see a "Karen" video or really any video where someone's first thought is to video rather than take action. I have no understanding of any person who makes it their mission in life to dominate, overtalk, or demand that others cater to their wants without regard for anyone else, or for those who just wish to dictate, direct, and decimate when things don't go their way. What is more, Karens are not limited nor is any one sex, ethnicity, country, or age group free from this diseased personality. My only question though is <i>why?</i> </p><p>When did we as a world decide that we would allow another human being to stand in front of us and cuss us or anyone else out and do nothing more than pull out our phones and videotape? When did disrespect over a business's rules, a messed up fast food order, or someone taking a parking space, become acceptable behavior? When did businesses, airlines, and fast food workers decide that they can discriminate on any level for any reason and belittle, deny service, and spew hate to customers, not for business reasons such as theft or true abuse, but merely for personal reasons, such as complaining about bad service or a wrong order? Did we all lose our minds and forget that we are <i><b>all</b></i> human, we are all going through something, and that kindness goes a lot further than nastiness and egging on an already volatile situation? Also have businesses big and small, forgotten that customer service is a real thing and without customers, you have no business? </p><p>When it comes to people who feel entitled to discriminate without reason, scream obscenities without a filter, and try to push their will and agenda ahead of others, I simply don't get it and I certainly don't get that to many, the first reaction to viewing one of these situations is to be pulling out a phone and capturing the moment on video. I am definitely <i>built different</i>. </p><p>This also goes for seeing someone hurting someone else, either physically or verbally. My first reaction in such a situation is certainly not going to be to pull out my phone. My first reaction would be to step in and say or do something. In my humble opinion, many people who are the aggressors in these situations do it so openly for one basic reason. <i><b>Because they can!</b></i> They know that most people aren't going to do anything more than watch and record and they don't give two figs if their picture is posted all over <i>YouTube</i> and <i>TikTok</i>. In fact, for many of these narcissistic personalities, this is modern-day street cred. However, if someone steps up and steps in, often like most bullies, they will at the very least back off a bit, and sometimes, because they are confronted, will stop altogether. </p><p>In this weird world and time we live in, we seem to forget the power that we actually hold in these situations. In many cases, all it takes is for one person to step up and that alone will break the <i>grab my phone and video</i> societal trance we seem to gravitate towards, and others too may follow suit and step up. There is strength in numbers, but even one person taking a stand against a bully or an abuser, can change the course of events and maybe even save someone. </p><p>Here is the sad thing though. I said this exact same thing to someone the other day and they looked at me as if I might need committal papers. I was told that you <i><b>can't</b></i> get involved with situations like this. It's too dangerous and it's not my business anyway. <b>WTF???</b> First of all, it's no more dangerous for me than it is for the person being abused, and two, my involvement was forced the moment the abuse happened in front of me. What is wrong with people? Have we lost our sense of right and wrong and most of all, our humanity? Yep. <i>I'm built different.</i> </p><p>Recently a poll was taken, asking moms if they would put their lives on the line for their kids and even willingly die for their kids in a desperate situation. Do you know that an astounding number of mothers had to think about this question before answering, and some even openly stated that they would not in fact put their children's lives above their own in a desperate situation. I was literally stunned. Now of course, none of us knows how we would actually react in a situation where life, death, and seconds counted, but I would really like to think that if my children, or any child for that matter, were involved, I would put their lives above my own and do my best to make sure that they came out of the situation safely. To even question whether I would do everything I could to save them or not, is unbelievable to me.....so again.....<i>built different.</i> </p><p>This last week, I had several people question my beliefs on and my handling of death. As many of you know, my brother passed away last week after a long battle with cancer. What I learned, or maybe already knew but the point was driven home further is that all deaths and grieving processes are not created equal. It is different losing a parent from a spouse or a child from a sibling. How they die, whether it is sudden or a prolonged process also affects how it is handled and processed, but one thing is definite, regardless of preparation, you never know how it will hit you until the moment it happens. </p><p>The absolute sadness I felt as I stood there knowing that my brother was gone and that our last conversation, was indeed our last conversation and where we had left our relationship is where it would stay, hit me so profoundly that it was like getting sucker punched and having all the air leave my body. </p><p>As siblings we had spent a lifetime of both closeness and estrangement and to my disbelief, my grief was questioned by a couple of people who were simply mere acquaintances and really didn't know either my brother or I. Luckily I am of an age that I felt no need to justify or explain my emotions, nor I am sure, could I, even if I had wanted to. My question though, who is so bereft of human compassion that they would feel that my grief was their business or their right to judge?</p><p>To further cause me to create an impassible boundary with non-essential humans in my life, my actions and reactions following my brother's death and about death, in general, were brought into question. The fact that I chose to remember humorous and funny moments and share them with a smile and even laughter was found suspect, as well as my belief that my brother and I have not said good-bye, but merely <i>until we see each other again.</i> This seems to have caused a bit of a stir among those who strongly believe that death <b>is</b> the end. It has even been suggested that I live in a delusional world of fairytales where I see death as a beginning and very much plan on seeing not only my brother but all I have lost, at some point in the future. </p><p>To all of this though, I have to wonder, why does anyone care about my grief and how I handle it or my belief system where death is concerned? How does this become anyone else's business and why would anyone feel the need to chime in their unsolicited opinions about any of it? Why does any of it matter to anyone but me? I would never think it my business or my place to tell anyone how to grieve, how to process or how to believe in such a situation, and yet apparently people have gotten so comfortable in judging and throwing their opinions wherever they choose, that they feel it is their right and privilege to do so. <b>NO!</b> I am apparently <i>just built different. </i></p><p>Okay, so this was a bit all over the place, not unlike my emotions and the activity of this last week. Perhaps you will have to cut me some rather generous slack this week and try really hard to follow the dots that connect my own point A to point Z. I guess this is part of the joy of coming along for the ride in this blog. You are apparently going to get all the feels and messiness that go with it all. </p><p>I have been in a weird place this last week and this is where I come to dump it all. Next time we will head back to the past again where I am a little more sure-footed and more pragmatic than emotional, but for today, the here and now is where my emotional wounds are oozing (sorry for the visual), and hopefully, the healing is just beginning. And....if you have stuck with me through this entire ride, maybe like me, <i>you are just built different too. </i></p><p>Until next time........</p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-57993112885796933972023-11-22T12:35:00.001-06:002023-11-22T12:35:21.910-06:00Andy<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7sAuDhCDVo3y7D72qUbnY1VvTxWbkWTSI8sSS0zOokds-77v4OgjgW-3ctFmBHwKxsnRG6w0K5XlH6NOrpYVYWDCrl0m2BP8p-Wr89LZI9ZcmjovuTy51SGGR1Jqn48l5ep6pXQlhDfu4ta6_Kb1Ow1ROe8HJLjuV60oVLdm972Qawa8R8zNQLeW7ZGWC/s1156/17158859_238831859913097_5612752405388147655_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1156" data-original-width="1156" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7sAuDhCDVo3y7D72qUbnY1VvTxWbkWTSI8sSS0zOokds-77v4OgjgW-3ctFmBHwKxsnRG6w0K5XlH6NOrpYVYWDCrl0m2BP8p-Wr89LZI9ZcmjovuTy51SGGR1Jqn48l5ep6pXQlhDfu4ta6_Kb1Ow1ROe8HJLjuV60oVLdm972Qawa8R8zNQLeW7ZGWC/s320/17158859_238831859913097_5612752405388147655_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>On March 14, 1969, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed baby boy fought his way into this world. I say fought because that is exactly what he did. During the epidural before his birth, it malfunctioned medically, and instead of numbing where it was supposed to numb Mom, it numbed her all the way to her neck. This situation put both Mom and baby in danger. Once this was corrected, the baby came into this world blue with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. Soon though, after some quick and diligent work, the sounds of the baby's cry could be heard throughout the delivery room to the great relief of my mother. This baby was Andrew (Andy) Robert Jacques....<i>my little brother. </i></p><p>What none of us could have known that day is that coming into this world was just one of the many battles Andy would fight in his life and how he would affect the world and change lives in the years to come. </p><p>Andy's first year of life was not an easy one. He was born at a time when the medical community felt breastfeeding was not a benefit to the mother or child. Thus, he was thrown into a world of formula and none of it could his body handle. He was literally allergic to every formula that was on the market which put his ability to gain weight and thrive at great risk. Luckily, Mom, after much trial and error came up with a homemade formula that Andy's tiny body would tolerate and soon his battle to thrive and survive was won. </p><p>After Andy learned to walk, Mom soon discovered that Andy began tripping and falling as his right foot began to turn in. For whatever reason, on taking him to the doctor, the first conclusion jumped to was the possibility of bone cancer. Mom had many sleepless nights as Andy was tested for the dreaded "C" word, but soon it was believed that Andy's foot just turned in and he was then put into a pair of heavy brown corrective shoes. They helped some, but Andy hated them and cried every time he had to wear them. </p><p>About this time, we went to live with my aunt for a while who was a nurse and she told Mom to take off that awful shoe, to let him run barefoot as much as possible, and to buy him a pair of cowboy boots. Now, I don't know if these commands came from her nursing education or were simply common sense beliefs, but Mom did as she was told. Off came the shoes and Andy soon had a spiffy pair of red cowboy boots. Within a couple of months, Andy was walking fine and another battle had been fought and won. </p><p>As Andy grew, so did his imagination and humor. He loved to make people laugh and he was about two when he learned he could capture an audience and make them laugh. At that point in his life, westerns were big-time TV fare and we had watched a show where someone had died and all the cowboys took off their hats and cried. This somehow stuck with Andy, so he would put on his red boots and he had a red cowboy hat and then he would get Mom or I to say, <i>"They are dead. Now take off your hat and cry."</i> Of course, we would and he would then dramatically fall to his knees, pull his hat off put it over his heart, and pretend to cry like he was auditioning for his big break in TV. To his delight, each and every time, we would laugh so hard over his dramatics, and in those early moments, we helped to cultivate his love for humor and making others laugh. </p><p>Andy's imagination knew no bounds and some of his happiest moments as a child were spent with nothing but big cardboard boxes and his own brain. He could make that box a house, a castle, a spaceship, or his favorite.....<i>a race car</i>, in which he would ride down the stairs when Mom wasn't looking. He also had a thing about taking every single toy he had out of his playroom and relocating it to the den in a big pile. Once his playroom was completely empty, he would then take all the toys and put them back exactly where they went. I never understood this, but it seemed to make him very happy and so proud when the task was completed. </p><p>One of the things that always amazed me about Andy was that he was always a genuinely good child. Before he came along, and even at times after, my mother had worn out ping pong paddles, hairbrushes, and switches on my naughty little backside, but with Andy, that was never necessary. If Mom told me to do something, it was a 50/50 bet whether it would ever be accomplished, but with him, it was done immediately without a complaint. I think he only got spanked one time in his life and that was when he ran out in front of a car and almost got hit. Even then though, it was traumatic for both him and Mom and I think she cried as hard as he did. </p><p>As Andy grew older, his ability to tell a story and hone his humor grew also. He also learned to master voices and did pretty good imitations of actors and characters. One of his best was the late great Jack Benny. When the resurgence of old-time reruns came into fashion, the Jack Benny Show was one of them and Andy dearly loved the show and spent his days getting Jack Benny's vocal and physical actions down to an art. He would then spend his time making Mom and me laugh as he would just out of nowhere become Mr. Benny. He would integrate it into a conversation at just the perfect time without missing a beat or cracking a smile. It never failed to crack me up which always made him smile. </p><p>When Andy was 13, his world was turned upside down. I was at college and on Halloween, Mom fell off a ladder and broke her leg, ankle, and foot. It was so badly broken that they couldn't even cast it, and the doctor felt that she would likely be "bedridden" (his words) for the rest of her life. For whatever reason, Mom didn't let me know what happened (she didn't want me coming home from college I guess), so Andy was left to take care of her. He had to take over the laundry, shopping, helping her before and after school, and still go to school and do his homework. True to form, he managed, but maybe with just the teeniest bit of resentment. </p><p>Mom later told me that she had a portable toilet in her room and in the morning before school, Andy would put it by her bed and then when he got home he would dispose of it. Well, the whole being 13 and a caretaker thing was starting to wear on him and one morning he was mad at Mom so rather than move it by the bed, he moved the toilet out of the room and left. Mom said at first she was a little upset, but then the more she thought about it, she started to laugh. She said she spent the entire day laughing and chuckling over Andy's one and only defiant act in a huge sea of caregiving. It was that day that Mom decided that she was done laying in bed and that she was going to walk again.....<i>and she did</i>.....<b>in record time.</b> To this day it makes me equal parts laugh and feel great compassion for what Andy went through back then. </p><p>As Andy grew older, he developed some lifelong loves. He loved fishing and camping which my dad cultivated in him. He loved art, music, photography, the holidays, and Star Wars. </p><p>He loved bands like Styx, Toto, and Night Ranger and later down the line, he got a side job using his love of photography, to take photos at the Coliseum of different bands that came to town. His love of photography started in high school and stayed in his life in some form until the end. </p><p>In high school and college, Andy's art became a passion with him. He loved to paint in oils and acrylics, along with turning his photography into art. In college he even had his work displayed in some art shows. I always was amazed at his skill and his ability to see things with his artistic eye that most of us miss in everyday life. </p><p>In Andy's high school years, he felt the typical struggle of trying to find his place and where he fit in. In his eyes, he always felt like a bit of the odd man out, but looking back, he did fit in, he just didn't realize it. He always had friends and for the most part, was liked by everyone. In fact, several of the friends he made in his early years, became lifelong friends. His art and photography gave him places on the yearbook staff and his dedication to studying made him a much better student than I ever was. </p><p>While high school may not have left Andy feeling at his highest comfort level, college is where Andy came into himself. In his college years, he expanded on the things he loved, grew a lasting friend base, gained new experiences, and ultimately found the love of his life, Gail. In fact, the first time Mom and I met Gail, we both said the same thing, <i>she is Andy's perfect match</i>. </p><p>Andy and Gail were introduced by a teacher they mutually had. I know for a fact that Andy was head over heels from day one and soon they were talking marriage. On June 6, 1992, Andy and Gail began a 31-year marriage that would allow them many adventures and experiences, not to mention they would have a son, who would be the joy of Andy's life. </p><p>After Andy and Gail had been married for sixteen years, they had remained childless, and having a child was a dream they both wanted. That dream was made a reality when they adopted their son Ayden. He was adopted as a newborn and only today did I hear the complete story of how the adoption came about. It was a true God stepped-in story where He put the right people in the right place at the right time. </p><p>As a dad, Andy was one of the best. Before Ayden, he had some practice with my boys, but having his own son brought Andy to life. As a family, they traveled a bit, and Andy shared his love of fishing, camping, and hiking with Ayden. He also became very active in Boy Scouts being a leader and helping Ayden continue to cultivate a love for the outdoors and all that being a Boy Scout entails. </p><p>Once out of college, Andy and Gail lived in Salina, then Colorado (a place he truly loved) and then they moved back to Wichita where they stayed. Andy went to work as a web designer for Butler County Community College and stayed their 25 years until his retirement. During this time, Andy and Gail also had their own business, <i>Jacques Designs,</i> where they designed websites for different businesses. </p><p>In 2017, Andy was diagnosed with colon cancer. He knew that cancer would be likely in his lifetime as he carried the Lynch Syndrome gene that our mother had. As her children, we each had a 50% chance of having the gene which meant not "if" we would get cancer but "when" we would get cancer. After testing for the gene, I didn't have it, but Andy did. </p><p>After the original diagnosis, he ended up having colon cancer twice and the second time resulted in him losing most of his colon. He then had bladder cancer twice and the second time he lost his bladder. He got it a third time too as he got bladder cancer where his bladder had been. He also had kidney cancer twice and most recently he was diagnosed with lung and bone cancer. They were all primary cancers which is pretty typical of the LS gene. Along with the cancer diagnosis came numerous surgeries and treatments from chemo to radiation and immunotherapy. In some cases, the treatments were harder on him than the disease itself. From the treatments, he developed non-alcoholic cirrhosis of the liver, diabetes, scoliosis, and osteoporosis, not to mention a broken hip socket. Through all of this though, he rarely complained. </p><p>Andy's life over the last six years has been stress of diagnosis, doctors, trips to KC and Houston, surgeries, infections, and many many hospital stays. Through all of this though, he tried to work until he simply couldn't, he tried to keep up Boys Scouts and he fought like it was his job. He never gave up hope and he did his best to keep as much normalcy in their lives as he possibly could. </p><p>As children, Andy and I were very close. As adults, circumstances and situations drew us apart and we lost the bond that we had created as kids. In the last couple of years though, we opened up communication again and we were able to have long talks and get to know each other. He began to call me more after he retired and we would talk about the present and reminisce over our mutual past. I caught up on his life and he caught up on mine. I would ask him honest and pointed questions about his illness and he gave me honest answers, and through this, I saw my brother for who he really was. </p><p>If you listen to those who knew Andy, friends, family, and business associates, the first thing they will always comment on is his sense of humor. He loved a good joke and nothing tickled him more than to catch someone off guard with an inappropriate or even scathingly funny comment. Often his funniest moments were when humor wasn't expected such as at church or a funeral. I have a bit of him in me and in the last couple of days, I have thought of some pretty inappropriate comments myself, that would scandalize most people but would have Andy rolling. Wish he were here to hear them. </p><p>Words to describe Andy's humor that I have heard have been shocking, inappropriate, hysterical, unexpected, and wicked to name a few and to that, I say....<i><b>yes.</b></i> His humor was all that and more. </p><p>Andy has also been described as a mentor, kind, generous with his time, a great dad, husband, and friend. His skill with web design and photography has been praised and apparently, he was pretty proficient with sending the late-night meme. </p><p>In the last few days, I have done nothing but go over my lifetime with Andy. I have deep-dived into my memories of our childhood and psycho-analyzed our adult years. Mostly though, I have been so grateful for the last year. I am grateful for the phone conversations, and the texts, and that I had the ability to tell him what he meant to me and how much I truly loved him. I am grateful he got to meet my grandkids and that we got to talk about all the people and things he loved. I am grateful he called and wanted to talk and that he would talk to me about some of the hard stuff. I am grateful that I really got to know my brother. </p><p>So yes, Andy was an artist with an artist's eye and imagination. He was a photographer, a web designer, a lover of fishing and camping, a Boy Scout leader, a traveler, and a lover of Christmas, Halloween, and fireworks. He was a little boy who rode cardboard boxes down the stairs when Mom wasn't watching, and who had finger gun fights with me every day for a year. He loved Star Wars, decorating for holidays, and 80's music. He was a good son who loved, took care of, and missed his parents. He was a good dad, husband, and friend.....and he was my brother. And what I have learned recently is that he was also the strongest person I have ever known, beating back cancer time and again and fighting to stay with his family for as long as he could. He was a man of great faith, understanding that God's plan is not always ours and yet continuing to go along for the ride without question. He was the greatest fighter I have ever known and through it all, he kept his sense of humor and tried his hardest to be as little "burden" as he could be for those around him. </p><p>In the last year, my little brother has taught me so much about the struggle of living and the grace of dying. I also am acutely aware that because of Andy's cancer, he touched so many lives he might not have otherwise touched. There was so much purpose in his life and even in his illness, and I have no doubt that God worked through him to change lives. Andy definitely changed mine and through it all, he became my hero. </p><p>On Nov. 20, 2023, Andy's last fight ended. He left this world peacefully and quietly with Gail by his side. He had accomplished all God had laid out for him and I have no doubt that my parents, his dogs, my husband, my daughter, and a myriad of other family and friends greeted him on his arrival to heaven. In fact, I bet he attended a birthday party or two also. </p><p>As I sit here, my heart breaks writing this as I mourn his loss, but it also swells with pride knowing that I am the only one who can claim.....Andy was my brother.<i> </i></p><p><i>Rest dear Andy. Your journey is complete.</i></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-46020759211106595632023-11-15T11:41:00.004-06:002023-11-15T11:58:03.714-06:00The Horrible House<p> </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFkiZJmeH5YZ4wHtHd311T5DRdzWz419cglXXfFtal1xfJOQL3xmgMLZxWEO3R2BKKuLuVcXA2TqxEc7JOLi1Hxm961CkvZDX4xmu5ca3JVTQy-qDbQo-iex9goAxOMH7YR_AFsz6rAAPVBAQQ1EoNrnu3fEbcZ-DAd6GOgysj5N6c2WIWuGQoezMNIPo/s768/c36c3fbcdd7d0a2257dd4d764bc07b3b-cc_ft_768.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="768" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFkiZJmeH5YZ4wHtHd311T5DRdzWz419cglXXfFtal1xfJOQL3xmgMLZxWEO3R2BKKuLuVcXA2TqxEc7JOLi1Hxm961CkvZDX4xmu5ca3JVTQy-qDbQo-iex9goAxOMH7YR_AFsz6rAAPVBAQQ1EoNrnu3fEbcZ-DAd6GOgysj5N6c2WIWuGQoezMNIPo/s320/c36c3fbcdd7d0a2257dd4d764bc07b3b-cc_ft_768.webp" width="320" /></a></div><br />I have to laugh. I do listen to what people say as far as my blogging goes. Sometimes I politely smile and say, <i>"Now that is an interesting idea,"</i> while other times I try to actually implement what is suggested. Recently I have been implementing, only to get told last week that my blog was a little darker than expected. <i>Really?</i> <p></p><p>They were referring to the part about my actual life. I was rather shocked, as my life was like a day at Disneyland compared to many other people's lives. What were you all expecting? Did you think my life was special and I sprouted from daffodils and breathed sunshine and light breezes during my young life? Well, you would be wrong. So if last week felt a little too grey for you, then this week might really throw you off and make you look at me through different eyes. Sorry. <i>Not sorry. </i>It just simply is what it is. </p><p>The first house my mom, dad (step-dad), and I lived in, was an "L" shaped ranch style house that sat less than a block from my grade school. It had three bedrooms, one and a half baths, a living room, a den, a galley kitchen, and a small dinette area. The half bath attached to the master bedroom which by today's standards was just an average bedroom and the half bath which had no tub or shower, held the washer/dryer hookups and doubled as our laundry room. The house also had a rather large front patio enclosed by a bricked fence and a huge backyard, surrounded by large cedar trees. The large living room was supposed to be a formal living room complete with a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the backyard. My parents didn't have nearly enough furniture to fill such a spacious room, but as both of my parents were antique collectors, we did have a turn-of-the-century sofa, a Lincoln rocker, and a small, 1920s sewing rocker in the room. The rest became my brother's play area and toy room after he was born. </p><p>To say I <b>HATED</b> this house, even as a young child, was an understatement. Looking back, I think the reason I had such strong feelings about it was because of the emotional trauma I felt living there, but in all fairness, the house itself did not help. </p><p>Now some might say, that because of all the turmoil in my house, Dad leaving, Mom pregnant and sick, and me feeling like an afterthought, this might have contributed to my negative feelings in that house, and they would likely be right. It might also be believed that I fed off the feelings of my mom, however, I never particularly was conscious of my mom's feelings on the house until we had long moved away and then she let me know that she hated it as much as I did. So now I wonder, <i>were </i>some of my emotional situations coming from feeding off her feelings? Quite possibly, but some were uniquely my own too. </p><p>I am sure that some of my harsh feelings towards the house were because of my dad's constant comings and goings. Now in my recollection, I never once ever remember my parents fighting in that house. Obviously, they did, but they never made me aware of it. Because of this, it made it just that much easier for me to believe that his leaving had to do with me and me alone. The coat closet by the front door was the bain of my young existence. My dad wore suits to work, and this is where he kept his suit jackets. When my dad was staying with us, the closet was full, but when he was gone, it was empty. I learned early on to check that closet daily, in order to know what his home status was. </p><p>I was also too young at the time to know about his girlfriend, so I always thought he was staying with my grandparents. That illusion though was shattered when I was about eight, and Mom, myself, and my brother were driving to the store and we pulled up right next to my dad and his girlfriend at a stop light. My poor mom had a lot of explaining to do that day, as my dad refused to acknowledge that he even saw us, although he looked right at us, and of course, I never asked him about the situation, only Mom. </p><p>One of the traumas I suffered not in the house but directly related to the house, happened when I was about six. It was a cold, grey winter day and I had been held after school for some reason. When I finally headed out for home, the street was basically empty. I always walked the block to and from school, as my mom had a newborn, and most kids in the area also walked. As I was walking towards my home, on the opposite side of the street, I saw a car parked with the engine running but facing the wrong way for that side of the street. He was facing the direction that I was walking. As I had gotten down a ways from the school's front doors, the car slowly pulled away from the other side of the street and started coming directly toward me. I noticed that his passenger window was down and I wondered why on such a cold day. The strange thing is though, I no longer know what the man looked like. I remember at the time thinking he was older, but to a six-year-old, older could be twenty or fifty. </p><p>In the minutes that followed, the man tried to get me to come to his car, speaking to me through his rolled down window and trying to coax me with the warmth of his car. I began to run and darted in front of his car (not a great move) screaming to the top of my lungs for my mom. Luckily my lungs were strong and my screams were piercing on this cold afternoon as it carried straight to my mom who was waiting at the front door to get a glimpse of me. The man in the car pulled to the other side of the street trying to follow me and obviously having no idea how close to home I was. His driver's side window was also rolled down as he kept saying, <i>"Little girl. I just want to give you a ride. Little girl, I'll take you to your mommy." </i></p><p>It was just about then that my mom came out and stood in the front yard. The sight of her was such a relief as I ran directly into her arms and the man gunned his motor and sped down the street and past my waiting mom. </p><p>Long story short, I was not this guy's only attempt at child abduction that day. After leaving us, he went to a grocery store parking lot a few blocks away and tried to grab a child walking with his mom to the car. The mom turned just in time to see him. Whether he was caught or not, I am not sure, but he left a lasting impression of stranger danger instilled in me, as well as more reason to hate my current surroundings. </p><p>Another situation that caused me lasting trauma, happened in my own backyard. It was here that I was molested by an older neighborhood boy. Because my backyard was so large, and my mom was always there to keep an eye out, a lot of kids of different ages came over and played there. This particular neighborhood boy played there because he lived directly behind us and my mom knew his mom. He was a mean kid though, who often hit me when my mom wasn't looking, knowing that I was too timid to tell on him. </p><p>On the side of our house, we had cedar trees growing huge and thick, blocking the view of any neighbors. Between the house and the trees was about an eight-foot space out of view of windows or my mom's vigilant eyes. The boy who was about four years older than me, convinced me to go beside the house with him, immediately yanking down my pants and his. As he began to touch me, I began crying, scared, and having no idea what to do. Luckily my mom had looked out and not seen me, so she stepped out and heard me crying. She came around the house and caught him. I remember she was so angry and she sent me into the house and told him to pull his pants up and get home. It was a different time and I am sure that my mom was immediately on the phone with his mom, but aside from what, if anything his parents might have done to him, nothing else happened. He was forbidden from ever coming into our yard again and I was told never to go near him. That was the end of it, but the incident never left me, nor did the emotional scarring it caused inside me. </p><p>After that, I hated those cedar trees. In fact, to this day, I hate <b>ALL</b> cedar trees. It made me realize how dark and closed off they made the yard feel. They turned a place that I used to like to play, into a place I dreaded going. There was however, a large covered patio that set just out the backdoor that had a picnic table, and from then on, I would play on the patio, but I refused to go anywhere else in the yard unless my parents were out there with me. </p><p>My bedroom also scared me from day one. I was okay in it during the day, but at night, it was a source of complete terror for me. My dad was a stickler for no nightlights and doors closed. The dark always felt so thick and I always had the sensation that someone or something was watching me. I refused to allow myself to see anything that might be there, so I would immediately shut my eyes tightly and cover my head, regardless of how warm the house was. I would lie there sweating and barely able to breathe, motionless, until I would fall asleep. I was literally terrified every night I slept in that room. </p><p>The thing that solidified my dread of that house happened when I was six or seven. I was taking a bath at night with the bathroom door open. While playing in the tub, I saw something go past the door. Thinking it was my mom, I said her name but there was no answer. Then I heard her down the hall in the kitchen. </p><p>I went back to playing when I saw something dart past the door again. I could still hear Mom down the hall and there was no one else but her and I and my baby brother who was in his playpen, in the house. Once again I went back to playing until out of the corner of my eye, I saw something dark. The bathtub sat on the opposing wall of the door, so as I just sat there, frozen, I could see directly out the door. There in the doorway stood a tall, dark, shadowy figure of a man wearing a hat. His face was shadowed by the hat and he was more floating than walking. In fact, I don't remember much of what he looked like from about mid-chest down, except for shadowy black. As I watched, he began to move towards me. The bathroom was about ten feet long and he was slowly closing the distance between the door and me. I remained frozen until he was about two feet from me and then I let out another one of my signature ear-piercing screams. I heard my mom's feet running towards me and just as the figure got close enough to touch me, she was coming around the corner of the bathroom. The figure exploded into nothingness. </p><p>I was hysterical and told my mom what I had experienced. She told me that I was being silly and that it was just my imagination. I knew it wasn't and because of that knowledge, I refused to take a bath there again without my mom sitting outside the door.</p><p> It wasn't until I was much older that my mom told me that she did actually believe me that day. She said I was too scared to not have seen something and over the years, I had never changed my story. At the time though, she didn't want to make me more afraid by letting me know that there might actually be something there. <i>Ohhhhh that house. </i></p><p>There was also the time that I was sound asleep and my mom came and yanked me out of bed and put my brother and I both in her bed (dad of course was not there). She locked her bedroom door, went to the closet, and pulled out a gun. I had no idea we had a gun or that my mom knew how to use one, but we did and she did. She sat on the bed with the gun pointed at the door as she called the police. She stayed in this position until she saw the reflection of the police lights in the window and heard the knock on the front door. </p><p>Apparently, Mom had been rocking my brother in the Lincoln rocker in the living room. The room was dark so she could get him to sleep, when all of a sudden, she saw the light from a flashlight coming through the big window. Someone was in our backyard. Mom froze and then within minutes, she heard someone pounding on the front door. She went to the door but would not open it. She peered out through the window and saw a guy she had never seen before, dressed mainly in black holding the flashlight. She said he yelled through the door using her name and saying he was a cop just checking everything out and that if she would let him in, he would check out the inside too. Needless to say, she made no sound and that is when she ran and got me, putting us in her room. </p><p>The police assured her, that it was <b>not</b> a cop and that they would never be in our backyard without first being called and then getting her permission. They never caught the guy, but it was obvious that he had been watching our house, knew who my mom was, and knew my dad was not there. </p><p>It wasn't long after that Dad moved back home for a bit. One night I was in bed and I kept hearing something outside my window. I started crying and Mom heard me. She looked out and saw nothing so she told me to go back to sleep. Under the covers I went, this time with my fingers in my ears, so I couldn't hear anything. The next morning, my dad looked outside and saw a bunch of stuff scattered over the backyard. When he went out to check it out, there were rings, necklaces, a small camera, along with some other items. </p><p>My parents called the police, recognizing the jewelry held some value. Come to find out that there had been several break-ins in our neighborhood the night before and these were some of the items that had been stolen. The police figured that the thieves had cut through our backyard as the cedar trees would keep them out of view and they likely had dropped the items in the process. So I <b>HAD</b> heard something. </p><p>My last night in that house came when I was about eight. I was in the third grade and school was not out for summer yet. Dad of course was not residing with us, and I was asleep when again, my mom came and pulled me out of bed. This time she handed me some shoes and told me to put them on and then she put my brother and me in the car, which was packed to the brim with our stuff. She locked the house door, got in the car and we took off. Once a ways down the road, she told me that we were going to stay with my Aunt Margaret. My Aunt Margaret lived in New Mexico. It was not even sunup as it was still dark, but by day's end, we would be in another state, another home and this would be the beginning of the end of a long drawn out dissolution of my family. At least I never had to step foot in that horrible house again. </p><p>Little fun fact. The <i>horrible</i> house was on the market a few years ago and there were many realty pictures of it. Gone are the ominous cedar trees, the enclosed brick front patio, and the interior has been done to look light and airy. I couldn't help but wonder if the house held such darkness for me because my family was in such a dark period ourselves or was the house just that horrible? Did any other children residing there fear the night or meet up with what I later learned was a <i>shadow man</i>? I certainly hope not. </p><p>That was not our last experience with the scary and traumatic in places we lived, but I never once have missed that horrible house and the emotional distress it caused me. Funny thing though, up until my dad's death last year, he proclaimed that house to be his favorite of all the houses he had lived in. Perhaps if he had actually lived there, either we would all have had a more positive experience, or at the very least, he might have seen it through different eyes. </p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-18715000028544606662023-11-08T11:40:00.004-06:002023-11-08T12:03:45.282-06:00A Perfect Childhood? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_DtbR8BCJki8zsWZ1ST9LvfnPJps89T1rb1O2wbOT-7O5UASIAsORuQ2pCmaQ9cWBdxQ-04kFFY9LUv6i16u2dlmK0XNH6K3w6_hHQfaLQ9u4BpDzvWXXb58KTQkoWjXJBv4YJ1_xWM-b70LMScGouRANUloxdNn4amQBfQUR3jt7mBee6c_UlMTeXp3Q/s1000/1960s9-goodhousekeeping.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_DtbR8BCJki8zsWZ1ST9LvfnPJps89T1rb1O2wbOT-7O5UASIAsORuQ2pCmaQ9cWBdxQ-04kFFY9LUv6i16u2dlmK0XNH6K3w6_hHQfaLQ9u4BpDzvWXXb58KTQkoWjXJBv4YJ1_xWM-b70LMScGouRANUloxdNn4amQBfQUR3jt7mBee6c_UlMTeXp3Q/s320/1960s9-goodhousekeeping.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I can't speak for all generations but I have learned as I have achieved several decades of life, that all was not as it seemed when I was growing up. <i>Not even for me</i>. Was this because I was in fact a child and therefore did not have the ability to see clearly or moreover understand clearly the world around me, or perhaps it was because I was brought up fairly sheltered? I know that by today's standards, I was definitely sheltered to the ways of the world. In fact, I think most of us were back then. We watched TV, but not like it was our job. We had Saturday morning cartoons, after-school cartoons, and sometimes evening shows that were carefully analyzed and approved by the FCC. There was no gratuitous sex, murder, or bad language. Our view of the world through TV was definitely G-rated. </p><p>Most of our homes were two-parent (mother/father) homes unless one of the parents had died, and in that case, the living parent usually remarried quickly, as families had to be anchored by the two in order to survive and thrive. </p><p>Our days (as children), were school, in which most of us walked to and from even in our earliest years, and after school were cartoons, homework, and usually playing with friends until dinner time. Dinner was not dinner though. It was "supper" and it was a ritual where everyone sat at the same table, at the same time and ate together. </p><p>In the summertime as kids, we were up and out early. We ate breakfast (because it was the most important meal of the day), and then we were out the door. Whether we were cruising the neighborhood on our bikes, or on foot, we found our fellow neighborhood kids and we congregated in parks, fields or driveways, and front yards. We played games, found places we likely shouldn't have, to investigate and hang out, and still made it home when our moms called us for lunch. A bowl of soup and a sandwich later and we spent the afternoons much like the mornings until we were called for supper. Because the days were much longer in the summer, after supper, we might have to help with the dishes, but after that, we were out with our friends again until the street lights came on, which was our non-verbal cue to head home. </p><p>Our lives were family, school, our neighborhood, barbecues, and dinner parties (if you were middle class and your dad did anything having to do with clients and business associates). </p><p>Life looked pretty Norman Rockwell back then....at least on the surface. In fact, it looked so<i> mid-century wonderful</i>, that looking back, most of us bought into that being our true existence. We thought we had the perfect life growing up. We had no electronics or cell phones. There was no social media and very few broken homes. Our moms for the most part were always home. They cooked, cleaned, and kept our homes <i>Better Homes and Gardens </i>perfect while often wearing a dress, heels, and a full face of makeup. Our dads worked, wore suits, and hats, and many smoked pipes. They read the morning newspaper before work, the evening paper after supper, and on Sundays after church (oh yes, most all of us went to church) and before lunch, the Sunday paper was read. This was a big family production as we all sat around passing the paper among us, eagerly waiting for our turn with the Sunday funnies....<i>except mom of course</i>, she was cooking. </p><p>It has only been in the last few years that I have learned that we all had some version of this growing up, but most of our childhoods were the furthest thing from a Norman Rockwell painting. We were all more like a Jackson Pollock piece of abstract art with light and dark all melded together, trying to create something that was more beautiful than it actually was. </p><p>I have learned that friends whom I thought had literally idyllic lives with two parents (mine were divorced early on), money, cool clothes, and who seemed to be the center of the school universe, were in reality....<i>suffering</i> childhood in ways I would never have believed. Behind the smiles and cool personas were childhood traumas that ranged from living with alcoholic parents, pill-addicted moms, verbal, physical, and even in some cases sexual abuse. Some of these kids who looked so perfect on the outside were hiding physical bruises as well as deep emotional ones. We lived in a world where you were taught from your earliest existence that <i>"what happens at home, stays at home."</i> We were also taught that no matter what, if an adult tells you something, you listen and obey. This was the downfall of many a young child's innocence when an adult outside the home, took advantage of that mentality. </p><p>Hearing the stories that many of my peers who are now reaching their 60s are only in the last decade or so, comfortable enough to talk about, is heartbreaking. Often these kids never even let their best friends in on what was going on behind closed doors. There was pain, shame, and the belief that even if they told, no one would listen. What was even worse, is that some of these kids didn't even realize what was going on in their homes wasn't right. They honestly believed that everyone lived like this. It was a dark world and their only escape was the fake other world they created where their jokes, smiles, money, and cool clothes hid the pain. The world they felt safest in was school and their neighborhood of friends who they hung out with every chance they got. My heart breaks even when writing about this. The fact that these kids who are now grandparents themselves at this point, survived and got here without giving up or falling apart, is just a miracle. </p><p>It was hearing these stories that made me realize, that<i><b> my </b></i>life also wasn't the perfect picture of ideal childhood that I like to tell myself it was. When I started thinking about it, and really being honest, it was a rather bleak life at times full of chaos and drama where I mostly felt like the kid that never belonged or maybe never <i>should have</i> belonged. </p><p>I was the product of an affair between a young woman and an older man. My mom chose to end things the minute she found out she was pregnant. She was a Catholic girl with much Catholic guilt. The older man was married and had a family and being pregnant out of wedlock was more than she could handle. She simply couldn't add homewrecker to her list of sins too. This happened in a day and age when, if <i>this</i> sort of thing happened, women discreetly went to "stay with a relative" for nine months and then gave their "mistake" up for adoption. My mom, apparently by now having become a bit of a rebel, decided to keep me. She was a single woman, who was a nurse (back then, they got paid zilch), who had to rent out a room from strangers and rely on them to watch her newborn, while she worked. Because the paychecks were small, everything including food was scarce. Luckily I don't remember those days.</p><p>My first real memories were when I was about two. In fact, I remember my 2nd birthday with a lot of clarity, and by this time, Mom had an apartment for us, but babysitters were still a fact of my life. For the most part, they weren't bad, except for an older woman we will call Mrs. P, who drank from the time my mom left for work until she got home. Mom caught on fairly quickly to Mrs. P's daytime activities. While I spent my days playing with my dolls by myself in a closed-door bedroom, she spent her days in a rocking chair snoozing and chugging vodka. Needless to say, she was sent packing. Then there was "Judy" and her two boys. Even as a 2-3 year old, I still remember that Judy smelled. She came to our apartment to take care of me and I understood (without really understanding because I was...well...<i>two</i>) why, when she took me to her house one day. It was nasty, even by a toddler's standards. It smelled just like Judy and it was dark and awful. </p><p>Judy didn't like me and her boys incessantly teased and bullied me. Judy would bathe me in very hot water and then spank my naked butt when I cried. Her boys would take my food at lunch and eat it themselves, or try to get me to eat things that weren't food. I hated Judy and her brood but I don't think I could really convey to my mom what was going on while she was at work. I just didn't have the verbal capacity. Judy ended up getting fired though, not for all the atrocities that she and her hellions were creating against me, but because they were cleaning out our fridge and stealing everything they could get their hands on. </p><p>When my mom finally met my stepdad (I just called him dad), I was about four. It is obvious to me now that my mom had her own issues where men were concerned and my dad was one big red flag that my mom apparently couldn't see. He came complete with a girlfriend and mama's boy issues. He was a spoiled man-child who was no more ready to settle down and be a ready-made dad than the man and the moon, but my mom was gorgeous and he had to have her. I'm not sure what her attraction to him was, but in no time, they were married, had bought a house, and to his credit, he adopted me right out of the gate. His family was not pleased with any of it, and his <i>girlfriend </i>was especially unhappy over this turn of events. </p><p>In the years that followed, my mom got pregnant and spent the entire pregnancy very sick. She had been diagnosed with Lupus beforehand and although the Lupus went away during the pregnancy, she managed to have morning sickness, the flu, and strep throat one on top of the other. She couldn't take care of herself, let alone me, and my dad was not a fan of taking care of anyone but himself. My 6-year-old needs were then taken care of by an old school sitter who although kind, was not my mom and had no idea how badly I needed my mom in the midst of all the confusing changes going on. </p><p>I had latched on to my <i>new</i> dad, feeling that I had scored big now having a dad like the other kids. I also wanted the same kind of dad I saw other kids have and I could not understand that even though he adopted me and I called him "dad" he was not dad material. Because of this, I spent most of my life wondering what <b>"I"</b> did to make him not want to stay. To make him not want <i>me.</i> Kids internalize everything. I did so <i><b>x2</b></i>. I spent years rushing home after school just to see if his suit jackets were in the closet or if both them and him were gone again. </p><p>Once my brother was born, both he and my mom were very sick. After my mom delivered my brother, her Lupus came back with a vengeance and she ended up with Glameral Nephritis (a kidney disease whose onset was because of the Lupus). My baby brother was a fragile newborn and he was allergic to everything in the universe. At the time breastfeeding was believed to be unhealthy for both the child and mother and my poor brother couldn't handle formula. Every time Mom tried a new formula, he would have some horrible reaction to it and end up in the hospital. Mom was sick, my brother was sick, my dad was at his girlfriend's and my world was crumbling, so I did what every six-year-old would do when she was just an afterthought in a world of chaos. I began acting out. I didn't understand it then, but now, I realize that I just wanted to be seen. My poor mom was at the end of her rope and in a last-ditch effort to control this uncontrollable situation, she would threaten to send me to "boarding school." At the time I had no real idea what boarding school was, but I did know that it was a place where I couldn't see my mom, dad, or new baby brother and that in my little child's head, I would be by myself. While the thought terrified me, rather than calm the waters, it simply added fuel to an already raging fire. It was a rough and tumultuous time. What I as a child didn't understand though, was as sick as my mom and brother were, my dad was making the situation worse. He antagonized my mom with his extracurricular love life and only made occasional visits to our chaotic home, only to get up and walk out the minute the baby cried or Mom needed his help with something. She was miserable, my brother was miserable and I was coming apart at the seams because I didn't understand any of it, but I felt that somehow my dad not being there was my fault and that if he were just there, everything would be fine. My kid's math told me that I was the common denominator for all that was wrong and therefore it was <i><b>all</b></i> my fault. I think this was the beginning of a lifetime of self-dislike that only grew with time. </p><p>A perfect childhood? <i>There is no such thing. </i></p><p><br /></p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-29476314506550988672023-11-01T12:29:00.000-05:002023-11-01T12:29:57.084-05:00Thinking, Planning and Hoping<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1lLAzmtOYAwSUf0_46FykTcWNiMpOWMyma2XDATbO8hVu9Ft4IkqMxpRaY2-LGctOSJ0ADm86wNgHTiEW4v-drAXOcvIMyiOEnkpNCG6A94LcJGcfgxo1wa9W6kpP71ljMDAm0VgpkKlCGldHiZRyhQ8lbCmNEdxYvxVS_bmAWMJ1VqBhI0ES2bHsoqJX/s259/images.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="194" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1lLAzmtOYAwSUf0_46FykTcWNiMpOWMyma2XDATbO8hVu9Ft4IkqMxpRaY2-LGctOSJ0ADm86wNgHTiEW4v-drAXOcvIMyiOEnkpNCG6A94LcJGcfgxo1wa9W6kpP71ljMDAm0VgpkKlCGldHiZRyhQ8lbCmNEdxYvxVS_bmAWMJ1VqBhI0ES2bHsoqJX/s1600/images.jpg" width="194" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I have some little birds that from time to time come and whisper in my ear, especially when it has to do with my blog and my writing in general. One of those little birds recently told me that I should really blog more about <b>ME!</b> I laughed. This is not the first time nor is she the first <strike>person</strike>...errr...<i>little bird</i> that has told me this. My pat answer is always, <i>This entire blog is about me, what more do you want to know?</i> The little bird then said, "<i>You tell the world what you <b>want</b> the world to know, the world however wants to know the stuff you don't tell us. The stuff you hold close and don't want to let go of."</i> My first thought was, <b>honey, I am really not that interesting and I am definitely not that deep.</b> However, I did keep thinking about what she said. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgV9F9rOCJ1xTODGhBfiIT2-s-xRQ2nEJeE55lzYCWNFaH2xSzU8cmGxdnFz8aeaTQQzq2g-a271TH6VtL1O3e-OpsIjgIlPHPJGLnNKa1QovBnq8Wl_wJwG9qN_P6Sm5JzmGK0kocRg9caKGFP9ufIieCYUnFbtykVEmBO1g1TEtOTUMNaunFnmGjRMHx/s225/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgV9F9rOCJ1xTODGhBfiIT2-s-xRQ2nEJeE55lzYCWNFaH2xSzU8cmGxdnFz8aeaTQQzq2g-a271TH6VtL1O3e-OpsIjgIlPHPJGLnNKa1QovBnq8Wl_wJwG9qN_P6Sm5JzmGK0kocRg9caKGFP9ufIieCYUnFbtykVEmBO1g1TEtOTUMNaunFnmGjRMHx/s1600/download.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br />This week I began reading a book, <b>The Stories We Tell, Every Piece of Your Story Matters</b>, <i>by Joanna Gaines.</i> Now I am a true lover of memoirs, autobiographies, biographies, and the like and I have always really liked Joanna Gaines. She just always seemed to have a midwestern flair, like if we lived down the street from each other, I might like to stand a while and chat if we were both working in the yard or taking the trash cans to the curb. She has a down-to-earth feel about her, although if who she is on TV is anywhere close to who she is in person (and apparently it is) she has a whole lot more energy than I do. <p></p><p>After barely getting started on her book, I realized why she had that midwestern feel to her. She grew up just down the road from me in the little town of Rose Hill. Well, there you have it. Her town of origin aside though, her book, not quite a memoir or an autobiography, sits nicely somewhere in between full of self analyzation and deep personal introspection. I could literally go on and on about this book, but one thing stood out right from the beginning. She said that she questioned whether to write this book, even though she had decades of bits and pieces of her life, her feelings, and herself, written in notebooks and journals all over her house. She wondered if anyone would read, or more importantly, even care about a book about her. It wasn't until she was deep into the writing though, that she realized not only was this book cathartic to her, but even though we are all individuals, we still all have similar life experiences that by sharing our own individual stories, may actually help someone else who reads it. It struck a chord. </p><p>As I continued to read, I kept thinking about my little bird telling me "<i>You tell the world what you want the world to know, the world however wants to know the stuff you don't tell us. The stuff you hold close and don't want to let go of."</i> Now I am definitely no Joanna Gaines. We have the commonality of proximity in growing up, her having a degree in journalism and me studying journalism (which is really not the same at all), and me having my life written down in notebooks and journals everywhere, but pretty much that is where it ends. She is much younger than I am, she has traveled, she has had her own TV shows and she is an influencer to anyone who loves shiplap and farmhouse style, and yet, so much of what she talks about, the emotions....those she has shared and those she bottles up, her fears, her dreams and her desires, resonated with me like I never dreamed possible. This woman's words were affecting me to my core. She was speaking words that I needed to hear, and maybe, just maybe, there was more to me than I thought. <i>Maybe someone needs to hear my story too. </i></p><p>I have been doing a great deal of thinking about this whole writing about me thing. I have asked myself a lot of questions such as, who would even read this? Is there a big audience out there for the story of a Kansas girl who is a stay at home mom and grandma, who cooks, cleans, likes to write, and attempts to be crafty on occasion? Do people want to hear about the saddish childhood I didn't even know I had until I was an adult? My shadow man experience? My daddy issues and my wild late teens and early twenties (trust me, by today's standards, I was pretty mild, but for then....)? Who really wants to hear about my heartbreaks, my missed opportunities, my inability to talk without cussing, and my fear of, well.....<i>everything? </i>What's more, am I brave enough to put myself out there in a world of bullying, hate, and cancel culture...where every word is dissected, misinterpreted, and evaluated out of context? </p><p>There are lots of questions and very few answers. Did I mention that I fear <i>everything?</i> </p><p>I actually don't know whether I could take on the time I would need to write a book <i>per se</i>. I do think though, that piecing my life together in blog style (my real deep down life, not just the one I usually choose to show), might be a bit easier and I have no doubt, greatly cathartic....<i>at least for me.</i> Others in my world may not find it as mentally healing as I would/will. </p><p>Granted, there would be no book deal or possibility of earning from it, but then that really wouldn't be the point of writing it, at least not for me. If my goal is to possibly help someone with my words, then financial gain for doing so seems a bit self-serving and even a tad hypocritical. These stories have to be put out there with the desire to help me by clearing out my mind and memories, organizing them, and learning from them as well as redefining who I am as a human being. By doing this....the hard work, and yes, even the scary work, then maybe it will help others to find something that I have battled that resonates with them and helps them or makes a difference in their life. </p><p>So there you have it. The little bird whispered. I listened. Joanna Gaines spoke, and I am thinking, planning, and hoping that if I write it, you will read it. </p><p>Until next time. </p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-27603606452974171162023-10-25T11:09:00.005-05:002023-10-25T11:19:22.693-05:00Three Headlines and My Opinion<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy6uM-p5eyxmgdTfDYDtuAD1L16LI_mapgcNc20EWpwc8BUNHFmmUMdnUBHW1YOJmtN4FG7TOibLre5azBFF6GEkqHIqDZsmzpKWBvF4GngOAS56Rebh0HQdt2zEuStYTlI5jIls1fxh5EVFmFVkCk29qeS1Yevxb2ENBxoJ0OeHz-zqjsW5638R4MoJJN/s260/download.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="260" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy6uM-p5eyxmgdTfDYDtuAD1L16LI_mapgcNc20EWpwc8BUNHFmmUMdnUBHW1YOJmtN4FG7TOibLre5azBFF6GEkqHIqDZsmzpKWBvF4GngOAS56Rebh0HQdt2zEuStYTlI5jIls1fxh5EVFmFVkCk29qeS1Yevxb2ENBxoJ0OeHz-zqjsW5638R4MoJJN/s1600/download.png" width="260" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Good morning! </p><p>Not sure how it is in your world, but in mine, it is day two of rain. The humidity of course is high but the temps aren't as fallish as I would like. It is still a bit warmer than us pumpkin spice-drinking, pumpkin patch loving, leggings, and sweater-wearing connoisseurs would like. In fact, it is still a bit steamy out there. All-in-all though, it is a pretty good day to sip hot tea and spill the T in a blog. </p><p>I wasn't sure what I wanted to write about today until I opened up my news app and started looking at the headlines. Then I remembered someone telling me not too long ago that there were a select few who liked to hear my views on world happenings. I really thought they were joking, but apparently, the hilarity I found in the statement, they found to be a bit insulting as <b><i>they were actually being serious</i>.</b> Who knew?</p><p>Okay, so be it. Today's blog will cover a few headlines (both locally to me and nationally....maybe even worldwide...who knows?)and bonus, you will get my views on such. Yeah, be careful what you ask for. </p><p>My first headline is a local one. <a href="https://www.kake.com/story/49882600/newton-man-sentenced-to-more-than-4-years-for-mistreatment-of-a-dependent-adult">https://www.kake.com/story/49882600/newton-man-sentenced-to-more-than-4-years-for-mistreatment-of-a-dependent-adult</a> This story is short, but definitely not sweet. The place they speak of <i>Heartland Supports</i>, is in a little town North of Wichita. It apparently is a day program for dependent disabled adults. This less than human beast, apparently beat and battered a disabled client and now will be doing a whole 4 years for his crimes. <i>Grrrrrr....</i>I have <b>BIG</b> opinions on this. First of all, from the time David (my special needs, dependent son) was about 8 years old, up until now, I have always had people pushing me to put David into either a home for dependent indviduals or a day program after he graduated high school. My reply was always <i>"thank you....no thank you,"</i> but not always in those nice of words. </p><p>After years of hearing stories about people in nursing homes and assisted homes of all kinds, being beaten, abused and even killed, by staff who were not properly trained and who flat out didn't give a damn about the people they were hired to care for, I made up my mind early on, David would never be put in that position. David is especially vulnerable as he is non-verbal and when he is not being understood or listened to (<i>yes, he can communicate if his caregiver, para, etc are willing to take the time and listen</i>), then he can become frustrated, resulting in an arm grab, a small pinch, or even mild combativeness. This seldom happens anymore though, as he has gotten good at letting us know his needs, or maybe we have just gotten better at listening. He has however, even in a school setting been verbally chastised, and according to some who chose to remain nameless, even physically reprimanded. Imagine that in a setting such as Heartland Supports, where I couldn't oversee the situations like I could at school. David could be a statistic just because someone found him challenging and didn't want to deal with him, and David would never even be able to let anyone know. </p><p>Yes, David will always remain in our home setting where he is loved, understood and his "voice" is always heard. As for this cowardly beast who hurt someone who had no ability to fight back, in my humble opinion, 4 years is not nearly enough. There should be extenuating punishments for those that hurt the elderly and disabled, and I am sure there is a special place in hell for them. </p><p>I also feel that the Heartland Supports should shoulder some of the responsibility and all facilities caring for the disabled whether it is a living facility or a day facility, should conduct in-depth background checks on anyone they hire as well as extensive training on both the physical and mental care of those in their charge. Unfortunately, that would have to come with a big budget and much higher pay scale, that most of these places will not provide. Most of these workers, not unlike the paras (support staff for special education in schools) get paid barely minimum wage with little to no training but a lot of high expectations in service provisions. In other words, often the most vulnerable of our society aren't deemed worthy enough to have caretakers in facilities make quality care a priority. <i>Grrrrrr</i></p><p>In lighter news <a href="https://www.today.com/popculture/taylor-swift-travis-kelce-kiss-cheek-rcna121758">https://www.today.com/popculture/taylor-swift-travis-kelce-kiss-cheek-rcna121758</a> Oh Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift. SWELCE! Yes, I had to bring it up. </p><p>I will admit when this whole Kelce/Swift thing started, I was a bit amused. The first I heard of it was when he was apparently crushing on her and he had someone tell her (I think, my brain is humidly challenged this morning) and she didn't seem any too impressed. It was kind of the Hollywood adult version of passing a note and asking her if she liked him. This was even before pre-season I believe. Then suddenly, without football fan warning or consultation, we hear that the two are a couple. <i>Hmmmmmm.</i> Who doesn't remember the Jessica Simpson/Tony Romo debacle and the grief it caused both him and the Cowboys? <b>I bet Romo does!!!! </b>No one (or at least me) wanted to see Kelce and the Chiefs go down that same road. </p><p>So imagine my dismay, as the SWELCE "romance" began to blossom and T-Swift became the focal point of the season, and definitely every game that the Chiefs played. I read all the gossip headlines accusing the two of an unholy alliance of self-promotion to enhance both of their careers, or the belief that this was just made up play acting to keep the Chiefs relevant. </p><p>Honestly, it is pro-sports and Hollywood, if we have learned nothing else, we have learned that anything is possible and either/or headline could be possible, however, it didn't seem likely that two people, both at the top of their game in their individual worlds, really needed the promotion, and the Chiefs certainly didn't. So maybe the two were legit, <b>BUT</b> must I see more of Swift at these games than the actual games? I posted something about this on FB and while some agreed that they were over the two before they even started, others sighed and chastised me for not acknowledging young love in bloom. I remember thinking to myself, until he becomes her next heart break, man done her wrong, top 10 single. <i>Yes, I am extremely jaded.</i> </p><p>There is no question that I am and was pre-SWELCE, a Kelce fan. I have however, never been that big on Swift....no matter how much my granddaughter plays her songs. Okay, there are a few songs that I find okay, but Swift as a person, I just kind of wonder about. So many boyfriends, so many break up songs, and if you listen to gossip media, our T-Swift might be headed to the dark-side with some of her songs and videos. Did she really sell her soul for pop stardom and now NFL stardom too? </p><p>Then I hear stories about people in this new world of football fans and friends that Swift is starting to cultivate. She is kind to those around her. She picks up her trash and the trash of others. She goes out of her way to meet people, and okay, maybe the most endearing thing I have seen, her sweet kiss on Kelce's cheek, and their innocent hand holding. All these things are things a boy mom would be watching out for if a girl (even Taylor Swift) were hanging out with her son. </p><p>So my consensus.....maybe they are for real. They definitely aren't throwing their PDA in our faces like some of the famous couples tend to do in an effort to show the world their love (think any Kardashian), and they aren't trying to defend their relationship through all the clapback that they get. At the end of the day, I guess it really doesn't matter if they are a <i>"real" </i>couple or not, and by the way, what defines <i>real couple</i> anyway? They seem happy, and the Chiefs Kingdom have settled down and don't seem too unhappy that the more Swift shows up at the games, the better Kelce plays. I guess the only real question left is, can SWELCE get us to another Super Bowl win? If not, then at least we know that T-Swift will have a hell of a next album. </p><p>And finally, <a href="https://www.goodnewsnetwork.org/tumor-destroying-sound-waves-treatment-coming-to-a-hospital-near-you-for-liver-cancer/">https://www.goodnewsnetwork.org/tumor-destroying-sound-waves-treatment-coming-to-a-hospital-near-you-for-liver-cancer/</a> we all need a little uplifting news when it comes to cancer. </p><p>Cancer has been around a very long time and dare I say there are very few of us that can say cancer has not touched our lives in one way or another. It is a disease that can produce over 200 types of cancer, along with genetic mutations that can can take the disease from very treatable to completely out of control. Yes, genetics and our individual cell make up play a huge part in whether we get cancer or not. </p><p>With cancer sometimes the treatments are almost as bad as the disease itself, using poisons and radiation to kill the cancer that can damage other organs, cause other illnesses and make the cancer patient sicker than they ever felt with the disease. Often times the treatments are also invasive, such as surgery to remove the cancer or even the affected organ. </p><p>Of late, new trials keep popping up and some are less damaging than the old tried and true chemo and there is also positive info coming out on cannabis and it's ability to kill cancer cells, but with over 200 kinds of cancer, it makes sense that not every new trial or treatment is going to react to every cancer the same way. That is why something like non-invasive treatments such as sound waves might be an exciting breaktrhough in the field of cancer and it's treatment. </p><p>May we one day find a cure for cancer in all its forms that erradicates it from our world. </p><p>Well, there you have it. You have three interesting(ish) headlines and my opinion on all of them. </p><p>So until next time, stay dry, stay happy and be kind!</p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-60958190910529227232023-10-17T12:48:00.002-05:002023-10-17T12:48:27.864-05:00Thoughts and Prayers, and a Crisis of Me<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinhqwPGp2ibLuV34BcJwCVQ1WKq-Al7QSqcOFI7Cg0Hmqs7Qsda4A6ZY4RjihavHelzfXAGWIK-Fvaf89miSoNcK3O3ChUkLkYC-Yy6yTrN_TS3hq6Q9wm45obn_6XpqddgepIOS7iwnvPzUNnO5fPz_-TytbqlLduQBVZhGD0UZvbyPmoEOkCOWo9n3Dd/s275/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinhqwPGp2ibLuV34BcJwCVQ1WKq-Al7QSqcOFI7Cg0Hmqs7Qsda4A6ZY4RjihavHelzfXAGWIK-Fvaf89miSoNcK3O3ChUkLkYC-Yy6yTrN_TS3hq6Q9wm45obn_6XpqddgepIOS7iwnvPzUNnO5fPz_-TytbqlLduQBVZhGD0UZvbyPmoEOkCOWo9n3Dd/s1600/download.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> Let's just get down to it today. </p><p>I dreamed about this piece last night (or at least the theory of this piece), and I woke up thinking about it this morning. It has continued to play in my head, so I would say that is my sign to put it on paper. This is the first time in a long time that this has happened, so hold onto your bloomers if you plan on going along for this ride. I have no idea how deep this will go or what all will come out as I type, but I do think it might trigger some, in content alone. I guess I will then preface this with <i>Sorry! Not sorry!</i> </p><p>So grab a cup of coffee, brew a pot of tea, or get yourself a Dr. Pepper, and let's get this blog piece started!</p><p>Last night I was doing some research and catching up on current events. Even I, <i>Non-news Nancy</i>, am not oblivious to world happenings. Don't get me wrong, I try to be. Truly I do, but sometimes the happenings are just too big and yes, even too scary to ignore. In this case, I really hold no fear, more astonishment, and disbelief, as the world is changing and I feel that humans are currently their own worst enemy and will be their own downfall in both this world and the next. </p><p>I am going to begin with "thoughts and prayers." Do you want to trigger someone who has little to no faith? Post on social media, or say in front of someone lacking, that your thoughts and prayers are with someone struggling, grieving, or hurting and you will see a literal outpour of emotional gibberish on <i>"What good are prayers when this person needs money, or a cure, etc, etc."</i> I can't even count all the times that I have been chastised for posting this and literally belittled for doing <i>so little</i> to help someone who is suffering or in need. Does it bother me? No! I mean, I might feel a twinge of sadness for the chastising persons' lack of perception, self-control, and faith, but other than that.....let them feel justified in their convictions. My thoughts and prayers are with them too. </p><p>Having said this, I do wonder if the statement <i><b>you are in my thoughts and prayers</b></i> is just words to some, or if they back them up with actions? No judgment one way or another. Just curiosity. After all, the statement does seem to have become quite the norm on social media posts, where loss, pain, and/or suffering is the topic. We all want the poster to know that we are thinking of them and in some cases, maybe saying we are praying is just what we think they want to hear. I sincerely hope not, because if every "thoughts and prayers" comment were true, then how awesome would that be?<br /></p><p>When <i>I</i> say <i>"You are in my thoughts and prayers"</i>, I try hard to mean every word of it. In the moment that I read the post, I say a prayer then and there asking that <i>God's will be done</i> for the person or family involved. I try not to stop there though. Each and every time I think about that person or family throughout the day or sometimes for many days, I renew that prayer. So when I make the statement, I try to make it absolutely factual and not just calming words in the moment. </p><p>I know to some this sounds like nothing, especially if the person posting is in need of money, or food, or is in terrible pain or grief. I have even flat-out been asked just what I think prayers will do for this person. Sometimes I take the time to explain that I learned about 23 years ago, the true power of prayer.</p><p> When a doctor looks at you and tells you that your child is within hours of dying and the medical community has done all that they can you become frozen in disbelief. When he follows it up with,<i> "If you pray, then put it in God's hands. His hands are far safer than any doctors."</i> It is at that moment that you realize that you could be a gazillionaire and it would not matter. Money, a casserole, or nothing else was going to save my child. That is when my heart became so heavy that it dropped to my stomach and made me hit my knees in prayers. My husband and I begged everybody in the vicinity to do the same whether they prayed or not....<i>and they did</i>. We also called family and friends and begged them to pray and every time our family crossed their minds, to pray some more. Here we are 23 years later, and that child not only survived but thrived and is still going strong. In fact, we were assured as we took him home from the hospital, by another doctor who believed far more in science than God, that David was a bonafide miracle and that there was simply no way he should be going home on no meds, and no oxygen. <i>No one had to convince us</i>. </p><p>And that my friends is why you all are in my thoughts and prayers. Prayers are more powerful than any other human act a person can give. In fact, prayer is dare I say, the greatest gift someone can give another human being... Perhaps I will delve into this more in another piece on another day. </p><p>So back to world news. Oh yeah.....humans are f-ing up the world!</p><p>We seem to have forgotten or some may never have realized that all we have didn't just appear one day. It was given to us by our Creator (I call Him God) and He gave us some very simple rules to live by in order to keep and maintain this world and in gratitude, just what did we go and do? We deny Him and His rules. We mock Him and we make it seem as if humans created God rather than God creating humans. What is worse is in the name of religion, we put human ideology and interpretations into God's own words. </p><p>We have removed God from all places, including some churches, and replaced Him with self-serving ideals, greed and the desire to please and serve ourselves rather than to please and serve Him. We give ourselves all the glory and God none of it. Instead of reading God's word and following His teachings, we paraphrase and manipulate until we hear the message that is easiest on our ears and the one that fits in with our own wants and desires. Anything is wrong if we claim it to be in the Bible and if that is our agenda, just as anything is right if we manipulate and reword God/Jesus's teachings to make it seem that whatever we want or do is not only acceptable but also Biblical. Playing God is not a good look for anyone but God. </p><p>Now we sit with a war in Isreal and a social media full of people who have been previously shut down and shut up speaking out about everything from our current world following Biblical prophecy to child trafficking and the evil one and his followers alive and well and growing in numbers......right before our very eyes, should we choose to open them. </p><p>Okay, so I am not a conspiracy theorist, but I am also not stupid. I am of the mind that this world is very big and there is much we don't know. I have also lived long enough to know that not everything is what it seems, but then again, some things are<b> EXACTLY</b> what they seem. Some of the stuff that is currently being talked about has some pretty compelling "facts" to go along with the stories. It's hard not to question the validity of some of the things that are being discussed. Moreso, there are many people who you would not think to be wild and out there backing up some of the things we are hearing. So what are we supposed to believe and how are we supposed to react? To further confuse the whole conundrum, with the onset of AI, we can't even go by the old adage, <i>"I'll believe it when I see it."</i> The fact is, just because you see it, doesn't always make it real anymore. </p><p>Don't even get me started on AI and man's desire to create what can actually and no doubt will actually destroy him down the line. Yes....we humans are just fantastic creatures. <heavy on the eye roll></p><p>Then there is me. In the last couple of years, I have been suffering from a crisis. I don't want to call it a crisis of faith, because I have never lost my belief in God, my faith, or the belief in the power of prayer. I guess then, it is a <i>crisis of <b>ME</b>!</i> I have become one of those humans who has become so frustrated with other humans in all facets of life (including religion) that it has been too easy for me to take steps back and reexamine literally everything. </p><p>I have begun to question so much about our world and the human aspect of it all that it has made me not like other humans very much. Are things really getting worse, or do all people my age pass that judgment. <i><b>OR</b></i> have things been getting progressively worse over time and that judgment for each generation has been correct? We have become a world of haters and hypocrites who can't view the past for what it was, and accept it for those times and how the people of those times viewed things, acted, and reacted. Instead, we want to put today's values and viewpoints on a people and time where today's values have no place. Thus, we want to ignore and/or cancel the past, totally forgetting that without the past in all of its triumphs and faults, we can't learn and thus make a better tomorrow. Another human failure. </p><p>With all the questions I have been pondering, I have not remained faithful in my religion and that has been something that has literally eaten a hole in my soul. Now don't get me wrong, I was born a Roman Catholic and I am still a RC, but like anything else, the human aspect of it all, yes even the church bothers me. I have become so frustrated with people who call the Church home and yet try to bend and twist the Church's teachings to fit their way of thinking and believing. Why? What is this all about? If the Church doesn't suit your sensibilities then maybe you are in the wrong church, but quit trying to make the Church human run, when truthfully it is God's church in which we are to serve Him and His word, not Him serve us and what we want. </p><p>If it's a self-serving church you want, perhaps you are looking at the wrong end of the spectrum. </p><p>In all of my questioning and soul-gouging, I have been waiting. I have tried to listen quietly and hear what God might want of me personally. I have asked in prayer and even talked to Him as a father to a daughter. What does my father want of me? Last night, I think the answer hit me. </p><p>As I was watching videos about the world and all that is wrong and evil with it because of self-serving humans, and as I worried (a little) about AI and the deception that it could bring to this already deceptive world, I asked myself, how will I know? How will I be able to tell true goodness from true evil? After all, the evil one hides in plain sight in our world whether it is in our music, our schools, our government, and yes, even our churches. So how will I know if I am doing right or wrong, following the good or the bad? Then it hit me, <b>GO TO CHURCH</b>! Follow not the humans, but the word of God. Pray every day for guidance and the ability to avoid that which is not of God. But then there was one more thing that hit my heart like a ton of brick. We <b>ARE</b> in end times. We have been since day one and how we follow God's words and teachings is going to be the determining factor of our eternity.</p><p> Miraculously, at that moment, some of my Confirmation teachings came back to me. (For those wondering, in the Catholic church, Confirmation is one of the seven sacraments of our faith at which time, we become a soldier of Christ. You can't receive this sacrament unless you are old enough to understand what the church and your faith are all about). Words like <i>"Love your neighbor as yourself for the love of God,"</i> hit me pretty powerfully. <i>"I am the Way, the Truth, and the Light,"</i> also played over in my mind. After sleeping on all of this, this morning, one other thought kept dancing around,<i> "Be not afraid."</i> These were my favorite words of Pope St. John Paul II. I have loved these words so much that they are literally tattooed on my arm. </p><p>So how am I to go forward? I am going back to church.....God's church. I am going to receive the sacraments every chance I get, and even though the human aspect of things is what has bothered me, my job is to follow my faith and first and foremost do as God commanded. I will love my fellow man as if they are my own flesh and blood because they, like myself, are created by God. I cannot change any other human, but I can change myself, and perhaps through that, others might see and find something in me that helps to change them. I will do my best each and every day to show kindness and compassion, find the good and positive in the world (something I have been struggling with) live all of God's commandments, and live to serve God and not ask God (even in prayer requests) to serve me. <i>His will not mine.</i> I will do all of this without fear and have complete faith that by following God, He will lead me to where I need to be. </p><p>WOW!!! I'm going to be pretty busy just worrying about my own soul and loving others regardless of their souls. Remember, Jesus didn't hang out with the self-professed "holy" ones. He hung out with the broken and bad. Many of those later became saints. Little fun fact, <i>many saints were sinners first. </i></p><p>See, I told you I had no idea where this was going or how deep it would get. If you felt triggered by anything I said, maybe ask yourself why. I don't typically talk about God this much but today, I think this is what He wanted and this is what I needed....not so much God in general, but my relationship with God and the hypocrisy which I have been feeling towards my fellow humans. </p><p>We do live in a crazy world and without a path, just where might we end up? Who knows how this all is going to end and what we might find out along the way, but perhaps, the upside in all of this, at least for me, is that my<i> crisis of me</i>, may just be at an end. </p><p>Today I fast and pray for peace for Israel and for each of you, you all remain<i> in my thoughts and prayers</i>. </p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-64687368429972941082023-10-12T10:54:00.003-05:002023-10-12T11:17:38.339-05:00Good Morning and Welcome Back!<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNaCc8Hpg8wiImi1swUHrhlfzw2Rfc5lUCV4Aj2yOc2s3eTEpG7H4IukvQBsM_tCMBSfb4yfQUhryON0O6XronWdTBeRuuRDOw59z4yCRT5_Td3JfZ-Z48BW2SKBWEqEPX4yUjWX0QVXVT6snwhvM6UKKXskpB3mxAT1SNYSvwYAem4L2lbm_mvRuVsTn-/s1841/good%20morning.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1841" data-original-width="1122" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNaCc8Hpg8wiImi1swUHrhlfzw2Rfc5lUCV4Aj2yOc2s3eTEpG7H4IukvQBsM_tCMBSfb4yfQUhryON0O6XronWdTBeRuuRDOw59z4yCRT5_Td3JfZ-Z48BW2SKBWEqEPX4yUjWX0QVXVT6snwhvM6UKKXskpB3mxAT1SNYSvwYAem4L2lbm_mvRuVsTn-/s320/good%20morning.jpg" width="195" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Well......good morning and welcome back! </p><p>Not sure if that greeting is more for the readers (assuming there are any), or me. It has been almost a year and a half since I last blogged and before I actually sat down to begin this morning, I was a bundle of giddiness mixed with almost procrastination, as I kept finding things I needed to do before I sat down. Still, I was so excited to be able to sit down and write, and more so that I wanted to sit down and write, that I couldn't stay focused on the things I needed to do. Welcome to that sneak peek into my world.</p><p>I have no idea where this first blog piece is going to take me, as there are a lot of pent-up words, and emotions fighting to get out as I type, so pardon any rambling, incomplete thoughts, or out-and-out absurdity that may show up here. Just know that if you are reading, I am grateful and I promise all my blogs won't consist of locked-away brain gumbo. Some may actually have real merit! Ummm....maybe. Well...possibly. Okay.....we can only hope!</p><p>So a little catch-up about my world, since last I blogged. I think I quit blogging because I was starting to feel overwhelmed with life and the expectations I was putting on myself as well as what the world was serving up, and my feelings and emotions were in a place where I couldn't get them from my brain to the paper. I went on a bit of a hiatus from social media, blogging, texting, people, and anything that made me feel overwhelmed. Did I mention people? Maybe it was a late-term, mid-life crisis or maybe it was just me feeling like I was just doing too much. Whatever the case, I had to stop it all for a bit and find my footing again. </p><p>During that time though, I was not bored, nor was I free from life's little surprises and tragedies. In the course of a year, I lost both of my older dogs (Gizzy and Spud) to age and injury and I lost my new puppy (Wendell) just before his 1st birthday to a brain tumor. I was truly not prepared for the emotional toll that losing these fur babies was going to take on my heart. God had my back though, and I guess the compromise was, that my late husband Tim now has three fur babies to play with in heaven and I have a new fur baby (Harley) that came to me through I have no doubt, divine intervention. She just turned a year old and she healed my heart and my soul in ways I had no idea they needed healing. </p><p>We also went through some major family drama (what family doesn't) and some loss of good people. I also found audiobooks. Yes, I know they have been around for forever and that I am behind the times, but sometimes I just fight technology, because we are not friends. However, up until audiobooks became my best friend, I had to choose between sitting down and reading and leaving everything else undone, or doing everything else and never having time to read. I can now do all I need to do and listen to my books. Last year I read close to a hundred books, rereading old favorites, and classics I never got around to, and finding some new genres and books that I would never have thought I would even crack open. I was pleased to find that my love of books is still alive and well. </p><p>During this time, I also added <i><b>apron maker</b></i> to my repertoire. It all happened by accident as I decided I wanted a farmhouse apron (a longer, crisscrossed in the back apron with lots of pockets). I went to my favorite place for instruction (YouTube) and I watched videos for making many different types of aprons and then pieced together a pattern of what I wanted MY apron to look like. The first one I made for me was hideously made, but from outward appearances, it was cute. It had a beige and black background of farm animals and the straps and pockets were red gingham. I loved it regardless of how bad the stitching and piecing looked and I took a picture and put it on Facebook. As they say.....the rest is history. From that one picture, I had numerous requests for these aprons. This meant no more piecing and racing through the sewing. Before I knew it, I was taking orders from all over the country (literally), I had a Facebook page dedicated to the aprons (<i><b>Grandma Lisa's Farmhouse Aprons</b></i>) and I even branched out here and there and made mens bbq aprons, kids aprons, and kitchen towel sets to match the aprons. I was working 9-10 hours per day, 7 days per week and it was literally the best thing that ever happened to me. I had a deep focus with a deadline and a purpose that wasn't just kids, the house, appointments, etc. Between the aprons, my old reliable cheesecake making, and Harley, I found a little piece of me that had gotten lost in the chaos that my life had become. By the way, that first hideously made apron is still going strong after literally hundreds of washings. I guess it wasn't as hideous as I thought. </p><p>This summer I was able, with the help of David's school para, who is now a family friend, to take David and the three grandkids on many fun adventures. We made it to zoos, museums, and parks and I was made aware of how blessed I am to be such a close part of my grandkids' lives and how lucky I am to be able to watch them grow into individuals that make me laugh, make me furious and keep my world from ever being boring. </p><p>Amongst all of this, one of the best things that has happened is that I have found my brother again. The adult years have not been great for him and me for a multitude of reasons. We had many ups and downs over the past decade and have become just people we used to know. The fact was we knew very little about each other's lives or even who we were as grown people. In truth, there was just so much wasted time being angry over things that we didn't have all the facts on and we likely never should have been angry about in the first place. </p><p>My brother has the Lynch Syndrome gene which is a particularly nasty cancer-causing gene. My mother also had it, which gave him and I both a 50/50 chance of also having it. Once tested, we found that I did not have it, but he did....and he didn't just have it, but he apparently took on the motherload of this gene. In the last 6 years, he has dealt with three recurring cancers (colon, bladder, and kidney) plus he has just been diagnosed with two more (lung and bone). He is also suffering from the side effects of the cancer treatments he has endured which include: osteoporosis, the loss of his bladder, and diabetes, just to name a few. In the last year though, he and I have become much closer through all of this. It nearly kills me thinking that my baby brother has to endure what he is going through. Moreover, it cuts me to the bone that there is no way that I can fix it. We talk though. He keeps me up on his appointments and their outcomes, and our conversations have even ventured into our kids, and even memories of our childhood. The conversations, even though the content is not always pleasant, are always good, and my prayer life is increasing by leaps and bounds as I flood heaven with prayers for him. </p><p>I have also gotten to know the tremendous strength of the man who is my brother. He reminds me very much of my mother and her strength in fighting a similar, though not nearly as heinous battle with her own cancer. My brother is strong, as he knows his wife and young son depend on his strength, and he has taken each new diagnosis and treatment with calm and quiet determination to fight and beat this horrific disease. I find myself in awe of how steadfast and even positive he remains through all of this. I am not sure I would have the strength he has and I can't help but feel that God still has much He wants my brother to do here on earth. He has definitely reminded me that the years don't matter if the minutes aren't handled with care and appreciated to the fullest. I think in this aspect, we are both trying to make every minute count. </p><p>If you pray, please pray for my brother and put him on any prayer chain you see fit (Andy Jacques). If you don't pray, please make an exception in this case and send him all the positivity you can. </p><p>Also in this last year, I have begun more and more to think outside the box and look at different ways of accomplishing things and just simply doing things that I have never done before. I am also doing my best to simplify everything in my life. I am trying to opt out of any and all clutter in my life, my home, and everywhere else clutter tends to pop up and overwhelm me. </p><p>So now I guess we are caught up. Back to this blog. </p><p>I have no idea when I am going to blog again or how often, but I will share my blog posts in as many places as I can, including several places on Facebook, so if you like my blogs, you will have plenty of opportunity to find them when they appear. Also, in the theme of simplifying and downsizing, I currently have four blogs out there in the blogosphere, all as woefully discarded as this one has been and all dealing with different aspects of life. Going forward though, I am going to condense them all into <b>THIS</b> blog. Trying to chase down numerous blogs and keep up is one of those things that overwhelm me. All the blogs have served some form of purpose and even healing for me in the past, but let's face it, they are all about my life and my world, so why complicate it all? Let's just pile it all here in one place and call it good!</p><p>The following are the links to my other blogs so in case you would like to catch up on them or in case you have never read them, feel free to take a peak and see what they have all been about. </p><p><i><b>Do I Look Like a Celery Kind of Girl?</b></i> <a href="https://cmom-toomuchinformation.blogspot.com/">https://cmom-toomuchinformation.blogspot.com/</a></p><p>This was my health blog. It took on many faces over the years and I can't really say that I am much healthier since its inception, but there is some good information to be had in it. </p><p><i><b>Life With the Incredible Mr. David <a href=" https://theincrediblemrdavid.blogspot.com/"> https://theincrediblemrdavid.blogspot.com/</a></b></i></p><p>This blog deals with all things David and covers some of the most agonizing and awe-inspiring moments in his life. </p><p><i><b>To Hell and Back, An Al-Anon Moms Story</b></i> <a href="https://thabalanonmom.blogspot.com/">https://thabalanonmom.blogspot.com/</a></p><p>This blog saved my life during some of the worst moments of my sons' addiction and it covers some of my journey of finding my own self and the healing that had to happen for me, through Al-Anon.</p><p>So there you have it. This blog will be a combination of all of this, plus I have asked some past readers and Facebook family and friends to throw out ideas for this blog. It might be fun to step further out of my box and have to do some research here and there and learn a little something. However this goes though, I hope that my blog gives you entertainment, education, and maybe even humor along the way. For me, it will be an unburdening of my brain, emotions, and experiences and as always, it will include a good heap of healing for my soul. </p><p>Please feel free to go back and reread my old pieces, follow the links to my other blogs, and read and comment anytime about anything. I look forward to hearing from you and I hope you like what you read. </p><p>Until next time.......... </p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-78934181263940780302022-05-20T09:52:00.000-05:002022-05-20T09:52:15.002-05:00The Art of Perspective<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQuvJWHZhNXBbCLdkDt8j7VniUxfF95-PO-UQI4qYG-wXw_ETj6jO5yFa5ksqjhJOUTiC0xMpHUw0tPDMCmfGvzHRIYTQPI8sFrPgxG85gCQPffx0yRF9FpEnLWu1OwzV89gofzilclAnxbdPyxP0Udopcn0C--oAKtioLHJA-vWrOzw2b7kc5SaJBgA/s612/perspective.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="502" data-original-width="612" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQuvJWHZhNXBbCLdkDt8j7VniUxfF95-PO-UQI4qYG-wXw_ETj6jO5yFa5ksqjhJOUTiC0xMpHUw0tPDMCmfGvzHRIYTQPI8sFrPgxG85gCQPffx0yRF9FpEnLWu1OwzV89gofzilclAnxbdPyxP0Udopcn0C--oAKtioLHJA-vWrOzw2b7kc5SaJBgA/s320/perspective.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Perspective. It is not a one size fits all view of the world. It is actually individualized by who we are and how our past reflects our present. In other words, a group of six different people from six different backgrounds can all go through the exact same incident or situation and come out of it with six different perspectives on the incident or situation. I think, as a whole, people lose sight of this and thus get frustrated or upset when others either don't have the same <i>devil may care </i>attitude over a situation or the same <i>"the sky is falling"</i> attitude. It is simply forgotten that people are individuals with individual views. </p><p>A perfect example of this whole individual perspective thing was the last two years with COVID. We all were faced with the same virus and the same possibility of acquiring it, and yet the way people reacted to it was everything from <i>"So what it is just another virus. I am going on with my life as normal,"</i> to the other end of the spectrum where people refused to leave their homes and if they did have to venture out, they didn't go without a weeks supply of hand sanitizer and a military-grade face mask. In between these two extremes were many variations of both scenarios. Same virus, the same possibility of contracting it, and yet a million different perspectives on the need for safety and protection. What is more, with those different perspectives also came an almost militant view on others and their lack of or overreaction to how they handled the situation. It has literally been crazy with people losing friendships and family not from the virus itself but from the set-in-stone perspectives they had over it. So yeah, perspective is kind of huge for us humans. </p><p>I think at times, we all forget that we are all human beings with many things in common, the most important of which is the fact that we all come into this world and none of us gets out alive, but there is a lot of gray area as to how the time we have from beginning to end should be used. There is also that pesky little commonality of being human and oh so fallible. Again, perspective plays a huge part in how we live our lives, from the desire to experience all this world has to offer, to the debilitating fear of everything that we encounter. There is also the fact that perspective is just that. It is how we feel about or see something and it is not always based in fact. </p><p>I have been thinking a lot about this recently. Maybe it is because this is a pivotal year for me (<i>at least in my head</i>). This year I turn 60, an age that I once viewed as ancient, I now see as still quite <i>youngish</i>....a big difference of perspective. This is also the year that Mr. David graduates or by now, has graduated. After 18 years of him being in school, he and I are both about to embark on a new chapter. My old perspective was one day at a time and with fingers crossed and a lot of prayers, <i><b>maybe</b></i> we will make it to graduation. My new perspective is a question mark. I have no idea what each new day will hold with him and me, but I will take it with gratitude and without fear. (<i>The whole fear part where David is concerned is a huge change in perspective for me.</i>)</p><p>Today, I dropped my little grandsons off for pre-k. It was their last day. It was an interesting year for both them and me with lots of unexpected twists and turns and I seem to remember last year at times, feeling very overwhelmed as I let the outside world creep in and color my view of my own world at home as well as theirs. Perhaps I let worldly fears and thoughts of the unknown, give me a false perspective on our life. Today, though, I realized that I am seeing these two amazing little humans in rays of positivity and hope. Both have progressed and learned and have the right to have not just the grandma they get, but more importantly, the grandma they deserve. I see now, that it is my job to shine a light on the good and positive things in their world, as well as to help them to maneuver the more scary and less positive things, helping them to understand that they are strong enough to not just survive, but also to thrive in whatever life throws at them. In some ways, this is the perspective I have always fallen back on, but I won't lie, these last two years have weakened it to some degree. Now I feel, that it is back much stronger than before. </p><p>Speaking of strength, what about Miss W? Every day she changes and matures and it amazes me to see what a strong and beautiful young girl she is turning into. Next week she will be out of school for the year and I have no doubt by the time fall gets here, she will be taller and more full of life than she even is now. </p><p>I think in the past I have viewed myself as someone on the sidelines cheering her on, but not really being much more than a spectator in her life. Recently though, I have realized that while most young girls love their daddies, they also need strong women in their lives to teach them how to be strong women themselves. I, along with her mom am one of those strong women in her life and it is my responsibility to do more than watch her grow and change. I am in the unique position to help her connect her future with my past and the lives of the women that have gone before her and to let her know where she came from and help guide her to where she is going. This is a definite change in perspective, allowing me to realize that perspective need not be chiseled in stone. </p><p>The biggest difference in perspective for me though is the realization that there are those who need me around for as long as they can get me, and not as a sideline sitter or spectator, but as someone who walks along with them and isn't afraid to live life and show them how it's done. Previously, my brain had given me a bit of a negative perspective about the impending big <b>6 0 </b>and what that might mean. I thought perhaps I should start slowing down and just accept aging (<i>the good and the bad</i>) as it comes with no pushback and no fight. Granted that became easier as this calendar year started with the flu and health issues with David, but then I realized that like everything else....<i>"this too shall pass,"</i> but was I going to allow life to pass me by while I sat idly giving up and waiting to become old, or was I going to show my kids and grandkids how 60 and 70 and 80 really looked? I chose the latter and as I did, my perspective on life and my purpose in it, changed too. Look out world, 60 is just the beginning for this mama!</p><p>So yeah, perspective. We all have it and we live our lives and base our current actions and reactions on it. It's part of the whole human thing and at times, that perspective can be the gift God gives us to change our little piece of the world and make them better and more vibrant. At other times though, it can be the very thing that holds us in place and doesn't allow us to take chances, explore or even enjoy life because of fear or trepidation that things might not work out or be as we hope. If we keep in mind that perspective can be fluid and ever-changing with an open mind and our ability to allow new information in, then it can be the thing that makes 60 looks better than even 40 did and keep us happy, healthy, and forever young. </p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-59611370285164158762021-07-06T05:45:00.001-05:002021-07-06T05:45:15.189-05:00Even in Our Darkest Hours.......<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nms0wTYXvhQ/YOOqZd1HphI/AAAAAAAAL1M/gck1yMwl0YMjTbpVUbVq_C4tRrCcYkqgACLcBGAsYHQ/s788/hoag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="708" data-original-width="788" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nms0wTYXvhQ/YOOqZd1HphI/AAAAAAAAL1M/gck1yMwl0YMjTbpVUbVq_C4tRrCcYkqgACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/hoag.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>As most of you who know me know, I may not be fearless in most walks of my life, but in blogging, I typically am. I usually have no fear of what I say or how I say it. Today though is different. </p><p>I have wanted to write today's blog piece for a while, and when I finally got the permission to do so, all my writing fearlessness flew out the window, so it has taken me a while to get here. Why? Because this piece is about someone whose faith and strength astounds me. I am in awe of her and I want my words to do her story and <i>her words</i> justice. </p><p>I feel this story is hugely important and should be told with the grace and dignity in which it has been lived. I know, like myself, others will hear this story and find their own healing and inspiration in it. This story, simply can't help but touch others deeply and profoundly, and I only hope that my telling of it will honor all involved. </p><p>Years ago, I had a little hair and nail salon in our little town. I was the nail tech and my days were spent doing two things I loved, doing nails and talking to people. While I loved all of my clients, there were a few that were special to my heart. One of those was an amazing woman named Tutti. Her name alone provoked a smile and her outlook on life and the vivaciousness of her spirit lived up to her name. </p><p>My nail table was tucked out of the way in a little corner of the shop, with good reason. When my favorites came in, often we spent a great deal of time laughing. Tutti wasn't only one of my favorites because of her spirit and personality, she was also one of my favorites because she gave me free rein over her nails. She would say, <i>"What do you think suits me this time?" </i>She would walk out with everything from palm trees, to fish, to tropical birds on her nails and she always seemed to love whatever I did. </p><p>Tutti's favorite subject to talk about during her nail appointments was her kids and most especially, her beautiful little curly-haired daughter named Stephanie. She would always walk in, sit down and say, <i>"Now ask me what they did this week."</i> Then she would regale me with some hilarious story that Stephanie or the boys did. It was obvious those kids were her heart and I loved every story she told. </p><p>Eventually, I sold my shop and moved on. Too many hours smelling perms and acetone took its toll on me and I got out of the business. In time I lost track of my customers, even my favorites. Years later, I was doing a cancer walk at the old high school track when I was told that Tutti had battled cancer and had lost her battle a few years earlier. It made me tremendously sad that I had lost track of her and had not known this. </p><p>It was at this same walk, that Tutti's daughter Stephanie was pointed out to me. She too was there for the walk. She was at this time, a grown young woman, and a striking beauty. I immediately walked up to her and introduced myself, telling her that I knew her mother and that I was so sorry for her loss. Stephanie had no idea who I was, but she was kind and gracious and so amazingly poised. I saw so much of Tutti in her. </p><p>Skip ahead to just several years ago. My David was in grade school and he was going through a really rough time with a lot of sudden changes in his school life that were prompting a great deal of seizure activity. I was at a crossroads trying to decide whether continuing in school was even the right path for him or not. Then along came Stephanie. She was an RN that had previously worked at the cancer center, but had changed jobs and been hired by the school district after her son was born. With all the issues David had been having, the school realized that they were on the verge of losing him as a student, and that at the time, he needed someone more medically based than a para, so they put Stephanie with him. It was one of the wisest decisions they had made at the time. In a lot of ways, Stephanie turned David's world around and in her, he found compassion and stability at the school that I don't think he had felt in the presence of others. </p><p>Stephanie literally was a game changer for David and through her care and kindness, she gave him the dignity and respect, that others had neglected in showing him. Her nursing skills were a Godsend too as she was ever vigilant where his seizures were concerned, and if she ever became concerned with his health, she didn't hesitate to bring those concerns straight to me. It gave me a peace of mind with David and school that I hadn't had for a while. </p><p>The impact that Stephanie's presence had on David was so amazing, but deep in my heart, I knew that working at the school was not to be Stephanies true path, so when I was told she was leaving the school district, I was not surprised. I was even less surprised when I found out that she was going back to work at the cancer center. This was where her heart truly was at. </p><p>Like time always does, it moved on. I kept in touch with Stephanie as all of us in the 21st century do, through social media. I watched Stephanie and her husband Jeff have kids and raise them. They were a beautiful family and they were busy with sports and coaching little league, moving homes and jobs, and establishing a life full of love and adventures that they shared in their pictures and posts. It was a joy to watch and a bright spot in my day to see Stephanie's posts. </p><p>True to her kind nature, she often also posted about her job, or more often, her patients posted about her and how she had helped them through chemo and on their cancer journey. There were also the sweetest posts from Jeff on her timeline as he celebrated her on birthdays and anniversary's and Stephanie showed the same love in return. It was as if, even as young as they were, they realized what they had in each other and they were grateful for every moment they shared together. </p><p>On July 11, 2019, as I skimmed a post Stephanie had made, I stopped reading mid sentence and had to start reading the whole post again. What I read literally brought tears to my eyes. I am sure that I was not alone. </p><p>Jeff had been having some "concerning symptoms" and after going to the ER, they learned that he had a mass in his brain. After a brain biopsy, they learned that he did in fact have a Glioblastoma, which for those of us who don't speak oncology, this was a very aggressive brain tumor. Being true to the nurse that she is, in the same post, Stephanie was already in fight mode and she and Jeff were getting a game plan in place in which they had every intention of giving this cancer a run for its money. I was sure that if anyone could do it, this family could. </p><p>Say what you will about small towns, but ours is a pretty awesome place. The minute word was out about Jeff's battle, our town vowed to battle right along with him. Stephanie and Jeff had an amazing circle of family and friends which grew exponentially in the days, weeks, months, and years that followed. People were reaching out to help this family in any way they could. There were fundraisers, t-shirts, and prayer requests going out to all churches, all faiths, and all people. While I am sure at times that Stephanie and Jeff felt this battle was a solitary quest, the fact was, there was love and prayers coming at them from all directions, especially from those whom Stephanie had been there for during their own cancer journey's. </p><p>In the weeks that followed, you couldn't go anywhere without seeing <b>"Team Hoag"</b> and <b>"Hoag Strong"</b> t-shirts, and social media was filled with posts of family, friends, and strangers sporting the t-shirts in support of Jeff and his family. The love and kindness this couple had given out so freely to others, was now coming back to them a thousandfold. This family was not fighting alone. </p><p>Even though I never had the pleasure of meeting Jeff, I prayed for him daily and for Stephanie and the kids, because I knew from my own family experience with cancer, that it affected the entire family. I had read a little about Glioblastoma and I knew that this family was in for a rough road ahead. </p><p>Early on, someone had posted on FB, <i>"God gives the toughest battles to his strongest soldiers." </i>This proved to be such a true statement. Jeff and Stephanie knew the odds of survival from this type of cancer, and yet they decided regardless of the outcome,<i><b> cancer would not win!</b></i> They refused to allow this monster to damage or destroy their lives, even when things got really tough. </p><p>Anyone who has gone through cancer or loved someone through cancer, knows there are good days and bad days and sometimes those bad days are really, really bad. There are doctors appointments and specialists that often require travel to see, and through it all, the disease can become the focal point of your life. Cancer just seems to take control, and yet through sheer willpower and determination, Jeff and Stephanie fought cancer like champs and somehow continued to live their lives even in the throes of battle. They took vacations, family photos, celebrated holidays, coached sports and shared life, made memories with their kids, and shared laughter and love with family and friends. </p><p>Jeff lived fearlessly and touched lives with his faith and indomitable spirit. Never did you see a picture that he wasn't smiling in and never did you read a post that gratitude for the life he had and all that he had been given wasn't in every word. Rather than let cancer consume him and make him bitter, he used it as a gift to spur on faith in others and motivate both old and young with the knowledge that even a disease like cancer only has power over us, if we allow it power. He never once gave it power. </p><p>Cancer, though it may only strike one in the family, is very much a family disease. Stephanie, being an oncology nurse, remained hopeful but realistic. Her posts gave a candid look into her world. She was holding on for dear life to her husband, her family, and her future, and yet, being the faith-filled woman she is, she was also very aware that their hope might not be God's will. Because of this reality, she at times posted some of the most real and moving posts I have ever read, acknowledging both the emotional trials she was going through and yet the gratitude and faith that she never lost sight of. </p><p>One such post was just months into the cancer diagnosis when she said, <i>"This season is one of the toughest of all times. Sometimes it can feel lonely and heavy, but I know I have a wonderful tribe of women in my life that are always checking in and willing to help carry a few bricks. I've never been good at accepting help, but I'm so thankful for these women- they get me, and they show up even when I try to push them away." </i></p><p>On Jan. 1, 2020, Stephanie wrote a beautiful post about her blessings. She refused to focus on anything but the good and gave a laundry list of blessings and gratitude. It touched me deeply and I am sure I was not alone. She was starting 2020 with gratitude, grace, and hope in the midst of what many, myself included, might have fallen apart over. </p><p>In 2020, they added a fur baby to their family and continued fighting. Stephanie shared the occasional update on Jeff's health but more often than not, their posts were full of them living their lives, experiencing milestones, and enjoying the life they had as a family. </p><p>Through the entire ordeal, Jeff and Stephanie lived their cancer truth out loud and their kids, even as young as they are, were aware of what was going on. I think one of the most poignant posts I ever saw, was in August 2020, from Stephanie who had shared a picture of their huge backyard, and their 7-year-old son mowing it with a push mower. Her post began, <i>"The lines in our yard use to be straight. Jeff's a perfectionist at heart, and the straight lines he made in the yard reflected just that. </i></p><p><i>Today, I cried over crooked lines. I cried because this 7 year old volunteered to mow the lawn for his dad. Our yard is no small task, but he mowed every single line and pushed up both sides of the house against those dreadful hills." </i></p><p>I couldn't help but stare at the picture of that small figure in that big yard. That young man was learning some of lifes toughest lessons at such an early age. That is likely one moment in his life that he will never forget. </p><p>In November of 2020, Stephanie shared fall family photos they had done. As I looked at those beautiful, amazing photos, I couldn't help the tears that snuck out and traveled down my face. There was something so beautiful about each of them. They were precious memories caught in a perfect moment. Something told me deep in my heart that these photos above all the other photos they had shared over time, would always hold a special place in all their hearts. </p><p>Through the holidays, I had not seen many posts from Stephanie. I figured that like everyone else, it was a busy time. I truly hoped that no news might mean something positive. </p><p>On February 19, 2021, a post from Stephanie caught my attention and made my heart sink. The news was not good. The tumor was continuing to grow and essentially they had run out of good choices. Jeff was on a new medication and they were just praying that it would stop the growth. Stephanies final words on the post were, <i>"We knew this was going to be a bumpy road and at some point, we may find ourselves in unchartered waters. It's frightening, and I keep telling myself it's not supposed to be like this, but I know we're not done here, this battle's not over- we're not giving up Hope, and we'll continue to stand on His promise.... and that's my promise to them."</i></p><p>The faith she had. The faith she shared. The faith they had together. I was in awe. </p><p>On April 5, 2021, I held back tears once again. Stephanie shared a picture of a smiling Jeff holding both his children when their youngest was born. You could just tell that next to being Stephanie's husband, being a dad was his favorite thing in life. His face was beaming. Stephanie's post stated, <i>"I experienced one of the most heartbreaking moments as a parent yesterday. Individually, I had to tell my children that their daddy will be transitioning to heaven soon. Those heart-rendered faces are forever etched into my brain. They're fighters, and I pray that one day they find that special kind of perspective on life, that only comes from such heartache. Starting today, we're signing onto hospice. We've finished the course, we've kept the faith and as Jeff told Dr. Truong 'we won'.</i></p><p>She ended it by saying, <i>"I'm heartbroken, but I'll continue to search out the blessings in these raindrops. It's going to be 'okay', even if it's not the okay we wanted...." </i></p><p>Oh those last words! I cried like a baby. </p><p>On April 27, 2021, Stephanie's post began, <i>"Jeff took his final breaths last night. He crossed over to his heavenly body- no more cancer and no more pain. He <b>WON</b>." </i></p><p>Even now as I read those words, the tears flow. Having lost my own husband, my own best friend, and the one I planned to grow old with twenty years prior, I knew the pain and sadness she was feeling and her words in the midst of all that pain, literally took my breath away. </p><p>In the days and weeks that followed, there was an outpouring of love for Stephanie and the kids and so many beautiful memorials and memories of and for Jeff. His strength and his faith while fighting such an uncompromising and evil opponent touched so many lives and the lessons he taught about strength through adversity and never giving up, will stay with so many for the rest of their lives. In my mind though, the most important lesson he taught, was to his own children. He showed them that life isn't always easy or fair, and sometimes life doesn't go our way, but through it all, you can always find joy, peace and so many things to be grateful for, and in the end, he taught them to both live and die with grace and dignity in the acceptance of God's will. </p><p>On June 14, 2021, nearly two months after Jeff died, Stephanie made this post. </p><p><i>"<span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">I read something the other day that said ‘True Joy is found in the release’… read that again. It’s powerful and it’s real, and my heart needed to read it. </span></i></p><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none !important; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none !important;"><i>I returned to work a few weeks ago, and my heart needed that too. For me, a large part of my identity is in the release. It's giving back and helping others, but also on a more simple scale- it's holding the door for someone, providing a compliment to a stranger, taking a phone call in the middle of the night, or just providing a shoulder to someone in need. I'm not saying it's the same for everyone, but part of my Joy comes from sharing it with others. </i></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none !important; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none !important;"><i>Someone asked me the other day if I planned to share my journey with grief. I'm not sure my perspective will be helpful to anyone because I think we all carry it differently, but I'm willing to share and be vulnerable in the hope that maybe it will help someone.</i></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none !important; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none !important;"><i>So the truth is, I ended up on my kitchen floor Friday afternoon crying, because I simply came across a picture of Jeff from a year ago. It crumbled me. I let that wave hit me and hit me again, and you know what happened?.... I eventually got up. </i></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none !important; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none !important;"><i>Often times I find myself trying to validate my feelings, but I'm learning there is no right or wrong. When you're standing in the ocean you can't stop a wave. All you can do is ride it out and know that it won't last forever. </i></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none !important; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none !important;"><i>I realize that a part of me went with him and throughout this new journey comes finding that part of myself again. My goals and perspective have shifted slightly. The success and future of my family is now solely on my shoulders. I'll probably end up on my kitchen floor a few more times, but I promise you I will keep getting up and moving forward. </i></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none !important; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none !important;"><i>Maybe that's also part of the release though... going forward towards things that provide fulfillment, happiness, opportunity- but doing so unapologetically. God's going to lead our hearts down the path he's created for us... we're faithful, ready, and all in. </i></div><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none !important;"><i><br /></i></div><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none !important;"><i>Whatever it is that's weighing you down, find a way to put it back into the world... and see what goodness might just come your way."</i></div><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none !important;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none !important;">As I read this, it struck me so deeply. It was in that moment, that I just knew that this story had to be told for others outside our little town and outside Stephanie and Jeff's close-knit circle of loved ones and friends to read. I knew how deeply Jeff's story had affected me. It was a story of strength and determination with undoubting faith that in the end, he would win. <i>He did.</i> But moreover, this is also a love story. It is the story of a love so strong and a faith so deep that even when the ending wasn't what Stephanie had hoped for, she still found the grace to be grateful for the life she shared with Jeff and their kids. </div><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none !important;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none !important;">Loss is never easy and when you lose the one you were supposed to grow old with, sometimes the pain is excruciating, but to see beyond the pain and to keep taking those next steps forward into unchartered territory takes a strength and faith that not everyone understands. </div><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none !important;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none !important; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none !important;">I am extremely grateful and honored that Stephanie allowed me to tell her story and to share her journey with you. It is my hope, that through Stephanie's words and the life she has lived and continues to live today, that she may give someone else the strength they need to keep the faith, to hold on to hope, and to fully understand, that even in our darkest hours......God always gives us light. </div></div>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-68634069470590704792021-06-21T12:33:00.008-05:002021-06-21T13:09:04.310-05:00A Prayer, Perspective and a PSA<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pkNBKJWpg4M/YNDNVMYCmXI/AAAAAAAALv4/k0lkn7YKgb0OGLxHMOExp742q1U2sJfeACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/PSA.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pkNBKJWpg4M/YNDNVMYCmXI/AAAAAAAALv4/k0lkn7YKgb0OGLxHMOExp742q1U2sJfeACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/PSA.png" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>June! June! June! What can I say about June? <b>A LOT</b> actually!</p><p>I try hard to be a cup half full kinda gal, but there are those moments in time when no matter how full your cup is if it has a gaping hole in the bottom, it's gonna be empty pretty darn quick. Welcome to my big gaping hole of June.....<i>or is it?</i> </p><p>June came in <i style="font-weight: bold;">ho</i><i><b>t</b></i>....literally, which made me cringe as I knew that the electric bill was going to eat my lunch this month and probably through September. Then, David's pool turned a lovely shade of putrid green which resulted in me spending much time at the pool store talking to the pool guy and spending $$$$$ I didn't have budgeted to spend. </p><p>Yeah, money has been kind of critical this month as I had several bills come due as well as a couple of extra unexpected surprises. I then decided to stand up suddenly on a foot and leg that were asleep and I ended up damaging the top of my foot and ankle. Nothing broke, but for about two weeks, walking was absolutely no fun. It also happened that along with the money hemorrhage and the injury, each and every one of us in my house, ended up with some kind of unexpected drama this month and there isn't a one of us that likes drama, so yeah...<i>there was all that.</i> Then my central air conditioning decided to start going haywire, constantly kicking off in the hottest part of the day and causing my house to heat up into the '80s, only to have to go into overdrive to cool it all down at night. Now, do you think there is an HVAC person in the tri-state area that can fit us in before early fall? If you said <i><b>no</b></i>....then you would be right and even if they could do you think this girl could afford them right now? If you said<i> <b>no</b></i>....then right again. However, regardless of the expense, air conditioning is something David can't live without, so again.... And then.....there was still the damn pool, again David's therapy, so really kind of an important need. </p><p>So yesterday, I went to Mass and I prayed. I prayed the pitiful prayers of someone who is at the end of her rope and was ready to just let go. I whined about no money, all my bills, the drama in my house, and yes....even my green pool. I asked God for a lottery win and possibly a nice quiet island where I could relax, unwind and feel some peace (not really, but I am sure He could read between the lines). I am sure too, with all that is going on in the world, God said, <i>"Really?"</i> and then just sighed...or maybe even chuckled a bit. </p><p>This brings me to the rest of yesterday. It was Father's Day and honestly, it wasn't a horrible day. My two older boys and I sat up outside, until late the night before, just talking and laughing, something we don't do nearly enough of. I then woke up, went to church, and the boys worked on the stupid pool for a while, Googling options and possible fixes. Because the water was a murky lake green, they decided to take my granddaughter to our local pool, and I stayed home to clean, do laundry, make supper, hang with David and babysit my grandson. It was a pretty typical day and by 5ish, I was only still feeling a little bit sorry for myself. </p><p>When they got home from the pool, I started supper and the boys decided to work on the pool some more. I plan my menus and shop from my menus and I seldom buy extra as we live on a very tight budget. This little fun fact will come into play here in a bit. I was making Brinner (breakfast for dinner), complete with pancakes, eggs, biscuits, and sausage gravy. Just as it was almost done, my son came into the house to fill a bucket with water. I had no idea what he was using it for, as they are always running in and out to the kitchen sink. My other son and my granddaughter were out in the garage and I had my back to all of it as I was cooking at the stove. Then all of a sudden I heard my son who had filled the bucket and was heading out the back door drop the bucket and let out an audible sound. I turned around and the back door was open and the contents of the bucket were sliding across the floor, foaming, and smoldering, and then suddenly there was just explosion after explosion. I heard my granddaughter let out a blood-curdling scream and then the air was full of chlorine gas that started choking us. I couldn't see my other son or my granddaughter but I heard her crying. </p><p>I yelled at my son who was still in the house to grab David who was in his room at the back of the house and to get him outside. I grabbed my three-year-old grandson and took him out the door. Then I saw my 15-year-old Corgi and my 14-year-old Boston Terrier starting to choke and gag and I grabbed them out of the house. At that moment I heard my other son in the backyard screaming <i><b>CALL 911,</b></i> while explosions could still be heard going off in the garage. </p><p>The fear and anxiety in my sons voice terrified me as I had no idea if he or my granddaughter were hurt or not. I found myself in near panic. I dialed 911 and couldn't figure out why it would not ring through. I later found that I had actually "texted" 911 to my sons phone. Yeah, that is how out of it panicked I was. I finally tried again and got through. Bless the 911 operator who didn't hang up on my crazy self, as I was having trouble breathing which I am sure was a combo of sheer panic and a lung full of chlorine gas. I finally was able to explain the gas explosion (because in that bucket my son had, was pool chlorine powder and water) and they kept asking if anyone was hurt, and at that moment, I really didn't know. </p><p>Just as the EMS, fire, and police came turning down my block, my granddaughter came running from the garage. She was crying hysterically, and I looked her over thoroughly. She looked to be fine but scared. Then I realized that I was hearing the water hose and I looked up to see tons of foamy water coming from the garage and down the driveway. My son was in the garage with all of those horrible fumes trying to get the chemical out of the garage. I then looked for my other dog who usually is connected to my granddaughter at all times, and of course, there he was, sitting right by her side. Everyone was all accounted for, but the question was, <i>was everyone okay?</i></p><p>The next few minutes were a total blur. At some point, I ran back into my house to get David's wheelchair, and the fumes were just hanging in the stagnant air. There were guys in what I assume were hazmat suits, police officers, firemen, and EMS all over the place and they had blocked off the entrance to the street and then again about halfway down the street. Then I saw my sons girlfriend, and the mother of the kids, walking up as she had just gotten off work and no one had had time to let her know what was going on. The first thing she saw was the firemen with her daughter and she nearly had a panic attack of her own. </p><p>Soon they had us across the street and they were taking our vitals and making sure we hadn't been affected by the chlorine fumes. I was so relieved to see my son in one piece after the garage clean up and both of my older sons had been stripped down and were wearing paper gowns as they had to be washed down as did their clothes. Everyone was checked out and we were all okay. On hearing this, I think this was the first time I actually took a full breath since I had seen that bucket contents go flying across my kitchen and into my garage. </p><p>One of the first responders was talking to me as my ability to be fully coherent came back. He told me that we were so lucky that if it had to happen, that it happened like it did. The bucket opening was never facing my son, but it could just as easily have happened with the bucket on the ground and him standing over it. It could have ruined his lungs, splashed into his eyes and blinded him, or left chemical burns all over his face and body. The way it happened, not enough chemical got on anyone's body to leave an actual burn. He also told me that my other son also did the <i><b>"dumbest/smartest" </b></i>thing he could have done. He jumped in the middle of the gas explosion (dumb) and started spraying the contents out of the garage and into the driveway to start neutralizing the chlorine (smart). Had he not done this, that concentrated chlorine could have caused even more issues. </p><p>After talking to the first responder, I sat alone for a few minutes and nearly broke down right there. Seeing both my sons and my granddaughter safe and unharmed was overwhelming, especially knowing that this outcome could have been much different and much deadlier. </p><p>We have amazing neighbors, and one neighbor brought my poor naked son (although covered by a paper cover) some fresh clothes, another neighbor brought us out some water, and another neighbor took everyone to their house and fed them snacks and gave them a place to decompress. I had other neighbors come find me and hug me and tell me that it would be okay and that they were just glad we were okay. There was just so much happening and I was still having trouble getting it all straight in my mind. </p><p>After going in and opening all my windows, and putting fans in the windows to air out the house, the firefighters had me go in and see if the house smelled too bad to stay in. Compared to the initial smell, I could barely smell it and since most of the smell was in the garage and only a little in the kitchen, I figured it would be okay, especially and miraculously, since we were getting ready to have a break in the hot steamy weather we had been having and the temperature was to drop into the high 60's with rain, which meant we could leave the windows open and give the chemicals more of a chance to dissipate. </p><p>Once the all-clear was given, the first responders loaded up and left. By the way, let me give a huge shout-out to our local First Responders. They were there in record time and they were amazing with all of us and especially my traumatized granddaughter. After the responders left, most of my family sat at the neighbors, and I ventured into the garage to check out the damage. From the sounds of the explosions and the fact that much of the chemical went down Davids's wheelchair ramp, I fully expected to see it either full of holes or completely eaten away by the chlorine. I also expected to see much damage done in my garage as a whole. None of this was the case. There was still some chlorine residue left on the ramp and the table next to the door, and I had to throw out the bag of dog food in the dog food container, but other than that, nothing was damaged. Oh....and our chlorine <i>"bomb"</i> for lack of a better word, depleted us of pool chlorine as our last three bags were the chlorine gas culprit. Go figure. </p><p>The entire Brinner, which I had been preparing with love, also had to be thrown out as well as our milk which I was using for gravy. Dang those pancakes and biscuits and gravy looked like they would have been good. Small loss though, in comparison to what could have been lost. </p><p>After my walk-through, I just sat on the front porch and contemplated the last few hours. It would have been very easy to cry. In fact, I nearly did. The <i>what could have beens</i>, and worst case scenarios flooded my brain. There was also the thought of the money I had lost on food and dog food having no idea how I was going to make up for it all this month, also went through my head. Yeah, those tears were right there. Then I heard the wonderful sounds of my son's laughing next door. The emergency was over and they were relaxed enough to laugh. Then my granddaughter came running over to me with chocolate all over her face. This little girl, who had been beyond hysterical and traumatized just a couple of hours before said, <i>"Grandma! This has been the best Father's Day ever!"</i> I just looked at her not sure what was coming next. <i>"Yeah, I got to go swimming at the city pool and then I got to sit in a firetruck and now I get to eat candy for dinner."</i> And with that, she ran back to the neighbors. </p><p>Suddenly I realized that God had answered my prayers, sad as they were, from earlier that morning. I realized looking at my family and knowing that they were all safe and healthy was all that mattered. Whatever had happened previously in this month, whether it was financially, physically, or emotionally didn't really matter. All that did matter was that we were all here and for all of us, the sun would rise again and we had another day to live. Gone was the drama, the stress over money and the trauma, and what was left was what I had really asked for all along......<i>peace.</i> I had peace because the events of the last hours had given me complete perspective. Thank you, God. You never ever fail me. </p><p>As for the whole chemical explosion. Many on Facebook commented that they had also put chlorine powder in buckets before and mixed it with water, with no adverse reaction. Our situation scared more than a few. Luckily, a gentleman on one of my hometown FB pages did a little in-depth research and found what ultimately was likely the cause of our mishap. We originally thought that the chemical reaction occurred because I had been washing dishes while cooking supper and the water was on hot, and the hot water mixed with the chlorine had been the cause. Apparently, though, the water temperature had little to do with it. What actually probably caused it was that when you mix powdered chlorine and water, you are supposed to <i>mix the chlorine into the water. </i>If however, like what happened with us, you mix the water into the powder, that is what causes the chemical reaction. It sounded like we were shooting off guns in our garage. </p><p>Now trust me, in hindsight, we all realize that mistakes were made with this situation and that we are very lucky that our outcome was what it was. Never will we <b><i>EVER</i></b> mix a chemical from the kitchen sink again, and before we do anything, there are going to be Google and YouTube searches first. Life just gets busy and sometimes we do things without enough knowledge or care and then critical accidents can happen. This was our reminder that we need to take more time and pay more attention and know exactly what we are dealing with. It also made us extremely aware, that anything from a critical accident to a fire, to a tornado, can happen, and we all need to be better prepared when reacting. Texting 911 in a fit of panic rather than actually dialing 911 was not especially helpful and could have caused the loss of crucial minutes if it had been a life or death situation. So at our house, we are going to figure out safety procedures that in the event of an emergency, we will all know how to act, but not panic, therefore making sure that everyone stays safe and calm. </p><p>Okay, so there you have it. God once again answered my prayers, sent guardian angels to protect us, gave us some amazing miracles. and gave me some much-needed perspective on life in general. And bonus, we all learned a little<b> (a lot)</b> about pool chlorine and its dangers. So I guess you got a little bit of a PSA in the process. <i>Your welcome!</i> </p><p>Until next time, stay safe, stay calm, and <b>NEVER EVER</b> add water to powdered chlorine in a bucket!</p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-5544401349236658592021-06-03T05:33:00.000-05:002021-06-03T05:33:47.655-05:00Imitation, Appreciation, Appropriation<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CXARdCpKtzk/YLfu6KrkV-I/AAAAAAAALuE/7dCfQ6G3RcoFRvVjjqLPFR7awPLgyYF8ACLcBGAsYHQ/s700/regenerativeculturesfeature_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="368" data-original-width="700" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CXARdCpKtzk/YLfu6KrkV-I/AAAAAAAALuE/7dCfQ6G3RcoFRvVjjqLPFR7awPLgyYF8ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/regenerativeculturesfeature_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><i><br /></i><p></p><p><i>Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.</i> Anyone else grow up hearing that? It is true. I don't know of anyone who is going to imitate a style, view, or belief if they don't appreciate it or find it to hold merit and be worthy of imitation. </p><p>Now I am likely getting ready to step into a subject that some of you may feel I am not "woke" enough to have a viewpoint on and yet....<i>here I am.</i> And honestly, I have been living in this world a lot longer than many of you reading this and I have watched the imitation of style and culture for several decades. Until recently, the sharing of cultures, styles, and beliefs has been viewed as a good thing and a way to bring the world and its different people and cultures together, but now.....we live in a very different world. The following is my view and my respectful thoughts on this subject. As always, you don't have to agree, but maybe it will give you a different perspective, even if in the end, we have to agree to disagree. </p><p>Recently, I have been hearing so much about <i>Cultural Appropriation</i>, and I honestly think it may be a reaction to the current state of the world we live in. When we are hurt or feel disrespected, we take our toys, or in this case....<i>culture</i>, and go home. I think we are seeing some of this currently and I find it sad at best and a loss of the best part of educating on and understanding different cultures at worst. </p><p>According to Wiki, the definition of cultural appropriation is <i>the adoption of an element or elements of one culture or identity by members of another culture or identity. </i>So let's think about this for a minute. Since this country came into existence, all cultures have done this. We have always shared, learned from, and imitated each other's ways. When multiple cultures start intermingling, it happens and it is considered a good thing for cultural growth and mutual understanding. </p><p>In a country as big as ours, there are always going to be many and varied cultures and each culture brings new and different things to the table whether it is ways of working or crafting, different types of foods, furnishings, clothing styles, and hairstyles. It is how a multi-cultural community, city, state, and country learn and grow from each other. </p><p>So this cultural appropriation dialogue has just been the latest frustration in the ongoing race issues this country is dealing with. It has become one of the newest ways people seem to find <i>racism</i>, only, in this case, maybe it doesn't actually exist. </p><p>Now, I am not saying that racism is not real and that it isn't a problem in our country and our world. In fact, over the last decade, racism has hit epic proportions and it is directed at every race from every race, but I really don't think that cultural appropriation has anything to do with racism. In fact, if you try to bring racism into it, you simply can't make a good case, because far from being racist, imitation actually shows respect for other cultures and a sharing of beliefs, styles, and views. In my humble opinion, to ignore or pigeonhole other cultures is what is truly racist. If you pretend that their style, cuisine, and culture don't exist or aren't worth sharing and yes, even imitating, then you are saying that as a people, they simply don't matter. Apparently, though, not everyone sees it like I do. </p><p>What seems to be most under fire currently though is style. While I have been hearing so much about cultural appropriation in general, one celebrity of sorts who currently has her feet to the flames is singer, Gwen Stefani. Now don't get me wrong, I am not really a fan of hers, but I do think that people are being a bit ridiculous right now. Ms. Stefani's big sin in cultural appropriation comes from various hairstyles and styles in general that she wore for a while when performing. The style she wore is called <i>Harajuku</i> and, it is a collaboration of gothic, punk, and Japanese styles. The style started in Japan and suddenly there were <i>Harajuku girls </i>everywhere. As many styles do, it found its way to the internet, then runways and before long, the Harajuku style was being imitated all over the world. Stefani, who was all about young up-and-coming style, found Harajuku particularly appealing, and before we knew it, she had a song, a business brand, and a personal style that were very <i>Harajuku.</i> </p><p>Like most styles and fads, time moved on, Stefani's style changed with the times and I personally hadn't thought about or even heard of Harajuku in a while. Suddenly though, Stefani is under fire for.....yep, you guessed it, <i>cultural appropriation</i>. It apparently is a big enough deal to some, to make it to national news outlets and end up in my social media newsfeed over and over again. Why? Why? Why is this such a newsmaker and why are people so upset over it? It makes no sense to me. </p><p>After doing some reading on the subject, the appropriation concern is that because Stefani made her name synonymous with Harajuku, that she actually <i>took it away</i> from the culture that created it. <i>Hmmm....</i>first of all, the style itself is a mix of many styles, though it was a Japanese creation. This means that the Japanese <i>appropriated</i> the punk and gothic American styles to create something that they don't want an American to appropriate from them. Do you see the lack of real argument here? Add to that, Stefani's song <i>Harajuku Girl</i>, basically pays homage to the style itself and my question is.....<i>where is the problem? </i>Do they think that we might miss the fact that the style was literally, made in Japan? </p><p>So let's take a deeper dive here. This country started with Indigenous people, but soon became a melting pot of races, colors, cultures, ethnicities, and religions. Each new group from white to black to Asian to Latino and every other group in between has brought with them specific ways of life, foods, faiths, beliefs, and styles. Once here, they began doing what people co-existing together do. They started mingling, sharing, and teaching their different cultures. They learned new cuisines, styles, and ways of life and some even intermarried, creating new cultures within old ones. By doing this though, it doesn't mean that anything is taken away from the original. It only means that it is shared and <i>appreciated</i>, <b>not</b> <i>appropriated</i> by new cultures. Quite honestly, it is part of what makes our world so great. </p><p>If we are going to talk race here, then let's take it to the simplest terms. If you aren't willing to share your country, jobs, businesses, neighborhoods, schools, kindness, style, and culture with others regardless of race, color or ethnicity....then maybe you need to question your own culpability on the issue of racism. If on the other hand, you willingly share all those things and appreciate the fact that your culture is respected enough to be imitated, and through that imitation, there might be some much needed cultural education, then I think that you just might be doing it right, and there may still be hope for this world yet. </p><p>So there you have it. I may not be "woke" but I am awake, and I think that through the sharing of our cultures, we can only improve the world and make it a better place. </p><p>Until next time, may you find kindness, may you give kindness, and may you <i>appreciate</i> all the people, cultures, races, and styles that this world has to offer. </p><p><br /></p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-26095000072896965402021-05-31T12:42:00.004-05:002021-05-31T12:51:29.608-05:00Memorial Day....Do You Celebrate or Honor?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ejicw02cOFE/YLUfuC7W85I/AAAAAAAALts/boRhMY3jxGg2OXTGjICSEiQ-Ys-hCxSjwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/memorial-day.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1078" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ejicw02cOFE/YLUfuC7W85I/AAAAAAAALts/boRhMY3jxGg2OXTGjICSEiQ-Ys-hCxSjwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/memorial-day.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I don't know how it is in your part of the world, but here in mine, it is rainy and cool. It is rather dark and dreary and maybe that is fitting for such a day as today. </p><p>Today is Memorial Day and for some, it is the kick-off to the summer with boats on the lakes and toes in the sand. Others may view it as the day when friends and family come around for BBQs and good food to celebrate the last day of a three-day weekend. But then, there are others who actually understand what this day is about and view it for what it is. It is a day of remembrance and even mourning for those who gave <i>all</i> so we can have what we have today.<b> FREEDOM!</b></p><p>Memorial Day is the day set aside to honor those who have served their country and died doing so. They did it willingly and bravely because they understood that freedom wasn't free, but that our country and our freedoms were worth fighting for. Sadly, so many have forgotten the significance of this day and the people we are honoring. It truly makes my heart hurt for all those missing someone who gave their life for all of us and yet so many take it for granted. </p><p> I saw a post on Facebook this morning from a friend of mine who is military. He stated that none of our major news affiliates were talking about Memorial Day or honoring our soldiers. As I read the post, I secretly hoped that they actually were, but he had just missed it, but a part of me knows that likely as not, Memorial Day is being downplayed because honoring our fallen soldiers sends a message that these were great people fighting for a great country and too many today don't want to see this country for what it is, rather they want to see it for what they are trying to make it. This is not right nor is it good, especially on today of all days. </p><p>These last few years, we have lost pride in our country, because we have lost pride in our people. We have been told that only certain groups can feel pride and others must feel shame, and yet those who are supposed to feel pride, act in very self-deprecating ways. They treat themselves badly and unkindly, while the rest of the world seems to feel that even though they have done nothing, they should feel shame and their country should feel shame. We are quickly imploding on ourselves and forgetting who we are and what we stand for. </p><p>This country is the greatest country in the world. We have freedoms and opportunities regardless of race, creed, or color that few other countries have. Unfortunately, many have forgotten and some have never learned, that freedom means having goals and dreams, working hard to achieve them, and finding success from your own tenacity and drive. Freedom is not expecting things to be given to you, refusing to work hard, and being angry when you don't have what others have because you refused to do what it takes to make it happen. We are quickly turning into a country and a people who are weak and indebted to their government. </p><p>People seem to forget that in this country, we can be anything we want if we are willing to work for it. The proof of this is that people of every color, ethnicity and income level have been able to succeed even when the roads were rocky, but they worked hard and they changed things and paved roads for each other so that others could do the same. In few other countries is this possible. We are blessed and we don't even recognize it. </p><p>Somewhere along the line, we decided that we would rather be taken care of than work for ourselves and make the world a better place. We traded "security" for the right to speak as we choose, pray as we choose, and live as we choose. We have taken all the amazing things about this country and have tried to turn them into points of shame and divisiveness and because of this, we now view our country, the flag, our police, and our soldiers as people and things to degrade, instead of people and things we should be grateful for and honor. </p><p>Now saying that we are the greatest country doesn't mean that we don't have issues and that change isn't necessary in certain areas. Nothing is ever perfect and there is always room for improvement, but by the standards of many countries, <i>we are the gold standard.</i> If we weren't would refugees want to be here so badly? Would those from other countries who have lived through communism and oppression be telling us, that we don't know or understand what direction we are taking our country into? Of course not. </p><p>Those that have fought and died for this country in the last 245 years, saw the big picture. They understood that unless we fight for our country, we will lose it and everything that makes it great. They understood that without freedom, we are all slaves to the evils of the world that won't care one bit what color we are, what religion we choose, or what our dreams and goals are. It is for this that these men and women have fought and died, and most importantly so that our children have a future of possibilities and hope. </p><p>So today, if it is dreary where you are, or even if it isn't, maybe take some time and think about what this day is really about. Do some research and maybe read a book. Think about the families who are <i>not</i> celebrating, but grieving because they have lost a child, a parent, a friend, or the love of their life fighting and protecting, not so that you can eat BBQ and jet ski, but so that you have the <i>right and opportunity</i> to eat BBQ, jet ski, speak your mind, follow your dreams and live your life in peace....because that my friend is what Memorial Day is all about. </p><p>Today we honor the men and women of all branches of the military who have fought and died for our freedom in all our wars for the last 245 years. May they Rest In Peace and may we as a country be thoughtful, respectful, and most of all grateful for their ultimate sacrifice. </p><p>Until next time.....may you always remember those who have fought for us, may you never forget those who have died for us, and may you always be grateful for this country, our freedoms and, the men and women who still fight for us today. </p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-22680922762789568032021-05-25T05:50:00.000-05:002021-05-25T05:50:08.748-05:00Father Altman and Cancel Culture.....It's Good We Know Who Wins in the End<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c5Z3cVbIwd4/YKweYmgOOsI/AAAAAAAALtI/QB64FJE2N3Q3vRY0wKDeR6AP_tuZcosYwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1750/cancelled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1352" data-original-width="1750" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c5Z3cVbIwd4/YKweYmgOOsI/AAAAAAAALtI/QB64FJE2N3Q3vRY0wKDeR6AP_tuZcosYwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/cancelled.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>It seems that for quite some time, I have been led to write today's blog. The words come together when I sleep, when I pray and when I carry through my daily life. The fact is, for several weeks now, this blog has never been far from my thoughts, and I knew when the time was right, I would sit down here and write it. I actually wanted to write this on Sunday, but it still didn't feel like it was the right time. Yesterday however, I realized that <i>now...is the time! </i></p><p>Normally I don't write a lot of blogs like this, but today, I felt I needed to write it. Remember, sometimes I just put these blogs in God's hands and let the chips fall where they may. That is what is happening here. I couldn't not write this blog if I wanted to. Now just to be clear, you don't have to agree or disagree with me on any of this and of course, you can stop reading at any time, <i>but maybe you won't. </i></p><p>This blog is mostly aimed at the Catholics among you who read my blog, but it is also a cautionary tale for those of all religions, who have clergy that are not afraid to do their jobs, put God first, and speak the truth....<i>even if that truth isn't popular.</i> It is also about some things that have bothered me for quite some time. </p><p>First of all, let's talk about churches. <i>My church, your church, their church.</i> Even before Christianity, there were synagogues where people gathered to learn about and worship God, and in times of trouble and worry, they were a refuge for the faithful to gather together. After all, regardless of our religious preference, if we go to church believing we are in God's house, then what safer place can there be? Churches have always been sanctuaries for those in need, those afraid, and even those in danger. Churches often hold the heart of the community as well as the souls of the faithful and it seems that when all else may fail, our faith leads us to God and His church. </p><p>So let's take this back, to 1962, when the Second Vatican Council met. In my opinion, the SVC did not move the Catholic church forward with its modernization, but instead, put us on a path that has led us to where we are today. In case you are wondering, we aren't in a great place right now. In fact, in my humble opinion, there are just way too many Catholics in name only, and sadly this is not just everyday Catholics who fill the pews every Sunday. This also includes priests, bishops, cardinals, as well as governors, senators, presidents, and truthfully at times, I wonder if it doesn't even go higher than that. These CINO are hiding behind the Catholic church yet twisting and turning canon law and church teachings to fit their own personal agendas regardless of the outcome. It has been bad for a while, but now, we have come into a critical state. </p><p>My mother, a Catholic woman to her core, always used to tell me that satan hated the Catholic church and he would love nothing more than to destroy it. How would he destroy it? Why, from within of course, and sadly, we have been seeing this happen over the last few decades. </p><p>Now I could literally write for days on the atrocities that have occurred in the Catholic church and how I feel about them, but instead, today, I am writing about a few things of late that have nagged at me and as of yesterday, pushed me forward into writing this. </p><p>So where was I? Oh yeah, Vatican II. It was in VII that it was felt that Catholics no longer needed to kneel to receive Communion nor receive it on the tongue. Now for those that may not be Catholic or who are Catholic but never opened a Baltimore Catechism, Communion in the Catholic church is <i><b>NOT</b> symbolic.</i> It is not a cracker or a piece of bread and a dixie cup of grape juice. Jesus Christ Himself started the Catholic church (the first Christian church) and He made the Apostle Peter the first Pope of the Catholic Church. Thus it only makes sense that the Last Supper was the actual first Communion, handed out by Jesus Himself, to the Apostles. So when we as Catholics go to Mass and receive Communion, the bread is unleavened bread, the wine is real and both are consecrated by the priest during Mass. What this means to those scratching their heads right now is, that Catholics believe that when we receive Communion, we are actually receiving <i>the body and blood of Christ.</i> Don't believe me? Look it up and look up the miracles associated with consecrated Communion wafers. </p><p>So think about this, if we are actually receiving the body and blood of Christ, don't you think a little reverence such as kneeling and receiving it on the tongue are in order? Yes, I am sharing another momism, because she taught me in great part my faith, by living it and being an example. She always told me never to receive communion in the hand, as my hands were not supposed to touch it, only a priest was to touch it. Personally, my hands are not pure enough, holy enough, or special enough to hold the body and blood of Christ, and I am always in awe of those who think that their hands are. So, if I believe what the church has taught me, <i>and I do</i>, then if I took Communion in the hand, that would be exactly what I was holding, the body and blood of Christ, and I am simply <i>not</i> doing it. In fact, in my whole entire life, I have never received Communion in the hand and I am not even a big fan of Eucharistic Ministers giving me Communion, but often in church, we have no choice. My preference is always the priest and again.....<i><b>NEVER MY HANDS!</b></i></p><p>As for the kneeling, it really just depends on the church, because most modern churches no longer have communion rails to kneel on. As a kid though, I do remember kneeling before receiving Communion, and in my opinion, it makes the privilege so much more solemn and respectful. In fact, I made my own First Communion kneeling, and that honor has never left me. </p><p>So this all brings me to this last year. I was literally amazed beyond words when Catholic churches and really any Christian churches locked down and no longer held Mass or services. I remember one Sunday sitting at home, watching Mass online, and thinking to myself that God must feel so abandoned that His people had so little faith in Him and His house, as to shut down and lock down. It really did not sit right with me, and even though bishops and cardinals gave all Catholics a dispensation for not going to Mass, it still felt wrong, and we all know that no bishop or cardinal has ever made an <i>error</i> in judgment. </p><p>I couldn't help but think that if we had true faith, that church would likely be the last place the virus would get us, and if masks were so crucial to saving us all, then all we had to do was wear one and be on our way to church. Apparently though, the government and those governing the church didn't agree. Was this because there wasn't a thimble full of faith between them all, or was there <i>another</i> reason that people were locked out of their churches? It has been a big question on my mind. </p><p>Then, when churches opened up again, the Catholic church in my opinion made another grave error and refused to allow Communion on the tongue. This I found to be reprehensible, and rather than be refused Communion on the tongue, I simply didn't go to Communion. For my heart and soul, this was the right thing for me whether others agree or not. </p><p>Of course, the thinking behind this for the church was to "protect" the priest and the Eucharistic ministers but it really made no sense to me. First of all, there should be no Eucharistic Ministers, especially during this time. Second, the priest and his mask and a gallon of hand sanitizer should pretty much make him safe and if you add in <i>a little faith</i>, then there should not have been an issue at all. I couldn't help but think, what if Father Damien had refused those in Molokai, Mass or Communion on the tongue? Thank God his faith was greater than that of many of our more modern priests. </p><p>Apparently, today's priest and clergy of all denominations seem to have forgotten that in times of great stress, fear and unrest are the times that people search out God. It is at times like this when many souls are brought to God. These people aren't looking for an hour on TV with a live band, they are looking for face-to-face contact with someone who has the best interest of their soul at heart and who has no fear, but only the desire to bring them to Our Lord. This however can't happen if God's doors are closed and His clergy don't appear to have enough faith to throw the doors open and know that God's will, will be done. </p><p>I have pretty much kept my feelings about all of this to myself all of this time. I have prayed a great deal about it, and just watched and listened. I have seen so many people that I never imagine would fall in line do so, as their fear seemed to override their faith. At times I even wondered if I was the only one feeling this way.....<i>until yesterday.</i> </p><p>Yesterday, I saw a video of a priest, Father James Altman, out of La Crosse, WI, being asked to resign by his bishop. He was accused of <i>inciting</i> and <i>being divisive</i>. Why? Because he ignored COVID limits and did his job. The job he was ordained to do. The job he was called to do not by his bishop or the governor of WI, but <i>by God.</i> He listened to his faith and not the government. He did what he felt was right as a priest and we have no idea how many souls he might have brought to God in doing so, and apparently, <i>that does not matter.</i> His bishop is far more concerned about man's mandates (not laws) than he is about God's laws. Seems like someone may be in the wrong business and I'm thinking it is not Father Altman. </p><p>Then last Sunday, May 23, 2021, Father Altman gave an amazing sermon which was recorded, and sadly, if the bishop and the church have their way, it might have been his last one as a priest. He spoke about Pentecost Sunday and tied it in beautifully to the fight he was fighting and what is currently going on in his church and churches throughout our country. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WrRIM6EpP3Y">Here</a> is the sermon he gave. I encourage you all to listen to it. If it doesn't make you feel sad, a bit ashamed, and tremendously angry that this is happening to a priest, a man of God, who chose God above all else and is being punished for it, then in my book, you may need to re-evaluate <i>your</i> faith a bit. And yes, he called out a lot of things that I myself have felt. It was really great to hear a priest speak to right and wrong according to the teachings of the Catholic church. We certainly need more of it and more priests and clergy like him. </p><p>So for those of you reading who have held on this long and aren't even Catholic, first of all.....thank you. Second of all, this isn't just priests that this can and is happening to. This can happen to good clergy of all Christian faiths. Those who disagree with Father Altman or who aren't brave enough to stand up for what is right themselves, are trying to do what they do best and <b><i>cancel</i> </b>Father Altman. Sadly, I know that there are ministers, pastors, and clergy all over who are also dealing with being called on the carpet as they also have broken no laws but did in fact side step mandates that were both unConstitutional and also trying to supersede God's laws. I don't see this as just a slap upside the head of this particular priest, but a pummeling of all faithful religious people who put God first and everything else second.</p><p>I have no doubt that those in power are not going to let this issue with Father Altman go easily as they would love to make an example of him and show us the consequences of his perceived deviciveness, as an open threat to any other clergy thinking of stepping "out of line." I also have no doubt that Father Altman will likely not go quietly and whatever suffering he goes through because of this, is paving his path to heaven. </p><p>Standing up for what you believe in is getting harder these days. Calling out the wrong in the world, and living your life for good in spite of the evil that resides around every corner is not easy and I have every belief that evil will not let up any time soon. As for me, I will continue to take Communion only on the tongue, I will support good priests and their message, even if it's not a popular one and I will call out those who are evil and cut them no slack, even if they call themselves Catholic. Those who propagate evil and even evil itself can damage my church but they have no power to destroy it. Bottom line, if you have ever opened a Bible, regardless of whether it was a Catholic or Protestant Bible, they all end the same way.....<i>God wins and evil loses. </i></p><p>So until next time, may you stay strong, may you stay faithful, and may you remember <i>just who wins in the end. </i></p>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1875195811184851268.post-68912165568571651372021-05-21T06:48:00.001-05:002021-05-21T07:01:32.837-05:00That's Right....I'm Getting Soapboxy Today<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F3hIIZASXsk/YKZyjREz9sI/AAAAAAAALs0/xCfMZhHWWoQza-SqlszwkPRzGcJiPkvdwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1024/the-soapbox.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="1024" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F3hIIZASXsk/YKZyjREz9sI/AAAAAAAALs0/xCfMZhHWWoQza-SqlszwkPRzGcJiPkvdwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/the-soapbox.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>So I am pulling out the soapbox today. You might want to get a cup of coffee and get comfy or just scroll on by, depending on how you feel about me when I am <i>soapboxy. </i><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><soapbox on><br /></i><div><br /></div><div>Let me start by being direct and to the point. If you are someone who has a bad attitude, can't hold your tongue, and feels that it is your right to literally abuse others with your opinion, then may I suggest, <i>you stay home and stay off social media?!</i> <b>There! I said it!</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I am not sure when we as a society decided that it was perfectly okay to be rude to a sales clerk because she isn't checking people out as fast as you would like, or that throwing a tantrum because your fast-food place is out of chicken nuggets was your best move, but I am here to tell you.....<i><b>Knock that shit off!</b></i> Also, don't go after me about your right to free speech because ten to one, as you are telling the server that she is a waste of space for not having your menu item (<i>like she controls that stuff</i>), if she fires back at you with her own "free speech," you are going to cry foul, because she had the audacity to tell you that you were wrong and put you in your place. <i>See the hypocrisy here? </i>You can't stand behind free speech for yourself if you can't handle the same from others. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have been seeing so much of this lately and quite frankly, I am really sick of it as I am sure others are too. So how do we stop it? We quit making excuses for and accepting the unacceptable. There is no excuse for people to treat each other with disrespect and there is a huge difference between standing up for yourself, and simply being an ass because life isn't going your way. </div><div><br /></div><div>If you are on social media, and you watch videos posted by others, you will literally see dozens of videos, where "Karen's" and "Kens" attack other people for the dumbest things. Yesterday, I watched one where a lawyer from a prestigious law firm, was in some kind of a mini-mart and she saw a woman that with her olive skin, dark eyes, and hair could have been any race or culture, but this Karen decided that she was of Mexican descent and therefore shouldn't be served in this mini-mart. <i><b>Why?</b></i> Who the heck knows. Probably because she was just an unhappy, <i>truly</i> racist human being. </div><div><br /></div><div>This Karen went so far as to act as a manager and tell the cashier not to check this woman out because.....<i>yes,</i> she was Mexican and shouldn't be in this country. The woman corrected her and told her that she was in fact Indigenous and that if anyone shouldn't be here, it was Karen. This erupted into a fight where Karen shoved the woman and the woman flat out smacked her across the face. Karen was too smart to continue the fight but smugly walked off, obviously planning her lawsuit. Sorry, Karen, your ridiculousness was caught on tape. </div><div><br /></div><div>I also saw, a Karen threatening to call a homeowners association about two women out walking their pig. When the pig relieved himself and the women picked it up, Karen was beyond irate that he had done it in the first place. She was even angrier when the women told her that they had already discussed the pig with the HOA as he was a support pig and they took good care of him and he caused no problem. Karens' rage was intensified to the point that she then threatened to call the police. The women knowing that they were filming the whole scene and that they nor their pig had done anything wrong, told her to go ahead and call the police. This fueled Karen to the point of getting in their faces and taking pictures. WTH? <i><b>What is wrong with people? </b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div>And finally, a group of kids (about 9) decided to do something nice in their neighborhood and help their fellow neighbors who might not be able to take care of their yards or get out and mow. Kids know little about property lines so in one yard, they got a swath of another neighbors yard and that neighbor called the police on these kids. They were out doing something kind for their community, mowing, edging, and sweeping the walks and some Karens decided to call the police on them. <i>What message does that send to the kids, the police, and other neighbors?</i> We all know what message that sends and this is part of why we have the problems in this world that we have. Luckily, the police saw the bigger picture, and nothing was done to the kids. </div><div><br /></div><div>There is just video after video of this kind of crazy behavior where people show the absolute worst versions of themselves as if their actions were both acceptable and right. While yes, the First Amendment gives us all the right to free speech, I am also sure that our founding fathers expected that we use some common sense with this right, and just because we <i>could</i> say something didn't always mean we<i> should</i>. Apparently, though, the founding father's crystal ball wasn't working at the time and they didn't realize that 245 years later, we would have lost our minds, become entitled creatures showing little humanity, and decide that a right designed for all, should only cover the few...<i>Kens and Karens,</i> being the few. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I speak of entitlement, I am not talking about a specific color, race, sex, or culture, though some cultures seem to show more restraint and sense than others. <i>Kudos to you.</i> In every demographic though, there seem to be those who think the rules of humanity as well as the laws of the country and their own little piece of it, don't apply to them. They seem to think that they have the right to browbeat a 16-year-old on their first day of work because the milkshake machine went down, or scream at the Walmart greeter who is told to make sure everyone who enters has a mask. That is their job. Realize that it is your privilege to be in their store, so if you don't like their rules, you don't have to shop there, but you don't have the right to insult the greeter or have a meltdown because you don't like their rules. The world does not have to change to meet your standards. Instead, you find a place that does meet your standards and move on. </div><div><br /></div><div>The same applies to social media. How many times have you seen someone go off on someone else because they had differing opinions? The instigator has the right to say what they want and they think, but when someone tries to defend themselves or their views, they are insulted, name-called and shut down as if they don't have the same rights as the instigator. For those that might not recognize this, it's called being a <i><b>bully</b></i>, and they come in all colors, shapes, sizes, ethnicities, religions, and income levels. </div><div><br /></div><div>Where it is really getting bad is in groups on Facebook. People truly have lost all sense of right and wrong and have zero respect for rules. They seem to have just decided they can say and do what they want and no one should have a problem with it. If a group has rules, these provocateurs will sidestep them or in some cases trounce right over the top of them and act a fool and then blame admins and the group in general if they get called out, timed out, or thrown out, because of <i>their own </i>behaviors. It really is getting ridiculous and because of it, many groups are losing good members and good admins and some groups are just choosing to shut down altogether. Can you blame them? Dealing with adolescent acting, self-entitled adults gets exhausting and since being an admin is a volunteer gig, it is hardly worth the time and trouble to deal with a bunch of trolling bullies. </div><div><br /></div><div>We as a society need to realize that we are setting a bad standard not only for the present day but also for the generations that are coming up. This behavior of acting up and acting out and making excuses for the behavior has gone way too far. Those of us still fostering some normal brain cells have got to take a stand and send some of these tantruming Kens and Karens to the woodshed. </div><div><br /></div><div>Let's quit enabling and excusing this behavior with language like, <i>"Well 2020 was such a rough year and people are just so stressed and......."</i> <b>YES,</b> 2020 was a rough year, and not just for Karens and Kens. It was a rough year for all of us, and yet I don't have the expectation that I can walk into Walmart and tell them that just because I hate wearing a mask, that I don't have to wear one if that is their rule. If wearing a mask is so off-putting to me, I will go somewhere where they don't care if I wear a mask or not. I won't however, make Ms. Greeter feel like crap and rethink her whole job situation and other life choices, by throwing a tantrum and putting her in the middle of it all. That is not my right, my privilege, nor my entitlement to behave as if store rules do not apply to me. </div><div><br /></div><div>I also will not accept mental health issues as an excuse for bad behavior anymore. Of course, there are some very extreme cases where mental health factors into a situation, but that excuse gets used way too often anymore and it needs to be stopped. Using that excuse to meltdown because McDonald's is out of McNuggets should be embarrassing for you and it takes away from and lessens the reality for those who truly do have grave mental health issues. <i><b>So enough!</b></i> Don't hide behind mental health and use that as an excuse for bad behavior. About 75% of the population has some form of mental health issues and after this last year, that number is probably higher, but not everyone uses their mental health as an excuse to act a fool and verbally abuse innocent people. Shame on those who do!</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, as I said in the beginning if you are so easily triggered, have so little self-control, and are so self-entitled that you feel you are the only one who should have a voice, have rights, and have an opinion and that your behavior good or bad should just be accepted, then <i><b>you are the problem.</b></i> Instead of inflicting yourself on the world as you are, <b>get some help</b>. Try some anger management, if you really think you have mental health issues, get yourself to a therapist and most of all, <i>get over yourself.</i> The last year didn't just happen to you. We all suffered and we are all trying to heal and you Karen, are not helping yourself or anyone else by being a b! tch. Start using some common sense. <i>You know, </i>the stuff our founding fathers just assumed we would still have all these years later. </div><div><br /></div><div>If social media triggers you to the point of abusing others verbally or otherwise, get off of it and stay off of it. If the news media frightens you or keeps you stressed out, turn it off. If you can't handle being disagreed with or the company of other human beings, then get yourself an emotional support animal. Do what you need to do to keep yourself healthy, but don't feel that if you are unhappy or unhealthy that somehow it is okay, to make others just as unhappy and unhealthy as you are. </div><div><br /></div><div>For everyone else, quit cutting these instigators, bullies, trolls, Kens, Karens, and self-entitled narcissists slack. Start standing up to them and calling them out. Quit accepting unacceptable behavior and shut them down and shut them out. We as a society should be better than this. After all these 245 years of freedoms and rights, we should have learned more than we have. We should have learned to be grateful, to be kind, and to show humanity to our fellow human beings. It is not hate, entitlement, anger, or fear that are going to move us forward and make us whole. It is love, kindness, and forgiveness and until we master these, we will continue with this. </div><div><br /></div><div><soapbox off></div><div><br /></div><div>Until next time, be kind, be calm, and most of all, show some self respect.....<i>no one likes a bully.</i> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div></div>Lisa Jacques Elamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09436627482635590384noreply@blogger.com0