The Horrible House

 

I have to laugh. I do listen to what people say as far as my blogging goes. Sometimes I politely smile and say, "Now that is an interesting idea," 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. Really? 

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. Not sorry. It just simply is what it is. 

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. 

To say I HATED 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. 

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, were some of my emotional situations coming from feeding off her feelings? Quite possibly, but some were uniquely my own too. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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, "Little girl. I just want to give you a ride. Little girl, I'll take you to your mommy." 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

After that, I hated those cedar trees. In fact, to this day, I hate ALL 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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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.

 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. Ohhhhh that house. 

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. 

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. 

The police assured her, that it was not 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. 

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. 

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 HAD heard something. 

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. 

Little fun fact. The horrible 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 shadow man? I certainly hope not. 

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. 

A Perfect Childhood?

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. Not even for me. 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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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). 

Life looked pretty Norman Rockwell back then....at least on the surface. In fact, it looked so mid-century wonderful, 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 Better Homes and Gardens 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....except mom of course, she was cooking. 

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. 

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....suffering 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 "what happens at home, stays at home." 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. 

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. 

It was hearing these stories that made me realize, that my 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 should have belonged. 

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 this 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.

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...two) 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. 

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. 

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 girlfriend was especially unhappy over this turn of events. 

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. 

I had latched on to my new 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 "I" did to make him not want to stay. To make him not want me. Kids internalize everything. I did so x2. 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. 

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 all my fault. I think this was the beginning of a lifetime of self-dislike that only grew with time. 

A perfect childhood? There is no such thing. 

Thinking, Planning and Hoping

 

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 ME! I laughed. This is not the first time nor is she the first person...errr...little bird that has told me this. My pat answer is always, This entire blog is about me, what more do you want to know? The little bird then said, "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." My first thought was, honey, I am really not that interesting and I am definitely not that deep. However, I did keep thinking about what she said. 

This week I began reading a book, The Stories We Tell, Every Piece of Your Story Matters, by Joanna Gaines. 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. 

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. 

As I continued to read, I kept thinking about my little bird telling me "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." 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. Maybe someone needs to hear my story too. 

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.....everything? 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? 

There are lots of questions and very few answers. Did I mention that I fear everything? 

I actually don't know whether I could take on the time I would need to write a book per se. 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....at least for me. Others in my world may not find it as mentally healing as I would/will. 

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. 

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. 

Until next time. 

Three Headlines and My Opinion

Good morning! 

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. 

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 they were actually being serious. Who knew?

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. 

My first headline is a local one. https://www.kake.com/story/49882600/newton-man-sentenced-to-more-than-4-years-for-mistreatment-of-a-dependent-adult    This story is short, but definitely not sweet. The place they speak of Heartland Supports, 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. Grrrrrr....I have BIG 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 "thank you....no thank you," but not always in those nice of words. 

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 (yes, he can communicate if his caregiver, para, etc are willing to take the time and listen), 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. 

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. 

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. Grrrrrr

In lighter news https://www.today.com/popculture/taylor-swift-travis-kelce-kiss-cheek-rcna121758  Oh Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift. SWELCE! Yes, I had to bring it up. 

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. Hmmmmmm. Who doesn't remember the Jessica Simpson/Tony Romo debacle and the grief it caused both him and the Cowboys? I bet Romo does!!!! No one (or at least me) wanted to see Kelce and the Chiefs go down that same road. 

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. 

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, BUT 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. Yes, I am extremely jaded. 

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? 

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. 

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 "real" couple or not, and by the way, what defines real couple 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. 

And finally, https://www.goodnewsnetwork.org/tumor-destroying-sound-waves-treatment-coming-to-a-hospital-near-you-for-liver-cancer/ we all need a little uplifting news when it comes to cancer. 

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. 

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. 

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.  

May we one day find a cure for cancer in all its forms that erradicates it from our world. 

Well, there you have it. You have three interesting(ish) headlines and my opinion on all of them. 

So until next time, stay dry, stay happy and be kind!

Thoughts and Prayers, and a Crisis of Me

 Let's just get down to it today. 

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 Sorry! Not sorry! 

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!

Last night I was doing some research and catching up on current events. Even I, Non-news Nancy, 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. 

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 "What good are prayers when this person needs money, or a cure, etc, etc." I can't even count all the times that I have been chastised for posting this and literally belittled for doing so little 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. 

Having said this, I do wonder if the statement you are in my thoughts and prayers 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?

When I say "You are in my thoughts and prayers", 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 God's will be done 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. 

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.

 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, "If you pray, then put it in God's hands. His hands are far safer than any doctors." 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....and they did. 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. No one had to convince us. 

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.   

So back to world news. Oh yeah.....humans are f-ing up the world!

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. 

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. 

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. 

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 EXACTLY 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'll believe it when I see it." The fact is, just because you see it, doesn't always make it real anymore. 

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>

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 crisis of ME! 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. 

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. OR 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. 

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. 

If it's a self-serving church you want, perhaps you are looking at the wrong end of the spectrum. 

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. 

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, GO TO CHURCH! 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 ARE 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.

 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 "Love your neighbor as yourself for the love of God," hit me pretty powerfully. "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Light," also played over in my mind. After sleeping on all of this, this morning, one other thought kept dancing around, "Be not afraid." 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. 

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. His will not mine. 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. 

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, many saints were sinners first. 

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. 

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 crisis of me, may just be at an end. 

Today I fast and pray for peace for Israel and for each of you, you all remain in my thoughts and prayers. 

Good Morning and Welcome Back!

Well......good morning and welcome back! 

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.

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!

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. 

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. 

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. 

During this time, I also added apron maker 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 (Grandma Lisa's Farmhouse Aprons) 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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

So now I guess we are caught up. Back to this blog. 

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 THIS 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!

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. 

Do I Look Like a Celery Kind of Girl? https://cmom-toomuchinformation.blogspot.com/

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. 

Life With the Incredible Mr. David  https://theincrediblemrdavid.blogspot.com/

This blog deals with all things David and covers some of the most agonizing and awe-inspiring moments in his life. 

To Hell and Back, An Al-Anon Moms Story  https://thabalanonmom.blogspot.com/

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.

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. 

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. 

Until next time.......... 

The Art of Perspective

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 devil may care attitude over a situation or the same "the sky is falling" attitude. It is simply forgotten that people are individuals with individual views. 

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 "So what it is just another virus. I am going on with my life as normal," 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.  

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. 

I have been thinking a lot about this recently. Maybe it is because this is a pivotal year for me (at least in my head). This year I turn 60, an age that I once viewed as ancient, I now see as still quite youngish....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, maybe 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. (The whole fear part where David is concerned is a huge change in perspective for me.)

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. 

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. 

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. 

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 6 0 and what that might mean. I thought perhaps I should start slowing down and just accept aging (the good and the bad) 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...."this too shall pass," 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!

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.