Thanksgiving Thoughts

With Thanksgiving less then a week away I thought I'd write something related to the holiday.  I've had some sad and life changing events in my life in the last 2 years, and sometimes I have to remind myself not to dwell on the bad, but remember the good and the positive. 

To begin with I had problems at work in 2009.  I took a leave of absence in Sept. Then in 2010 my mother died. She was 91 years old and for the last year had lived in an extended care facility.  I had been her soul care giver for the previous 9-10 years and it was a very emotional time for me.  Torn between grief and relief that her suffering had finally ended and guilt for feeling the relief.  One month after that I lost my job.  I was diagnosed with depression and started on medication and counseling.  I was able to collect unemployment comp. for a time.  I applied for jobs in various places, but no luck.  Hospitals are reluctant to hire someone my age spend money to orient them to new surroundings (even at entry level pay it's expensive), proceedures, and policies only to have them leave in a year or 2 to retire.  I had been in the middle of renovating my mother's home with the help of a good friend, but the expense was great.  My plan was to renovate and bring the house up to code and move into her home then do the same for mine, but sell it when the work was completed. 

So maybe you are wondering  why am I writing all this bad stuff if I'm talking about gratitude?  Because I am well aware that as bad as things were and are I know they could be so much worse.  I could be sick; I could be losing my home; I could be homeless and living on the streets. I have no mortgages on either house but one home equity loan on my home that is helping to pay for the renovations on both houses. From the time my daughter went away to school I worked 3 to 5 jobs at any given time and saved most of that mone in IRA, and mutual funds so although I'm depleting my savings I'm not starving, or homeless. I have everything I need and a lot that I don't need. I have medical insurance (which is costly, but I'm glad I have it) through COBRA.  I also know that in April I begin collecting my pension from the hospital where I used to work. I have no small children to worry about (3 cats though) and I'm planning to move to FL to be near her when my houses are finished and sold (I hope I can sell them). 

So when I begin to feel sorry for myself (and I do sometimes, mostly because I miss my old job and the girls with whom  I worked for some 34 years) I remind myself that I have much for which to be grateful.  It is easy to fall into that habit of feeling sorry for myself and sink into despair.  This is not how I expected to end my career, and if I had been able to continue working even one year longer I would be so much better off. And even though I can start to collect my pension at 65, thanks to new social security rules I have to wait until 66 to collect that.  With both incomes I would be comfortable so I'll be another 2 years before I can breathe a little easier. I worry a lot, talk to myself a lot and remind myself that I will be ok, not wealthy, but safe in my home, near my daughter, and able to afford food, meds etc.  Travel may not be an option, but maybe short trips could be doable.  In addition to all of that I see a therapist who has been wonderful and a great help to me.  She is not just someone who listens and asks "how does that make you feel?.  She guides me, explains things like human nature and defense mechanisms that people use, and points out changes that she sees in me that are helpful and positive. I've grown with her assistance, and I hope I continue to grow to get over my losses and move on and find other things I'd like to do.  And of course there is always reading  and writing.  Both of which help me heal and grow.

Back Yard Menagerie

Short note here.  I now have 2 possums and 2 neighborhood cats visiting my back yard.  Miss or I guess I should say Princess Chloe is not fond of either one, which is demonstrated by the banshee screams and hisses.  More tomorrow.

Is it madness or vision

"No great genius has ever existed without some touch of madness." - Aristotle

The above quote is the topic of tonight's blog.  I get some quotes from 2 or 3 other newsletters.  This one was sent to me by the folks at Penzu online journal.  It's a great site.  They offer online  journaling for free and with a fee you can upgrade to more features.  The fee is quite reasonable $19 a year for unlimited journaling and  setting up several journals. For example one might be for health, one for notes to save, one for regular journal entries , one might be stories about your kids or pets, or stories you like to write. They have good security measures so your privacy is protected.  You can even email an entry if you like. It's all up to you.  I'm not promoting this for any fee, but because I belong and I like it. You can try it for free for as long as you like and eventually try the upgrade or not.  I have one journal for letters I write to my mother.  She died almost 2 years ago, but as things happen that I wish she were here to see and hear about I write her a letter just as if she were alive.  I don't know if one can read letters from the afterlife, but after I write the letter I feel so much better.  I ever write when I have a problem.  It's almost as though she's listening quietly. But that's how I use Penzu journal; you can use it anyway you like. 

But the quote above is what I'm writing about tonight. (I'll repeat it so you don't have to look back.)

"No great genius has ever existed without some touch of madness." - Aristotle 
Aristotle may have been a brilliant man, but I'm not sure about this quote - although he did say a touch of madness.  But there may be a touch of madness in more than half the people in the world (just a guess).  Depends on what exactly is a "touch" and what is one's definition of madness.  Is it diagnosed mental illness?  Or is it just the way people describe anyone who is different, brilliant, distracted by the sights and sounds around them, intense and what all. Of course in the time of Aristotle I'm not sure people really knew what madness was except for the extrememly disoriented individuals.  But some madness can be more subtle.  I think the idea of madness comes into play when someone is close to a discovery that people believe to be either impossible, or extremely unlikely, or amazing and the mere fact that this someone is working on something that others believe impossible means he has a touch of madness unless he's right and it all works out.  Then they sing his praises.  But thinking about some of the amazing discoveries like electricity, air travel, submarines, travel to space and the discovery of America and a round world, I can sort of understand why they might have been thought of as slightly off center when working on these discoveries.  So maybe he was right not that they were a little crazy, but that they were thought of that way.  Thus Mr. Aristotle was partly right.  It takes a little madness to imagine some of these things even if they are eventually proven to be possible.  After cell phones and the internet, I can't imagine what is next to be discovered  that isn't an upgrade of an earlier invention etc.  But I hope I live long enough to see it.

Waking up

If you have trouble getting up in the morning and your alarm clock doesn't do the trick as you push the pause button several times, I have a suggestion.  Get some cats.  I have always had cats in my life, and from sleeping on my head, shoulder or stomach to loud meowing they have interfered with my sleep way too much.  But they do make good little alarm clocks at times, especially when they are hungry.  Howling from another room works well as I worry that something is wrong, but after many false alarms I then learned to just call them or whistle and turn over and get back to sleeping. That works for a short time.At other times I  think that they just want to make sure I'm not dead.  They hop on the bed and put their little noses into my face and sniff me sometimes (not all at the same time of course; they take turns and shifts). I think maybe they think I'm dead, or they're saying good morning, get up now!  Real time doesn't exist for them only the time when they want something.  I am of course a willing slave most of the time, but even I have my limits.  When I don't get enough sleep I can't concentrate on reading, remember what I'm supposed to be doing or find things. Even watching TV is hard to master when I'm sleep deprived. So I'm learning techniques for decreasing their interruptions (closing the door not being one of them) such as grabbing whoever disturbs me and holding him under the covers and subjecting him to kisses and hugs (they all hate that).  Getting up and falling asleep on the couch and leave them in the bed until they find me, then traipsing back to bed and hiding under the covers while they walk on my body or do the kneading thing. I know that people who aren't owned by cats or dogs or any other creatures (children too) don't understand what I'm talking about and would never put up with that nonsense, but (and it is a big but) for the ones who are owned by their pets they totally understand. 

After the sleep disturbances comes the alarm subject, and with cats there is one thing that will get me out of bed in a single heartbeat - the early warning sound of a cat throwing up (a hairball usually)on new carpeting just outside my bedroom.  I'm up and out of bed faster than a lightening flash.  Why you ask.  Because the sooner you get it cleaned the more likely you are to get it all and not have a stain left.  Some things we do for love and some things just because we have to.  This is in the have to category. It happened this morning and none of the kitties will own up to committing the offence either.  Because there are 2 white cats one with very long hair and one short haired, and a medium haired ginger colored cat I can sometimes figure out who goes in the "dog house", but for some reason this morning there wasn't much hair to clue me in.  So I woke up early, cleaned up the spot, and got on with my day. But of course I had to share this story with an appreciative audience (I hope).  Now go kiss your pets.

What Am I Proud Of?

In my writing group yesterday we wrote about one thing that made us proud of ourselves. So I thought that would be a good idea for a blog. I have done lots of things that have made me happy, but proud or amazed?  I just don't know.  Some of my journal entries sound good to me and I am proud of them, but I don't share them with anyone.  I did share one with my significant person (or SO for significant other in med. language). But he didn't look at the writing, or the message.  He just said yeah well I think you dwell  too much on that and should let it go.  Which was much less than helpful.  I was trying to let it go.  By exploring it in my journal I hoped to disect it and look at the tiny parts as insignificant in my life and there by begin to heal and recover from the pain of the incident.  I should have known that a man would not look that deep.  I mean suggesting I get over it was not the issue.  I wanted to get over it and for the most part I don't think of that event very often, but when I do, it still makes me cry.  I'm trying to probe it, peel the layers and find the root and destroy that root.  I love all these analogies, but metaphores leave me cold.  I'm like that character "Bones" on TV though not even 10% as smart as she is. But I always think of metaphors in literal terms. I never know what the person is trying to say.
Anyway back to the analogies of my journal.  I don't always use the analogies in my journal, it is the process of journaling and reliving the hurt that I use.  The analogy is only my way of describing how the process helps heal emotional pain.  My therapist likes using the medical model to describe the process, and I do too.  It seems to make the process almost visual for me. But I can't explain this to my SO although I did try.  But it was as lost on him as metaphors are on me.  Leave it to a man to just make an emotional, painfully heartbreaking incident  a "just get over it" situation. 

So what did I do that I'm proud of?  I wrote about getting myself through 5 years of nursing school (part time takes a little longer) as a single parent and graduating with high honors. I did have help from my mother and SO with care of my daughter.  I don't know if it was great, but it was hard and I think my daughter paid a price for my education.  I also think it was good for her in some ways:  to see that if you miss the boat the first time you can go after it again (I know that's a metaphor but it seems to fit), to see that hard work can pay off, to learn that being a mom doesn't mean you give up yourself (she knows that better than I did), to remember that everyone needs help once in a while, and it's ok to ask (which she does better than I do), and as long as you really love your child and are able to put yourself in his or her place at least sometimes you'll probably be a good parent and raise an emotionally healthy child.  At least I hope that's true.  My daughter is now back in school studying social work.  I think she'll be a good social worker someday.

Halloween

So Halloween came and went and preparations were not appreciated by many.  I had maybe 6 kids altogether who came in pairs so the doorbell rang maybe 4 times so maybe 8 kids came to the door.  With 4 bags of chocolate candies: peanut butter cups and KitKats there was much left over.  The kids were nice and polite and I gave them each 2 bars of each type. Then the night was over.  I had to put the leftover candy in the freezer to keep from eating it myself.  Out of site - out of mind premise. I loved to see the smallest ghosts and goblins, but they're all cute.  Even the teens were cute and friendly.  There just weren't enough of them.  Maybe I got started a little late because we went out for a quick bite before we were ready for the onslaught so we must have missed a few kids.   So here I sit, trying to forget about the candy, and wishing I had the money that I spent on it. Maybe Halloween parties are the way to go.  At least you can count a certain range in the number of people who show up depending on the number invited and plan accordingly. 

I don't remember having a party when I was a kid, but we used to do candy apples, small napkins filled with candy, nuts, raisons and fruit (apples, grapes etc.) We'd tie them up with ribbon and we seemed to enjoy that more than the trick or treat activities.  My cousins always got pillow cases filled with all kinds of stuff.  At the end of the night they'd open the bags and count everything.  They always hauled a load.  My sisters and I were too far apart in age to enjoy much of the evening together.  But we all seemed to enjoy the little kids even when we were little kids too. Nothing like being 5 years old and thinking a 3 yr old is so adorable and cute and little and silly.  A few times I've seen some 7 month old babies dressed up and carried around or pushed in a stroller to each of the houses.  Some were smiling and some were scared and crying.   I always wanted to hold them, but knew better than to ask for that!  I never let my daughter go to a different neighborhood, but you wouldn't believe how many came to mine from other neighborhoods.  I thought it was dangerous then and I still think so especially those who were not  accompanied by their parents.

In any case I'm glad it's over and done with.  Now I can focus on something else like Thanksgiving and Christmas and a visit to Lauren and staying with her for a several weeks.  I'm not looking forward to that part, but I'll go and do my best.  More about that tomorrow.  In the mean time hide the candy.

Halloween Memories

With Halloween approaching I thought I'd write about some of my Halloween memories.

For some strange reason I never really liked Halloween when I was little.  I did the usual stuff - but grudgingly and mostly to please my mother and because my younger sister did not want to go alone.  Sometimes my older sister went with us (my younger sister and me). She was in charge and rather bossy.  My younger sister was a clown and silly and loved running up to the doors and yelling "Trick or treat".  That was the part I hated.  But she wouldn't go alone (I don't know if it was fear or shyness that held her back) so I had to go with her to each house.  It was emotionally painful for me.  I felt ridiculous and stupid with a stupid costume.  I never wanted to be seen with either one of my sisters  by my friends who  were frequently unaccompanied by an adult or older sibling.  I never liked the costumes either.  I wanted to be something pretty, with a long dress and soft, long curly hair.  That didn't happen.  My hair was kind of long usually, but straight as a board, fly away and messy. I remember in school, the nuns always complaining that my hair was in my eyes and telling me to fix it.  I never could please them.

As for costumes - they were always awful and I was always embarrassed to be seen in them. They were thrown together at the last minute most of the time, scratchy and not warm enough.  But I think most of the dissatisfaction was because I was a fussy little kid who thought everything had to be exactly right or I wouldn't cooperate.  I feel bad for my mother having to deal with the likes of me.  I complained about everything. 

But the promise of candy and other goodies called me to the streets so  I developed a strategy to help me get some without having to call out the dreaded "trick or treat". I followed the groups of other kids in my neighbor at a respectful distance.  As they would approach a home I would tag along a little bit behind and be at the door just after they yelled "trick or treat" which I thought was stupid and humiliating.  Then the goodies would be passed out to all of us and we'd move on.  My sister always wanted to yell the greeting, but I was not so inclined.

I did like running in the cold evening up and down the street from house to house, and I enjoyed the candy.  Things went on like that for a few years - then I was done.  I refused to go "trick or treating" any more. Instead I passed out the treats to the kids and enjoyed that a lot.  I felt very grown-up and the little toddlers were so cute. I was maybe 10 or 11 and proud to be trusted by my mother to do a good job.

Once as a teenager we had a Halloween party, but it was kind of boring, and I was a bit embarrassed.  I don't think I ever had a party again in my life.  Looking back now I think I was a strange little kid.

Fast forward to the year my daughter was 4 or 5 yrs old and my sister and I took her 2 and my one and I think my older sister's son was also with us. He was about 4 also. We went to our old neighborhood where my mother still lived. My younger sister who was always a lot of fun and could be silly (I was always so serious) was dressed in a hobo costume and had blackened her face a little and borrowed an old hat from my father. She looked cute and she went with the kids as they walked around my mother's  neighborhood.  Strangely,  my daughter refused to call out the trick or treat threat and did the same thing I did, tagging along at the end of a group (except this was a group of her cousins).  She had a great time.

When we had finally worn out the kids. We went back to Grandma's house, and the kids had hot chocolate,  hot cider, biscuits, muffins, hot dogs and some candy.  I don't think any vegetables made it to the menu, but a good time was had by all especially my mother. Though she looked tired as we were leaving she was smiling.