THE GREAT THEME REVEAL FOR THE A-TO-Z BLOG CHALLENGE 2014

I had to think about this whole theme thing, long and hard. You see, last year, I jumped into this challenge at the last minute, kind of like the way I jumped into NaNoWriMo in 2012. A-to-Z, 2013 turned out spectacularly for me, in that I actually finished the damned thing! I did not finish NaNoWriMo in 2012, but quit a mere 1637 words into it, because at the time I was trying to cope with severe and untreated symptoms of Parkinsonism, or essential tremor, – another movement disorder that is closely related to Parkinson's Disease – which was making my life an unmitigated hell. I was still sans treatment at the time of the A-to-Z challenge, but was undergoing testing, after finding this neat-o neurologist at the Parkinson's Center of Excellence on the campus of USF. It's been an arduous journey and is not yet done, but I'm digressing, and I want to remain on point. Suffice it to say, I am being treated and it helps; it's not a cure, but I'm feeling much better and the tremors and pain and all the other assorted psychological aspects of the disease have abated. I'm still crazier than hell, but I know what to do about it.

I finished last year, by dint of keeping my posts short and snappy and just having fun with reading others' posts and commenting. When the most awesome Damyanti announced that she was co-hosting again this year and looking for assistants, I jumped on board. Damyanti has been a magnificent presence at the A-to-Z challenge that was started by our own Arlee Bird, several years ago. As I have become a larger presence in the blogging world, I find myself becoming part of a larger community that spans the globe and that, all by itself, is pretty terrific!

It also didn't hurt that I actually finished NaNoWriMo 2013 this year and have a manuscript, albeit, an unpolished one to show for my efforts. But that's a story for another day. This is not about the other blogging communities (shout out to IWSG, ROW80 and Blog Blitz!) but our A-to-Z Challenge; 26 letters of the alphabet in 26 days! A post for each letter, every day, with the exceptions of Sundays, during the month of April.

So, without further ado, and since I am on the team that is responsible for the assistance and creation of “themes” for people who are having issues with letters (“Q”, “X”, and “Z” are the usual culprits) I will reveal my theme: HUMOR AND HUMORISTS.

Yep, it came to me yesterday, while I was sitting in the ER waiting room for about the eleventy-billionth time – please name your next wing after me, TGH – with another stupid eye problem, that HUMOR AND HUMORISTS is the perfect theme for me!

I've got to be the only person in the world (well, maybe not the only one) that is legally blind, and has Parkinsonism so severe, that at times, when I make a taco salad, it looks like a piñata exploded in the kitchen. I have no depth perception, so everything is the same size. A mouse the size of a canoe ran through my bedroom, recently, where my computers are, and I almost jumped into the closet. When JC wanted to know what in Sam Hill was going on, I told him I was practicing the dance steps for “What Does the Fox Say?” So he bought me a Leopard Hat and Shirt at the Dollar Store and now I'm gonna have to learn the damned thing. “Ring-ding-ding-ding-a-ding-ding-ding!”

But at least I'm not the only person in this house that does stupid stuff. During the Olympics, we were looking at the news, and the sports announcer in Sochi, Russia for no discernible reason, helpfully mentioned that there was snow in every state of the United States, except Florida. We were watching some Olympics; ice-skating, where every routine was skated to Tchaikovsky, blaringly and hollowly, with echoes that lasted for eons, so that the music became just a huge A-minor smear. The only way I knew the piece was over, was when the people on the ice were no longer twirling, or falling down.

Then, we watched some more Olympics. Curling, with the Norwegians and their pants; all looking like someone was on one hell of a bad acid trip during the designing, or else the athletes raided their grandmothers' quilting bins and did a one-off. They were sporting colors that don't exist in nature, or at least on this planet. Ten minutes of this and I'm thinking that cleaning the house isn't such a bad idea.

Cut to the local news. The sports comes on; thank God the Norwegians and their Dayglo pants aren't part of this broadcast. JC pipes up, “I hear that there's snow in every state except Florida.” I look over at Alex, and we both just lose it. JC listens to us howl and yawp like hyenas for a few minutes and then asks what is so funny. We tell him, “We were here when the guy said there is snow in every state except Florida!” And off we went again. JC makes it worse when he says, “I didn't hear that!” Oh. Jesus. Stop. Now. Now. Because, I'm in the Red Zone of Laughter; the kind of laughing where you may have apoplexy and get a hernia. JC is hard of hearing and he finally catches on and gets into the moment and he has that sort of hearty laughter that makes you laugh, even if you don't know what in the hell is going on.

Laughing is good for the soul and is certainly good for the body; it helps to release endorphins and they are good for nerve endings. I make it a rule to laugh as much as possible, but kindly. Never cruelly, or at the expense of someone else. God has given us the capacity to do many things and there is no injunction against humor and laughter in any religion or faith, culture or nationality that I know of.

Some of my posts will be on funny topics; some will be on funny writers, present and past. Last year, I started out this challenge with an honest-to-God spreadsheet with all of the letters A, B, C, and so on, with the topics listed. I think I had this half-assed notion that I was going to fill it out and hand it in to Arlee Bird for a grade at the end of the challenge, or something. I had a topic picked for each letter, but that went out the window the second day of the challenge, when I wrote about Beethoven and his 3^rd Symphony, instead of Bravery. I'm glad I did so. I may have a theme picked out, but I have no earthly clue what I'm going to do for the letter “A”, but I've got a few days to think about it. It'll come to me.

#ROW80 – 4TH QTR 2013 – SUNDAY CHECK IN

Sometimes I wonder about this whole writing thing. I'm participating in NaNoWriMo this year and unlike last year, I'm doing well. I have over 30,000 words or 30k as we used to say in the computer biz. I'm enjoying it and I believe that I have a pretty intriguing story to tell and that I will be able to find a publisher, or, what is more likely, with more hard work and or, doing possibly my least favorite thing in the whole world, “social networking,” (gah!) will be able to do it on the cheap. I will have done something many people will have not been able to do, but wish they could do. So, that being the case, why am I so just, I even hate to say it, but not excited, yet? Will that happen?

Or, is it because, I still have my heart in a sheet of music or in an orchestra some where, playing and singing along with all of the great harmonies that God intended us to give voice to, sounds that are at once angelic and in the next instance brutally harsh and cold? Were I still able to drive and not reliant on someone else for transportation, I believe I would be playing in just about any orchestra that would have me, especially now, that I have my tremors under control. Pig-headed and stubborn to a fault I am; I should be grateful as I had two very successful careers and both were doing things that I loved. Not everyone can say that.

This apparently ended up in a garage sale or jumble sale, or garbage heap. I couldn't tell. I had my hacker vision on.

I do love to create and writing is another way of creating. I do not denigrate the art of writing, because it is so exceedingly difficult to write beautiful prose and to write it meaningfully. It is hard to write stories for entertainment and in different genres, as I am finding out. I am such a newbie, or n00b, as my gamer pals call me at this, although I did win awards for writing in university, but that is so very different than this. This is about writing something that people actually want to read and are willing to pay for, I guess. Although, people do buy and read some execrable crap, witness the publication of Paris Hilton's biography, “Paris Hilton: A Biography,” by someone I never heard of, for 35.00 19.25. I know people must buy it and read it, but who? Maybe the deeper question is, why? Why would anyone care about this no-talent mediocrity? Because she's rich? Or is it because her sex tape ended up on the Internet? How salacious are we as a society that we pander to this?

Maybe that's one reason I write. I enjoy holding a mirror up, so we can see ourselves as we are, not as we think we are. Because there is so much self-righteousness in this world and so much wrong done, in the name of right. I really like to write for fun and just write silly articles about my life. But I, as so many others around me here, have had to deal with judgments against them that were perceptions based on personal agendas, preconceived notions of how we all should behave and just plain meanness against the weak and poor. If there is no one to stand up for these souls, they are lost. Once they are lost, then, as the German Protestant Reverend Martin Niemöller, who eventually emerged as a public spokesman against Adolf Hitler and spent the last seven years lf the Third Reich in concentration camps, said so famously, after his release:

 “First the came for the Socialists, but I did not speak out—because I was not a Socialist.

“Then, they came for the Trade Unionists and I did not speak out—because I was not a Trade Unionist.

“Then, they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew.

“Then, they came for me, and there was no one left to speak for me.

 Martin Niemöller, postwar

The thing about being in among the "writing crowd” if you will, is I get to have a seat at the table here and rub elbows with all of you. I may never sell or publish a book or an article, but I'm having a wonderful time and I have all of you to thank for this, my "seat" at the table. For the #ROW80 crew and all of the other people I've been led to and met, I want to thank you all. Because of you, I will finish NaNoWriMo this year. Maybe, next year, I'll be able to say I've published a book! If not, I'll still have had a ball at #ROW80! 

#ROW80 SUNDAY CHECK IN - POST 11 – RUNNING TO THE STORE, MCGYVER STYLE

As one of my readers pointed out recently, “I don't know that this qualifies as a check in,” therefore, you can certainly apply much the same to this post if not more. I must be a slow learner. I really try to write 750 words every day. I do, but they're usually comments, remarks to trolls, chat room conversations and I'm pretty sure all of that drivel is not going to add up to a lasting body of work. It's more like graffiti on the internet's bathroom walls, and usually not so polite.

I'm fairly certain this is NOT a contribution to Arts and Letters throughout the Ages.

Not to change the subject, but I hope these yahoos made some money from this post. I certainly didn't. "Playing the Violin, and How to Avoid It," was one of the funnier things I've written.

You can tell the folks at the Algonquin Round Table would have revoked my privileges, had they still been around and if I had ever graced their presence and this were 19__ whatever.

So, today, I had a mini-odyssey. There have been many changes here lately. Some good, some not so. With the death of Kevin, his ALF is finally keeping their residents close to home; it's just a shame someone had to die before they started doing their job. The new laundry is open, so we no longer look like refugees from the Eastern Front in WWII. The have installed a new Express bus line; the Green line and until June the 7^th, customers ride free. I was going to take advantage of this. We get paid tomorrow and our fridge turned up it's toes and died a slow and stinky death, so everything had to go.

We're replacing in stages, but we have to cut corners for a bit. I had a couple of prescriptions due today and I was going to take advantage of the freebie bus. Well, shit. The damn thing doesn't run on weekends, so I walked to the local Sweetbay, which is a mile. I can do this easily, in spite of all this hair-on-fire warnings about COPD, congestive heart failure, PD, blah, blah, blah. I am one strong, and tough ox. Seriously; even with the falling down and blindness. Seriously, I walk fast and easy and I can walk forever; it's probably metabolic or something. My knowledge of physical fitness is abysmal. Unfortunately, my dollar store shoe couldn't keep up, so I had to limp-hop across the HOTTER THAN HELL BLACKTOP.

How do you market this? Here they are in Pumpkin Gulag. They started out in the front of the store, scaring the bejesus out of the customers. I thought we'd wandered into Frankenstein's lab. They were a whopping 6 bucks a piece. They did not sell in time for Halloween. Over time, they kept moving farther and farther back, their prices dropping. First to 3.49 each, then the dollar you see here. They were so forlorn. I felt so sorry for them. Poor pink pumpkins. Jim, the produce guy and he of the shirt-and-tie now, said they just showed up on the truck and it fell to them to market them. People thought they were mutants. They tried to tie them in with "Breast Cancer" somehow, but that flopped. I was never sure if they meant, "these will give you breast cancer, or cure it, or we will donate to breast cancer." They ended up cutting one in half to show people they were "safe." I wonder what the geniuses at central distribution will send them this year.

Jim, the wonderful pink-pumpkin guy is now wearing a shirt and tie and works up front. I can think of no one better. He is an endless supply of enthusiasm and professionalism and one of my favorite go-to people, along with Casey, Paula and the Manager Josh Hamilton, who has known me from day one, when I went to the homeless shelter. Jim's solution, when I entered the store with my broken shoe, was to offer me a riding cart. I just looked at him. He said, “yeah, I didn't think you were going to go for that.” So, I shuffled off to the Pharmacy and got my prescriptions.

Sweetbay has just been bought out by Winn-Dixie, but the people at my store are going to stay. Yay!

I picked up the few other things we needed, and while I was in the line to pay, I had a brainstorm. I saw Jim and Josh and said “Hey, do you guys have any duct tape?” They looked at each other. “For my shoe.” I explained. Jim rustled some up and I took my stuff up to the front of the store and bent over. Here I am with my underpants hanging out, bent over. I stood up. “I am so going to end up on You Tube.” These guys have seen me playing “Air whackamole guitar” in the rice aisle. I was getting' down, lost in the moment, but got that eerie feeling you get when someone is looking at you, but you can't see them (I ignore cameras) and I turned around. This guy was standing behind me, grinning. I said, “Oh, I am so sorry.” He said, “I'm in no hurry. Party on.”

Wrong clan and wrong instrument and wrong number of people, but too cool to pass up. 

So now, I managed to get my foot up on the newspaper stand and wrap duct tape around it a few times and tear it off. “There! Now, I'll be able to get home, without dragging my foot like Igor, Dr. Frankenstein's assistant. Now, Jim you just keep being great.” Jim, ever the comedian, says, “First I have to start being great.” This is seriously the best grocery store, ever. Because the spice aisle is jointly run by the CIA and the KGB and the whole place treats all the bizarros with complete aplomb, I feel right at home. I took the regular bus home, and had to beat feet, to avoid one of the many neighborhood Lotharios. Ick. JC is watching the SyFy "Piranhaconda" movie. I can't miss that.

BLOGGING CHALLENGE FROM A TO Z APRIL 2013 – LETTER “D”

DEPRESSION AND

"PARKINSON'S DISEASE OR NON-PARKINSON'S DISEASE, THAT IS THE QUESTION"

NOTE: April is a busy month for lots of folks. It starts off well, with April Fool's Day, which I personally celebrate every day; sometimes several times a day, or an hour, if I'm having a good run. As well as this fine Challenge, Blogging from A to Z for April of 2013, April is also Parkinson's Disease Awareness month. I have Parkinson's Disease. Or not. That is the question. Stick around long enough and you will all find out the answer to the worst-kept secret since the H-Bomb recipe was sold to the USSR, back in the 50s and since this is my blog on Thursdays, I will be posting my posts here and at P.A.N.D.A. Even if you don't know anyone with Parkinson's Disease or any type of movement disorder, or you are not a caregiver for anyone, or are dealing with any type of chronic illness, you might want to browse this site. The men and women and this community are brave and wonderful, hopeful and funny people. They are my battery mates. Now, back to our Challenge here at A-to-Z!

I could be coy and state that here we have a multitude of “D” words, but today is Thursday, day 4 of the A-to-Z April Challenge and it is also Parkinson's Disease Awareness Month. I blog on most Thursdays for the P.A.N.D.A. Organization, which is a wonderful group that provides support to folks with Parkinson's, or PD, or their caregivers. Most people associate this movement disorder with Michael J. Fox, who has young onset PD, or Muhammad Ali, who may or may not have acquired PD or Parkinsonism during is delayed career after his boxing license was re-instated. Like so many neuro-muscular with all of the inherent symptomology and untangling of the physical and mental aspects, it is hard to pinpoint any one specific cause for these conditions. My PD or not-PD is not yours and vice versa. It's hard to quantify and eludes labeling.

My friend, YumaBev (Twitter @YumaBev and Parkinson's Humor) is a HUGE advocate for PD. She sings "I don't need no rockin' chair, 'cause I'm rockin' on my own!"

I am currently among the undiagnosed and non-medicated for that,  and my story is not unique, although my manifestations of the disease or condition or visitation, for the more celestially and whimsically inclined are unique to me, as are my outlooks and reactions to the whole shebang. I have had a whale of a journey to get here, just right here, right now, typing this to you A-to-Z-ers and P.A.N.D.A. Folks. I guess we all have these sorts of stories where we come in after the intermission and are trying to get caught up.

You haven't missed all that much. Just know that people with neuro-muscular disorders of any stripe, I find, tend to suffer from depression and black it is when it hits. There is of course, the usual raging debate, about whether or not this really exists. It does and it is ferocious in its callous disregard for a person's progress. Pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps is not an answer. More often than not, the etiology is biochemical, as I found when I had a psychotic break after not sleeping for a month and woke up a month later in a mental ward with tremors and a patchy short-term memory. The fun was only beginning.

Testing for PD doesn't exist and I, in the course of the past year, with careful observation of myself, reading, conversation with other Parkinson's Disease patients, memories of my life and my family life (I am an only child, no offspring and both parents deceased) can conclude that my mother suffered from PD or PD-like symptoms as well, though she was never diagnosed to my knowledge. After the committal to the mental ward, the psychiatrist, who concluded that I was absolutely no harm to anyone or myself, but was bipolar and prescribed accordingly and sent me on my way, also noted, that this was the least troublesome committal he'd ever dealt with; bipolarity is part of the Parkinson's. I think one of the reasons for that is I am in my late 50s, although I had exhibited symptoms for years.

I probably have more of the mental issues than physical; I do have tremors and they have really been troublesome of late. I can't play my viola without it sounding like a machine gun. ViolaFury is definitely not pleased. This brings out the not really happy part of me. This is not good. I will have to think nice thoughts or take a time out... from humanity. Just kidding. But, it really points to something that I mentioned briefly in my Beethoven post. Pissed much?

I don't do this well; by the time we're here, hostages have been taken and Haz-Mat is on the scene... Just kidding.

Mad? ViolaFury is my nom de guerre for a reason. She puts on her boxing gloves when she needs them. She may need them. I believe I mentioned the Roman empire and Emperors during their Triumphs in Ancient Rome; in a not very well-written way, I was trying to allude to their mortality and how they were reminded of it by slaves during the triumphs. Beethoven, in his way, did that to Bonaparte in his 3rd symphony. We all do that, while perversely "facing the tiger." I can put up with the spastic typing and not being able to comb my hair or wear make up. That's minor stuff.

But if I can't play Wolf? I can't play my gorgeous Guidantus viola, built in 1837, only 10 years after Beethoven died, to his (the viola's) full potential and play as I am able to play? I put on my Roman boxing gloves. They used to be made out of leather, with metal studs added and were called cestus, to inflict greater damage. I am a boxing fan; a HUGE boxing fan. I may have to dig those bad boys out of storage, and strap 'em on, to take on PD or non-PD, that is the question, because "nobody puts Wolf in the corner." Metaphorically, of course, but for real? I wish, in my little brawler heart.

Wolf and I, playing William Walton's Viola Concerto in a windstorm. The rainstorm pictures didn't work so well. Wolf doesn't like water.

In all seriousness, this is fine. I'd much rather have this facing me than the horrible black sorrow of depression, the fear that all of life is ending and the mourning over the horrific cruelties we inflict on one another with so little thought, or worse, with so much planning and intention to do the greatest harm and evil possible. If life is to have any meaning it needs to be fought for and won hard. Every single day is a celebration, an ode to happiness, joy, a will to express ourselves the best that we are able to and to love one another freely and without reservation.

If I didn't have the challenges I have had previous to this moment, I would have nothing to say or express, nothing to sing or play or write about. This is my song and this is also what my Parkinson's Awareness has given me.