#ROW80 1ST QTR 2014 – POST 2 – MOTHER'S DAY

 

I really did try to let slip Mother's Day unnoticed; I truly did. Yet, with all of the well-wishers from friends and loved ones who know I have borne no children, it's rather hard for me to do. You see, twelve years ago this weekend, I was making funeral preparations for my own mother. I do believe I can be forgiven if I choose to let this one day of the year go by unnoticed.

Two pilots for parents and I loathe flying, but then, my father used to tell people he played the comb, when asked whose side had the musical talent. The answer: him; his ear was uncanny.

But to do so would be to steal the blessings of those who have chosen to honor me, as their mother, even if it is in just the spiritual sense. So, because I have spent part of this past year fighting for better medical treatment for a loved one, I recognize and honor his gift to me. Because I have spent part of this past year fretting and crying that a loved one would not return from the hospital, I recognize and honor his gift to me. Because I have spent much of this past year caring for and easing the fears of a loved one who does not always understand what is going on, and because I will protect and care for him unto his death, I recognize and honor his gift to me.

JC

I would do so for anyone I loved dearly and there are others among my scope who count so, but this one is the one whose health is worsening day by day, week by week. The one who is scared, but does not show it. The one who in many ways tries my patience, but still, for all of that, is loved all the more.You cannot quantify love, anymore than you can quantify infinity.

There is grace in this world, if we care to stop and quell our lesser natures and allow that balm into our lives. There is redemption in caring for our fellow beings that is not found in any work, avocation or pastime. When we realize that yes, we are all connected, as horrible as that may seem at times, and as much of a cliché it may sound, it is nonetheless, true. When we look into another's eyes, we see ourselves in some measure; we see our own mortality and we must not back away from that, because to do so is a supreme act of cowardice.

My time on this earth will end, as did my mother's; all too soon. I do believe though, that in her spirit and in her grit, determination and passion for life, I have come to fulfill the greatness my father wanted for me. In this, I have succeeded in my life. I've done two things for a living and done them quite well. I do this now, as I have always written. I am the person my mother wanted me to be and then some. I have her grit and her courage; her faith, fidelity and love that never dies. I have people around me who love me unreservedly and I love them in ways I could never have imagined; ways that are redemptive, caring, forthright and yes, at times, tough. But I will be forever grateful to the mother who taught me how to be one, even if the children I raise are not my own. Happy Mother's Day, Ma. I miss you so very, very much.

#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.

#ROW80 1ST QUARTER POST 4 – SUNDAY CHECK IN

O Hai!

Kind of looks like the inside of my head, except for the plastic guy. Okay, and except for all of the My Little Ponys. I think we should change "Sephiroth" to "Cthulhu" or "Zamorak," if "Cthulhu" isn't around. Did you ever notice how blasted hard it is to type "Cthulhu," and why in the Hell

can't we have a "Cthulhu" type quest in Runescape? Who do we have to pay off? Jagex? The Lovecraftian Archive?

  

So, what do I have to show for myself? I’m on cruise-control, so not much, this week. Another week older and a-deeper in debt, as the saying goes. I am in this weird kind of stasis, where one minute, I want to go like a bat out of hell, and then I am just fatigued beyond all reason the next minute. I can’t really concentrate very well when I’m in this state.

I had a bout of dementia when my sugar dropped the other night like I’ve never had before. And good ‘ol JC, being my wonderful man, talked me through it. When this happens, I know it’s coming and I just have to ride it like a rocket ship. Stuff starts seeming either too close, or this time everything was way far away and itty-bitty and had sped up. Sometimes, things slow down, and time drags. When this first happened, I had a psychotic break; it’s when I first manifested tremors that were noticeable, last March. But, hey! It’s all in my head; I’m just bipolar.

These “spells” last about 10 to 20 minutes and I remember them. They’re generally like Whee! Happy fun time! Except sometimes, I think I’m going to see God and I’m not so sure that I’m all ready to go, if you get my drift. But, everything starts making a kind of sense and I’m so damned hard-wired, that the cat, who is a chimera cat (ours is not QUITE as dramatic as Venus, but is similar)  and has the same colors and patterns as the rice cakes’ packaging and crackers’ packaging in my pantry, and the clock is always 4 minutes to midnight. I’m always watching “Numb3rs” on Hulu+ but sometimes, John Locke from “Lost” is on “Numb3rs” or Charlie Eppes from “Numb3rs” is on “Lost” and the dish towels are the same color as the uniforms of the football players on the TV that JC is watching and the jewels on “Bejeweled” always form a match 3 endlessly, until the sugar kicks in, and everything goes back to normal.  

Unless of course, there is ONE thing that is different. Then, I become immediately confused and don’t know what to do and all hell breaks loose. Not really, I just don’t know what to do and I can get panicked. That hasn’t happened in a while. The great thing is, I know if I eat something with sugar, I’ll be okay pretty quickly, but this is so exhausting. I’m not a diabetic, but this can’t be good for a body. My pulse races; my heart rate has gone as high as 120 and is high anyway. I’m lucky my cholesterol and blood pressure are low. I don’t want to start ranting about the medical community; what good is that going to do?

Governor Rick Scott - Beelzebub Party

"The Church Lady" from "SNL" would love this...

I do have one bit of lovely news. Florida Governor Rick Scott (R) is going to be the recipient of a gala jamboree-type rally being held by the Florida Association of Satanists, as they are named and in front of the Governor’s residence! No word on whether or not Twinkle-Toes is going to attend. I hope my invite is in the mail and I know; this is just too delicious for words! Maybe Governor Sparkle can sprout him some horns and hooves, eh? No, he already had them surgically removed; I’m confused. I just love the fact that there is a group of kooks out there who will embrace his charming personage. Maybe ol’ Scratch is collecting his debt early, hmm? 

Well, Microsoft bitches, it’s on. Blogger is still fucked up. Only it’s like a bad electrical problem in the wiring of my house, or maybe it's gremlins. It sure as hell isn't evil and it isn't mediocre on the best of days My work around is this: quit stalking me all over the fucking internet and I will quit telling everyone about what shitty software you write and foist on the world. You and I know that you write and push crap and that goes for all of your hardware “partnerships” and I oh wait, I lied. I don’t want your “15 minutes of  free tech support.” Don’t insult me. I shit better code than you ever did with a hangover when I was in school, writing QuickBasic. The logic hasn't changed, just your stupid bloated insecure crappy-ass bullshit. Your partners-in-crime, Oracle and Java with their beans got their asses in trouble. It's enough I use your shit. Quit bothering me on every goddamned website I visit. Go haunt someone who doesn't know their asses from their elbows and leave me the hell alone. Write a slimmed-down OS with no dancing baloney and shiny shit and I might actually write some apps.

I’m having too much fun with my new merry band of complainers. Some of us use IE (I don't even have IE on my system; that's some insecure shit right there,) some use FF, some use Chrome, we all use Blogger, which is probably a big mistake, right there. I started out all by myself, then I got like 45 new friends! I was so excited! Yay! And we were all bitching about the same thing… kind of. But, the point is, there are lots of random outbursts and asides. I notice the Blogger wizards are just as clueless as the people there to get help, so I seem to have found a new source of entertainment! Yay.

This week will probably see more cruise control, with a post about friendship and what it means. It turns out it means what we’re willing to invest in our lives. So, what does life mean to us? Rhetoric, I know. But I wrote lots of rhetoric in college and won awards for my writing. I never won awards for rhetorical living, though. Now, I’m trying to put all of the writing about into doing; it is not as easy as it sounds.