VEXED OR VENDICATED

Have you ever wondered if you're marching to the wrong drum?  Not doing something you should be doing, or worse, doing something you should not be doing?  Ever wonder why things happen the way they do?  Where did I mess up,  or what did I do to create such chaos in my life?  Why this?  Why that?  

Let me tell you about what it means when your brain has a tendency to have seizures.  Yep, seizures.  But before I do, let me tell you about my frenzied dreams.  I'm talking serious crazy stuff.......But,  I also wonder if they aren't more telling of my state of mind when the medication for seizures has been started, stopped, changed, or continued.

Last nights escapades started after three hours, but continued, after I had a "nature call" three times between midnight and 6:00 AM.  It went something like this...

I'm returning a large table which I had used for some unknown event,  to someplace,  over the state line into some adjacent state.  I'm driving a white van.....but, it operates like a mobile device "scooter" - sticks that go forward, backward, left, right.  No breaks.  It either goes really fast, or really slow.

I return the table without incident.  I return to my van scooter and mosey on into a large warehouse-like building that has a vendor displaying beautiful and classy looking blouses, tops, tunics, etc.  Hummm....... I decide I would go inside and try on a few.  The sales clerks were very nice.  Helped me try on several.  I twisted and turned and looked in the mirror at myself and after a while, I decided that they all were too long and made me look fatter than I already am.  I thanked the nice ladies and back into my van scooter and off I mosey.  - Literally.  Slowly and meticulously trying to find my way out of the building and onto a highway leading to home.  My van scooter had NO breaks.  I would push the stick forward and it sailed away.  I pulled the stick forward and it would slow down.  I pushed the other stick and it would go left. I pulled it and it would go right.  Frustration was setting in, big time.  Scared to death because I had no clutch OR breaks.  Out of control.

I managed to find my way back to the warehouse where there is a vendor selling mattresses.  I lay down on several trying to decide which was comfortable.  Some were, some weren't.  Some hard, some soft.  Then finally found the perfect one, but it was a king sized mattress.  Thought to myself, "why are you thinking about a king sized mattress?"  You don't have room for one and sold the one you had!  Stupid me.  So, I tell the man and go on my way.  He smiles and waves.

Somewhere in this maze of a warehouse, were boxes with shipping labels to Walmart stores in various locations.  I think, I probably shouldn't be buying a mattress from Walmart anyway.  I'm back on the road again.  Raining.  Pouring.  Frantic to get home.  So tired.  So scared.  So worried. 

I awake for the third and last time at 9:00 A.M.,  totally exhausted.  So spent.  So tired.  So wobbly with pain.  I grasp my way to the kitchen for my daily meds.   I know the drill.  Pain medication isn't an option for me.  Won't go there until I'm almost dead.   Two 650 mg. acetaminophen is my drug of choice.  "Three times a day, dammit!"  A direct quote from one doctor.

I've had at least three seizures in my life.  Two episodes,  I now recognize, had to have been seizures, but at the time, I was alone,  and didn't know any better.  Just knew I suffered from severe painful attacks and thought they resulted in my "fainting".   The third seizure left me incapacitated, incoherent, and exhausted and darn near scared my husband to death,  since he thought I was dead, or dying for sure.  Yep, the grand Mal.  Not a pretty sight!

As I thought about this, I wondered why I have had such difficulty in getting a medication that allows me to have a "normal" day.  One free of pain, free from becoming a walking, talking, zombie that can't remember squat,  but still will ward off the evil spirit that seems to dominate my life called "seizure tendency".  It ain't right.  Am I persecuted, vexed, tormented, grounded, in "time-out"?  Why did this momentous, life altering event start in my golden years?

 

I choose to believe I am firmly vilified, vindicated, approved of, and cherished.  Not angry, provoked, or troublesome.  I choose to have a life in spite of the seizures, not in lieu of them.  I choose to keep doing whatever is possible to help me to remain in the lives of those who want me there for being who I am, not for being what I am not.  Nobody, nobody can know what it is like until they have been there.  Nobody should decide,  other than doctors and patients, who takes any medication.  If cannabis oil would allow me to live a life free of seizures or tendency for seizures, then I want to go for it.  I would urge any parent to do the same thing for their child who has seizures.  It is life altering, life changing, and life threatening experience.

Does my dream have a meaning?  Am I seeking to get somewhere, in a slow moving, uncontrollable environment?  Am I trying to control circumstances where I should not have any control?  Do I have faith?  Am I a loony tune?  Am I lucky to be where I am today and have the life I do have?  You bet!

Cheers!

IT'S ONLY STUFF..........

As I have been slowly sifting through drawers, cabinets, manila envelopes, photos, and the like, my whole life has slipped through my mind. It's true we all need to de-clutter and downsize at some point in our lives, if we live long enough. 

It isn't easy packing up memories. Deciding what piece of furniture, what pair of trousers, coat, lamp or extra baking pan is far easier. You can think about that piece of furniture that you may hate anyway, and decide if you have room for it in your next home or apartment, or if you might could scavenge a new or "good as new" one with more style. You can try on the clothes to see if they still fit, and you can easily toss aside one of those extra casserole dishes. You may even think that you'll give up that favorite little trinket, souvenier, or some of the accumulated costume jewelry that isn't in vogue. 

But how do we declutter life and move forward into what will no doubt, be the remainder of your journey of life? How do you decide that all those beautiful greeting cards with special little notes written from the sender deserve to go to the trash bin as their final resting place? How do you give up those little notes scrawled so sweetly with "Roses are red, violets are blue..." Should we really need to keep that poem a dear friend gave us when we were going through a particularly hard time in our life and we stuck in our Bible? Or the hand written note from one of the children, just because he loved you and wanted to let you know.  

How about the sweet little china box that you picked up at the flea market because it was hand painted with roses. Can you really part with the beaded purse that your Mother used at your wedding a lifetime ago? The rhinestone jewelry that still shines and sparkles just like it did eons ago is just waiting for the highest bidder. All those pieces of sheet music from the very first piano lesson complete with the remarks from the teacher, from another time so long ago, will not make the cut. 

The sweet letter to the "Tooth Fairy", the newspaper clippings about special events in life, "Secretary of the Year" award, retirement clock, and the like will someday find their way into the trash. Wedding gifts, vacation pictures of a little girl at the Indian Reservation, small boys with swimming goggles and flippers on their feet and gifts or rememberences from the past that have been squirreled away for another day are all part of a life that has been filled with joy, sadness, hope for the future, and disappointments.  

Every item placed in a box destined to be stored, moved, sold, etc. represents a grieving process not unlike losing a member of your family. One hopes that the "things" that we thought have defined us would be cherished forever by those who love us, but realistically it is impossible. In reality, what defines us is how we lived our lives. All of the things we accumulate in life, for whatever reason, are a mosiac of memories that will forever be a part of us. But, we are remembered by how we lived our lives, not by what we have accumulated in life, whether it is wealth, beauty, or status in life. Love of family and friends and faith in everlasting life are the real measures of successful living. The "clutter" may represent what we thought was important, but it's only stuff.........

SATURDAY AFTERNOON ON THE SQUARE

I remember it vividly.    “Biggie” (my Big Momma Scott) struggling furiously with the many cords to her corset and perspiring profusely after her bath and powdering.  Every now and then, she’d stop and sit down in her old wooden rocker next to the window, fan herself and catch her breath.  Then she’d struggle to get up and start the process again and finally get the huge contraption all hooked and laced and then she threw over it all the remaining undergarments and then put on her prettiest flowered voile dress.   

I watched this process most Saturday afternoons during the mid – 1940’s when the courthouse square in my hometown was bursting with activity.  This was the day when everybody, town and country folks alike, made their way to the grocery stores, barber shops, department stores, “dime” stores, feed and seed stores, etc. and spent most of the day and into the early evening shopping and visiting with friends and neighbors and swapping stories.

I remember Momma saying, “You better hurry or we won’t get a good parking place”!  “Our” good place was in front of Harrison’s Drug Store.  That was absolutely THE best spot in town to us.   After all, you could get the whole block in from there.  If you looked to the left and looked hard enough, you could see Uncle Waitus’s red peppermint barber pole, Darling’ 5 & 10, United 5 & 10, and Ehrlich’s.  Then there would be Rosenberg’s, Harrison’s, and Elmore Berry’s grocery.  Then of course, the Citizens Bank. 

The process started immediately after noon dinner.  We would pile into Biggie’s old Ford and beat it to town!  Most of the time it would be just the three of us.  Biggie, Momma, and me.   But, sometimes, Tommie Faye and Buddy, my first cousins would be with us to liven up the crowd.  Then again, sometimes, Aunt Lucille and Donnie would come along.  That was a “buggy full” as Biggie would say! We’d find our coveted spot, park vertically and immediately open the doors to let in the cooler air.   I would get my dime from Momma, jump out of the car and be on my way up the sidewalk to the dime store to peruse the wares.   The counters were full of Tangee “Natural” lipstick, Blue Waltz perfume, Cody face powder, combs, hair barets, handkerchiefs, and of course, candy, all of which I could justify spending my money on if I had to.  But, usually, I’d hold on to it and “shop” since I had just started the process.

Up the sidewalk I’d go.  I’d probably stop in to say “hey” to Uncle Waitus.  I don’t think Momma liked for me to go in the Barber Shop where it was always full of men spitting tobacco in a nasty brass spittoon but I didn’t think it was nice not to speak to him so I would at least go in to speak to him while I was that far down the street.  He was always so nice anyway and took me “splurging” so many times.  I did love Uncle Waitus.  He was such a jolly man. 

I’d probably stop in Ehrlich’s and walk around looking at all the pretty hats and dresses.  The ladies were always so nice there.  There was a place in the back you could try on dresses that you could pull the burlap closed so nobody could see you in there.  It was small and hot.  Momma made most of my dresses during that time so I didn’t try on many dresses.  Neither did Biggie.  She would have had a real hard time in that hot spot dealing with that corset.  But she did buy hats in there sometimes.   Hats that always had little net veils that hung down over her eyes.   She didn’t wear the veils down much.  Mostly for funerals.   I'd get hat boxes from Ehrlich's sometimes for a Valentine Box for my class at school.  It would be a nice big, round box and we would cover it at school with red paper and cut out valentines from paper doilies and paste them on with glue from a bottle with a slanted rubber tip.  Mine always got hard and I couldn't get the glue out before the glue was used up!

Then on up the street to Rosenberg’s where they had very nice hats and dresses as well and ladies with bright red lipstick.  They always smiled and asked about Biggie and Momma.   Now, I’m back in front of the car again and see a whole flock of people around talking so I still have plenty of time to check out the drug store.   As you enter the door, on round wire racks are so many comic books that I have a hard time choosing which one I want to thumb through.  I don’t think Dr. Harrison likes the kids to stand there and look through the comics without buying one, but everybody always does.  I hate to do it.  I kind of search with my eyes like I’m looking for a particular one, pick it out of the rack, and quickly flip through the pages reading a fast as I can.    I decide not to push my luck and put it back in the rack and mosey on back to the perfume counter.  Now, that’s the best part of the whole store!  Well, the second best.   The beautiful blue bottles of Evening In Paris, crystal bottles of Windsong, Tigress, with a leopard cap, and others that just took my breath away.  I stood there and opened every bottle smelling the delicious aromas and dabbing a little on my wrist and behind my ears.     I smelled more like roadkill when I left than the glamorous movie star I was pretending to be. 

As I meander through the store, looking at the various potions, liniments, and latest elixirs and remedies for whatever ailed you, there is the massive soda fountain and what I really came in for all the time.  My dime still in my pocket, I announce to Dr. Wimberly, “Chocolate Milk Shake please”!  I sit down at the round wrought iron table on a black iron chair, sip the best milk shake in the whole wide world, and watch while the whole town comes parading by with almost the same agenda.  Except for maybe the comic books and milk shake. 

ALL THAT I AM...........

Today is the day my beautiful Mother would have celebrated her 100th birthday here on earth! Wow! What a party we would have had! 

It is said by some that Abraham Lincoln said of his birth Mother, Nancy Hanks, "All that I am or hope to be, I owe to my dear angel Mother." Well that's exactly how I feel. Now don't go saying ugly things 'cause you're surely gonna rile me up. I know, I know, I've got some things I need to work on and trust me, I'm working on them, but it's nothing that God didn't give me in the first place and that Momma didn't tell me to use to His glory. In fact, both my parents encouraged me to stand up for what I believed in as long as it was honest and lawful. 

Momma was a piece of work. No other way to say it. She loved her family, church, piano, laughter and friends. She would sit and play her piano all day long for you if you ask her to. Oh, and as a side note, she was a hairdresser or "beautician" as she called herself. She loved to make people look pretty or "feel" pretty whichever the case may be. 

She sang in the church choirs and was church pianist or organist almost all her life. She took me to Sunday School and Church all my life growing up. She nurtured me, disciplined me and loved me unconditionally. She was the note writer, the card sender, the cake baker, (although she hated cooking and often solicited my Dad to do the baking) the musician, and later in life, the artist, the bell ringer, choral singer, and the poet. She was all over the place doing good for whomever she could until blindness overtook her and her legs could no longer support her. She was a ray of sunshine where there was darkness at the nursing homes playing hymns and leading singing for those who had nothing to look forward to. And then when she moved to a retirement home, she looked like royalty at the antique grand piano at the Hermitage in Richmond, VA, where she softly played the favorites of the elderly souls while they waited for their meals in the beautiful old home. She was adored by everyone who knew her. She couldn't walk or see, but get out of her way, she had her electric wheel chair and she knew every nook and cranny of that huge building!

If I never do another thing in my life, I hope I will be able to touch the lives of as many people through the years as positively as my Mother did. 

Happy Birthday Momma! I'll see you when I get there! 

Oh yes, and I'm working on it!.......... I owe it to my Mother. 

Conservative Approach

 It isn't often that I set my alarm for 3:45 AM.  I'm nobody's sweetheart at that time of morning and would wake up the dead if they happened up on me brushing my teeth.  In any event, this morning I bounced out of the bed at the motel room after a very short night and gently as possible told my hubby it was time for him to take his shower and get ready to go. He was scheduled for out patient surgery at 7:30 AM and we had to be in the hospital by 5:00 for all the hoopla to start the ball rolling.  We arrived right on time.

Physicians, as a rule, don't seem to have much time or patience for small talk and trivial matters.  I understand that.  They're busy folks.  They have schedules and it's important to stay focused and keep up with all the details.  I don't expect them to remember personal stuff.  On the other hand, being compassionate is another whole ballgame.  Sometimes you just need a nod of approval, a hand on your shoulder, or a gentle smile to make things a little better.

Today, as the team was assembling to prepare my husband for surgery, the surgeon and the anesthesiologist conferred.  It was a pretty sobering moment when the anesthesiologist obviously was not comfortable about the sedation process because of my husbands other health issues.  The surgeon laid it on the line and told of the risks involved in putting him to sleep.  He then told of the alternative risks of not doing the surgery.  Both options we already had been told, but hearing them again at that moment in time in that room just 15 minutes prior to surgery definitely hit home.  My eyes filled with tears.  My husband said "Go ahead with the surgery".

In lay terms, the anesthesiologist decided to try to use a conservative approach first without putting a breathing tube down his throat, and if he ran into a problem with pain, then he would do that, but would try the other first so that was his plan.  The surgeon was good with that.  He would work fast!  Hope for no problems!  He then turned to me and reached down and gave me a big bear hug.  Oh how I needed that hug!  He smiled and said he would come out and find me when the surgery was over.   And he did!  Everything went well!  God is good!  We're going home!  

Unfortunately, so few students are going into the medical field today that worrying about compassion seems to be the least of our worries.  But that's another subject for another day....... 

WE'VE GOT IT ALL FIGURED OUT!

It was one of those blazing hot Sunday afternoon weddings, back in 1956 when we jumped into a borrowed car with tin cans tied to the back bumper and dead fish under the hood, and sped off down Highway 80 toward Adrian trying to outrun all our friends whooping and hollering after us. I was perspiring, not sweating mind you, in my conservative beige sheath going away outfit from Rosenbergs, complete with pill box straw hat and net veil, high heeled sandals, white gloves, purse, hose, etc. - you get the picture. This is mid 50's remember? 

Now, our lives had just been sealed into perpetuity! We had been sweethearts for as long as we could remember and now we were husband and wife and nothing could stop us! We had it made! We were invincible! Yeah! Go us! Atlanta bound! Whoopee! Look out world! Watch out, we're gonna knock your socks off! So, get out of our way........... And so it was that we headed off on our two day honeymoon to the Capitol of Georgia with $50!

We spent our first special night in Griffin, Georgia at the Peter Pan Motel. No joke. Sounds glamourous, huh? We drove into Atlanta and went to the wonderous Fox Theater and saw the stars in the ceiling and watched Bus Stop starring Marilyn Monroe. It was way more glamourous than the motel. Then, being the good granddaughter that I am, we visited my Grandmother in East Point for a while and then drove on to Jonesboro where we spent our second honeymoon night at the Wagonwheel Motel. Another one for the rich and famous. We chowed down on burgers, peanuts, cola, and chips and played the television as long as we felt we could spare the quarters. 

Alas, our two day honeymoon was coming to a close and we drove home on Tuesday with a total of $11 to last us until the next payday. Not too bad. Only problem was, we hadn't counted on the fact that we were losing a couple of days work.  Not to worry, we were in love so we'd figure something out. We returned the car.

Our first apartment was a tiny garage apartment right in town across the street from the very church where we married! Hubby could walk to work if necessary. Steep stairs led up to a living room, kitchen, bedroom and bath. What the heck, it was only $25 a month! It was grand! My best friends Mother made us some beautiful pink curtains for our bedroom. We bought new furniture "on time". We were in love right? We could do anything we set our minds to! We had it all figured out! Never mind we only made $25 a week........I had a job at the local hospital making $25 and hubby made $25 a week at the hardware store so, there you go! Ta Da!

Now, when this girl grew up, talking about birth control wasn't everyday conversation around my house, wasn't sold in the local supermarkets,  and God forbid you mentioned the word "sex" , or "pregnant" within a mile of the school grounds.    I expect you're beginning to get an idea where this is going................

Along about the first of October, I begin to feel like I could throw up my toenails. Actually I don't throw up. I just feel like I'm going to throw up, which is worse. It didn't take too long to figure out what the problem might be and I made an appointment with my local doctor who had no mercy for an 18 year never - been - there girl! He confirmed that I was indeed PREGNANT and that my pelvic joints could have an elephant, which really made me feel so at ease him, his nurse, and the world. He really had such a way with words, God rest his soul. 

Well, so much for having it all figured out. Of course, I couldn't work anymore because my head stayed over the toilet for three months, thinking I was going to throw up any minutes. Our sweet little garage apartment with those blasted steep stairs didn't sit too well with the whale I was turning into, so we had to move into another sweet little apartment which was just one floor and cost $35 a month - $10 more a month, mind you. We still had no car of our own remember, but still used the borrowed one of a family member as needed - which was all the time. I spent my days sitting in my Mom's beauty shop watching her roll up hair and giving perms and would go back to our apartment in time to make our meager dinner. We didn't have two pennies to rub together! Somewhere in the back part of my mind were ringing the words my Dad has said "what will you do if this or that happens"..when he was trying to convince me that we needed more time, education, and experience before we married. 

But we'd get together with our friends - some of whom were expecting like us - and play cards and laugh and have some fun at each others apartments occasionally. Yep, those were the days......

 

Blackberry Cobbler, Dance Halls, and Other Great Things

Here we are at the beginning of another summer where mosquitoes are big as buzzards waiting to bite me and snakes and other slithering creepy things are outside in the garden just waiting to “scare the hell of me” as my friend’s little five year old grandson said of a mouse once.

I can remember the time when going barefoot in the sandy dirt roads of southeastern Georgia and picking blackberries for a cobbler didn’t phase us kids.  Heck, we probably scared more rattlesnakes than we even knew existed, and I’m here to tell you, they grow ‘em big along the banks of the “Hoopie” and cotton fields in that neck of the woods!   

But “those were the days”!  Coleman’s Lake and McKinney’s Pond were the local hot spots for good fresh fish and seafood.  Everybody for miles around came to either place at one time or another and usually on the week-end.  Each place had their own huge dance hall complete with the gigantic record player which played the popular tunes of the day, 3 for a quarter.  On a week-end, there was standing room only usually and things were hopping!  Folks would eat till they nearly popped, then danced the night away. 

Both places had swimming pools with water so cold your lips would turn blue.    Both also had bowling alleys and skating rinks at one time or another.  Great places for families to spend Sunday afternoons after church or have family reunions.    How many kisses were stolen in the softly lighted dance floors?  How many “I love you’s” were spoken?  How many cars got in the ditch on the way home because they weren’t exactly looking at the road?  Ohhh yes, those were the days!

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we had that awesome kind of innocence and carefree lifestyle today?  Wouldn’t it be wonderful to go to Coleman’s Lake or McKinney’s Pond where you could leave your keys in the car and not worry that it would be stolen.  Your little kids could go into the restaurant and play the pin ball machine and think they were cool while their Mom and Dad were in the next room doing the “shag”.  Or the kids could all pile in the car and drive out for an afternoon of bowling or skating and swimming and be home by dark without their parents having a “hissie fit”.    Wouldn’t it?

And how about that blackberry cobbler?  Frozen blackberries just don’t cut it.  Those blackberries that come picked from the side of the road that your bloodied hands picked that had road dust and those little brown seed looking things on them that have to be washed good before you use them – now that what I’m talking about!  That’s blackberry cobbler.  With lots of sugar!  And real whipped cream out of one of those squirt cans.  Not cool whip!   There’s a difference, you know.