Trumpian Travesty

Wednesday March 28, 2018

Wow. It has been a coon's age since I blogged. I recall that I freaked myself out by insinuating that I had been molested as a child. Yes, I was. More than once. It made my brother's death so conflicted. One one hand it was heart-breaking. On the other it was a relief. And that's all I'm going to say about that today. I may address it again another time.

The country is in a quandary these days. Donald Asshole Trump is the President of the United States. Two years ago this would have been the title of a major joke. Unfortunately it is the truth. He has been in power for just over a year and I say it that way as he has done everything possible to turn his presidency into an oligarchy and has succeeded for the most part. He is in cahoots with Russia, who helped him get elected and continue to interfere with our government and country. The daily stress of it is sometimes overwhelming. People are seeing therapists in droves to attempt to cope better with the whole thing. It isn't helping.

I feel so very alone that it just breaks my heart some days. I have a good buddy I met ten plus years ago who lives in San Jose, CA. She and I have bonded for the most part, but she does this thing once in a while where she checks-out of the friendship. I think I must overwhelm her. I dunno. I'm trying not to take it personally. It's just kind of hard when she announces to me that she has deleted Facebook and needs to take a break for her own "moods" etc. Then she is on FB that same evening posting away and checking back into messenger to see what's there. I know I am intense. Always have been. Just wish I had someone who could tolerate my intensity and not feed into my abandonment issues.

I have a lovely cousin that I've never met. Perhaps she would be someone good to establish more contact with. I dunno.

Anyway, I am currently working at Oak Grove Church preaching every other week and also being an on-call chaplain for CHRIST US Santa Rosa Hospital. Hoping to get a call for interview at a hospice as I need more money than I am currently earning.

Coming of Age in The Age of Aquarius

I turned thirteen in San Diego, California. It was July 1967. The Summer of Love. My best friend's parents invited me to go with them to a convention her father was attending. We drove from Michigan to California in a small, yellow VW Bug. Her mom was real cool and she let me pick-out a birthday frock. It was decidedly a hippie dress. A gathered top with wide sleeves and a wide flowing short skirt in a multi-colored print like a water-color. I loved it. Her dad hated it and so would my mom. I also had my first peck of a kiss by a boy in an elevator. We had met some other kids my age and he was part of the group. To celebrate my birthday we went to eat at my new favorite restaurant, LOVES's BBQ Rib House. It was a meaningful and exciting July for me. A brand new teenager on the brink of my own "Magical Mystery Tour" as the Beatles continued to write the sound-track to my youth. 

A few short weeks after our return to Michigan the 12th Street Race Riots broke-out in downtown Detroit. My Aunt Mildred still lived down there on Butternut Street. Her daughter, my cousin, Audrey and I were tasked to go down to rescue her from the dangerous situation. It was indeed dangerous and very scary. As we drove down Trumble Ave. to 'Bean-Town" we could see the looting going on and fires being set; people running and yelling; police unsure of what to do other than to turn-on all their squad flashers. We parked in front of her apartment building almost afraid to get out except that we wanted to get Millie out of there and head back to the safety of the suburbs. We ran inside and helped her pack a few things; as looters ran across the back porches of her apartments going wild. Jimi Hendrix put out his "Are You Experienced" album that year and I was sure starting to feel like I was getting some. Perhaps a little more than I wanted in such a short amount of time.

The rest of the summer lazed-on-by. I got my first serious case of urticaria or hives. The doctor wasn't sure if it was because we played in the woods behind the house or due to nerves because of the trauma I'd been though during the first part of the year. He put me on Benadryl which caused me to sleep a lot. It was a pink haze rather than a "Purple Haze." That would come later.

The year wouldn't let-up. Otis Redding should have stayed "Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay" as he was killed in an airplane crash which further broke my little brother's heart as he loved that song. I didn't have a dock to sit on, but I managed to waste a lot of time as I had just left elementary school and started Junior High School at Haston. There I would learn that I hated Physical Education class and almost understood what a blow-job was. A creepy pedophile that we called "Flat-Top" used to drive around the school and pick-up boys to drive with him and perform this act for money, cigarettes and candy. I wasn't real sure what was going on, but I knew for sure that it was not good and the boys shouldn't have been going with him. I watched closely after my little brother and carefully walked him to the bus. 

I suffered under the tutelage of our Phys. Ed. teacher, Miss G. for the next couple of years. She was determined to get me to become a competitive jock. She used old school methods like throwing medicine balls into the middle of my stomach and knocking the air out of me to holding my head under the water to make me unafraid of drowning. It didn't work. I became terrified and no longer just afraid. To this day I have an irrational fear of water. I was so very happy to be moving onto high-school until I learned that she too was going to transfer and become our high-school PE teacher. I ended-up having her for another four years of "fun" in the sun; in the locker-room; and in the pool. She did teach me the rules and plays of baseball for which I am very grateful. I love my Detroit Tigers. The Beatles turned-out "All You Need is Love" which would become my elusive goal in life. Love. 

Religious Rediculousness

My mother was a died-in-the-wool member of the Church of Christ. Yes, the one where they don't use musical instruments in their worship; teach girls not to dance; wear make-up or otherwise dress suggestively and most importantly that women have no place in worship other than to sit quietly and sing when appropriate. Women are not even allowed to teach Sunday School to male children over the age of 12. Imagine my shock when I spent my life going three times per week: Sunday morning, Sunday evening and Wednesday evening and any other time the doors were open only to realize in my early teens that I was a non-person. It didn't sit well with my personality, to say the least. 

I went though. I had no choice. Mother told me I "had" to go until I was sixteen years old and then I could make my own decision to continue to not. I did not. There were moments that I recall as precious. The Acapella singing was really quite beautiful. I was in choir at school and in the Madrigal Acapella singing group in high-school. I did love the singing. I remember as a small child playing with an old ladies hat pins as we sat behind her in church. I remember looking at the beautifully carved pews with grapevines and leaves on the end posts. I also remember being taunted and teased and looked-down-upon because I was the daughter of a poor, blind widow. Youth are viscous regardless of where you find them. It wasn't just the youth though. The adults saw our family with eyes of pity. One cannot ascribe to feeling like a worthwhile person when pitied to the extent that we were. 

Anyway, all of this is to say that Bruce was slung around the baptismal font like a toy on the end of a stick. He had been converted and baptized Catholic on the battlefield in preparation to marry Barbara in the Catholic Church. I supposed he did have some modicum of hope while he was there. Barbara and her family scheduled a Rosary to be said at the funeral home and as they were all gathering on their knees in front of the casket, mother made Gary and I leave and go downstairs to the lounge. She did not want us to bear witness to something so foreign to her. I guess she was afraid that we too might "catch" Catholicism and go to hell. 

The Church of Christ people think they are the ONLY religion that will give entry into heaven. You've heard the joke: Guy dies and goes to heaven. St. Peter gives him the tour and when they reach a big meeting room he tells the guy to be real quiet as the Church of Christ people are in there and they think they're the only ones in heaven.

Next day she had a full mass said for Bruce at Divine Child Catholic Church. They took the casket over to the church so we stayed home that day. I seriously regret that we did not get to go. Now that I'm over 60 I know that I would have been blessed by that service as I am spiritually exhilarated and soothed by High Church. Of course I didn't know that then and didn't want to be the source of causing my mom more discomfort as she acquiesced to Barb's needs as his finance.

So the expectations and local mourning were over in Dearborn Heights, MI and it was time to take his body to Tennessee for burial. Mother would not consider flying so she rode in the car with her brother, Howard, and his wife - the one that hated us. My oldest brother, Clyde, stayed with Gary and I until the next morning when we three flew in our first airplane ride. It was quite exciting really. Although, in a funeral climate we had to keep ourselves contained. 

We arrived at Aunt Effie's house, mom's sister in Clarksville, Tennessee. Mom was ensconced in the rocker looking medieval in her black mourning clothes and head-down. I know she was hurt. I know she was devastated. I don't necessarily begrudge her the drama. Only that in hind-sight we experienced the sadness and a depth of despair that was not healthy for two young children to live with for years to come. It destroyed our family. Totally destroyed it. 

After another little country Church of Christ funeral, we buried him next to my father with my mother's future grave in between them. There was the flag ceremony; the 21 gun salute; the bugle playing taps...the whole military nine yards. It was ever so sad. I do not recall going back to Michigan, but I know we did fairly quickly as we needed to get on with life. It was the worst of times and it was the worst of times. Somehow we survived. 

The Funerals Went on Forever

PFC Bruce E. Bowers was born on January 20, 1945 and died on April, 17, 1967. It took seven days for my brother's body to arrive home from Vietnam. It was a long week. As he was the first boy to be killed in our little town of Dearborn Heights, it was big local news. A reporter came from the Dearborn Press and Guide and borrowed his military photograph to reprint with the article. Mother was still lying on the sofa as though she were faint and I suppose she really was. He sat in a kitchen chair next to her and they spoke. I have no recollection of seeing the article or what it might have said. I'm sure I did, but some details have been lost in a bad memory.

I chose to go back to school while we waited for the Army to return his remains. It was awkward for everybody, my teachers, my classmates, the kids on the bus. However, I simply couldn't stand sitting around the living room with mother as though somehow things might be o.k. again once we saw his body and verified that his death was real. Nothing would ever be o.k. again as far as Vietnam was concerned. Nothing would be o.k. again as far as Bruce's death was concerned. 

Then. That fateful day when his casket arrived at the Voran Funeral Home on Ford Road in Dearborn Heights, Michigan. Oh. My. God.

It was a Sunday and so we had all gone to church. We always went to church. Always. Three times per week on the average and more if the doors were open. Dearborn Valley Church of Christ. Ugh. Anyway, that's another story for another time. Somehow everyone in church and in the city had arrived at the funeral home before we had. If they were looking for a tragic bit of drama they had come to the right place. It was horrific. So much for family privacy back then or even now. There was a HUGE audience for what would come to be embedded in my memory forever more.

There were so many people there that they had to open at least one and maybe two viewing rooms to hold them all. I think the local florists made a whole lot of money that week as there had to have been over 200 pots and sprays of flowers. The fragrance nearly floored me with nausea. Fifty years later and my stomach still lurches at the smell of fresh cut flowers. The morticians abroad had encased his body in glass within the casket to avoid a more rapid deterioration and the smell that would have come from that given the length of time he had been dead. 

We came in as a "family" and made our way to the front of the mass of people and approached the casket. In her legal blindness, our mother began to feel the silky lining and attempted to find his body with her hands. She discovered the glass and began yelling "I can't see him!!! I can't touch him!!! It's too dark!!! I CAN'T SEE HIM!!! Why is this glass here??!" She tried to reach beneath the leg area of the box hoping to touch his leg. Glass. Completely encased in glass. The funeral directors scrambled to fetch a couple of pole lamps to light the area better, thinking this might help. It did not. She could not see her baby; nor could she touch him. She collapsed onto the casket and begin a loud, pitiful, Irish wailing. The people got what they had come for. As they all sat in rows upon rows of chairs, her tragic pain, which was deeper than her very soul, was on full display. It was nearly unbearable for all to witness, but not more so than for myself and my young brother, Gary.

We were standing behind our mother who had all but lost total control of her grief. We held hands and were scared. Someone gave the signal for our first cousins to come forward and stand with us. It was an internal signal on their part and I am still grateful. I was close to my cousin Audrey at the time; the daughter of my dad's sister, Mildred. She came and took me in her arms and I wept. Great heavy sobs of weeping for the pain my mother was in. Our oldest brother, Clyde, flew home from Milwaukee to be there and our first cousin, Johnny, came to stand with Gary. He was the son of my mother's brother, Howard. Johnny's mother was the aunt who lived down the street and deplored us. Anyway, my memory is getting messy here. I can't seem to help it, so I'll just keep typing. Our first cousin, Susie, the daughter of my dad's sister, Mae, was there and my first cousin Shirley, the daughter of my dad's sister, Ora.

 

The cousins decided to get us out of Dodge. Thank God. Audrey, Shirley, and Susie took me out to the car and we drove to McDonald's where the very thought of food made me want to throw-up. I have no idea where my brother and Johnny took Gary. I suspect he was a bigger handful than I as he was closely bonded to Bruce and this was just too much for him. Luckily our oldest brother was a clinical psychologist and I suppose he knew the best way to deal with shock and unfathomable grief. My Uncle Howard, Johnny's father and mother's only brother stayed with Mom and somehow the day eventually ended and mother went quietly to bed. I wouldn't be surprised if someone arranged for a sedative which she would have never take under any other circumstances. Sadly, this was only the beginning of another week of hell on earth. A Rosary, a Catholic Mass and a Protestant Funeral to come.

Then there was Vietnam

The next several years our country would be shocked and saddened to watch on television the assassinations of President JFK; Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King. I was a bit too young to understand beyond the horror that I saw in my mom's face as she sat on the floor in front of the t.v. It was the first time that I considered the world outside of our home to be unsafe, but wouldn't be the last by a long shot.

My brother, Bruce was nine years older than I. He was not very nice to me. In fact, he was seriously pretty abusive to me. I can't go there. No. I just can't and won't. However, he didn't really deserve to be killed in Vietnam, but he was. The war was heating up in 1965 and '66. He had thus been able to maintain a deferment as the sole support of our family. He went to college for a semester and realized it wasn't his forte. He sensed he would probably be drafted soon with his revised status as A-1; so he went out one day to various recruiting offices to try and discover which branch might be best for him. His draft notice from the Army was in the mailbox when he returned. 

Off to Basic Training he went. He proposed to Barbara just before he left and gave her a diamond engagement ring. As he cleaned out his car trunk he gave me his John Lennon sun-glasses and his mood ring, then told me to get lost. 

He came home on leave for Christmas with marching papers to Vietnam. One Sunday morning he sat down in Mom's swivel-rocker to shine his boots. Mom was standing in the kitchen a few feet away. He said to her: "Well, Mom...in about a year you should be a rich lady." She knew he was talking about death benefits and she scolded him. He said if it wasn't for Barbara he wouldn't mind going to fight for our country. He soon shipped out to An Khe, Vietnam, part of the central highlands region, as an Army ground troop. 

The story is that after the first week or so he twisted his ankle. He had always had trouble with his ankles. He was put-on KP duty for six weeks so it could heal. They sent him back out into the field Monday night and he was killed Monday night, April 17th, 1967. Apparently he was helping a buddy cross a body of water. He'd always been a good swimmer. Our oldest brother, Clyde, made sure he learned at the YMCA as a boy. His buddies gun went off and shot him. We never knew where the bullet entry was. My Uncle Howard, Mom's brother, had to scold the soldiers who accompanied his body home as they had conflicting stories. He told them to decide on one to tell his mother. This was it.

To say this was a horrible time in my family's life is a major understatement. It began early one morning when the doorbell rang and a soldier dressed in a brown military uniform stood there trying to tell my mother that her son had been killed in Vietnam. She screamed at him to GO AWAY as she didn't believe it was true. She asked me to look at him and tell her what he looked like. I described the uniform. He asked her if there was someone else he might talk to. Mom told me to run down the street and get my Aunt Garnetta. I ran like the wind and caught my Aunt in her kitchen. I was breathless as I told her something had happened to Bruce, a man was at the house and mom wanted her to come right away and she did. Life stopped as my Aunt began making phone calls to relatives and friends while my mother just collapsed on the sofa and wailed.

Eventually, that evening, I was allowed to walk down the street to my best friends house. Signe answered the door and I told her Bruce was dead. She had no idea what to say so went into her dad's room where he was napping. He called me in and I told him. He took me in his arms and held me as I cried and cried and cried. I didn't see Signe again for months. I guess she was deemed too young to be exposed to such life tragedy. Too young indeed. I was 12. Bruce was 22. Our youngest brother, Gary, was 11 and he took it so hard that he would never recover from the loss.

Touched by Desegregation

My mother was the ultimate pragmatist. In 1963 she bought a small house in a good neighborhood in Dearborn Heights, MI. We moved-in right down the street from her younger brother and his family who had lived down the street from us in Detroit as well. I would later learn the depth of my Aunt's disdain for us. She saw my mother and us as a burden that she wanted no part of. But, I digress.

I started elementary school and felt out-of-place from the start. The other kids had socks that matched their outfits and fancy shoes. We were poor. I had little. Lucky for me our country was on the brink of a social revolution and soon enough my blue jeans, tee-shirts and flip-flops were the style. 

Apparently I showed an early talent for speaking in front of a crowd. From about 3rd grade on I was the designated announcer at our elementary school plays and concerts. I wanted to sing, but they said they needed me to announce. It was mostly because my mother was blind and they figured she would be able to hear my voice if it were solo. She didn't much care though. Getting her to attend a concert was difficult at best. I think she had a great social anxiety and perhaps it was connected to her blindness. I don't know.

In fourth grade we were "bused" to another elementary school within the district. It had something to do with the Roe vs. Wade issue; Racism and The Civil Rights Movement. It confused me a lot because there were ONLY white people in the new city that we had moved to. What did our being bused down the street have to do with desegregation? I suppose the district needed to be in compliance and so we went.

The next year we were back at our home campus where it was close enough to walk. I only have glimpses of memory from 5th and 6th grade. I had an intense desire to learn to play an instrument. Mom said we couldn't afford it. Another great desire of mine was to be in the Girl Scouts which was also met with mother's denial due to finances. She raised us on about $400. per month from my father's social security check. She could have gotten government assistance, but she refused saying it was "for people who really needed it." She had an Appalachian dignity and pride that would not allow her to confess that we could have easily and legally had a little bit more in life. She was true to her convictions and stubborn as heck. We went without.

I Blame It On Jimmy Hoffa

My father died when I was five years old. It was March 9, 1960. I was right there. He had a heart attack while sitting on the toilet. I watched my mother carry him out of the bathroom on a blast of adrenaline. She laid him on the sofa while she went to call an ambulance. She was blind and could not see that I was standing next to my daddy's head patting his cheeks and trying to get him to wake-up. He didn't wake-up. I smelled poop and yelled to mom that daddy had just soiled himself. It's what the body does when it dies. Mom shooed me away and the men in white coats came to put him on a wooden stretcher and carry him out the door for the last time. I blame Jimmy Hoffa.

We lived in a small Victorian house on Perry Street in Detroit, Michigan. The house might have been called a "Painted Lady" had my parents selected different colors to paint it other than white and green. The Teamster's Union was about 600 feet away from our house at the end of the road and across Trumble Ave. Somehow my dad had started going over there to sit around with "the boys" and chew the fat. Soon after Jimmy started parking his car in front of our house asking that we keep an eye on it. He later started parking it in our backyard for closer security. 

My mom and dad and oldest brother were born in Montgomery County, Tennessee. They moved to Detroit in 1942 so dad could work in the Automobile Industry. He eventually bought a gas station across the street from Briggs (Tiger) Baseball Stadium. My younger brother, in diapers, and I helped our dad "flag-down" fans to park in his station for a few pennies during baseball games.

The night he died, he and mom were headed-up to the gas station because there was something wrong with the books. My dad could not read, write or do arithmetic. My mom kept the books. Dad had been doing auto repair and such for Jimmy Hoffa and his "buddies" and somehow things started to get messed-up. Dad was very stressed-out. On the way to the station he began to feel poorly and they came back home. Then he died.

I'll always remember the day, years later, when Jimmy Hoffa went missing. My mom watched the newscast and when it was over she turned around and said: "You know, I never did like that man." Apparently others did not either.

We continued to live on Perry Street until 1963 when mom received what my brother called "The Mafia Payoff." Hoffa managed to buy her house for three times what it was worth so the Teamster's Union could build a parking lot there and they did. We moved to the suburbs in the blossoming time of "White Flight." The Civil Rights Movement was in full-swing by then.

The Christmas before we moved out of Detroit my older brother, Clyde, bought me a BLACK Chatty-Cathy doll. My mother's reaction was to ask: "Clyde, what do you mean?!" He bought that doll for me because he knew that I would love it, cherish it and care for it in a tender way, regardless of the color of her skin, and I did. She disappeared when we moved to the suburbs, but nearly 50 years later my first grandchild would be half black and half white. Oh, don't get me started on how much I love, cherish and care for that child! I also cherished my older brother, Clyde, who throughout the years managed to interject opportunities like this for me to grow beyond my upbringing. He was my hero, my father-figure, my big brother. 

"On Death and Dying"

So. I am a hospice chaplain for over sixteen years now. That's what I know about. So I'm going to focus there, methinks. I offer healing to those who begin their journey toward death. I am a death-doula. What is a Doula?  The word 'doula' comes from the ancient Greek meaning "a woman who serves" and is used here to refer to a trained and experienced professional who provides continuous physical, emotional and informational support to dying persons and their loved ones before, during and just after death; or who provides spiritual, emotional, and practical support during the death and dying process. It is what I do well and I love my work immensely.

I am often asked how it is that I came to work in hospice. It all started a very long time ago. Probably when I was four or five, but I'll get there another time. Professionally, it started at the Medical School Graduation ceremony of my first cousin, Dr. John D. Hall. I recently ran across the invitation to that event in all my "stuff" and wanted to put it aside to keep. Alas, the Memorial Day Floods in San Marcos, Texas took care of that idea. Most everything I once owned is now a memory.

It was in the early 70's or maybe 1969 as best I recall. We went to honor my cousin's hard work and there I heard a women tell me what my life's work would be. Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, M.D. was the keynote speaker that day; at the Wayne State School of Medicine in Detroit, Michigan. She had just finished writing her ground-breaking book "On Death and Dying" and gave charge to those new doctors by reminding them that although they had just spent years studying the human body and how to make it well, there would come a time when there would be nothing left to do which would contribute to a continued life of quality. At that time, she imperatively stated, (and I para-phrase) I want you to be brave and bold in having a conversation with your patients to inform them that end-of-life was approaching.

"Dr. Kubler-Ross was born July 8, 1926 and died August 24, 2004. She authored the groundbreaking book On Death and Dying and 23 other books, published in 34 languages. She is widely recognized for her compassionate care of the dying and advocacy to improve care for the dying and the grieving.

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, M.D. was a Swiss-born psychiatrist, a pioneer in Near-death studies and the author of the groundbreaking book On Death and Dying(1969), where she first discussed what is now known as the Kübler-Ross model. In this work she proposed the now famous Five Stages of Grief as a pattern of adjustment. These five stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. In general, individuals experience most of these stages, though in no defined sequence, after being faced with the reality of their impending death. The five stages have since been adopted by many as applying to the survivors of a loved one’s death, as well.She is a 2007 inductee into the National Women’s Hall of Fame. She was the recipient of twenty honorary degrees and by July 1982 had taught, in her estimation, 125,000 students in death and dying courses in colleges, seminaries, medical schools, hospitals, and social-work institutions. In 1970, she delivered the The Ingersoll Lectures on Human Immortality at the University of Harvard, on the theme, On Death and Dying."

The last two paragraphs were taken from her website which you can google using her name. I have all but forgotten my writing skills in terms of giving references. I will brush-up on that and do better.

Listening to her speak was enthralling to me. I was spell-bound. My heart was saying: "Yes, that is what I want to do. I want to work with death and dying." I had no idea how one went about such a thing. I was taking a few classes at Henry Ford Community College, but had no direction in mind. It would be many years before it all came full-circle and I would step into the field as someone who was meant to be there.

I got the Musings in Me!

I suspect several have tried to use my title for their own blogs. I've seen the word "Musings" thrown around here and there. Sorry, chaps. I got here first. It happens. Rarely to me, but it happens.

How time flies when you're crazy living and trying not to die. We've moved so much it's just not even believable to myself anymore. Had a sprinkler go-off in our apartment in San Marcos. Flooded 1/2 the place. We lost some stuff. So we moved into a house on Barbara Drive in San Marcos and nearly died in the San Marcos Memorial Day Flood. Long story short: we all survived by the hair of our chinny-chin-chins and we lost nearly everything we owned. So. We moved to Kyle, TX where we are being eaten alive by fire-ants and the neighbors are like two year olds raising children. Methinks there just isn't an ideal place for us to live, that we can afford.

Three weeks after the flood my oldest son, Greg, had a second pneumothorax. His lung collapsed. He has a surgery to resection the lung and attach it to the chest wall. I lost my job. Three weeks later the other lung collapsed and he had a second surgery. Then he lost his job. A little stress there. Still reeking havoc with our daily living and finances. To say the very least.

I have a great new job. Working for TLC Hospice of Austin. So far, I love it.

San Marcos, Texas 2013

San Marcos, Texas

We just moved to San Marcos. My oldest son, Greg, has lived here already for a few years to finish his degree. We were living in a great house in South Austin and hoped to live there for 4-5 years. The landlord said it sounded great to him when we moved in. Then his girlfriend graduated UT and they decided to move back into the house! We got 30 days notice. It was a verrrrry hectic move. I fell and hurt my knee and leg very badly, yet had no choice but to continue moving until the move was done. I'm paying for it now and will for the rest of my life, I'm sure. Landlord wanted us out asap. Laura, my daughter, was due to deliver her third baby at the same time and she did. So we ran from schlepping boxes to the hospital and back and forth. Not to mention having nobody else to watch the first two children but Atam and me as we worked. Anyway, I bitch and believe me with good reason!

We were forced to move into an apartment as nobody wanted to rent their house to a lady recently unemployed. Don't really blame them, although, I can still pay rent. Thanks be to God. I do not like apartment living. At all. 

However, we now have FOUR little girls!!  My son, Keith, and his wife, Shalyn, gave birth to Danielle Marie about 8 weeks ago and Laura had Iriana Alea during the move. So, Marley Renae and Kamia Jade have company. Although, Keith, Shalyn and Danielle live in VA while he serves our country and a Sergeant in the Army. I have yet to meet Danielle! :-(

Enough of an update for now. I plan to get back here and try to be interesting and worthwhile for others to read. We shall see. 

2012 October

We moved down to South Austin. It's working for now. Kamia started school. Not a very good school. :-(  She loves it though and is learning by leaps and bounds. Marley is starting to walk. Laura is pregnant again and this one may have Down's Syndrome. :-(

Keith and Shalyn have been married for two years now and she is pregnant. They are expecting a girl in February. So excited!

I'm working at River City Hospice. It's a good job, but the bullshit is still here too. I really am looking forward to retirement. Seven more years, if I'm lucky.

I wish I could say that life is holding hope and promise for me. It isn't. I'm close to giving-up all together. Not depression speaking, simply my reality.

Two years later...

Nonsense how long I have been attempting to keep this blog. Honestly.

Kamia, Laura, Adam and inutero Marley live with me. Makes for some noisy, crazy, chaotic moments. I'm getting too old for this.

I am working with Angel Cheatham again at a hospice, River City Hospice in South Austin. I am thinking about renting something down south if I still have this job in 7 months.

Health concerns abound.

That is all.

OMWord. It's been a long time.

It's June 19th, 2009

It's been a long time since I blogged here. I suppose now would be a good time to pick it up again. Need to read what I've written thus far first.

And life is new again...

My life seems to change a lot from one six month period to the next. I'm thinking I'll come back to this blog and do my journal work. Biggest change? Kamia Jade.

Body-for-LIFE

"Winning is not normal and those who constantly win follow an ‘abnormal’ path. The discipline, dedication and sacrifices are incomprehensible to those thousands standing outside, looking in, who are capable of joining the winning team, yet unwilling to pay the price of admission. Winners win in a fair effort, on a level playing field, because they deserve to win... they willingly pay their dues in full, time after time, after time." ~ author unknown - found on Body-for-LIFE website www.bodyforlife.com go to "success tips: then click on "weekly messages: and then click on: week 1. I did a google search and found one other reference, again stating author unknown.

Body-for-LIFE

Goals:

1. Within 12 weeks, I will lose 30 pounds of fat by an average of 2.5 lbs per week.

2. Within 12 weeks, I will gain muscle.

3. Within 12 weeks, I will build stamina.

4. Within 12 weeks, I will easily and positively change my lifestyle.

5. Within 12 weeks, I will increase my overall health.

Why?

When I look at myself in the mirror these days I do not like what I see. I see a middle aged, out-of-shape, FAT woman. I want to see a middle aged, in-shape, beautifully HOT woman! Deep down inside I still feel like the same woman I’ve always been, but I used to be thin and very attractive. I can sense the responses of people to my body shape now and it does not match the way I used to look. I guess it’s historical thinking gone wild. I’m no longer the thin Sharon I used to be and want to be again. I am confident, but I am not energetic nor physically strong. However, I do pride myself on being emotionally, mentally and spiritually strong, therefore, I have the tools I need to succeed in this endeavor. I know that I am absolutely on the right path in most areas of my life except for physical health. If I do not lose 40 pounds and increase my overall health, I am going to begin to suffer from heart disease related illnesses and die sooner than is necessary. I would like to create a brighter, healthier future. I would like to change my lifestyle into a healthier one. I want to look like I choose a healthy lifestyle by having a nice, attractive body to house my mind and soul. I want to become more attractive to men and to other people in general which I believe will increase my credibility and level of respect from others, but most importantly from ME, myself and I!

Finally, an update.

It's time to start living the life you've imagined. -- Henry James

John Lennon's "Imagine" just came to mind.
The life I imagined...? My, my but it turned out differently than I imagined. In some ways more spectacular than I had the capacity to imagine in my youth. In some ways disappointingly different than I'd always hoped. I never planned to raise my children alone, but I think I did o.k. anyway. I never planned to have a "career" or "vocation" with the honor of working within the lives of others the way I am privileged to do. Ah, well. I digress from diet and exercise.

I NEVER planned to be 35-40 lbs overweight! My tall, thin momma always caused me to assume that I'd look just like her my whole life. Of course she was flat-chested and I'm not and we always wondered where the bouzzies came from. Looking at photographs of my paternal grandmother with her D cups and 50-75 extra pounds should have told me something, but I wasn't listening.

So. I have the same choice I had when I originally signed onto CK. Lose it or weep. I've been so blessed to watch my buddy, Char, methodically go about losing her weight and have been amazed at some of the major (and minor) success stories on this site. So, what am "I" waiting for? This is my question. I keep putting it off until tomorrow. I keep realizing that stroke and/or heart-attack could hit at anytime and I do nothing to lose the extra baggage. Kicking myself does no good. Maybe as I continue to get older and routine becomes more comforting to me...it will happen. I dunno.

...and so I check my email and this is there:

Today's Daily Word - Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Let Go, Let God

God is bringing forth the new me who is emerging now.

God is the answer to every challenge in life. Whether a decision I am to make seems to be of greater or lesser importance, letting go and letting God is the surest way for me to make the right choice.

As I let go and let God be God in my life, I am declaring that I am not alone in making any decision or in taking any action. The very wisdom that created the universe is my guide. All that God is and all that God is capable of doing is here for me in every moment.

In letting go and letting God, I am releasing the thought that anything from the past can hold me back from living fully in the present. I let go of a belief in limitation and let God show me the unlimited potential that is within me. God is bringing forth the new me who is emerging now.

He trusts in God; let God deliver him now. ~ Matthew 27:43

The latter part of "Imagine" by: John Lennon
"....
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one"
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Sunday. First Sunday in Lent. Started our lenten study and it went well. A few of the members who split off because of the previous pastor are starting to trickle back. The matrons were on their regular behavior today. Went to lunch and ate half a portion of chicken fried steak. It upset my intestines greatly.

Not much to report for once. Life is coasting at the moment and that is nice.
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6 p.m.Wow. Bunny, Vicki and Corrine you have helped me so much today. I've been working on getting my room cleaned and changed around to be more pleasing. So far I've cleaned spots off the carpet, vacumned, moved the bed! Brought up different tables to put my lamps on. Dust and waxed them. Going through paper stuff and throwing out lots of stuff. I'm about half way done...maybe more than that...and it feels so good. I've been working up a sweat too and therefore burning calories. My eating is a little better today too. I'm hoping the methodically continue through the whole house until it sparkles. One room at a time. Thanks youze guys!
I'm feelin' better.
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Monday morning and I'm awake at O Dark Hundred. Coffee is brewing. I'm thinking about a zillion things I need to accomplish today. I'm tired already and haven't even fully woken-up yet. I'm three pounds away from being right back where I started from when I first came to CK 18ish months ago. That doesn't make me very happy, but seems to be accurately indicative of the stress I'm under right now. I'd start drinking, but there's too many calories in alcohol and I'm fat enough. Today would have been my beloved older brother's 70th birthday! That just seems absolutely impossible. Yet, he was 17 years older than me and it's correct. My heart aches for his love and concern for me. I was his favorite sibling...his "baby" as it were. He was my hero. Oh, great. Now I'm tearing up. Maybe I just need to take some Benadryl and go back to bed.
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I am reminded of my time in CA when the kids were small. When we were a military family we seemed to always be placed close to folks of the Mormon faith. I am telling you those women have some awesome practices. There was a group of ladies who helped me out when all three of my kids were under the age of five. They had a routine of spending the day at a different house each day so that the kids could all play together while the moms cleaned each others homes! It was a vulnerable place to be, but made so much sense and made the work lickety split and FUN! I don't think I fully appreciated that back then. I do now. What a nice memory.
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Slept in my "new room" last night and it was...different. It looks right now...proper symmetry and all, but it 'felt' odd. I suppose it will be good once I get used to it. I'm finding myself wanting to get rid of so much stuff. I want to be ready to move to something smaller once the time comes. I don't want to be one of those little old ladies who has so much clutter around her that you're afraid to move. I'm thinking "less is more" and I know I feel so much better when there isn't clutter all around me.

I did well with my eating yesterday and the exercise took care of itself with all the room cleaning and moving. It was, all in all, a good enough day - all said and done. TBTG.
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10 p.m. Just back from hospital. Called in to pray with a family whose father's lungs collapsed today. He is totally alert and fully functioning except for his lungs. He does not want to continue on oxygen and is ready to die. His family is heart-broken to say the least. I prayed with them and talked about their using hospice in the days ahead. wow. Such a privilege my work is. I'm so grateful to be allowed to do what I do.
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5 p.m. I'm back on the streets looking for a part-time job. The hospice has had me on PRN status and I've not gotten any hours for the past two weeks. I simply have to work.

At least the church thing is going well; and I have a roof over our heads; and I'm still walking and talking...mostly...and I have my three beautiful kids and a grandbaby on-the-way to love...and my hair doesn't need to be dyed right now...and I have a quarter of a tank of gas...and we have a roof over our heads...and...
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HOT Diggity Dog! I sent out three resumes with cover letters this week and got a call today from one my favorite hospice nurses that I worked with in the past! She's now a Director of Clinical Services and it looks like I've got another JOB!!! YES! I suppose I'll go see her tomorrow and hopefully start on Monday! Woo Hoo! Thanks be to GOD! This one is called "Grace Hospice" and I'm liking the names better and better as I go along. Now. Hopefully this one will last! I can see settling down into a nice routine of hospice/hospital/church/home. With Sherrie at the helm I know she demands solid, traditional, quality spiritual care! YES! shar, doin' the happy dance at last! Woo Hoo!
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Oh, my. I just listened to my voice mail and one of the OTHER hospices called me today too and they want to talk to me asap! Oh, my. Apparently I'm in demand around these parts. How cool is THAT!!?! Oh, my.
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2:15 p.m. AWESOME! I had my official interview a couple hours ago and just got a call back from the director who offered me the job! I go to orientation on Tuesday morning! Yippie! Sadly there won't be too many hours at first, but...hopefully they'll grow. Something is better than nothing though and I plan to make myself indispensable.
3:45 p.m. Oh, man. This just keeps getting better and better. I just spoke to the lady at the other hospice and she sorta hired me over the phone! They are a tiny operation also so...between the two hospices I will have a whole part-time job! Does that math add up or what?!!
I am feeling so incredibly blessed right now. Oh, Bess...and several others...you never wavered for a minute in believing for me! o.k. now I'm gettin' all misty-eyed and stuff.
God is soooo good to me. I promise to be the best servant I can be to show my humble appreciation for these opportunities!! Who'da thunk that I was to trade one full-time job at an icky place for THREE part-time jobs...well, FOUR very part-time jobs with the hospital chaplaincy/on-call position too. Oh, my goodness. I am so blessed to be allowed to do EVERYTHING a minister is trained to do!! I will never be bored I can say that fer sure. Oh...I am so happy.
My momma must be wearin' a big ole smile right about now. Of course she'd ask me how I'm going to juggle all these jobs. The days I'm required to be here and there are equally shuffled from day to day of the week so I see no problem. I may need to carry my little calendar on my person at all times. Goodness, along with a pager and two cell-phones...but who cares. A box of chocolates...I'll never know what I'm gonna get.
2:00 p.m. Finished my sermon and it looks good. We're installing two new session elders tomorrow so I had to weave that into the message. It fit nicely. Put the kneeler into the back-seat for the candidates to kneel on for the laying on of hands. Put my nice rug in there too so I can put it into my office. That office is so huge. I've already taken a bunch of stuff up and it doesn't even make a dent in the space. I'll just keep taking it up. I want it to be a nice, peaceful, inspiring place. It's getting there. The people are excited about it. Apparently the last pastor or two didn't even use the office space! They worked from home...or didn't as the case seems. This is a deeply wounded community and the healing seems to be slowly beginning.

I just stopped at the Goodwill outlet store up the street. I've been passing it for nearly a year and meaning to stop and see what it's about. It's weird. Rows and rows of long tables containing plastic bins side-by-side that contain a mixture of stuff. Glass mixed with plastic mixed with books mixed with purses mixed with...you get the idea. I was walking around trying to discover how and why it 'works' for so many folk that were swarming the place when the big double doors opened and the workers pushed out a new long wooden cart of bins. About 25 people *attacked* the bins with a vengeance - pushing and shoving and throwing stuff. I just stood there with wide eyes and my mouth probably falling open . Folks were wearing gardening gloves to go through this crap. Anyway, I looked down and saw a copy of the 2003 edition of the CK calorie and fat counter for a quarter so I picked it up and quietly checked out. Looked like it could be a dangerous place. The Goodwill, not the cal/carb counter...but then again...
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6:30 a.m. oouu, weee...the wind is blowin' up a storm outside. Just took the doggie door panel out of the sliding glass door. Waaay too windy and a bit nippy. I LOVE IT! It's a tad early for a Sat. morn. but, hey. I've got so much to be excited about. I finally woke-up from having just some regular run-of-the-mill dreams. I recalled them as I was making coffee, but then I forgot. Ah, well. I think I'm getting used to the memory slips. Goodness, I'm growing-up. Greg's drivers lic expired last week on his BD. He doesn't look 24 so now he can't buy his own cigarettes. We stopped at the corner store and he handed me the money to go in and get them and for a second I thought about grabbing my OWN drivers lic...AS IF!! Just cracked myself right up!

Catching Up

Well, Lo's "Baby Daddy" has decided he doesn't want to stick around while Laura carries his child. He is going to drive back from East TX to pick-up his dog this week and then go back. I'm disgusted. Part of me wants to tell her that "when you lie down with dogs you get fleas." But the mother in me is heartbroken to see her heart broken like this. Her father just wrote to tell me that I need to convince her to go to WA to live with him because somehow this is my fault that she got pregnant. As if he was such a paragon of honor to his three kids and wife. Oyi. Life. It just keeps on happenin' doesn't it?

I have a stinkin' chest, nasal, head crud thing going on. I'm just glad I'm off work. Good timing. I'm hoping to sleep in and really rest in the morning...maybe it will clear up. I was supposed to go for my annual physical in the morning, but nobody will be going anywhere in the morning...in Austin, due to the Ice Storm. I paid the electric company, but as Staci said...there's a chance for irony if the ice knocks out our electricity when it's all said and done. They're dealing with that in South Austin right now. About 200 homes are without heat right now.

I just feel such an overall sense of inner peace and security (for the moment) with having my jobs. I'm so happy about them. So very grateful.

I plan to gym shop when I start getting paychecks again and this time I also plan to make sure to pad my savings account really well in case I ever get into this mess again. I just need to downsize my home and living and I should be good.

I found out today that the little ole church ladies call themselves "The Matrons" and that works. They weren't at church today!! They all use walkers or cains due to unsteady gait. Austin is under a severe weather watch/warning with a major ice storm predicted for ... now. It's sloppy and wet. They wisely decided to stay home and protect their fragile bones. Anyway, I met with the session (which isn't much younger). It went well. We settled on the amount to pay me and the hours I'll work and then I immediately got pulled into food bank duty this Friday which is not one of the days we negotiated. Ah well...momma told me there'd be days like this. No problem. I feel confident it will all work out. We all laid our cards on the table and I assured them that I will offend "The Matrons" again and again and they seemed o.k. with it...so forward we go...into the wild blue (or purple-haired) yonder.

Just finished my day of hospice. Three patients that are non-verbal and then one who lives in an assisted living facility and is a delight! We agreed that I'd come to see her once a week. She is only 11 years older than me. Lung cancer and COPD. Smoker. This one is gonna hurt cuz I already adore her. However, it will also be a meaningful journey.

Daughter not doing too well emotionally. Doesn't want to be pregnant...with Joey's child. She refuses the idea of giving the baby up for adoption. Joey doesn't want to be a partner or dad anymore. He's decided to stay in East TX with his family. She was hysterical in the middle of the night. I slept poorly as it was to mommy that she came. Had to talk about "her" being mommy now. She's not ready. She's still a baby herself. If only I'd locked her up in an ivory tower somewhere until she was 25.

and now for today's entry:

ZING! I'm wide awake at 4:30 a.m. and that just isn't like me. I'm sure it's the shot of cortisone the doc gave me yesterday. Plus, I slept a good part of the afternoon away yesterday too. I guess I was sicker than I realized given how crazy busy I've been with the new phjobs. I've been known to do that...be sick and not stop long enough to realize it until I'm down. I think I'm gonna feel a whole lot better by tomorrow.

I'm going to join the 24 hour fitness gym. I simply have to get moving and I'm not doing it. Although, I also like CURVES, but I get bored after a while there. I dunno what to do. I just have to do something. The new doc said that it was probably the estrogen I've been taking what has kept me alive these past 5-10 years given my family history of heart disease and my own high blood pressure. That's a comforting thought given the fact that I quit taking the estrogen three months ago due to the current guidelines for using HRT. .sigh. I "know" it's coming and I simply "have" to take off 30-40 pounds if I'm going to have a chance at delaying it a little bit. I'm just not ready yet...to die or be incapacitated. So. CK is not an option for me anymore if I want to live. ok? Lord, help me. My song for the day: "Give me just a little more time..."

Happy New Year! 2007

The ladies showed me my new office at the church yesterday. I nearly fell over. It's HUGE! I will rattle around in that room. Huge desk...love seat, end tables, big stuffed chair, several side chairs, bookcases all across the back wall; another desk behind the giant desk. The giant desk could even look small in this big room if it wasn't so prominently placed. I've never had anything to compare. I was amazed. Wow. I'm pretty sure there is room to square dance between the desk and the sitting area.

Attendance was a bit lower yesterday and that disappointed me. However, coming in during the Christmas holidays gave me the chance to see who calls it their church and that will help in building it back up...I pray. There is so much room in this church. It is old and beautiful with tons of great history. It simply needs an infusion of people. The area is about to become a bedroom community to the Austin/Round Rock area so...hopefully we will see some growth this year! That would be so cool.

I'm getting excited about the possibilities for so much in the coming year! It is grand to be alive.

Oh...did I mention that I'll have a secretary?! I've never had a secretary. Oh, great...now I'm teary-eyed. I think I'm a bit overwhelmed with joy. I'm wondering what my dear mum would have said about all this. I think it's probably a bit beyond her experience. She was so cute when I finally told her I was in seminary and going into ministry. She said: "Honey, you know we don't believe that women should be doing that, but I guess I must have done something right if you're willing to devote your life to serving God like that." Oh, yeah. My mom did a whole lotta right.

I have a list of chores to accomplish today and what am I doing? Sitting at the computer with this 4 lb. dog on my lap. This is my *last* day of "unemployment vacation" and I really need to get my wardrobe (such as it is) in order and clean this house. Reading some of the other blogs reminds me that I also need to take down Christmas decorations. Luckily we didn't put up too many this year.

Not sure when the presbyteries will get things settled for me to start getting paid. I sure hope it's soon. I went to lunch with the ladies yesterday after church. They're starting to let down their guard big time now. I'm starting to get a real sense of who and what I'll be working with. Looks to be some cat-fight power struggles between some of these grand dames. I saw some of their meanness toward one another in their eyes yesterday. Of course the one that first "courted" me gave me a ride back to my car and sweetly said: "I don't want to offend you by telling you what to do or anything, but you're going to need to...." (speak louder so that Miz C. can hear me better). The way she said it gave me the insight that I will be hearing those very words on a fairly regular basis. She nearly snapped off the head of the young waitress we had for a number of perceived failings. I had a glimpse of my own head being served up on a platter later on. Ah, the grind work begins...the part I do not like. Personal growth time for me again. I may need to get back into my family systems class - I've been out this past year thinking I'd not ever be back in a church again.

Hired!

I got the Jah-obs! I got the jah-obs! Oh, yeah...I got the JOBS!!

Hired: Heart to Heart Hospice!
Hired: First Presbyterian Church!

Woo Hoo!

I a.m. soooo freakin' HAPPY!!

Have not worked out hours or pay for either position yet. But I got the jobs! Both of 'em! Two part-time positions to equal a whole! Yee Ha!

I am so blessed. The best of both worlds! Hospice chaplain and church pastor BOTH! Thanks be to God!

Heart to Heart

I am sooo excited! I just got a call-back from one of the cold-call letters I sent to all the area hospices! I'm still playing phone tag with the chaplain there, but spoke to the director who was very nice! They want to meet with me next week for an interview!! They have an opening for a PRN chaplain which would be absolutely PERFECT to go with my part-time pastorate! Woo Hoo!