Bright Spot

 My son-in-law, Rusty, died yesterday.  He was, for 14 days, the same age that I am.  My bright spot?  That my daughter's most terrifying threat is no longer an option.

Julie, who will be in charge of my nursing home, threatens me.  First, it was with a state-run nursing home.  Then, it was with a state-run nursing home in a state other than Texas.  Finally, it was -

"I'm gonna put you and Rusty in the same nursing home, tell them that you're married, and y'all can share a room!"

Neither Rusty nor I thought that this was a great option.

Now it is no longer an option at all.

Thank you, Rusty and rest in peace.

Faith of a Child/aka another generation of fishermen

I am sure that I have written/shared this before but when I went to reference it, I could not find it.  Hence, I am rewriting the story of CJ and the fish.

When CJ was little, 4 or 5ish, his grandpa and I took him camping to Lake Greenbelt.  CJ was POSITIVE that he would catch a fish.  When I asked why he was so sure, he said that it was because he had talked to God about it.  Trying to temper his expectations without destroying his faith in God, I tried to explain unanswered prayers, etc.  He was adamant that he WAS going to catch a fish.

Fast forward 2 fishless days and we were striking camp and getting ready to go home.  I was putting the last of the stuff in the pickup and the guys were policing the shoreline.  CJ excitedly ran back to camp clutching the half decomposed carcass of a fish.  "Look, Grandma, I caught one!"  I honestly did my best to be impressed. 

His next sentence?  "Next time, I'm gonna remember to tell God that I want a live one!"

We all need that kind of faith.

Thanksgiving 2022

For me, this will always be the year of thankfulness.

I was going to list the people and places for whom I am thankful but was terrified of leaving out someone important and dear to me and hurting their feelings.  So, I am going to just forge ahead and hope that all of you can identify the category(s) you are in.

First and always, for God, His mercy and His grace.

I am thankful for my biological family and for the grace on all sides that allowed me to become reconnected with some - and hopeful for the rest.  It also just occurred to me that I include, in that description, the kids and grandkids that I inherited.  There are no distinctions in my heart.

I am thankful for my work family who make my life livable.  Their love, care, and willingness to change things at the drop of a hat to accommodate my ever-changing medical appointments is amazing.  I thank God each and every day for every single one of you.

I am thankful for my church family.  I have not been as present as I should be but I know, beyond a doubt, that I am in their prayers and that I am uplifted spiritually and physically by those prayers. 

I am thankful for all of my prayers warriors.

I am thankful for Julie's two cats (inside joke.)

I am thankful for the town in which I live.  Aside from the town I grew up in, I have never lived in a place with more generosity of spirit or better neighbors.

I am thankful for the medical resources available to me.  I cannot speak highly enough of BSA, the Harrington Cancer Center, Amarillo Surgical Group, and the Wound Care Center.  

I am thankful for the non-profit, volunteer groups in this area, especially for the Hereford Cancer Coalition and all of the ancillary volunteer groups at the Harrington Cancer Center.  Having people who know what you will need before you do is an absolutely underrated gift.

I am thankful for friends.

I am often frustrated, terse, overwhelmed and angry.  I am grateful for the ability to feel these things and for God's grace to find the good in every single day.

And always, for Juls, who has made the gagging motion at least 27 times if she is still reading and who understands where sympathy can be found.  Thank you for taking such good care of me.

bunker bitches

 This is going to be fairly long so a little background in order that those to come will have a context in which to put this.  In the year 2020, there is a pandemic.  There is also a lot of civil unrest stemming from race issues and perceived, as well as factual, police brutality.

A young woman was killed accidentally by police during the execution of a search warrant in Louisville, KY.  Out of the 3 officers originally being investigated, the Grand Jury saw fit to hand down an indictment on one, citing him for "wanton endangerment."  The City of Louisville has already settled with the family of the deceased for $12 million dollars.  

The protesters continued protesting but the rioters - the looters and pillagers and destroyers of other peoples' property in the name of justice - lost their little minds.

They, a loosely knit conglomeration of disaffected and disenfranchised and mostly unemployed (except for those paid by "they"),  people decided to lay siege to the Louisville Metro Police Department.  Among the many colorful things that were shouted by the rioters was "Fuck the police and the bunker bitches, too!"  

I do not know who decided to call us that but I would like to thank them.  We, and I do mean dispatchers as a whole,  have embraced the phrase.  Bunker Bitch.  It just rolls off the tongue alliteratively.  It is powerful.  It is not very nicey-nice.

It is us.

Survival Mode

For those of who are reading this and don't know me, my husband of 34 years died in June.  We had lived separately for more than a few years but were still married.  I moved home 3 years ago to help take care of him as his health was failing and, to quote a friend of ours who called me 3 years ago, "whoever that person is who is supposed to be taking care of him, she's not, so get your ass home."  I did.

By the time Shorty died, he was suffering from end stage renal failure, congestive heart failure, COPD, an enlarged prostate, hemocratic anemia, orthostatic hypostension, diabetes, and cancer.  He was also hard of hearing and had at least 3 eye surgeries.  I am not looking for sympathy or nominating myself for martyrdom.  I am just stating facts.

For the years that I helped take care of Shorty, I was the young, healthy one.  I am overweight but I am/was healthy and never needed any medical attention other than the normal seasonal stuff.

Today, I am at work, but I am going to the doctor when I get off work.  I am pretty sure that I have shingles, which, by the way, hurt like a bugger and itch and sting and are fiery little points of hell.  My ulcer, newly diagnosed, may be bleeding or at least leaking a little.

I have been in pain since Thursday night but had no other symptoms, like the rash, until this morning.

I cannot decide if this is a case of nurture (God) or nature(my own body.)

I am grateful that I was strong for as long I needed to be.  I am not grateful that it did not last forever.

Amazing what a little mind over matter will do for you.  Maybe I need to find another dying person to take care of...and yes, that WAS sarcasm.

How now?

I am not sure if I just used to have more to say or if I just got out of the habit of blurting every thought that crosses my mind. 

I was getting my oil changed the other day and attending to a myriad of "it'll wait till my days off" errands when it occurred to me how much my life had changed.

When I first got married the final time, my fingernails were so long that not only could I not button my own buttons, I typed one row down on the electric typewriter at work.  It was actually in my wedding vows that I did not have to do anything that would cause me to break a fingernail.

When my husband left on a trip, he filled both vehicles that he was leaving at home and, when their gas tanks were empty, he came home (from New Mexico to Nevada) to fill them up because "I didn't pump gas."

When he went back to New Mexico, he told me that I could quit my job when it quit being fun.  They promoted me at work to a position that I had not applied for and did not want.  He called me that night and I told him that it had quit being fun.  He came and got me.

I look back at those days now and wonder what the heck I was doing.  If you wonder where my kids are in this story, one was taken from me by her paternal grandparents and the other was in a residential school for children with emotional problems. 

I wonder now that I thought so little of my kids, and so little of myself, that I could be had for an unblemished manicure and a life of being "taken care of."

That life ended a long time ago but the marriage ended when death us did part.  It is time now to figure out who I want to be, how to get there, and how to let go.

October

In my world, October is the month of birthdays.  My brother's is the 2nd, my youngest grandson is the 24th and my youngest daughter is the 28th.

It is the month of homecoming games, football rivalries, mums, and Friday night lights.

It is the month of spiced apple cider, chili, casseroles, and hot cocoa.

It is the month when dogs, lethargic through the dog days of summer, pick up their pace on morning walks, shying at the falling leaves and avoiding the puddles left by isolated thunderstorms.

It is the month of layers - in clothing and bedding.

It is the month of open windows and closed screens when the nights are cool enough to sleep comfortably and the mornings warm enough to not freeze.

It is one of my favorite months.