I painted the master closet (yes, this is how small the master closet is; can you imagine the matchbox that is the guest closet?) Ultra Pure White and this is pretty much how it seems when I go in there.
Took me all weekend, which is more a nod to my age than anything else. It was only a prelude, though, because I plan on painting the whole house.
I hear voices; the murmurs of experience in my head when push comes to shove.
When taking a pill I always hear my Mom say “It’s good for you!” which enables me to swallow. For some odd reason. (Yes, I’m 60 years old!)
When I’m sick I drink plenty of fluids because I hear my friend Bonna say “Drink fluids! Hydrate!” She never put up with my bullshit and I believe she’s such a good mother now because she had to half-raise me.
And I hear my sister-in-law when my gut is bloated and gassy at 3:00am. “Don’t you have any Gas-X?” My internal reply is invariably YES to her answer “WELL??”
TMI? Here’s more. Bloated and gassy used to be my normal routine. That and miserable diarrhea. THEN I remembered my doctor’s mantra – “Get rid of GMO’s and Gluten”
So one month ago I cut gluten and lactose out of my life. Surgically removed them, more like. It was difficult; I dreamed about donuts for two weeks.
But the first day -well, the day after I started- I felt 1,000% better. I know, but the difference between totally miserable and totally wonderful is so far apart. I was me again! All my energy was back!! My stomach went flat and I could digest again! Over TEN pounds fell off the first week!
And I tested negative for celiac disease.
The internist talked to me for five minutes and proclaimed “You have IBS”. No, I don’t. I may have felt like it for a time, but he can take that crap down the road. There are people out there who really suffer from it and I’m sure they don’t appreciate it being some sort of catch-all just because Dr. Do-Little doesn’t give a shit.
So, hearing voices might be a crazy thing to do, but I’m not giving up on them any time soon. I may even add some. 😉
This is our oldest grandson, James. He joined the Navy last week after a year of college. April 10th was coincidentally the day his grandfather reported to both his subs, one in 1964 and the other in ’65!
He’s going for SEAL training and they’re sure he’ll get it. We couldn’t be prouder. But then we’ve always been proud of him. They’re getting the best we’ve got, believe me.
He’s almost 19 but when I think of him I can’t help but picture that chubby cheeked little munchkin he was as a toddler. It was ever thus, eh?
And yes, I resisted the urge to post baby pictures… 😉
I was born in California, but my father (from Texas) and mother (from Oklahoma) uprooted the family just after I’d turned seven. We were one of the tumbleweeds rolling southeast on I10 in 1964, complete with a Dachshund named Blacky. Perhaps you saw us blowing through New Mexico, ’53 Chrysler station wagon pulling a cute little camper?
Guess they relocated for the same reasons as other people – be closer to family, maybe have a better life? Instead of renting a nice house in La Puente, they bought a run down shot gun shack in Conroe – but it came with land. They had friends and frequently threw parties in California, but all that changed after we moved. I don’t know why. Children don’t think about those things until it’s too late to ask the reasons. Or maybe that’s just me.
I missed those parties, because they always let me stay up to partake of the festivities. I don’t know if my brother still has them, but there were reel-to-tapes of the fun. I always think of them while listening to Dave Brubeck. My favorite people were always there; Irene and Nadine, the lesbians who gave the best gifts… and the Mexican woman who lived on the next street… whose name escapes me.. that wonderful lady cobbled together the best meals of anyone, anywhere.
So now you know: It’s all about the gifts and food.
Well, poo. This is not about my family. I only started with the move because that’s how I came to live in Texas, about 40 miles north of Houston. That’s where, in second grade, I met one of my best friends.
Her name was Gwen and she and I struck up an instant friendship, as little girls are wont to do. We chased boys on the playground, ate honeysuckle off the vines on the fence and often had sleepovers at each other’s homes.
I went through high school with these people, yet I can only name three of them. Too much time has gone by…
Gwen… and my natural urge is to wax rhapsodic here, about her fire red hair and indomitable spirit… was just another little girl of course, but she and I went through much together. The highs and lows of growing up.
She dropped out of high school in our sophomore year and I saw less and less of the still red hair. I heard things, but discounted any rumor I couldn’t substantiate.. but it was distressing.
I went my way and she went hers. Hers included drugs and motorcycle gangs while my way was all about school and jobs. She did get clean, years later, but the hard living had taken a toll on her health.
I went to Texas in November 2005, right before my mom passed. My brother took this picture of us. I’m on the left. Of course our hair isn’t light blonde and fiery red anymore.
Almost immediately after this, her first foot had to be taken off. Then the second. It’s been such a horrible, pain-filled life since… in and out of hospitals, almost dead several times… until she passed recently on February 20th. I miss her.
I hope she’s running through a vast, lush playground, tasting honeysuckle and chasing boys…
OH, people called her ‘Shine’ later in life, but she’ll always be Gwennie to me.
I can’t really talk about this with anyone IRL because everyone knows everyone else… but this rage has to be quenched or it will spill over…
This is our granddaughter Amber. Picture was taken 3 years ago, but she basically still looks the same.
Now a happy, lively 11 year old. Creative, empathetic, intelligent and I think, pretty. Cute as a bunny’s nose.
Always sewing or wanting to cook, she did make a dish for her family night before last. The bitter, twisted crone that is her live-in grandmother pronounced it “the worst thing I’ve ever tasted” and then proceeded to tell Amber that she is UGLY.
Amber cried for an hour.
God forgive me for what I’ve been thinking… all the ways to cause that woman pain… She needs to suffer. She’s never been what you might call ‘nice’, but that was horrible. And I can do nothing except love on that beautiful little soul when I see her this weekend.