Another Day

Yup, this is me. At 62. The year’s not been good to me and 63 swiftly approaches… probably on the wings of a big, fat tree roach.

Right after a haircut… and red spot above left eye is where the dermatologist burned something off.

Yes, kids, something else to look forward to as you age, apart from mottled, wrinkly skin and ever-growing ears… people cutting and burning parts of you off… roughly twice a year.

I took this because my dad wanted to see my haircut, which is the same as the prior 2, 479 haircuts. Still.

But another day above ground, as they say, is a good day.

My Poor Mother

Look at those feet!

Though she wasn’t my biological mother, I still want my mommy when sick or hurt. She passed in 2005, but the child inside me never gives up the need for her mama. Much like saying a Hail Mary and asking the holy mother for help… but I mainly call on my mom for… food. Do you think she spoiled me a bit?

I slipped a disc early Monday morning. What did I desire more than anything (other than a new spine)? When the man asked what I needed -he is incredible- my answer stunned: “My mother to rise from her grave and make me a pot of chicken and dumplings”.

Rose could make ambrosia out of dirt. She never taught me how to cook; don’t know why, but at least I’ve picked up a few things. One of them is her recipe (not really; she never needed one) for Custard Pie. Simple, with few ingredients, I crave it sometimes. Today is one of those days.

3 eggs
1/2 cup sugar
1 pint milk
nutmeg

Mix together and pour into an unbaked pie shell. Bake in 300° oven for 1 hour, or until crust is set.

Guess I don’t have to ask her to rise from the dead today. (That feels blasphemous) But tomorrow I might have a hankering for her Liver and Onions…

Time

Time is for dragonflies and angels. The former live too little and the latter live too long.

James Thurber

He looks as if he’s made of glass. Might as well be…

Green

Sometimes I just need to look at green. Weird, right? To me it’s even more soothing than blue.

Guess it’s a good thing I’m completely surrounded by the stuff.

What Ifs

…or Nature vs Nurture vs the insanity in our own heads.

I’ve no grand revelations. Not even inspirations. But my brain is full of What Ifs. Those lead to more What Ifs and triggered nightmares. Last night I was in high school and missed one class. Okay, I skipped. Then I found out that my father had come to that class, in full uniform. I had missed him.

And that’s what I did. Missed the auld man… for 61 years.

While we -the husband and I- were there, talking to Dad… still surreal… Mike kept remarking how we are so alike, father and daughter. In some very basic ways, we are. I understand and appreciate nature.

Here’s where the nurture comes in… I’m so different than my half siblings… in so many ways. That has more to do with different mothers; it’s also nurture. What if I’d grown up in his house, with my siblings? Instead of socially awkward I might be adept at interacting with others. Like them, I might have had a wonderful career instead of jobs.

My folks lived through the depression and not in a graceful, Waltons sort of way. Needless to say, it had a profound effect on them and I think they were just happy to keep me fed. College was not mentioned. What I would do after high school? Must have been my responsibility, but I had no idea.

Perhaps I would have turned out the same person if he had raised me, but I keep asking myself “What If?”

Panic Attack

smtoiletI had one yesterday. My first. It was horrible and surreal.

This is what precipitated it:

I wrote about my newly acquired brothers and sisters, right? Really wonderful people. I’ve spoken to them on the phone and we’ve emailed facts and such back and forth. I’m lucky they contacted me and even luckier they want me in their lives.

So one of my younger brothers spoke to my biological father – his father – I’ve been bogged down in labels lately – about me. Such as… we not only know about her but we’ve spoken to her and what are you going to do about it?

I don’t know if he chose to blow me off a year ago from disinterest when I told him of our biological relationship or truly didn’t believe it… or… God knows… but he emailed me and wanted to know if I wanted a relationship with him.

After a year of resentment (that I truly did not know was lurking below the surface!) I flipped out. Here he was, asking. There I was, having a panic attack. I had to lie down with Badger (she’s very calming; I don’t know why) and of course fell asleep. When I awoke, it was over and I was able to write back.

He’s been great; telling me about his life and asking about mine… He signs them ‘your father’ or ‘dad’ and that gets me right in the feels. So the last time I wrote back I told him (because I use his name) that I wanted to call him Dad, but every time I think ‘Dad’ I of course think about my Dad. Adopted. See what I mean about labels?

I need some Sleepytime and Badger…

And yes, that really is me on the porcelain. 😉

In Hiding

childSo, here’s a thing.

My biological siblings (paternal) found me. (I was adopted at birth, which isn’t a thing.)

After getting the cold shoulder from my maternal half-sister, this was good news. I was excited. They were excited. We exchanged some info and I’ve spoken to the oldest sister on the phone twice.  After that I wanted to fade into the wallpaper.

Don’t get me wrong, they’re very nice, open people who could have just ignored the DNA results. Instead, they said “Hey, we have a new sister!”

I’m sandwiched in between two brothers. One born barely a year before me, one a year after. Logically, I knew it had nothing to do with me, but I was so embarrassed and ashamed.  That bastard! I know he was in the Navy, but damn.

Add to that all the siblings are highly educated with great careers. Accomplished people. And I’m… well, I’ve done nothing, I’ve made nothing and I am nothing. That’s what keeps cycling through my head, over and over….

Just to add… Oldest sister asked what I do all day and I was stumped. I fritter. Laze. Loll. I am one of life’s lollopers.

So I would like to hide, yes and thank you very much to you. All in all, it’s been a gigantic mindbender.

Yes, I need a Miranda fix.

 

 

 

So Far This Week

When I first started blogging the posts came frequently because, honestly, there was some over-sharing. But like all bloggers, I finally realized that nobody wants to hear about breakfast or see pictures of iguanas riding the dogs.

This is my week so far…

littlebitty

Monday

Last day of cleaning the house. Yes, it took all weekend and then some. New houses are remarkably easy to clean and keep that way, but old houses are never really clean. Trust me.

I also met a new cat out in the driveway; a young-ish orange tom. He was pretty scarred from fighting, one paw was hurt and yes, he was on the lean side. After a pleasant chat and pet I walked away. Then he haunted my dreams for two nights. It’s hard to walk away, but if I became involved with every animal that needs help… really, just keeping up with YsD’s needs is becoming ridiculous.

Tuesday

I splashed 8 different paint colors on the master bedroom walls. The man and I don’t agree on any of them. He thought Ultra Bright White appropriate for the closet, but drew the line at blowing out his retinas first thing in the morning – if he could even sleep in an  all-white environment. That’s vaguely racist, isn’t it? Well, maybe in today’s world.

Shaved Badger’s butt since she had the Big D for a few days and ohmygosh if I had to bathe that dog’s hind end one more time… It takes two full inches to get from the fringe to the hole, if you’re wondering. I knew you weren’t.

Wednesday

As WWIII approached I drew my battle plan; early dinner, thorough walks and televisions on loud. It wasn’t too bad, but c’mon… when it sounds like mortar fire is coming from mere feet away and your house shakes from the blasts… not too much helps. I sincerely hope there are no combat vets with PTSD issues living close to the ‘festivities’.

Thursday

Though the walls demand the *right paint, the need to run to Home Depot is negated by 100° temps. The plan is to remain cloistered, all drapes/blinds drawn like we’re hiding from the Feds. The only obstruction to peace has been the Amazon deliveries. No, I cannot go to WalMart like normal people. Meds would probably help with my overreaching introversion, but I don’t like going to doctors. Ha!

Worked out for the first time in weeks, though. When painting, i.e. ‘really working’, I tend to let the regular stuff slide. As long as the body moves around enough, it’s alright. That’s just a guess, though.

Wonder what tomorrow will bring?

*After a dozen not right paints, I’m willing to roll those walls with just about anything…

Voices

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. 😉

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