I Am NOT a Wicked Witch

We were planning on going to get his monthly labwork yesterday morning, but it was raining, so I decided to let him sleep.

I  went in to change his appliance, and told him I decided to wait until tomorrow because of the rain (need new wiper blades-not in budget) and he said...

"Why? Last I checked you aren't a Wicked Witch, you won't melt from getting wet."


So, there...I am not a Wicked Witch!!




Well, OK, you say,but why is this important enough to blog about?

Well, because life is hard,and my son is starting to regain a bit of his personality after a couple of very,very difficult years.In the midst of stress and worry smiling because my son said something witty is a gift.

He has suffered so much in his illness, and while he is as stable as he will ever be, he has had to relearn much and it is taking a while. So he is worth celebrating.


My son is my hero. He used to meet every day with optimism, and was truly the most content person I have ever known. Things most of us take for granted can be difficult for him,but he has spent his life  persevering. Things we take for granted make no sense to him. We are still trying to establish a new normal, and it is hard. So the days he is witty are important.

Even though he has the most amazing sense of humor he really doesn't realize he does.Funny was always hard for him. In middle school he realized he didn't understand the jokes the other kids were telling, and why they were funny. So he checked out joke books from the library and studied the situation.

 Because his brain works differently, he doesn't see things the way most do. He can't read body language or facial expression. He is challenged by tone of voice. Having a conversation is not easy for him. He talks to me the easiest when we are in the car. There is a reason for this, when we are in the car, Mom has to pay attention to driving, so I can't ask him for eye contact, or even to look at me.

The truth is, he has every right to whine these days.Yes, his health is stabilized,but still he is not healthy--and won't ever be again.Life is hard for him in ways he really hasn't come to grips with yet. 

This person with autism, who can't stand to be touched has to allow his nurse mom to help him with his medical needs dozens of times a day. He has to tolerate what is to him intolerable, and he must be forgiven for the times that makes him cranky and whiny.


So, while life is grim at our house, life still has its moments. Moments where I can see my son returing to me, and even though we are poor, and behind on everything (as usual these days) those moments are the things that life is actually about.


So, happy Spring, I am Not A Wicked Witch!!

Peace and Blessings,

 EB

P.S. I dislike doing this but there is a paypal button over there,just in case. I told a friend once who was embarrassed about asking for help that if we don't make our needs known how does anyone ever know we have needs.The William and I are struggling,and just as embarrassed I am pointing out the button.We are continually blessed.

cabin fever

 noun

Definition of cabin fever

: extreme irritability and restlessness from living in isolation or a confined indoor area for a prolonged time

Dear Mother Nature,

ENOUGH! In the last 6 weeks I have only been out of the house twice. TWICE! First the cold killed my car battery,angel cousins fixed it so I was able to run a couple of errands before the snow and ice came again...and again...and again...

Please, it feels like a movie scene-- 

 Groundhog:  No shadow, early Spring!!

Mother Nature: Hold My Beer!

 Of course we all know the ground hog is a notorious liar,-but, girl, you are killing me here.

My walker does not have snow tires. My canes do not have ice cleats. I need to get out of the house.

 I'm not asking for the world here, just a couple of days where I can run to the grocery store and get a few things for  the empty pantry shelves. 

A few hours where we can feel the sunshine.

A day or two where the furnace isn't running the gas bill into bankruptcy territory. 

There are other human beings in the world, I remember actual conversations with living breathing people. Yes, I know, I do not live alone, but woman have you met my son? Chit chat is not his strong suit.

We're a bit tired, and weary, and stressed out and we need to get out of the house. So, knock it off. Please?

Asking as nicely as we can. 

Peace and Blessings,

 EB

P.S. I dislike doing this but there is a paypal button over there,just in case. I told a friend once who was embarrassed about asking for help that if we don't make our needs known how does anyone ever know we have needs.The William and I are struggling,and just as embarrassed I am pointing out the button.We are continually blessed.

January...bah humbug...

So last year I wrote that January sucks, and that still stands.


 But this year we can add that my son started the year with a cold...it's wasn't a bad cold, a bit sniffly, a few sneezes, nothing a couple of doses of the purple stuff (Dimetapp) wouldn't knock out...

BUT, instead of the beloved eternal teenager with serious health issues who I assiduously work 24/7/365 to keep alive, he was for a week...

A MAN with a cold.

Of course, then I caught it.

The weather killed the battery in my car, so when the ice melts I'll have to find someone to help me get that fixed.

But, still...

T.S. Eliot may have told us April is the cruelest month, but I would love to nominate January for that honor.

It's cold. C-C-C-C-old, and still dark, and my kid only has one of his sports in its  season,thank goodness for hockey--Go Blues-- so he is cranky.

Every time the heat clicks on I cringe,because I know what that is doing to the gas bill--that I am behind on anyway because December choices to give the kid Christmas..

Yep, January sucks.

BUT, wait, as long as I am whining about winter and doubting T.S. Eliot,maybe I should listen to Albert Camus...

“In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.
And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.”― Albert Camus

Well, darn, the fact that I survived this long is supposed to make me happy.

What to do.

Well,I've bitched about other months int he past. 

Heck a few years a go it was August and I wrote this...

It's the week I ran out of money and had to tell my son we couldn't buy groceries. But, he's a trouper, this is how part of the conversation went...

Me: It's hard the last week of the months some months. Sometimes it seems like it takes a while for the universe to provide.

Son: Did you tell the universe we have paypal?

Hey, you can get through anything when your kid makes you smile!

So, here in January when we had the same conversation yesterday, it was OK.My kid still can make me smile,in fact he sometimes makes me laugh out loud. And considering what he has gone through, and still deals with, that is a a sign of the invincible summer.

SO, I'll suck it up, even though we all struggle, there are always moments to share. The important things in life are always available. 

I will work on being positive today.

But, darn it Mother Nature, it needs to warm up soon! Apparently being cold makes me cranky. But, let me allow the universe to adjust my attitude. 

So, OK, I'll admit that now that when the sun has come up,the ice on the trees is seriously pretty-- sunlight illuminating ice crystals that look like little diamonds smiling at me. 

Well, shoot,maybe January isn't the bitch I thought she was an hour or so ago. 

 But it's still too dang cold.



Peace and Blessings,
 EB


P.S. I dislike doing this but there is a paypal button over there,just in case. I told a friend once who was embarrassed about asking for help that if we don't make our needs known how does anyone ever know we have needs.The William and I are struggling,and just as embarrassed I am pointing out the button.We are continually blessed.

One More Year...One Day At A Time

Oh my word, I haven't had a drink in 40 years!

Today is my birthday. Not my belly button birthday, my day I got clean and sober birthday. Today I am celebrating 40 years of sobriety. Celebrating 40 years of choosing to deal with life and all its challenges, obstacles, defeats, and victories without using drugs or alcohol. 

I don't remember when alcohol wasn't available to me. My older brothers-14, 18, and 21 years older than me- were the kind of guys that thought it was cute to give a baby or toddler a sip of beer, or whatever cocktail they might be drinking. There was always a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen cupboard, and when my dad wanted a glass of wine in the evening, he sent one of us to get it.Alone in the kitchen, no one was there to see me take a swig for myself. If there were family gatherings, not much attention was paid attention to what you were grabbing out of the cooler. After all, the men usually sent a kid to get the beer out of the cooler. So I developed an enjoyment of the taste and effect of alcohol at a very young age. It was an easy way to make life stop hurting for a little while. 

Of course,as soon as I left home it was no problem. I looked older than my age, and was never carded. Really, the first time I was carded was on my 21st birthday. There was a new guy at my liquor store, and he carded me and wished me a Happy 21st birthday. The owner was shocked, since he had been selling me alcohol for 4 years. But, he didn't make a big deal about it. I was a very good customer. By the time I was 21, I was drinking every day. I had started down that road as a teenager with undiagnosed bipolar disorder. I was self medicating with drugs and alcohol for several years. When I was diagnosed, I started letting go of the drugs, but consumed more alcohol to make up for it.

I drank my way through college, and 5 years into my working life. I managed to get good grades, and do good work while I increased my drinking. I had good jobs, but my drinking caused me to make some really, really stupid decisions about men and relationships.Just like the song says "Looking for love in all the wrong places."


I knew that eventually I would have to quit drinking. I knew that it was impossible for me to drink in moderation, and I hated that, because there were things I truly enjoyed and did not want to give up.I truly enjoyed choosing the right wine for a good meal. I truly enjoyed a cold beer on a hot afternoon.But, as much as I wish I was, I am not the kind of person who can stop with one glass of wine, one cold beer, one mixed drink. So, I had to listen to the small voice and quit. The last time I got drunk was on a Sunday night. I had been to a party. I don't remember much about the party, I had been drinking all weekend of course, but for some reason I got really drunk at that party. I think that I totally embarrassed myself, and a friend suggested we leave and go somewhere else. We ended up at her Mother's house. I don't remember how we got there, but I do remember sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and talking to her mother until 5 o'clock Monday morning. I drove home and got in the shower and then I decided to call in sick and get some sleep. I had never done that before, I always went to work. In fact, I got in the shower intending to get ready for work, but while I was in that shower I started getting quiet, and when I get quiet I can hear the small voice, and the voice said "It's time to heal." 

So, I called in sick, went to bed and slept for a couple of hours. When I woke up I felt like crap.I never got hungover, but that day I was hungover. I spent some time feeling sorry for myself, but then I remembered hearing the voice. I knew that it was time to stop numbing the pain, time to stop dulling the memories and to start healing the wounds. I called my doctor, and went to see her. I had a good talk with her and she referred me to a therapist. She called him right then, and he saw me that afternoon.It was Monday, January 19, 1981. The therapist said that he would work with me, but he also suggested that I go to AA. He got out the phone book, and handed me the phone. I made the call and found a meeting that evening. That was the beginning of my journey to health and wholeness, a journey I am still on. It is not an easy journey to start. It is not an easy journey to continue, but it is a journey I believe we must all undertake.

So, here I am. I haven't had a drink, oh how I have wanted to, but I have not had a drink.My Higher Power and I are taking a journey. One day at a time.


Peace and Blessings,
EstherBelle

Christmas Eve

As my son prepares our traditional DiGiorno pizza for dinner, a Christmas eve wish...


There's nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child.~~Erma Bombeck~~

Now, when you read that do not think, oh dear, that is so right. Think, I am a child. A child of the Creator, and I deserve to believe that I am a beautiful, wonderful, worthwhile individual with so much to offer myself and those I love. The most important things I have to offer have nothing to do with the house being spotless, or the decorations being Martha Stewart worthy, or the Christmas dinner being course after course of delicious. What I have to offer is the heart of a worthwhile person. A heart that knows that I am intelligent, and caring, and worthy of treating myself well. A heart that is able to be a better mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend because I know my value.

Take time today to rest, even though you have things to do. Take some time to get at least a few moments with yourself, and remind yourself that a confident, loving smile is worth more than anything you can possibly accomplish today. Remind yourself that when we wake up on Christmas morning we are all someone's child, and relax and enjoy the day, no matter the circumstances. CHOOSE to believe in yourself, CHOOSE to hear only the truth about yourself from yourself and others, CHOOSE to remember who you are and nothing else can take that wonder away from the day. Relax, refresh your spirit, and wake up Christmas morning with the eyes and heart of a child!


Now why is DiGiorno your Christmas Eve dinner you might ask. Well, it's a tradition.In our family Christmas Eve means that my son is in charge of the kitchen. Not a bad tradition!

 We came up with this tradition because I was a working mother.Well, we all are. My last job,I worked in a huge grocery store. I would finish the midnight shift on the 23rd, and then go back in and work the day shift on the 24th. By the time we closed the store at 6:00 pm, took care of all the customers, and allowed the teammates a few minutes to grab that last item, it was often close to7:00 by the time I got to my car.I would drive home, tired. So, we decided that we would just have pizza for dinner, and if I called home just before I headed to the car, it could go in the oven.  My husband and son would wait for me to call, and by the time I got home, changed my clothes, and sat down in my recliner to put my feet up dinner would be ready and our son would serve Mom and Dad.

I hope that you and those you care about have traditions.Traditions are an important way to bridge the gap between generations, to enlarge your tent and bring new people into the circle of your hearts.Traditions are an important way to share memories, to make memories, and to anticipate new memories the next time you act upon the tradition.Tradition is a way that our families, our friends,our communities can stay connected one to another.Tradition can be the way that we remember what it is to love and to be loved. In our house, a boy who was born blessed by autism did not have the ability to tell us with words that he loved us, but he can bake a pizza.


Peace and Blessings,

EB

Timely Reminder

So, I was wallowing in a pity party last night, and scrolling through twitter when this came on my feed. Now this is not somehthing I do not know,it is just something I tend to forget when I am in the idst of a "pity- party of one" frame of mind.

This is such a difficult time of year, not just for me. I honestly don't know many people, especially women, who don't get frazzled and stressed out this time of year.

First, it's winter and days are short and some of us don't function well when it is dark all the time. (why yes, I am one of those, it makes me cranky, what?)

Then it is the holidays. We think everyone else is handling the extra stress of the holidays better than us...and why are the holidays so damn stressful anyway.

We get so busy this time of year. Whether we are rich or poor, young or old, we get stressed out around the holidays. If you are having financial problems-like we do at our house, you worry, and stress out about how you will keep the electricity on, and still manage to provide a semblance of cheer. It's really hard to think you won't be able to buy a gift for your chid. Really hard. 

 

 If you are lucky enough to  have money, you still worry.

 

So much to do,so little time...

We are bombarded by images, Martha Stewart worthy decorations.Chef worthy dinners, delectable desserts, 6 kinds of cookies.Norman Rockwell family images. And we start to believe that we are the only ones frazzled, stressed, frightened becasue obviously everyone else is better at this that we are.

Sometimes, in the midst of all of this we feel totally useless. As if we have nothing to offer. Everyone else is better at al of this. Or maybe that is just me (but I don't really think so) There are very few things in life that I use the word hate for, but one of the things I do use it for is this. I HATE feeling useless.

That is why this lovely tweet was so timely for me. I needed the reminder.

I think people have this skewed vision of what life used to be-too many Norman Rockwell magazine covers. Norman Rockwell was an artist not an historian.

Honestly, people weren't all that much different 50, 60, 100 years ago. There were good people, there were not so good people. It wasn't a Norman Rockwell magazine cover or an episode of Leave it To Beaver. Just like now, so many things depend on your economic status. Poor women worked outside the home-often in the homes of women with more resources. Poor people spent there limited resources trying to keep a roof over their head and feed their families. 

The world does not cease to exist if we bake 2 kinds of cookies instead of 6. The world does not cease to turn on its axis if we cease to run around frenetically, the sun still,even if belatedly, comes up in the morning. If we choose to not spend money we don't have this year, no one will hate us because their present is smaller (well, if they do they don't count anyway!)Besides, the small ones play with the boxes longer than the presents! The older ones will understand if we are being honest, authentic in our lives.So yes, let's remember to slow down, to breathe. When we get all caught up in the frenzy we miss so much.

So, I appreciate the reminder.

Value and worth are inherent. None of us are useless, not even me.

So, I will take a breath, appreciate the reminder and keep doing what I can,as we start the countdown to the end of the year remeber...All you can do is all you can do.

Peaceand Blessings,

EB


P.S. I dislike doing this but there is a paypal button over there,just in case. The William and I are struggling,and  embarassed I am pointing out the button.We are continually blessed.

Stories of my Father

Today is my father's birthday. he was born 115 years ago. A different time. 

He was a simple man, born in a different time. He did the best he knew how to do when he was raising us. Many things he did were wrong, but he thought he was doing the right thing, doing the best he could, and so as I matured it was easy to forgive him.


I loved my father.He was a good man and many people admired and cared about him. He would say he was a simple farmboy from Missouri, but he was more than that.He had been a muleskinner before he joined the army. Here in Kansas City he would shoe horses and mules, and he kept that occupation in the army. He had a long ugly scar on his shin that he got when a mule that he was putting ice shoes on kicked him. The ice shoes were for working the mules on the frozen Missouri river. He had left school after 8th grade to help support his family. He was the oldest of 8 children, and he took his role as oldest seriously. When my grandfather became ill my father helped take care of them by going to work.He had an amazing, strong work ethic. When work became hard to find in the 1920's he joined the army.

Towards the end of his stint in the army he was based in Southern California. A few months before his discharge he met my mother. He always told the story of how they met and why they married. My mother was a waitress in a diner that was owned by a married couple. My father was a bit of a rogue, a rake in those days and had been seeing the married woman. Then he met my mother and asked her out and she said no. So, he stopped seeing the married woman and asked my mother out again. She went out with him, to the car races on a Sunday afternoon. The next day, when her married boss found out that she had gone out with my father, my mother was fired.My father always said he married her because he had made her lose her job.

Even though my father was very stern and reserved with me, I do still have some very good memories of him.

This one starts out hard, but ends up with a great line...
I had to pretty much run away from home to go to college. My father forbid me going, and I ended up living at home a couple of years until I turned 18 and could leave on my own.My mother understood it was something I had to do, and I think that is because she couldn't afford to go to college when she graduated from high school in 1930. So, I turn 18, and I am on my way to the bus station to head to college. The last thing I hear my father say to my mother is that "Nothing good will come of this, she'll go off and come back pregnant." He had such faith in me! So of I went to college, majored in theatre, ended up working in theatre and radio, won awards in both careers. My father saw me on stage one time, and heard me on the radio once. A few years later, when their health was failing, Papa had congestive heart failure, emphysema,and Alzheimer's. Hard to believe, this was a man who retired from a roofing company at 65, and went back to work at the roofing company at 67, and the young guys couldn't keep up with him. He fell off a roof when he was 73, around Halloween. He broke his hip and had surgery to implant screws and a rod the first of November. Doctors said he would take 8 months to a year to walk again. On January 1st, we were watching the news and there was a fire at the company where he had worked for 50 years. He said "They're going to need everyone and went back to work on January 2nd. He worked for several more years, until the Alzheimer's got bad enough that he couldn't work anymore.But I digress...when his health was getting worse and he and mother couldn't manage on their own anymore, I left my career in radio and back to California to take care of them. I did not know at that time that I was pregnant. After I had been there a couple of months it became obvious I should see a doctor, and I was shocked to learn that I was expecting. Remember what my father said when I left for college? Well here it was decades later,I was an award winning actress, designer,and broadcast news director, afraid to tell my father that I was pregnant because I was his old maid daughter. So, I call my little sister (two years younger than me) who was a married mother of two. My sister tells my mother, and my mother goes in to tell my father while I sit on the porch. It is late summer, and the windows are open and I can hear my mother telling my father what the doctor had said and the next thing I hear is my father's voice..."I told you if we let her go off to college this would happen, she came home pregnant."

Did you notice that I was his old maid daughter? This is one of my favorite stories. I was working at a theatre on my 25th birthday. We didn't have a phone back in the costume shop, so if there was a call someone would have to come get us. So it is the afternoon of my 25th birthday, here comes the office girl who says "You have a phone call, it's you're father." My father? My father never calls. He always has my mother call, even his favorite sister. He will talk on the phone  but he never makes the call. Assuming the worst, that something is wrong with Mother I run to the office to answer. I pick up the phone and say hello. My father says hello, and I ask him if everything is OK. Is something wrong with mother? Here is the rest of the conversation...

"No, your mother is fine, I wanted to talk to you."

"Is everything OK?"

"Do you know what today is?" 

"Yes, sir, it's my birthday."

"Do you know how old you are?"

"Yes, sir, I am 25."

"What did you do last night?"

"We had a show, I worked."

"What are you doing tonight?"

"We have a  show Papa, I am working."

"Did you get married since the last time we talked to you?"

"No, sir, you know I didn't."

"Are you sure? Do you have plans to get married tonight?"

"Yes, sir.I am sure.No, sir, no plans to get married."

"Do you know what it means when a  girl turns 25 and she's not married?"

"No, sir, I don't."

"It means you are an old maid.If you turn 25 and you're not married you are an old maid. there has never been an old maid in my family.I'll be the first one to have an old maid daughter.Do you know what happens when you turn 35 and you're not married?"

[By this time I am laughing]
 "No, sir, I don't know."

"If you turn 35 and you're not married,and it doesn't look like you're going to be,at 35 you become the little old lady who lives on the corner."

[I am really laughing now]
"Papa, I am 6'1" and weigh over 300 pounds, I hardly think I will be a LITTLE old lady."

"It doesn't matter, at 35 you become the little old lady who lives on the corner. I won't be able to hold my head up in my family."

And then he hung up. I am not sure to this day whether he was serious, but once again I did not disappoint my father. I was 47 when I married. I wish he had still been alive to come!

Here's the last one I will share today. I only talked back to my father twice in my life. The first time was when I was 13, and it was the last time he whooped me with the leather strap. It had to do with me sassing my mom, and that was NOT allowed. The second time, I was 22. It was the night before my sister's wedding. For reasons that don't really matter anymore, my father had decided he was not going to the wedding. My sister was hurt. Some in the family thought he didn't want to get dressed up. He wore bib overalls every day of his life. I only saw him dressed up in slacks and jacket one time. But my sister didn't care if he came in his overalls, she just wanted him to come. One of our older brothers would be walking her down the aisle because of my father's stubborn stand.So, since we are all busy getting ready for the wedding, it is decided that we would go pick up some take-out food. I ask my father to go with me, and he does. While waiting I get my nerve up and I say to him "I am going to say this and you can whip me if you want, but you are going to that wedding." "No, I'm not," he answers. "Yes, old man," I say, "you are going to that wedding if I have to knock you out and take you there myself." Nothing more was said, the food came and we took it home. We all went to the wedding the next day, and left him at home. We got dressed, and the music started.As the maid of honor I start down the aisle just before my sister, and there in the last pew, sitting on the aisle, was an old man in bib overalls. I looked him in the eye and smiled. He did not smile back. My sister, who had not cried yet that day started crying when she saw him. So, later as I drove him and mother home from the reception,a reception where he had a great time and maybe got a little tipsy, he said to me "you were right, but don't you ever talk to me that way again."  I never spoke back to him again.

The morning he died, his mind was amazingly clear. I had him up and bathed and dressed in his beloved overalls. he was playing with my son, who was about a year old. Papa told my son he loved him, then looked at me and said "He's going to grow up to be a fine young man, I wish I was going to be around to see it."

I treasure those words, and I miss my father, and I wish he were here to see that his words are true. My son is an amazing young man, and I tell him the stories of my father.

So, today, I will honor them both by telling  stories, our stories.

Please, if you know someone who is grieving or struggling, let them honor their loved ones by telling the stories. I believe you will be blessed.


Peace and Blessings,

EB




P.S. I dislike doing this but there is a paypal button over there,just in case. I told a friend once who was embarrassed about asking for help that if we don't make our needs known how does anyone ever know we have needs.The William and I are struggling,and just as embarrassed I am pointing out the button.We are continually blessed.