The Past in the Present

I was looking at my picture folders on my computer today with the thought of getting them a little better organized. While going through them, I came across one of my mom, her sisters Grace, Madge and Teet (actually Annie Pearl but we never called her that)  and her brother Leslie Franklin (L.F. was what we always called him). I believe it was taken in 2007. Uncle Kenny wasn't in the picture, he had died in 2005. There was another brother, Uncle Bud, that I don't remember very well. He had passed away in the late 80s in California I think. 

Mom, Teet, L.F., Madge and Grace

The picture got me thinking about the fact that my mom Norma is the only one left now. She will be 82 in December. The next thing I know I am spending several hours searching online obituaries and cemetery listings for other family members. I have a family tree that I have worked on here and there over the last couple of years but I must admit I mostly used the features on Ancestry.com to import information others had already put together. Today, I was doing the work myself and looking up the names online to see what I could find out about the May family line. It was interesting to note that my aunt, Grace May married a man named Lawrence Haight. While looking around I discovered a John May in Texas (may or may not be related) who married a woman whose last name was Haight. Sort of nice touch of symmetry there. 

Reading through the lists of names of ancestors and looking at the dates was fascinating. It amazed me to see the numbers of children that some of my relatives had. One had 16 children in his first marriage and 7 more in his next. I think I know what might have contributed to his first wife's early demise! It also saddened me to see how  many had children that never made it through their infancy. My mother was the youngest of 7 children herself, but there were 3 others that did not survive birth. There is something truly poignant about looking at a grave marker where the birth and death dates listed are the same day.

On a lighter note, Mom always told me to be careful about shaking up the family tree because all the nuts might fall out. She was right in a way. While I haven't found anyone too famous in my heritage, there were a few well known (in their time) individuals. My great-grandmother was a Morgan and if I traced the Morgan family line correctly, it seems there was an Evan Morgan, 4th Baron, 2nd Viscount Tredegar who was, shall we say, eccentric. He was a Chamberlain to the Pope for 15 yrs and married twice, yet he was gay and was very involved in black magic and the occult. He loved to do things to shock people. Of course his mother Lady Katherine thought she was a bird so maybe "normal" just wasn't in the cards for him. Somewhere along that part of the Morgan line was a pirate by the name of Captain Henry Morgan. Mind you, I was following the leads of others and can not say for sure that I didn't follow someone else's mistake. But I do know that rum is very popular among my family so maybe it's in the genes. 

Until next time...

Mai, you may not want to read this before we talk, Love You, Mom

It finally happened, the last of the apartment cleaning has been completed and all keys have been turned over to their respective landlords. All that is left to do now is to wait for the deposit checks in the mail. My place, no big deal, looked better when I left than when I moved in and the check is due any day.

The apartment my daughter and her boyfriend shared is a slightly different matter. They were only in it for 3 months and the carpet looked, well, not recently cleaned is what I'll go with. Hint for young first time renters, keep the charcoal briquettes stored OUTSIDE! You had a storage room on the patio for crying out loud. Oh well, it came clean with a lot of work and helped me decide that the grill we purchase for this place will be propane. As for the bedroom door and patio screen door, those were lost causes and luckily they had paid a sizable deposit which should be more than sufficient to cover the damage.

This brings me to my current dilemma. Boyfriend was raised, no, make that, grew up with, a single father who couldn't care for himself much less a child. Spending larger amounts of time with Boyfriend it's painfully obvious he has almost no life skills, and very limited social skills. Oh he can cook and has the conceptual knowledge of things such as cleaning up afterwards, taking out the trash, laundry, etc., he just doesn't utilize them unless made to do so. Ah, but he also has a problem being told to do things! He pouts and gets all huffy like a 3 yr old child, not a 19 yr old. My daughter just gets frustrated and gives up.

I find myself making cutting comments while suppressing the building anger. I do not like doing that. It was made abundantly clear before this living arrangement was decided upon, that there WOULD NOT BE a continuance of these behaviors and that things would have to be kept clean. It saddens me greatly that I can't trust that the bargain will be kept. Actually, it is not being kept, period.

I have tried going through her so as to keep things non-confrontational in the home. Maybe that's the mistake. I just worry about what may come out of my mouth. I admit, I mostly want to smack him upside the head and get through to him. Subtlety has certainly not worked! I can point out dishes on the floor or a garbage bag that is over-flowing and he doesn't even seem to notice or care. I think the not caring is the worst part. He doesn't care if he lives like an animal, stepping over trash to get to his pile of food, soda cans and his video game controller. As long as the TV or computer are in eyesight, he's good. Mind you, between work and her commute, my daughter is out of the house 12 hrs. a day or so. I work out of town and am gone 2 or 3 days at a time. When I come home I want to see things looking better not worse! Oh and his employment status you may ask. He has resumes now that my daughter made him one, still hasn't actually used one for anything.

So, good-bye subtlety and non-confrontational niceties. He's not 12, he's not made of glass and he isn't my child. Time for ground-rules and repercussions for failure to follow through. And my getting ulcers will not be the repercussions I am talking about. I hate that my daughter is stuck in the middle but I won't be anyone's maid.

If you have any suggestions you'd like to leave in the comments on how you'd handle this, please leave them in the comments below. Thanks!

Once More With Feeling

WARNING: Depressed rambling below! I found this a few weeks ago and have debated over and over on whether to publish this post. I decided to do it, on the off chance that someone reading it, somewhere out there, may see a glimmer of light deep in the dark tunnel of life. 

The paragraphs below in black type were written by me almost a year ago and they now seem written by an alien hand. It's amazing how much your life can change in what is really a short time. It shocks and saddens me that I ever felt that way, or at least had convinced myself that I did. Looking back through clearer eyes I believe it wasn't that I didn't feel emotions, I was just refusing to acknowledge them. I wasn't really out of step or separate from the world around me, I was hiding from it. I had built a wall of protection so strong that, over time, even I couldn't breach it. These words weren't written at the height of my depression. It wasn't until New Year's Eve that I accepted what the problem really was and took action, calling a mental health hotline for veterans. A kind staffer talked to me, listened to me and then set me up with the VA mental health clinic. I started taking an antidepressant which luckily worked well for me and more importantly, I began going to therapy sessions and just talking freely with someone who didn't judge, someone I didn't have to "edit" my conversation with. Plain and simple, what I had needed the most was someone I could truly talk to about anything. I felt that I couldn't do that with family because I didn't want to worry them. Friends weren't an option either, most people do not want to hear the sad stories a nurse lives through on an almost daily basis. Note: this is not to say that just seeing a therapist and taking a pill will make your life all better. I am not naive enough to believe my depression compares with someone else's. I know that a major component of mine was job burnout and the stress of trying to keep up the fake persona I had created. Some of us are just locked inside prisons of our own making and have to be helped to see that. I have now reached a point where I am no longer taking the meds or going to counseling but I am sharing much more with others and it helps a lot!

Today, I am happy and contented with my life overall. Sure there will always be things, for any of us, that we would like to change. Less work and more time to do the fun stuff is always up there on the list. I still get stressed with family and work but am handling it. I am once again open to and truly feel the loss when one of my residents passes; this is a bit of a double-edged sword, but I can also empathize with the family left behind. There are still days when I would like to throttle a co-worker or two but I work hard to not blow my stack and let it make me look ineffective and become unprofessional. It took time and effort and will be an on-going process for the rest of my life and some days it works out better than others. Here's to the good days!

I just realized I have spent the last 5 hours reading social media and watching YouTube videos instead of taking the nap I really wanted to take so I could get out of the house and enjoy the day. I haven’t eaten, only had 1 cup of coffee, all because I was relinquishing my life in favor of reading about the lives of other people. Ironically, one of the blogs I read quoted Steve Jobs,   "Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life.”

Honestly, if this were a one-time thing I wouldn't be bothered too much. But, truth be told it is an almost daily occurrence. I pick things to watch or read that most would find sad, anger inducing, something with strong emotions. All the while I sit here wondering why I don’t truly feel anything but only appreciate them on an intellectual level.

I have watched life come to an end for many people over the last 2 decades while working as a nurse. I don’t cry for those long-suffering and terminally ill in nursing homes or the young and vital suddenly facing mortality. I can acknowledge for some the end is a blessing and for others it seems a shame and a waste and I know their families will be devastated, but that is as far as it goes. Often, I find myself feeling gratitude that the pain of the departed has ended but can't relate to the pain of those left behind.

I suppose it’s not totally as bleak as I have written so far. Maybe it is that the emotions I do feel don’t seem to fit with what everyone else is feeling. I am somehow out of step so I don’t let anything come through.

I used to feel everything so strongly it scared me at times. Grief and anger so strong that I thought it might tear me in half. Ended relationships, desperation to be back in one, even job challenges or changes set me off.  I would cry, mourn or beg, whatever fit the situation. The pain I felt when physical harm came to one of my daughters nearly killed me. Is it possible that I have cried too much, felt too much, rendered myself too vulnerable in the past? I can’t even fathom the thought of ever dating again much less being with someone. I watch my girls and hope their lives are good for them, help where I can, but I keep to the outside. Oh, I love them dearly and try to show them and tell them both constantly. The same goes for my mom, despite her driving me nuts now and then. Actually, I think I make myself nuts. I don’t like the reality that she is at an age and physical condition where she could be gone soon and I let her little quirks place distance between us rather than savoring every moment however many there might be. I know how fleeting and unfair life can be. Have I just shut off everything I can to avoid ever getting hurt again? If so, why don't I realize that in doing so I may hurt myself even more by depriving myself of life’s joys? And most importantly, how do I get the feeling back?

10/8/11

Caws and Effect

I am sitting at my computer looking out of my bedroom window. Suddenly this group of about a dozen crows decided to land on the rooftop next door and a few directly above me on my roof. Between the 2 buildings there is this stunning old walnut tree just bowing under the weight of its unharvested goodies. Apparently crows are attracted walnuts, who knew?!

Anyway, they sat there a few seconds then flew into the tree and tried to pick some of the smaller, more mature nuts. The first few fell straight to the ground as soon as they were separated from the limb. Then one of the crows managed to grasp the thin, rubbery husk of the nut with his (could be her, I don't know crows that well) claw and was able to fly to the roof with his bounty. He landed right in the middle of the down-slope, the nut grasped in his claw causing him to lose his footing thereby letting go of the walnut. He sat there and watched it roll downwards, even carefully came to the roof edge and peered longingly towards the ground and the nut now lost in the grass below. He tried again, this time sticking the landing and stopping uphill of a pipe of some type, looks like maybe 3 inches round, protruding from the roof. He let go and made a move to peck the nut and it went around the pipe and repeated the roll off the roof. Back to square 1.

Meanwhile, a couple of the other crows, who had been watching him closely, decided to make their own moves. They chose to land behind the air vent turbines which are several times wider than the pipes. About half were able to hold onto their treats but weren't able to peck through the shell and surrendered. One sole crow chose to land in a spot where 2 sections of the roof join and create a small valley-like area and it was the most successful. That crow picked the nut up in its beak and began beating it against the roof but was finally able to crack the shell and reach the prize. By this time though, all of the other crows had flown away. I can still hear their caws in the distance so perhaps they found an easier snack elsewhere.

I just found it interesting how they observed each other and built on the efforts of the others trying to reach a goal. It was a bit disheartening when they gave up so close to victory.

Moral of the story (3 parts):
1.  Build on the success of those who have gone before you.
2.  Choose carefully where you make your stand.
3.  Never give up, especially when others are still out there trying to solve a problem.

Amoral point to the story:  Sometimes when things get difficult, it is a good thing to just beat the hell out of something!