GOODBYE 2011

An interesting year, to say the least.


Husband in Baghdad

Greyhound regularly escaping

Six more horses







The perfect dog

Decision to run for president on the platform "NAPS FOR ALL!"










Neighbors who turn out to be sexually abusing children

A broken nose

A black eye

16 stitches






Colic




 
Learning words like Schadenfreude and Frenemies






A massive wildfire, evacuation, and scattered horses





Discovering George Harrison all over again





Why we like aliens so much









Will 2012 be in any way as diverse?

STRAW THAT BROKE THE CAMEL'S BACK

Problems expand so as to fill all the emotional space available.

And I fully acknowledge that this past year I have had as unproblematic a time as humanly possible.

(Well, if you don't count adding six horses, four different dogs, a broken nose and sixteen stitches on my skull)

But right now I have just one too many dilemmas in my life.

I am adjusting to having a husband back from a war zone.

We now also have my diabetic, partially blinded older brother living with us.

My church organization is beginning a new year of youth activities with absolutely NO plan in place.

And my mother-in-law had surgery this morning in Oregon, draining fluid from her brain following a stroke this weekend - so my husband is agonizing as to whether he should immediately fly out there, caught between his duty as a dutiful son and the presence of another family member he does not live already being out there.

It could be worse - it could be much MUCH worse - but I am suddenly having daily headaches, trouble breathing, and rapid heart beat.

Any chance we could at least eliminate one of these problems?

PSYCHOSYNTHESIS VIA BEJEWELED BLITZ

I admit freely to some necessities in my life.

Oxygen - that's one.

Chocolate - but of course.

The Internet - I know I could survive without it, but why would I want to?

And Bejeweled Blitz.

It's one of those mindless but HIGHLY addictive games that you can download in a minute and waste hundreds - nah, thousands - of useful hours playing it.

These games are carefully designed - they obviously make money for someone. I love the following observations from a game designer about Bejeweled:

A bunch of social features -- leaderboards and achievements -- making it massively multiplayer in a lightweight but fun way - simple to understand; two clicks and you're in - presents a clear problem with a clear solution - provides an element of randomness / unpredictability / intermittent reward.  The reward system and its cascading consequences ensure that we achieve a variable but deeply satisfying result from our simple, clear action.

But the title of this blog (which hopefully drew you in) reflects a comment my oldest daughter made about playing the game (and since she normally at least doubles my highest score, I was paying attention):

  PLAY  THE  PIECES  YOU  HAVE,  NOT  THE  ONES  YOU  WANT.


This has helped my game considerably.

And I think it's also appropriate advice for life.

So much of our lives seems to be wasted in "what ifs" and "and only when" - it's sort of a refusal to deal with our lives at that particular moment.

We want certain pieces - the perfect companion, the ideal job, the right housing - and until we get those pieces, we by god are not gonna be happy or content or fulfilled.

While we miss out on the majority of our lives - waiting for those pieces.

Just a thought.

NO MORE FOR ME, THANK YOU

Right at this moment, I am feeling just a tab bit overwhelmed.


I have my 60 year old, diabetic & uninsured brother living with me, who needs medical care, glasses, possible glaucoma treatment, and is so weak at the moment that he must be kept under constant surveillance.

I have six horses which are not my own, to feed, buy feed for, tend, groom and train.

I have a spouse who has just returned from a year in Iraq who wants all sorts of time with me in particular and seems especially needy and in need of continual reassurance.



I have a disabled daughter living in town who needs a constant supply of encouragement, reassurance, and pizza.

I have a son who is dealing with depression, menial employment, and denial.




HOWEVER - I have two horses that ARE mine who are a constant source of delight.

I have one daughter who is healthy, happy and sane... well, most of the time.

I have a dog from an abusive past who is coming to trust me.

I have a view of snow-capped mountains from a heated home.

I have a truck to be viewed as a developing art form.

I get to meet and work with six awesome teenagers twice a week.

Thanks - now I feel better.

LOVE LIES BLEEDING

Blood has been recognized for millennia as life-essential.









 Soldiers lose it, lovers heat it, hot teen-age vampires crave it.





And I'm having to draw it from my brother's finger-tips daily now to measure it.



The only comfort is that his fingers (and feet and legs) have become deadened to most pain, so he doesn't even really feel it.



But it's still kinda creepy.

HE AIN'T HEAVY

My brother, five years and two days older than me, had deliberately stayed off the path of anything that you might consider 'normal' American middle-class life.

This has included not working, using "recreational" drugs (doesn't that sound like drugs ingested while on a playground swing?), not playing any income tax when he did work, avoiding any form of responsibility, and generally living off anyone that he could.

Although, I must admit, he remained basically honest, open about his lifestyle, and freely willing to share all that he had at the moment.

About a year ago, when I felt my brother had suffered a stroke (slurred speech, confused memory), I called the local fire station and requested EMTs be sent out to his place to check on him (he was in Wisconsin - I was here in Arizona).

My brother was FURIOUS, and really chewed me out about asking people to intrude in his life, insisting that he was in charge of his life, and did NOT want any sort of medical intervention, and just wanted to be LEFT ALONE.

Last Friday, I received an odd email from, of all places, my high school website - "Hi, this is Erin, I need to talk to you about your brother, please call me at 268-555-1212."

This sounded distinctly like a "if you wire me $2,000, your Nigerian Prince brother will be released from his kidnappers" or some such scam, and I was seriously tempted to simply delete it. However, there was a hospital web-site named, and it looked legit, so I called.

And found out my brother had been in the hospital for the past four days, was being released, and had no where to go or anyone to help him.

Thanks goodness for the Mormon Mafia - one call to a bishop, and then Latter-Day Saints took my brother to a motel, fed him, and watched over him in shifts until I could get there the next day.

OMG

There are certain things you never want to hear over a telephone line.


 "Hmm, well, this is Dr. Shapiro from the Emergency Room."



"Yes, Police Officer Castro here - do you own an (exact description of the vehicle you thought was parked in front of your place)?"


"Er, Mom? Yeah, well, there's been a little accident...."



But one I hadn't considered before today is, "Okay, honey, I'm home, but the horses are loose."

For those of you who don't know me, I normally hesitate before mentioning my horses. Because it sounds, well, arrogant. Snotty. Upper-brow. High society. Even to me, when people mention having, in particular, horses, the picture is of a snug stable, cross-ties and white-fenced arenas.

My horses? Out in the open, with one small (and inadequate) roofed shelter. Grungy winter coats, muddy pens. Fed loose hay outside. And only two are mine - I'm horse-sitting SIX for a friend who is overseas for another two years.

My husband, bless his heart, is NOT a horse person at all (he says he can't trust an animal that outweighs him).

So, still forty minutes away from home, tightly griping the cell phone while my mind is madly racing through all possibilities (which with six different horses on eight acres is a LOT)...

And thinking of solutions which a non-horse-savvy person can actually DO...

When I hear, "Oh, well, they just ran back in the pen by themselves."

This is NOT good for my 56 year old heart.