MUSCLES

I'm not in very good physical shape at the moment.


When I was 36, I could run four miles pretty easily. I could lift some pretty impressive weights. And I weighed about 65 lbs. less than I do right now.


So the site of 64 containers of flooring that needed to be loaded, driven home, and then unloaded, was slightly intimidating.

And watching the shocks on my pickup truck groan under the weight of only one-third of these packages.... well, I must admit that my back experienced a sympathetic twinge.

So I was unreasonably proud of myself when I discovered the individually I could pretty easily heft, unload and stack the flooring.

So I did.

SHE WHO DIES WITH THE MOST APS...

I could seriously become addicted to just all the free applications available to iPhones.

I even like the badly designed ones; it just makes me figure out how to fix them.

But the ones I am the most interested in are time management ones.

So instead of actually doing  all the things around here that need doing, I spend hours of time loading and fiddling with the time management application, updating and streamlining it.

Instead of doing whatever task I have entered in.

And now this particular app keeps reminding me that I need to publish my blog regularly.

So yeah, it's working.

Sorta.

BEGRUDGINGLY

I was humbled yesterday at church.

Seriously humbled.

The sacrament meeting talks, Sunday School and Relief Society lessons were ALL about charity.

And some particular thoughts REALLY hit home.



If you give a 'gift' (service, help, assistance) begrudgingly, it is as if you have performed no service at all.

If you give service expecting some back (something as simple as a "thank you"), it is as if you have performed no service at all.

My difficulties in helping my brother through his illness right now is that yes, I do begrudge it - he's gotten himself into this mess, and I'm the one that has to help him out.

It also doesn't help that my husband has been sick with a kidney stone and then kidney infection for the entire past month - any Nancy Nurse instincts available have been all used up with emergency room trips and hospital beds.

And I react WAY too strongly to his rudeness - he curses at me when I move his things, he demands actions, he rarely says thank you and NEVER says please. his physical... expulsions are revolting, to put it mildly.

Part of it may be the beautiful paintings of Christ healing the sick - he's dressed in white, no stains - the ill are looking up at him adoringly from pitiful places and reaching meekly for his healing hand.

Yet I can't imagine Christ turning away from an invalid because they weren't polite - or if they physically were repulsive (ever seen a true leper? YUCK). He communed not with the health and well and genteel, but with the sick, the ill and the politically incorrect.


I've got a long ways to go, but I also know it is the way to go.

DIRECTIONS

Mental illnesses can do a lot of different ways.

A lot of press about Adam Lanza's diagnosis of autism or Asperger's - what medication he was or was not on - what his mother did or did not do.

A mother in Idaho wrote in her blog about her own son, 

"I love my son. But he terrifies me," Long wrote. "I am sharing this story because I am Adam Lanza's mother. I am Dylan Klebold's mother and Eric Harris' mother. I am James Holmes' mother. I am Jared Loughner's mother. I am Seun-Hui Cho's mother, " she wrote, rattling off the names behind some of the nation's most notorious mass shootings: Sandy Hook Elementary School; Columbine High School; a crowded movie theater in Aurora, Colorado; a shopping center near Tucson, Arizona; Virginia Tech.

"And these boys -- and their mothers -- need help," she added. "In the wake of another horrific national tragedy, it's easy to talk about guns. But it's time to talk about mental illness."

I have a daughter who is far from normal, average or regular. She is right on the border of mentally handicapped vs. learning disabled - but with extremely atypical learning disabilities. I mean, she can't add 2 + 2 without using her fingers, but she understand algebraic concepts. Her reading ability is college, but her writing is at a third grade level. She is legally blind without her glasses, has to walk with a cane, and is severely overweight (like 340 lbs.). 

And yes, when she was much younger she used to throw some pretty serious fits. She was frustrated trying to make herself understood, and angry about people's (school kids' in particular) reactions to her and her difficulties.

But Joy's anger went inside - she has struggled for years with self-mutilation - ripping herself with her fingers rather than cutting, but still to the point where she has some scars for life.

She could have become someone like Adam Lanza quite easily.

But she's been on anti-depressants since high school (and I wish oh how I wish I had known what a difference it makes in her learning curve - I would have begun giving them to her as a child), and most of the time deals with it. She sees a counselor regularly, talks to me daily, and writes a lot in a journal when she gets mad.
I can't help but think, however - what if. that sort of help hadn't been available? What if I thought that anti-depressants were bad - she needed to muscle her way through?

And how many other people out there who are in desperate need of mental health treatment - and can't afford it, or don't know how to get it, or have been told that it won't help?

America, are you ready to face this, discuss it, and address it?

LIBERAL RANTING AND RAVING

I didn't used to consider myself a liberal.

Partially because of the sheer pride in which my husband has always declared himself a liberal Democrat - it always rubs me a bit the wrong way, it seems to be him bending over backwards to not be his Republican father.

And the term "liberal" always seems to be, excuse me, too ACTIVE a term for someone as politically lazy as I have been.

So what is now driving me to apply this term to myself?

The conservatives.

GUN CONTROL immediately becomes TAKING AWAY ALL OF OUR SELF-DEFENSE.

GAY MARRIAGE THREATENING AMERICAN FAMILY.

BIRTH CONTROL = WILD GROUP ORGY SEX

(well, maybe this one is exaggerated a bit).

I'm not saying they are the only ones who use hyperboles such as this; the liberals can use the same ammunition.

It just seems to be the ONLY way they will "discuss" controversial subjects.

The one that triggered this blog today is in response to the tragedy in Connecticut.

IF GOD WERE ONLY ALLOWED IN SCHOOLS...

This really gets my blood pressure up.

Sure, this sounds all cozy-sweet-Jesus-loving-cotton-candy-sweet.

But, if, as they say, PRAYERS WERE ALLOWED IN SCHOOLS...

Then WHAT prayers?

Catholic rosary? Christian? The five obligatory Muslim prayers?
Prayer over lunch? Prayer over snacks? Prayer to visit the restroom in safety?

Who decides when? What kind? And who leads it?
What if someone wants silent prayer, and another wants to sing it?

And what about the child who does NOT want to pray? Should they be forced to? Or banished because they don't?

Freedom of religion means that YOU don't get to decide what MY form of worship will be. That I do not have to worship as you do, and in particular my CHILD does not have to worship like your child does.



And this one kinda says it all for me:

Okay, Hope, now take a deep breath and move on to more important things - like loving all these people making all these bumper-sticker slogans regardless of their political views.

HOBBIT EXAMPLE

Martin Freeman had an outstanding line in "The Hobbit", which I watched today for the first time.


When he is challenged, once again, by the Thorin Oakenshield, the dwarf leader, for not being much help on their journey so far, he states (paraphrasing poorly here, I grant freely):

"Yes, I admit gladly I would like to be back at my home, in my comfortable chair, with my books and my garden. But I have a home - and you don't. So I'm going to help you get yours back, if I can."

Brought tears to my eyes.

And I realize this is a true and great example of what we should be.

Recognizing the blessings and prosperity and freedoms we enjoy - and then try to get those same blessings, prosperity and freedoms to those less fortunate.

By giving freely to those in need.

By allowing others the freedom to be who they think they are.

By sharing what we know, how we got as far as we are, and moving together toward even better circumstances.

Without leaving anyone else behind or underneath us, and being able to follow those ahead of us.

I believe the hobbit got it exactly right.

LOOKING LIKE ROCKY AFTER THE FIGHT

I don't look my best at the present.

A couple of days ago I fell, hit my head on a couple of rocks, so I have five stitches holding the center of my forehead together for a few more days, with two black eyes and various scraps and cuts on other parts of me.

And I must admit I am extremely disappointed in most people's reaction when they see me in public.

I honestly thought I would get a couple of oh-my-god-what-happened-to-you.

I was hoping to get at least one did-someone-do-this-to-you-do-you-feel-safe.

But so far?

Most of my contact is them quickly averting any eye contact and hurrying past me.

It is amusing at least at the hospital (where my husband has been for the past three days with something completely and totally unrelated to my injuries); at least there you can see a glance of wonder-what-happened-and-who-put-in-those-sloppy-stitches.

But mostly it's omg-don't-look-at-her/me/that.

I know our current American culture is severely conflicted with a tendency toward voyeurism (look at all the reality shows) while encouraging isolation (Facebook, social networks, anything so you don't have to go out and actually MEET people).

But come on, people, I might need REAL ACTUAL HELP.

Someone might be physically abusing me, and threatening me to not tell anyone.

I might NOT have gotten any medical help because I don't have any insurance and can't afford it.

I might be frightened and scared and need some assistance.

Wait a minute.

THAT is why people aren't inquiring - it might make them have to do something.

Safer to look past and beyond.

I've seen this quote on the Internet recently:

“Sometimes I would like to ask God why He allows poverty, suffering, and injustice when He could do something about it. But I’m afraid He would ask me the same question.”

I think I understand this a little bit more now from the other side.

A COMEDY OF ERRORS

What is something you should not do when you are trying to get someone to the emergency room?

Do something stupid that guarantees you also get a ride in the ambulance to the E.R.

My husband has been suffering from one particular whopper of a kidney stone, but then developed an infection from its removal.

And by late Sunday afternoon, was feverish and sick enough to warrant a trip to the E.R. and not wait for regular consulting hours on Monday.

But as I was pulling out from the house, a errant dog of mine decided at that moment to show back up on our doorstep.

And since that night was supposed to get down to freezing, I felt I could not justify leaving her outside for the night.

So I jumped out of the truck, trotted back to the house to let her in, and...

TRIPPED.

Right into the nice decorative stones that surround our house - in face, my forehead DIRECTLY into a sharpish sort of stone - which then split my face open with an immediate deluge of blood all over EVERYthing.

Bill was too sick to drive, so a call to 911 brought the ambulance to us, and we BOTH got taken in.

I was stitched up, and Bill was admitted to the hospital.

Not the original plan, I fear.

MS. COMMUNICATION

Living with pain isn't easy.

And kidney stones involve whole great big gobs of pain.

But since he had experienced relatively little pain on Monday (flat on his back, with serious pain opiates running through his system every six hours), my husband (foolishly) decides he should go back to work on Tuesday.

Fast forward about five hours.

My dear husband, who by then, on a scale of 1 to 10 (1 being light and breezy and 10 being total and complete agony), was at work with a 9.98.

But he had also promised to drop off the check for our daughter's rent on the way home, regardless of his health, pain and welfare issues (at least in his own mind).

So he did.

But at the apartment complex office: "Sorry, sir, we can't accept this check. It's late, so it's $70 more."

Now, this is to a man who is experiencing serious physical pain - doubled over - sweat dripping from his ashen face. I also should mention he is 6'4", and about 340 lbs.

Not someone to mess with normally.

"Why is it late? My daughter said the office told her she could pay today!"

"The payment wasn't here when we opened this morning - so it's late."

So Bill loudly shared some well-phrased, er, 'colorful metaphors' regarding the office personnel's possible ancestry.

And began to write a new check for the rent plus the $70 late fee.

Then these same officer personnel, who clearly seem to have some sort of death wish, pipe up: "Oh, no sir, we can't take a check, you'll have to pay in cash."

The options at that moment appeared to be pass out onto the office floor, kill several people, and/or storm out.

He storms out.


Then my daughter calls; "Mom, why did the office just have me sign a paper about being evicted?"


And I get into my fairly-regular 'let's-clean-up-this-mess' mode, drive into town, go to the bank, cash a check for the $600+, and take it to the apartment office to pay the rent.

To be greeted by "Oh, no, we can't take cash."

I began crying.

It was a combination of too many days and not enough sleep, trying to be humane about dolling out pain medications when your husband seems to never be out of pain, and the fact that yes, they may evict my perfectly innocent disable daughter for no rent payment.

I got myself under control, dried my tears, and tried very calmly to get them to clarify exactly what the (#&@)!) they did want.

"A certified money order."

"Or a cashier's check."

"Or a debit card payment."

My husband had HAD his ATM/Visa card right in his wallet the entire time, and could have easily paid with that if they had mentioned that as an option.


So with myself then having the choice of 1) following through on my husband's thoughts and kill a few people here, 2) rushing to get a money order and miss the urology appointment where (hopefully) the surgery was going to be scheduled to relieve my husband's agony and 3) bursting into tears again, I choose 3, and left.

And pray that today, between surgery for Bill, I can get their *#&$$) money order.

And NOT walk into that same *#&% office only to hear, "Oh, sorry, we can't accept money orders that are printed on green (or blue or orange) paper.

I WILL be walking in with a wad of tissues, however, just in case.

 

And all these photos? I just found some pretty cool back photos searching on the net.

Is this old lady porn?