Tomorrow

Tomorrow, being a new day, brings me to the task of deciding a few things; 1) Am I going to repeat the same-ol same-ol tomorrow? And 2) If not, what am I going to do different?

My idea is to start a schedule, well, that's not really a tomorrow idea, that was a today idea. It failed miserably today, but, alas, failure is an invitation to try again and do it better.

Failure is the door that opens to better ideas, pull-your-bootstraps-up and try again. Try again? Well, sort of, remember that the definition on insanity is trying the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. So try again means take a step back, think about what worked today and what didn't.

Sort of like posting all the day's events on a little piece of paper, shuffling through them and throwing out what ever didn't work or doesn't fit.

Today I tried to serve only decalf coffee and not serve any anxiety meds. I wanted to see if I could keep things calm without much intervention.

Ehhhhh! Wrong! About 2 this afternoon I found my self running around like a chicken with my head cut off, which I KNOW I promised myself I would STOP doing. I tried shutting the den door with a 'Bang' to let her know I mean what I say when I say 'I'm busy'.

I've decided that she is WAY more persistant and manipulative than I could have ever imagined. Today, in the course of ignoring her, she burned the end of her finger trying to light her own cig. Now she's pretty good at lighting up alone, she's been doing it blind for 15 years. I noticed she only burns the finger when I'm busy. AND she only tells me how much it hurts after I've gotten tough on her. AND her leg only hurts when she wants attention.

Yesterday I went for a one hour walk with my neighbor. I used to walk with her everyday, but the winter cold has kept us both in. We offered to plop Mom in the wheel chair and take her along. Mom declined.

When I got back from my walk, guess who WASN'T on the couch? Yep, you got it. She was coming out of the master bathroom. Not her bathroom, the bathroom in my bedroom. "Hey, Mom, are you lost?" I asked. Seems she made a left instead of a right trying to go outside.

GO OUTSIDE?????? With me gone. Oh, hail mary and ghost get me, she's trying to wonder outside onto a porch that's 4, that's FOUR feet off the ground. Alone. Making lefts instead of rights.

Guess what we argued about yestereday? Getting her a visiting care-taker so I can leave the house and not worry. She said no, I said yes.

Guess who won? Yep, me and the cat. We won and I'm getting her a sitter so I can go for a FREAKIN' walk 1/2 mile up the road and back.

To get back on track, tomorrow I'm going to schedule meals again and this time I'm going to get tough about closing the kitchen when the day is done. She ate like a fat man in a hot-dog eating contest today. I don't believe she was hungry, I believe she was trying to keep me focused on her instead of napping, talking on the phone, spending down time on the computer. "Did you feed the horses yet?" she asked. "I'm on the way out now," is my answer. "Get me a cup of coffee" was her answer.

Out came the pre-teen, mumbling under my breath. I gave her a thermos of coffee today and she didn't use it because 'the cat stole the lid'. Well, then, why didn't the coffee spill out????

Tomorrow is another day.... and I'm gonna make it a good one for me. You just watch!

TRADITION!!!!

I feel like father-guy in the movie Fiddler on the Roof. His kids go their own way without his blessings, which turns his world upside down. He lives by a set of rules that govern family traditions, rules that have been in place for generation upon generation and always worked well in his world.

When his kids, one by one, upset his apple cart of safe-world processes, he cries out in anguish, "TRADITION"!!!!! I feel for him, no one wants to be thrust out of their safety zone, watch the old fly away and the new come crashing in. The father-guy's analysis of life is that life can be as unstable as the....... fiddler-guy on the roof. You could lose your footing without a moment's notice. Indeed, the whole movie is about this poor father-guy losing his grip on everything he's known about life. Family, devotion, tradition. What makes the transition from the old to the new is that at times, it seems the whole world is against his struggle to hold on to all that is safe and dear to him. His wife poo-poo's him, his kids disregard his advice and time-tested traditional role, the town gives him the ol' 'oh, now, now, old man' treatment.

In the end he finds a somewhat uncomfortabe albiet unavoidable balance between the new (that he will probably always and for ever struggle with) and maintaining some of his old traditional father-guy role style.

So I take the movie to be a lesson in balance, acceptance and boundries. Change happens. Change is like a hard rain that floods the creek and changes the creek bank. Sometimes the banks change so slowly that it's hardly noticable, other times the rain is a deluge that changes the course of the creek in a way that awes the onlooker.

My creek banks experienced a deluge about 6 months ago when the mother-gal came here to stay. My flow changed from zig to zag in the space of 4 days and 22oo miles. It has been pouring down rain in my life with the inclusion of lightning, thunder, hail, wind and power outages for months.

This week I decided to put on my mad scientist robe and drag out the weather-control macine. I fired up the emotional bulldozer and started re-shaping the flow of my out-of-control creek. I worked for many years to form the path of my creek, and dammit, TRADITION! My creek needs to flow in a manner that I, ME, your's truely, can manage.

Ok, ok, calm down. I'll leave this new curve in the banks but THIS curve needs to be re-worked. Hmmmm,, not thundering so much now.... rain's letting up, a little.... there's still a tornado trying to blow around in my mind, emotions and anxiety run high in me, but it took 6 months to discover the impact of the changes, it will take a while to get the creek back in the banks.

The fiddler-guy on the roof hasn't fallen off, but he is slipping. Good, he's still there, playing his song. Da DA da da da da..... Oh yeah, this can be done, I can do changes and still the fiddler-guy will play my song.

The father-guy in the movie ended up leaving his town, changes drove him, his family and the whole community out. The movie leaves them all saying goodby to the old and promising eachother that tomorrow will be a good one, by the seat of their pants, they will just survive, but will find a way to thrive and enjoy doing it. "Write to me" and "I'll tell you all about my new tailor shop when I get set up in the place when I get there!"

Balance, acceptance, devotion, family, and hope. That's the song the fiddler-guy is playing on the roof.

Playing hard-ball and luvin' it

Well, after a near meltdown I called mean ol' sister for some advice. I got it alright, in her style that could be taken as cold hearted bossing and maybe is a little but that's why I called her.

A good knock up-side the head is just what I needed.

I decided to sleep in MY OWN bed last night. Not on a cold air mattress in a living room filled with volume 18 sounds of murder and screaming.

It was a bit of a rough start, 'get me this first' and 'are you still here?' I finally got her settled, closed my blessed bedroom door and had my hand on the light switch when I heard a frantic voice banging on my door. "Where are you, are you here??"

Rolling my eyes as only a pre-teen acting adult can do, I re-entered the livingroom to see her on her bed/couch looking (here we go again, she's blind) around for me. "Yes, Mom, what is it?" I asked in my kindest voice. Ok, maybe it wasn't the Kindest, but it was good enough to fool her into believing I didn't have blood shooting out of my eyes....

"I heard a growl", A Growl, I thought, what, does she have a boogyman under the couch?? WTF anyway? This was starting to look like a long night and I had only gotten close to the bed, not even in it yet...

Thinking quickly, I grabbed the cat and explained the noise was probably him. Honestly, that cat has never growled that I know of. WTF anyway?

I closed the door firmly, she had to hear it, I thought, she'll know I'm in here and the door is CLOSED. I slept the most wonderful sleep, never heard a thing all night. All is well, right? Wrong.

She asked for a sudafed this morning because for some reason, she said, her eyes were watering and swollen. I looked closely at her, durned if she wasn't teary eyed. Well, well, well, I've only ever seen her actually cry once in my long life, and then the tears came with things flying across the room. This was maybe 38 years ago. Huh!

As if I hadn't tortured her enough by abandoning her in that big, lonely livingroom for, what, about 8 hours, I added insult to injury by taking off for 5, yep, count em, FIVE hours today.

I walked out the door as she sniffled and blew her nose. I felt not an ounce of bad for her, I was angry. Really, REALLY angry with her. 35 years ago she walked out on me, not walked, sneaked out when I wasn't looking. For 35 years she's practiced throwing us all out, bringing some back only to throw them out again.

For 15 years she has been suffering life-changing illnesses and wouldn't let us kids reach out to her. The only reason she is here is because she knew she would die alone in that apartment and someone would find her rotted carcas 2 weeks later. She doesn't want to die alone.

So 35 years ago when I really REALLY needed her, she was a gonner, and now when I need a few hours to take care of me, she has a death grip on me. Oooh, maybe that's a bad analogy.

When I got home, 5 hours after I left, the tears were dry and she said she was glad I didn't elope 'or something' and that I came home.

I'm not sure I want to elope but 'or something' might have been interesting....

Friday the 13th?

Yep, it's Friday the 13th. My [almost] black cat is in rare form, already this morning he's gotten on the table, knocked some nick nacks down and tried to get in the trash. The durn fool tried to kill me too. No, really, he tried to kill me! He, he,,, dum da dum da.... he CROSSED MY PATH!!! That was at the early hour of 3:30 this morning.

Yes, 3:30 AM. That's the part of the day when it's still dark out and I'm supposed to be entering that wonderful, deep REM sleep where I dream about having a fat checking account and a place to go when it gets light out and I wake up.

It had been a pretty good week for sleep at the correct times, the worst thing I heard upon awakening all week is "OH, you're up! What time is it? 7:30 in the morning? Huh, I thought you always got up around 5am!"

I've gotten pretty good at acting like a pre-teen and mumbling under my breath and not being heard. 'Yeah, I WOULD get up early if I didn't have to cook a meal and make coffee at stinking midnight'! At midnight I mumble something akin to 'The kitchen is closed, what do you think this is, a freakin' restaurant'????

So at 3:30 I roll over to re-adjust to a good REM position, turn back on the heating pad when I hear "Are you awake?" (I'm going to have nightmares for the rest of my life based on those three words). "Mmmm," I say, "Not really". The answer I get is NOT what I wanted to hear.... "I'm thinking about a hot cup of coffee". 'Yeah, think about it for about 3 more hours' is my pre-teen mumble.

"Is there any hot coffee"? "I have to make some" is my answer. "Oh, naughty me! You're so nice!" are the words that float across the dark room. I turned the light on, fumbled for my glasses and glance her way to see her sitting up and holding the cup out like a beggar in the street.

I handled it well.

I laughed at her and told her she was funny.

She handled it well.

She said "At least you're not mad at me".

If only she knew! Today is Friday the 13th. I'm an evil witch in my secret life!!!

Are we there yet?

Are we there yet, I want it now, is it ready yet? Why?

As the parent of a parent, a parent of my own children and a few steps, I've come to realize I'm also my own parent.

I endure self-directed scoldings, praises and lessons about life that include things like 'dummy, you won't do THAT again, will you'?

Where a self-directed scolding used to be just that, I see where my parent-self has become kinder and more nurturing to my child-self. Maybe I'm now my own Grandma. After all, don't Grandma's let the grandkids get away with WAY more than they let thier OWN kids get away with?

Core Values, the things we grew up believing about ourselves, family, and the world in general are, for me, a big bowl full of little scraps of paper upon which each 'value' is written. It took me a long time to realize that I could shuffle through those scraps of paper, longer to realize I could throw out the ones that didn't work or make sense and even longer to get brave enough to do just that.

First I had to find replacement values, so I had to get to work figuring out who I was and who I wanted to be. Hmmmmmm.

So I'm working on it, find more patience, learn to appreciate myself, find and utilize my attributes, all that.

Then I got side tracked. I realized that there are a whole handful of people that probably don't even realize they have a pile of little tiny papers with significant live-directing words written on them. I realized that change and growth, to me, is not only an option but a necessity but to some change and growth is...... "So, what's your point"?

To borrow from FS, "WTF"???

So I took a look at my most recent responsibility, wondering why she frustrates me to the Nth degree, and I realize that, to her, growth, change and learning new things are not an option. Her question is "are we there yet" like the child in the back seat and my question is "are we there yet" as in, have I got life figured out yet?

Answer, I hope not, I hope to grow, change and learn for many years.

WAIT!!!!

"Are you awake?" I ignored the call, it was 3:30 in the morning and she can get her own self to the bathroom and, as far as I was concerned, the kitchen was closed. I heard no more as I drifted back to the most peaceful and wonderful sleep I had the pleasure of enjoying in many-a-night.

"Are you awake?" The second time I heard that question I mumbled something akin to 'mmmmm' and rolled over. "I want to go outside" was the next statement coming from across the room. The tone was a cross between petulant and demanding. "Ok, I'm getting up". I heard the cane bump the table, Oh NO! She's getting up and I'm not ready!

Wait! Let me get my glasses! No, WAIT, the door is this way! Coffee? No, I'm just getting up! Slow down, don't run! WAIT, let me get the door open! OH, the rocking chair is this way! Coffee? I'm going to fix it now, remember, I JUST GOT UP!!

Hey, give me those matches, no matches in the house! Where did you get those matches, what happened to your lighter?

Turns out she fumbled about the house while I slept. How does a crippled old blind lady find her way around the house and I don't hear her? Oh, yeah, I was engaging in the most wonderful and peaceful sleep I had experienced in many-a-night.

Coffee? Yes, yes, as soon as I get you IN the rocking chair and not off the end of the porch, the first step would be a biggie! Yes, the chair is this way. Ok, I'll get you some coffee. Here's a new lighter, give me the matches. She answered "yes, Mommy". Good grief!

Once I got the matches out of her grubby little hands and coffee into them, the time on the porch was wonderful. Seems the song birds took the night express into town and they were all announcing their arrival with vigor only heard in spring. The Crows, mourning doves, bluebirds, chicka-dee's and finches all sang 'good morning' to us and thus started the day.

Clocks and TV's

As I sit here pondering my already-too-long-day, I glance at the evil clock and it tells me it's only 9:30 in the morning. I'm thinking of becoming a serial killer that targets clocks. I've already decided that I'm crazy enough to have a TV burning party when this segment of my life comes to an end and I can move on to other things.

As a child I dreamed of growing up and doing the traditional thing, be a teacher, be a nurse, I grew up to be a truck driver instead. Well, I WAS a truck driver, now my childhood dream seems to have caught up with me. I didn't know I was running from it but I guess I was, how can something 'catch' one after 40 years if that one wasn't running?

Yes, I'm a nurse, but it didn't stop there, I'm also a psychologist, social worker, house keeper, cook, and, most recently, a serial killer to clocks and TV's.

Psycho, maybe that's what I am. I just took the cat to the vet to get his.... ahem..... well let's just say he won't be much of a 'he' after he gets home.

Hey, I need SOMEPLACE for my aggressive feelings to go!