Running On Empty

RUNNING ON EMPTY
 

Running on empty. That is an actual picture of my fuel gauge. I seem to be running on empty in a lot of areas of my life these days. My bank account is certainly running on empty. But, there is one part of my life that has almost cease to exist entirely these days; faith. Faith in my God, faith in myself, faith in humanity. I didn’t get this way overnight. But I want to tell you how it happened.  For some of you, this will come as no surprise. For most of you, it will smack you upside the head like a two-by-four.

I am the victim of abuse. I am working toward becoming a survivor. My entire life I have been abused; physically and emotionally. And if you were to ask my counselor, he would tell you the abuse started even before I was born. You see, I was a “mistake,” an “unplanned pregnancy.” Words that, make no mistake about it, wound the spirit. In my early childhood I was beaten, sometimes until I bled, all the while my mother shouted at me. I was often told how stupid I was, despite my grades proving those types of statements to be false. In my teenage years, when the physical abuse lessened, the emotional verbal abuse increased. I was told that I would “never make it in the real world.”  I graduated near the top of my class out of nearly 400 students.  Even when I decided to return to college and finish my bachelor’s degree, some members of my family said I would never make it!

My spirit, which which makes up “me”, had been set-up for a lifetime of suffering and failure. The scars of physical abuse can heal. Emotional verbal abuse is toxic. For the receiver, it’s confusing, and often debilitating. I did not know until I was 37-years-old what the impact of a lifetime of abuse had done to me. I wasn’t even able to give “it” a name until 2009. I just always knew something wasn’t quite right. I often thought the “something” was me. Why wouldn’t I?  I had been trained to think that since before birth. I have an older sister who tells me often that my life’s failures and shortcomings are due to the choices I made. You see, I did not follow the plan my parents had set out for me. I did not do A, B, C & D…. I skipped ahead to D, then went back to B, and C. So naturally, I’m doomed to a life of failure! I’m not sure that’s the reason why life has been so difficult for me.

I married, the first time, when I was 18-years-old. He was my high school sweetheart. I loved him dearly. My family was very much against the marriage. Naturally. It wasn’t part of the great plan for my life. I had not even graduated from high school when we were married. My decision didn’t exactly get a ringing endorsement. Instead it was met with negative sentiments such as, “it will never last” and “you’re making a big mistake.” Four years later when we separated, my family was the first in line to say “I told you so” and other encouraging comments. Not one member of my family ever suggested we could make it work. Not one of them ever suggested we try marriage counseling. They were all to delighted to have been proven right. Dad is always right, don’t you know?!

It should come as no surprise that my second go-around at marriage ended in disaster. Well, that’s a lie. It actually hasn’t ended at all. It’s dying a slow and painful death. Why? Because I spent more than twelve years being abused by my soon-to-be-ex-husband. It was at the end of that twelve years that I was finally able to put a name to “it.” Verbal Abuse. It’s not as sexy as some of the others, like “domestic abuse” or “physical abuse” but it is the most common. In my case, my verbal abuser was a master of disguise. A real charmer, he waited until he had me firmly in his grasp before letting the hammer down.

Within six months of saying “I do,” what I was really thinking was, “I don’t!” I was in counseling. I was on anti-depressants. Twelve years and twelve marriage counselors later I decided enough was enough. Something, or rather, someone had to change. Much to my surprise, I found out the someone was me. My church put me in touch with a counselor who told me about “verbally abuse relationships.” And I can honestly say that’s the first time I had ever heard about it.  You mean, this lifetime of hell I’ve been living has a name?! My first verbally abusive relationship was with my parents, then my siblings, then my spouse of the past twelve years. Unbelievable.

In 2009 I joined a forum for victim of verbal abuse, for women and men going through or those who have been in verbally abusive relationships. In that forum I am anonymous. I am comfortable there. Here, on my personal blog, not so much. That comes from a lifetime of walking on eggshells around the people who are closest to me. The people I would expect to judge me the least, but end up being my greatest critics. I can just hear my mother saying right now, “What will people say?” There is a part of me that is asking the same question. What WILL people say? When I started counseling, with counselor #13, back in 2009, he told me I needed to focus on being “real” with people, being honest about my situation. I haven’t done that. Only a handful of people know the real story. Most do not.

And even those who know about the verbally abuse relationship; don’t know about the daily struggle, just to survive. The past three and half years have been the hardest of my life. Trying to stand on my own two feet, trying to heal from the years of abuse, trying to figure out who in the hell I am. From what I’ve learned, and observed, one of them major reasons victims of abuse don’t leave is out of fear; fear of not being able to make it financially. And the abusers don’t make it any easier. My stbxh doesn’t provide steady, ongoing child support for our daughter.  In the meantime, he is living with his mother, rent-free. He’s been on an all-expenses-paid vacation for the past three and half years. He would love nothing better than to see me fail, and to have to move back in with him.

That is closer to becoming a reality than I’d like to admit. But I’m trying to be real! I’m much better at helping people, than I am at asking for help for myself.

I spent my entire life savings moving to Phoenix back in 2008, trying to “live the dream.” I have $50,000 in student loan debt. I have a 19-year-old son in college. I don’t make enough money to support us. We live a modest lifestyle, I think. My 13-year-old daughter and I live in a two-bedroom four-plex. It was the cheapest place I could find and still get her into one of Bakersfield’s best school districts. Having access to a good education for my children has always been my top priority. Making sure they don’t hear those same, ugly, debilitating messages is also a big priority. How best to make my dreams for their future and for mine come to fruition, I’m not sure. I used to rely on my faith to guide me. But like I said, I’m running a little low on faith these days. If you have any to spare, send it my way.

Deliver Me

Tonight's blog post is brought to you by: self-loathing.

I'm trying to wrap my mind around a certain set of circumstances and I hear myself cry out, God, deliver me! Now, mind you, conversations between me and the Lord, granted, they are mostly one-sided, are not uncommon. On a near daily basis I ask the Almighty for several things: to deliver me from financial stresses, to deliver me the perfect man (not a perfect man, just the perfect man for me) and for his continued blessings on my family. Yes, I said continued. I am not blind to the fact that despite my current state in life, I am blessed beyond measure.  Far better off than some, not as much as others.  One thing I do not, under any circumstances every ask Him for: patience! Bleh! Yet He has seen fit to throw patience upon me in heaps. Lord, I don't mean to sound unthankful, but... I don't want it! Return to sender! I'm done with patience! Finished! I've practiced patience aplenty; all I could ever need, and then some! I don't need the patience of a flat tire! Though I am thankful it was only a few blocks from home and not in the middle of nowhere. And even more grateful for the stranger who noticed me sobbing in my car, and carefully approached me with her offer to help, restoring my faith that there are still good people in the world. Oh, I get it now. The lesson wasn't patience... the lesson was learning to reach out to others for help! Somewhere in the Good Book I'm sure it is written that I should expect great things, and great things will come. Expect nothing, get nothing. Right? He has great things planned for me. Lord, I am ready to take delivery!

Lord, Deliver Me... deliver me from the worldly things that cause me stress, they are only temporary and not worth the trouble.... deliver me someone to share my life with.. and deliver me your continued blessings so that I can be a blessing to others.

Perception IS Reality

Let me say it again, perception IS reality. If I learned nothing else in all of those college communication courses; I learned that perception is reality. With that being said and hopefully understood, let me dive right into the topic that's got me fired up today.  By now I'm sure most of you have seen it on the news; this disturbing video of a stepfather beating his stepson with a belt. The incident was caught on camera by a neighbor as the stepfather and the young boy were playing catch in their backyard. It would appear from the video that the boy's punishment for not catching the ball was a swift lashing with his stepfather's belt. The boys grandfather says it was for being "mouthy." What has been seen on TV is an abbreviated version of an incident that lasted more than seven minutes. The beating stopped when the neighbor video taping it finally stepped in and said something.

How parents discipline their children can be a polarizing topic. Many come from the school-of-thought that "if it was good enough for me, it's good enough for them." Meaning, for people my age to have been hit with a belt is a common tale of woe.  For folks my parents age, it is even more so. We are under the impression that because we turned out "okay" after having been disciplined by the belt that it is an acceptable form of punishment.  It isn't!

Research on the long-term effects of spanking continue to emerge.  I think as its victims grow older and are forced to come to terms with the damage, we'll learn more and become more aware of the problems, both long-term and short-term, that corporal punishment causes on the human psyche.  An article published back in March talks about a recent study on spanking and its link to "adverse outcomes in children and teens." There have been several studies on the matter as of late, and one need not look further than Google to find a reputable resource on the subject.

I was watching CNN last night.  Host Don Lemon was talking to his guest, comedian Louie Anderson about this hot topic. Anderson, a victim of childhood abuse, had this to say: Abuse is the source of everything that is wrong with the world.  Be it physical, or verbal, or emotional, or some other form of abuse.  Louie Anderson got it right. And when the rest of the world "gets it" we'll be headed in a much better direction. 
   

Cover Girl

I recently joined a group on Facebook, "I Want To Be in TIME." As in TIME magazine. And sure enough, I went to my mailbox today, pulled out the latest edition of TIME, and there I was... on the cover of TIME. It's very cool. Something to tell the grand kids about. I'm going to buy copies and autograph them for all of my family members. I'm also going to frame a copy for myself. It's my fifteen minutes of fame, and I'm taking full advantage.

Welcome To Wal-Mart

Many companies have been downsizing and outsourcing. There's no breaking news in that statement. Some of the outsourcing is taking place right under our noses. Wal-Mart, for example; Some of the jobs previously done by their employees, are now done by the customer. I think it started with those nifty scanners scattered throughout the store, the ones that will scan a bar code and check the price of an item. How convenient. How thoughtful of Wal-Mart to give customers access to that. That's one less employee they need to hire. That persons job, doing price-checks and providing customer service, has now been outsourced, to you, the consumer. Then came "self-checkout." What a great concept. Who wants to stand in line when you can quickly and easily check-out on your own. The problem with that is; it's not always easy. God forbid something should go wrong, like an item was scanned twice. Now you need the super-secret code to remove the item from your total. So your stuck waiting for the elusive Wal-Mart employee to come and rescue you from "self-checkout" hell. And that's not my only beef with self-checkout. I'm also unloading my cart and bagging my own goods. All in the name of self-checkout. I'm paying to be my own checker, my own cashier. Let me repeat that; I'm paying to unload my shopping cart, scan the items I'm purchasing, bag said items, and put the bags back in my shopping cart. Talk about outsourcing! So, needless to say, I forgo the self-checkout as much as possible. I want to be waited on. But even then, much of the customer service has gone by the wayside. I still have to put my items on the conveyor belt and put the bags back in my shopping cart. There is a very rare occasion when I'll run into a checker who's willing to go above and beyond the call of duty and will take the time to put my bags in my cart. So, a couple of days ago I was standing in line at Wal-Mart, already irritated because it was 5 o'clock and there were only 4 lanes open. There were two people ahead of me, a man behind me, and a woman behind him. The cashier literally yelled at the man behind me, "Sir, could you tell that woman she's my last customer." WHAT?? AS IF!!! She should probably be glad she didn't ask me, because I would have responded with, "Yes, for a fee."

Do You Hear What I Hear?

Do you remember taking a hearing test, back in grade school. They put those gigantic headphones over your ears, then asked you to raise your hand, right or left, according to which side to you heard the beeping sound in. Think about that beeping sound. Or imagine what it sounds like when you get that occasional ringing in your ear. Think about what that sounds like. Now imagine hearing that sound all of the time. 24/7. That's what life is like living with chronic tinnitus.

I've been living with chronic tinnitus in my right ear since October 2002. I had hosted the BINGO booth at my sons elementary school fall festival the night before it happened. I woke up in the middle of the night with the most intense ear pain I've ever experienced. By the next morning I had lost the hearing in both of my ears. After several weeks of antibiotics, anti-virals, steroids, etc., the hearing in my left ear was restored. However, I've never regained hearing in my right ear. And to make matters worse, chronic tinnitus set it. I sought treatment from the world renowned House Ear Institute in Los Angeles, CA. I was devastated when the doctor told me I had sensorineural hearing loss. He also told me if it's going to be reversed, if my hearing is going to return, it is likely to do so within a few weeks. It had already been six months.

At 28 years old, having just decided to go back to school and in my second semester as a returning student, I'd lost the hearing in my right ear and was suffering with chronic tinnitus. You're thinking, I should be thankful! It could have been worse. At least I still have hearing in one ear. And all of those things are right. But I wasn't thankful. I had to learn to adapt to my new disability. Learning to always sit to the right side of a person, or the right side of a classroom. Learning to lip-read. Social situations, that in the past I enjoyed, I now dread. Take a lot of voices, one bad ear, mix it with chronic tinnitus and you end up with one stressed out person.

It's not only that my one good ear is trying to compensate for the bum ear, but it's also trying to hear over the chronic tinnitus. It's the tinnitus that drives me crazy. Especially at night, when I'm trying to go to sleep. I always have to have a radio, or other white noise, to keep my brain from focusing on the ringing. Sometimes the ringing is so loud and intense, it amazes me that other people in the room can't hear it. I've often been laying in bed next to my husband, the ringing piercing through my head, and I'll say, "Can you hear that?" I've even pulled his head next to mine, ear to ear, certain that he'd be able to hear the ringing. But he doesn't. No one does. This is a case where it really is, all in my head!

The night before last I woke up around 1 o'clock in the morning and I noticed something; no ringing. None. I sat there for a few minutes, listening for the ringing, but all I heard was the radio. I heard it; crystal clear. I grabbed my cell phone and called my voice mail; I wanted to hear what a talking voice sounded like without the ringing. I could hear it! I called my sister. "Sherry, are you awake!" Thank God she was. After I hung up the phone I sent a text message to my husband and told him about the 'miracle' that had occurred. Then I laid there in my bed, listening to the radio until I fell asleep.

When I woke up in the morning, the ringing was back. If I had known it was only temporary, I would have stayed up all night, enjoying the sound of silence.

On FTD... and I don't mean the florist!

Frontotemporal Dementia... according to the UCSF Memory and Aging Center... is a group of related conditions resulting from the progressive degeneration of the temporal and frontal lobes of the brain. These areas of the brain play a significant role in decision-making, behavior control, emotion and language. FTD is less common than Alzheimer's. There is nothing to stop or slow the progression of this disease.

Today was our family conference with a doctor at the Alzheimer's and Memory Center in Fresno. My mother's diagnosis of FTD was confirmed. In short, the mother that I had grown to love is gone... and she is never coming back! She is already exhibiting many of the symptoms of Phase 2 Dementia, and a few of Phase 3; the terminal phase.

The doctor said "these processes tend to exaggerate old behaviors." This pains me greatly because it was those old behaviors that caused my mother and I not to be close in the first place.

But over the past 10 years our relationship evolved into something truly wonderful, as we bonded over motherhood and other common interests. In a matter of months, as her health has deteriorated, so to has our relationship. My only prayer now is that I will have the strength and wisdom to see my mother through this season of her life.

On my best friend LeNita Jo Meehan

In February 1992 my husband was stationed at NAS Lemoore, Calif. As a young couple with no kids and no money, one of the things we did for fun was get together with our friends on the weekends to play cards. On this particular weekend a new couple was joining the group. New arrivals to the base. They had a baby girl, Samantha. She was nine months old. The husband was easy going enough. But the wife, she was super outgoing and with a heavy southern accent to boot. One of the first things I said to her was, "And which of the southern states are you from?" I thought it was funny. She didn't. She was from Kentucky.

I worked in customer service at JC Penney a few towns over. A few days later I answered the phone and on the other end was a woman asking for directions to the store in the most southern voice I had ever heard. I said, "LeNita, is that you?" It was. And the rest, as they say is history. It was the beginning of the most wonderful friendship. A friendship that stood the test of time, distance, trials and tribulations. Samantha, the nine month old, is now a senior in high school. I love her and her sister and brother, Tori and Josh, as if they were my own. LeNita's parents, Howard and Clara Staley, are like a second family to me. For the last 17 years I have been honored to call LeNita Jo Meehan my best friend. We have shared each other's joys and each other's pains. When I went back to school there were so many times when I thought I would never make it. But LeNita lifted me up and gave me the inspiration to keep going. We spent countless hours on the phone together. Sometimes we would talk two or three times a days. In recent years when she was ill and didn't feel like talking it didn't matter to me I knew she still loved me just the same. LeNita called me a couple of days ago. She left a voicemail. I didn't even bother to listen to it. I was so excited to see that she had called. I called her right back. We had a nice visit. Then later I listened to the voicemail. If I had known she was going to die a few days later I wouldn't have deleted it. If I had known that was the last time I would hear her voice, I would have hung onto it forever. But I didn't. Her husband called me tonight with the devastating news no one wants to get. His wife is gone. Their babies mother is gone. My best friends is gone. God bless Patrick, Samantha, Tori, and Josh. God help us all find a way to cope with this great loss. God bless our beloved LeNita Jo Meehan.

On What a Migraineur Will Do

But first, a bit of good news, for a change. I woke up this morning and noticed something strange. No nausea! And the pain from my migraine, much less. On a scale of 1 to 10, about a 4. Half of what it's been the past several weeks. And instead of my entire head throbbing the pain is much more isolated. I consider this a good sign.

At the doctor's office, more good news. The results from Friday's MRI are in. Everything looks good. What a relief!

I'm getting ready for my appointment with the neurologist next week. I compiled a list of everything I've tried over the past month or so to get rid of this migraine. For "funnsies" (as one of my co-workers" would say) I decided to share that list on my blog.

Maxalt: medication best if taken at onset of migraine.
Topamax: used to treat seizures, taken in smaller doses used to prevent migraines. I've been taking since 2001, it's been working since 2001. Working that is, until now.
Aleve
Cranial sacral massage: provided some short-term relief.
Percocet: narcotic, pain reliever, had allergic reaction and discontinued use immediately
Zophran: anti-nausea medication
Toradol tablets and injections: NSAID (non-steroidal anti-inflammatory) used to treat pain.
Stadol injection: narcotic, pain reliever
Phenergan: anti-nausea medication
Tylenol 2: (caffeine/codeine combo from Canada)
Baclofen: muscle relaxer
Feverfew: herbal supplement, suggested by my massage therapist to treat migraines.
Magnetic bracelet: heard magnetics are good for migraines.
Excedrin Migraine
BC Analgesic Powder & Coke: The reason they call it BC is because it's been around since Before Christ. I kid! The BC and Coke remedy is some disgusting concoction my dad came up with. He apparently lived on BC & Coke back in the day when he suffered from migraines. He says the best way to take it is to swallow the power and chase it down with a swig of Coke. I say a shot of Jack Daniels would have done just as well. Or a knock in the head with an iron skillet. Yuck!

Essential Oils: recommended by a co-worker.

Tiger Balm: another cure-all suggested by my dad.

Mouth Guard: the migraine pain caused me to start clinching my teeth so hard my jaw started to hurt.

On Having a Migraine

My new year's resolution has fallen by the wayside, thanks to this migraine I've had for a month now. I can count on one hand the number of days since January 27th that I haven't been sick. Not only has my weekly blogging gone by the wayside, so has a lot of other things; like personal hygiene, watching the news.... living... in general. For the better part of the last month I've been holed up in my bedroom where it's nice and dark and quiet and cool. I had my husband help me install cardboard over the windows to insure no light would creep in. This should put to rest any questions at all about my being a vampire. The only thing missing from my bedroom is a coffin.

A friend of mine recently said "yeah for dads!" No kidding! About a week into this misery I called my dad for help. He drove all night, 600 miles, from California to get here. Bless his heart. He has looked after me and the kids. Shuffled me to doctors appointments. Picked my daughter up from school everyday. Made sure we're all properly fed. I don't know what we would've done without him. Yes, even big girls need their daddies every once in a while.

As for this migraine, it's unrelenting. I was able to get a reprieve for a few days thanks to a cocktail of stadol, toradol, and phenergan. Trips to the doctor for injections of toradol have yielded little to no results. I've noticed in recent days my symptoms are getting worse. My balance is off. And I can scarcely get out a sentence that actually makes sense. My kids find it hilarious that their usually well-spoken mom is now sounding like a buffoon. I've tried not to let on that it worries me.

Maybe tomorrow's MRI will shed some light on the issue. And God bless my doctor. He was able to get me an appointment with a neurologist at the Mayo Clinic next month. This as opposed to months from now, which was what I had previously been told. Me and 200 other people. Geesh! I could be dead by then. That's ridiculous that someone who's suffering from a migraine, and has been already for a month now, is expected to wait behind 200 other people to see a doctor. I mean, it's ridiculous that any of us have to wait. Aren't there enough doctors around? And if not, why? But that's a blog for another day.

So, now you know where I've been. As I've been laying here for the past month I've thought of so many wonderful things I'd like to write about. I can't wait til I feel better so I can get started.

On Being Lazy

Today someone accused me of being lazy. Someone who doesn't know me outside the 24 hours a week she works with me, accused me of being lazy. Let me tell you just how NOT lazy I am. At present I work a 40 hour week. I'm not bragging or complaining. I'm just making a statement of fact. I work a 40 hour week at my paying job. Then I come home to my non-paying job; wife and mother to Sean and Katie.

This is a typical day: Somewhere between my overnight shift at Good Morning Arizona and when my kids get home from school I squeeze in a nap, usually three to four hours. Then it's homework, housework, and getting dinner on the table. My evenings are spent cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, and hanging out with the kids; taking care of last minute notes for school, making sure everyone has lunch money, clean clothes to wear the next day, etc. If I'm lucky I have a few minutes to watch TV. Then I try to squeeze in another nap, one or two hours before heading out the door to work around midnight.

My weekends consist of 15 to 20 loads of laundry. Planning meals for the upcoming week. Going to the grocery store. And special projects around the house that I don't have time for during the week. Oh, and hanging out with he kids. Maybe catch a movie, go to the mall. Sometimes we just stay home, order pizza and rent a movie. I try to get the kids and I to church on Sunday's. We usually have a nice big early afternoon lunch. Then it's off to bed for me around five o'clock for a nice long six hour snooze before starting another week of short naps when and where I can get them.

Lazy, I think not. Thanks to my parents I have a strong work ethic.

I got my first real paying job when I was 15. As a waitress. My friends mother owned the restaurant. I wanted to work there so bad I offered to work for free. For tips actually. Which I did for about two weeks. Then she decided to hire me. Three dollars an hour. That's what I made. Plus tips of course. So at 15 I went to school all day, then after school went to my job as a waitress where I worked until nine, sometimes ten o'clock at night. Then I still had to come home and do homework.

In fact, I don't remember a time in my life when I didn't work. Excluding the year after my daughter was born. But my pregnancy had been so fraught with complication it was a miracle either one of us survived it. I needed to take a year to recover and enjoy being with my daughter.

And I won't even go into what it took for me to complete my college education. Now you talk about work? That was!

And I'd be remiss not to mention the work involved in being the daughter of aging parents. My dad is 75 and my mom is turning 71 in a few days. My dad has a sleu of health problems that need constant monitoring. And my mother is dying from a degenerative brain disease.

So yes, it pains me to be told by a single-twenty-something that I'm lazy. I know when I was twenty-something I didn't have a clue about the real world. I wish I could go back and tell my twenty-something self to grow-up. But I can't. I can't even tell this twenty-something to grow-up. What I can do is wish her well on her journey and pray that God blesses her just as he has blessed me with so many things to keep me busy.... so I don't have the chance to be lazy.

On Recycling and Kitty Litter

If you read my previous post you know I'm a cat owner. We have five cats, to be exact. Now, I prefer they use the great big litter box mother nature provided (sorry Mrs. Pederson). But not wanting to start a war with any of my neighbors I do provide them a litter box. After trial and error, and error, and error, I finally settled on Petco Scoopable Cat Litter. It comes in a nifty refillable container and Petco offers a reduced price on the refill versus buying a whole new container. Great concept. I'm totally on board. I'm saving money AND helping the environment. Sign me up!
That is until recently when Petco decided to try and pull a fast one. It put the new container on sale for less than the refill. No problem. I'll play along. My bucket was getting a little warn. Plus they had come up with a new, better bucket. So I left the store that day with two buckets; the one I had brought in to refill. It was empty. And a nice new bucket of litter I got on sale.
How does the old saying go? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me! I made my weekly trip to Petco to get my refill of litter and lo and behold, the sale was still on. Well if you know anything about me, you can imagine where this is going.
Let's digress for just a minute. The point of the refillable kitty litter was to save money and help the environment. If I have to keep buying a new container to get the cheaper price, I'm not really doing all that much to save the environment. Sure I'm saving money. But this was supposed to be a win-win situation. How is the environment winning if I'm sending all of these perfectly good containers to a landfill?
So, I said, uh-uh, no way, not this time. I refilled MY refillable container and made my way to the check-out where I told the clerk I wanted her to ring it up at the "new" container price. She did what I asked and I left the store happy.
Today I made my weekly trip to Petco to refill the kitty litter. I found the "new" price was still cheaper than the "refill" price. But no worries, right. I've got it all worked out under a previous agreement made last week. I made my way to the register where the clerk asked me "is this a new container or a refill?" I said, its a refill, but you can ring it up at the "new" price. She looked at me like I'd lost my mind. She wasn't going to do it. But she could see I wasn't going to sway on my decision not to be duped into paying a higher price. She kindly informed me that she would only do it "just this once." To which I proceeded to tell her how stupid it was that Petco would offer the refill at a higher price than the new container, thus defeating the purpose of the refillable container... which is to SAVE MONEY AND THE ENVIRONMENT. GEESH, is that so hard to understand?
I walked out, refill in hand, savings in my wallet. I can't wait to see what happens next week.

On The Naming of Cats

Cats the musical is one of my favorites. I've seen it seven times. I saw it twice in the same run. The first time I saw Cats was in 1989. It was another 12 years before I became a cat owner. In 2001 when my daughter was one we adopted our first cat. And naming her was easy. We named her Jennyanydots, after one of the cats in the musical. We called her Dot for short, because she had a white dot in the middle of her back.

Getting Dot home was itself an adventure. She was wild. It took three or four people to catch her. When my husband handed her to me she started squirming and scratching. I dropped her. She took off and the chase was on, again.

On the ride home my daughter threw-up in the car.

Dot didn't want anything to do with us for weeks. She mostly hid under my bed. Then, finally, a break through.

I had to have oral surgery, to have my wisdom teeth removed. I was home recuperating, laying in the bed, doped up on pain killers, sandwiched between two heating pads, when all of a sudden Dot's little face peered in. She was checking on me. I thought how sweet of her to do that.

And that was the beginning of a long, and wonderful relationship.

Dot may have been my daughter's cat, but I was clearly her favorite human. She slept with me. Watched TV with me. Read books with me. Got ready for work with me. On a cold night I could whisper her name and she would come lay on my chest and keep me warm. In fact, on a hot night she would come lay on my chest and keep me warm.

The downside to the love between Dot and I is that a couple of nights ago as I was heading out the door for work she naturally followed. It was cold out and apparently after I left she took refuge in the engine of the neighbors car. Well, I don't have to tell you what happened next. Dot was badly injured and we had to put her down. The worst part was that I had to do it without giving my kids the chance to say goodbye. Dot acted so brave. She wasn't crying at all. In fact she was alert, even purring at times. We had a nice visit while I waited for my husband to get to the hospital. I asked him to come be with her during the procedure. We had to have our dog, Snowball, put down a few months back, and I just couldn't go through that again but didn't want Dot to be alone. So he graciously relieved me of my post. It was strange. Almost as soon as he got there Dot got very relaxed and laid down, as if to say, "I'm ready now." We had our final goodbye and I left her in the capable hands of my husband and the veterinarian.

God Bless You Dot.

Thank you for bringing us so many years of joy.

On New Year's Resolutions

Ah, the beginning of a new year. And the question I'm being asked a lot these days, "What's your new years resolution?" I'll be honest, I'm not very good at keeping a new years resolution. Giving up something for 40 days during Lent? Now that's a commitment I can sink my teeth into. Probably because during Lent you get to fudge once a week. I mean really, who can't commit to something six days at a time? So come this February 25th through April 11th, you can expect me to meet my yearly Lenten obligation of giving up soda, except of course on days that begin with "SUN."
Until then, I needed to come up with a new years resolution that I knew I could keep. Because let's face it, failure is just depressing. So, without further ado, my new years resolution for 2009, is to write in my blog at least once a week.
I'm a writer, it's what I do, I was born to write. When I was a little girl, and by that I mean from about fifth grade until I was a senior in high school, I absolutely couldn't go to sleep at night until I wrote in my diary. I wrote in teeny-tiny letters, and came up with abbreviations for peoples names and certain words, so I could fit more stuff on one page. But if one page wasn't long enough I would get out a piece of notebook paper and write some more and then tuck it inside the pages of my diary. Lord knows how many hours I spent writing in my diaries. I still have them and every now and then I drag them out for a good laugh, or cry! You remember what it was like to be a teenager.
Then when I went back to school I started an unsuccesful blog, "Confessions of a thirty-something college student." I mean, did I really think I was going to have time to carry a full load of classes, commute two hours, do homework, take care of my husband and two kids, AND KEEP UP A BLOG! Please!
Okay, school's but a fond memory, and about a year ago I started another blog called Observations. I managed to create a profile and make one blog entry during the whole of 2008. Mind you, I had a lot of great ideas for my blog, and I wrote dozens of blog entries in my head. I just never found the time to put finger to keyboard and get my observations down in print.
So with that being said, as God and you as my witness, I'm making the commitment right now to write in my blog at least 52 times in 2009. If you have the desire and the time I hope you'll return and check out my Observations.

On the person who... thinks everyone shares his taste in music

This weekend my family made a short drive to Sequoia National Park to play in the snow. Our insides were telling us we were hungry so we found a pleasant picnic area to enjoy our lunch. There we were munching our sandwiches and sipping our sodas when this car pulled up into the parking lot, Mexican music blaring, pum-PUM pum-PUM pum-PUM. You know the sound. If you've ever watched a comedian parody Mexican music, you know the sound. And to squelch any thoughts that this particular observation has any racist overtones, let me tell you, my other half is half Mexican.

There we were enjoying nature at its finest. The cold winter air, the snow, surrounded by trees that are as big as they are beautiful, and the person who thinks everyone shares his taste in music drives up. And how do I know that he thinks everyone shares his taste in music? Because he proceeded to park and get out of his car, and LEFT THE MUSIC BLARING! What arrogance to think that everyone within earshot shares the same taste in music as you. What ill-mannered and intrusive behavior to insinuate on the innocent fun-seekers in Sequoia National Park.

If in the course of things you happen upon a silver Honda Accord, license plate 5ZUS710, please tell him to turn it down to a small roar next time!