Scrolling

I opened my WordPress tab this morning, like I do most days.  Colorful photos caught my eye, along with headings for blogs written by friends I have come to know through their artistic creations.

Most days I go straight to my writing tasks, but today I paused to admire the handiwork … and I started scrolling.

I found poetry blogs, and how-to blogs, and inspirational blogs. I found blogs about the Theology of Carrots ( “We hide our best underground”), Carl Jung’s view of the human psyche (“Very often do we see our own faults in others”), and Peaceful Shit (“Just when I thought things were getting good; Good shit never lasts long.”).

This last one made me chuckle, mostly because the author speaks the truth; “good shit never lasts long.”

But if we didn’t have bad shit, we wouldn’t appreciate the good shit. And, as everyone knows, shit happens. And the world goes round and round …..

And I’m scrolling ….

“Validation is for Parking.” This is an interesting insight.

“Frankly, the validity others provide for us has nothing to do with us. It has all to do with how THEY see themselves and their world.”

I agree with the author. We all have our realities, our own perceptions, about life and the world, which we created based on who we are, what we believe, and our experiences up to this point. No one seems the world in exactly the same way.

The author goes on to say that we need to validate ourselves instead of looking for others to do it for us.

“… we need to learn how to embrace ourselves, learn how to live our lives without asking for another’s permission or acceptance. It is our life. Our journey. ”

And I’m scrolling ….

I see my Blog #2, In My Father’s Footsteps, Chapters 31 and 32, with the familiar family photos I use to decorate my father’s stories. I impulsively click on Chapter 32, though the words are firmly planted in my mind. My motives are purely honorable; research, I tell myself. And Validation.

“My dad was my hero. I’m sure most little girls see their fathers that way. And though my relationship with my dad hasn’t always been the best, he was there when I needed him most, and for that, I am very grateful.”

A few years ago, I found a box filled with typed pages, memories about his life, which he transformed into fun and entertaining stories about his childhood, his time in the Navy, being the oldest boy in a Catholic family, and what he thought about life in general.

I changed it up a bit in Chapter 31, letting my mother take the reins to tell the story of how she and my dad met.  (Despite everything that was against them, they managed to hang on to each other for nearly 50  years.)

They were married Oct. 24, 1959. They caused quite a scandal back then. They had both been married before and divorce wasn’t as accepted as it is today. (And besides, my father was Catholic; definitely a no-no for that denomination). Mom had three kids from her previous marriage. Dad had two, but only Tim came to live with them. And after they were married, they had five more.

If that wasn’t enough, they survived a horrific experience when Dad nearly died in a car accident in 1967. And once the older kids became teenagers, they had to deal with drugs, unplanned pregnancies, and the draft (It was the ’60s, after all).

A few years later, they had to go through it all again with the second batch of kids. By this time, they were either too tired to care, or figured that life was too short to get too stressed about it and learned to relax a little.

“’Story of our lives…’ she tells me.  And she is not wrong.”

And I’m scrolling ….

tributecr.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Butterflies

 

I have a butterfly tattoo on my ankle; a reminder of the changes I have made in my life. Sounds kind of corny and cliché, I know, but it’s a good analogy of  my life.

Twelve years ago, I was broken. I hated my life. I hated my job. I hated me.  I felt lost and alone, and what hope I had left was quickly diminishing.

But something happened that year. My first grandchild, Thomas, was born April 18, and at the time, I was unaware of the impact he would have on the decision to change my life.

Later that year, in July,  I was climbing the 20-plus stairs to our apartment. It was a hot and humid day; one of those days that Iowa’s known for. I had to stop half-way, because I couldn’t catch my breath. I drew air in air in, but I felt like I was suffocating. My heart began racing, and I literally saw my life flashing before my eyes.

I saw Thomas growing up without me. I saw an empty chair at his wedding. I saw him holding his child, and I wasn’t there to tell him how proud I was of him.

But as fast as the visions came, they were gone, and I was back in the hallway of our building, breathing normally.

The thought that came to me was, “I don’t want to die.”

I immediately opened the door of my apartment, took my cigarette pack out of my purse and threw them into the wastebasket.

I tried to quit smoking before, but it was only a day or two before my willpower gave out. But this was different. I knew if I kept going the way I was, smoking two packs a day, I would die. I was sure of it.

I got through the first day, and then the second, and soon I was celebrating a month without smoking.  I felt great! I could climb the stairs to my apartment without stopping to rest. I stopped coughing up crap from my lungs. I could take deep breaths again, and I knew it could only get better.

I was so proud of myself, because quitting smoking was no easy task. I used the patch for eight weeks, and then graduated to nicotine gum. I used the gum for a year and then switched to mints, which I carried in my purse to curb any lingering cravings.

I quit smoking when I found out I was was pregnant with my first baby, but started again as soon as she was born, kicking myself with every drag I took.  By the time I finally quit, I had convinced myself that I would die with a cigarette in my hand.

That is, until I realized I had two choices; I could continue living my life in the prison I had built for myself, or I could break free and do something with my life.

You see, smoking wasn’t my only problem. I had a drinking problem. I used alcohol to self-medicate, to calm my fears,  alleviate the stress, and numb the feelings of shame and guilt that consumed me.

My intention was to just to have one or two beers, to take the edge off, but once I started, I couldn’t stop.  I was drinking a 12-pack of beer a night, and that still wasn’t enough to keep those horrible feelings down.

The night of August 31, 2005, I was sitting at the computer, while my daughter was doing homework. She’d had a rough year and was trying to catch up so she could graduate with her class.

The third time she asked me for help, and I said, “Just a minute, I’m busy,” was her breaking point, and she threw her books against the wall.  She had a history of extreme outbursts, but that’s not what this was. I truly believe it was divine intervention, because what she said next blew my mind:

“I’m sorry you have so many problems, and that you’re so unhappy, but I have problems, too. …”

For the first time, I heard her words. She saw my pain and my unhappiness, and I saw hers. She was reaching out to me the only way she knew how.

She taught me something significant that night, something that has made me get out of myself and really look at the world around me:

“We don’t live in a bubble; what we do affects others.”

I had been so busy worrying about me and focusing on how bad my world was, I wasn’t seeing what my own children were going through.  My selfishness and self-centeredness had kept me from being emotionally available for my children, and now I had to take responsibility for it, and do something about it.

I was hurting, and I didn’t know what else to do but to close the world in on myself. All this time, I had been inadvertently killing myself, because I couldn’t face the pain I had caused others. It had gotten so bad, I couldn’t live with myself.

I knew I needed to take control of my life.  That night, when I went to bed, I did something I hadn’t done in years; I prayed. I asked God to help me. I promised Him that I would do whatever it took to have a better life, to be a better mother, a better person. I begged him to show me how to do it.

And he did.

The next day, I threw all the beer away and got rid of all the empty cans.

A few days later I met someone who introduced me to Alcoholics Anonymous and I started attending weekly meetings. A few months later I ran into a friend, who was also in the program, and she became my sponsor.

God was putting people in my life to help me.

But that was just the beginning.

To be continued ….

 

That’s What Friends Are For

One day a woman found herself in a hole. She looked around for a way out, but there was none. Suddenly, a man’s head appeared in the hole.

“Hello! Do you need help?” he called. He was wearing a stethoscope around his neck and holding a note pad.

“Yes, thank goodness! Please, help me, Dr.!”

The doctor wrote something on his notepad, tore it off, and tossed it down to her. 

“Take these pills and call me in the morning.”

She looked at he paper in disbelief. Then she crumbled it up and started to cry. 

“Hello!” she heard from above. She looked up and saw a man with a white collar. “My child, why are you crying?”

“I’m stuck … I can’t get out of this hole!”

The pastor made a sign of the cross, and said, “Bless you, my Child,” and walked away.

Just when the woman began to lose all hope, a shadow was cast across the the hole. She looked up and saw a face, smiling down at her.

“Need some help?”

Before she could answer the man jumped down into the hole with her.

“What are you doing?” she exclaimed. “Now we’re both stuck down here!”

“Yes,” he told her. “But I’ve been here before, and I know the way out …”

Leaving a Legacy: My Father’s Story, in His Words

In My Father’s Footsteps is the title I chose for my Dad’s story in my new blog, Leaving a Legacy.

At one point, I thought about having it published through Amazon, but I wasn’t sure how I would edit it.  While he is an awesome writer, the story he wrote while recuperating from a knee replacement in 1994, is hard to follow at times. He switches channels a lot. (Now I know where I get it.)

My dad died in September 2008, the same year Cedar Rapids had the flood that heavily damaged the downtown area.

He died peacefully, sitting in his favorite chair, eyes closed, a book on his lap. Though he had been in and out of the hospital with congestive heart failure, it was a shock to the family.

As I was helping my mom clean out the storage room, I came across a box of papers title, “TPMLIFE.” As I read the first page, I realized I held my dad’s life story, which he started in 1994.

I gathered all I could find and took them upstairs to my mom, who told me my brother had the rest of the pages. I put them in order and began the laborious task of transcribing them onto the computer, with the intent that I would share them someday with the world.

That day has some, and though I know not everyone will share the same enthusiasm that has driven me to work so hard to put them online, hopefully some of his lessons learned will make you laugh, cry, and think a little bit about your own life.

tributecr.com

 

Happiness is a Verb

“Failure will never overtake me if my determination to succeed is strong enough.” –  Og Mandino

My fiance and I are currently reading, “The Greatest Miracle in the World,” by Og Mandino. I read aloud to him, and he listens. This way, we both get to enjoy it.

One of the things discussed after today’s reading was how the great writers of the world could very well be messengers of God. Not so much in the biblical sense, but offering hope to those who are searching for happiness and not able to find it.

According to Mandino, these  great writers believe the soul requires cultivation, and whether it is cultivated with blossoms or weeds, that is strictly up to the individual. It is always their choice if they will choose to cultivate the positive side of life, or the negative. Happiness, therefore, has everything to do with your perception of life. If you are a negative person, who only complains and feels sorry for themselves, chances are you will not live a happy life.

I’m sure everyone has their own definition of what it means to them, but for me, happiness is a state of being. It’s how I live my life. Maybe it’s because before I realized I had the power to choose, I lived with a dark cloud hanging over me, and a few times consider seriously about ending my life. I struggled through my day just to wake up and struggle through the next.

I lived this way for years, until something happened to wake me up. My grandson was born, and I realized I wanted to watch him grow up and be a part of his life.

The first thing I did was to quit smoking, which was no easy task. I made it through the first day, then the first week, and before I knew it, I had been smoke-free for a month. I realized I actually accomplished something I set out to do. I honestly think I had forgotten that such a task was even possible.

I began to wonder what else was possible.

I took a good look at my life and saw that my drinking had become a problem. The thought of not being able to drink made me anxious. I had gotten used to using alcohol to “take the edge off,” after getting bad news, or just to celebrate making it through the day.

But I knew I couldn’t do that anymore. Alcohol not only kept me from expressing my true emotions, it actually contributed to my depression, which I struggled with most of my life. I had become a co-dependent people-pleaser. I wanted to be accepted so badly, I became whoever you wanted me to be. Honestly, I didn’t even know who I was anymore.

I took my last drink Aug. 30, 2005.  I started seeing a therapist to help me face my demons. I let go of resentments and forgave myself and others.  I walked through my fears of criticism and failure, and began to like myself again. I did things I only dreamed about, and then I went beyond that, and did things I never dreamed of.

I have cried more than I ever thought possible, perhaps grieving for a life I thought I’d wasted. But once I realized I had the power to become whoever I wanted to be, I decided to make every day count.

Today, I do my best to accept things I can’t control. I have a faith that can move mountains, and a hope that is endless. My life is far from perfect, but I am at peace with who I am.

I am happy, but it’s not because I arrived at a place where all my problems disappeared, but because I continue to do things that bring me happiness. I spend time with those I love. I spend time doing things that nurture my soul; praying, meditating, and exercising. I spend time cooking, crafts, writing, and other projects that make me feel like I am contributing to the world.

It has taken a long time and a lot of hard to get to where I am, but I’d do it all again. I am happy because I choose to be.

 

 

When the Internet Goes Down, Improvise

I created  a new blog at the beginning of the month, just in time for my internet to go down. At first we though it was wide-spread, then found out that no, it was just us, and Mediacom wouldn’t be able to come out until the next Wednesday to fix it.

When Jeff told me the bad news, I started to panic, with the gears working fervently in my head to figure out how I was going to work on my marketing business and website, tributecr.com, as well as my blogs on WordPress.

As it turned out, I had nothing to fear. After all, we managed to live our lives without internet and cable for 40 years before this, right?

We did what most people do in our situation; we improvised. We grabbed out laptops and tablets and headed to the library to conduct our online business, and then rent a few DVDs for later, all along, assuring each other “We’ve got this.”

yesterday we had coffee at a local coffee shop and “borrowed” their internet. We also have a lot of friends who offered to let us use theirs.

I think it’s safe to say, we’re going to be just fine. 🙂

(You can check out my new blog, Leaving a Legacy, by clicking here!)

 

Winds of Change

Purpose is life in motion. If you can figure out what your purpose is, the reason you get up in the morning, you pretty much have it made.

After all, being grateful for where you are, along with having peace of mind, are two key components of living a happy life.

It’s taken me a long time to figure this out, but I’m still learning. I find myself constantly adjusting to the Winds of Change, whose fickle existence teases me with her bipolar whims.

I am accepting, eventually, because I know there are many things that I can’t control, no matter how hard I try.

There are times when I just want to break down and scream at the top of my lungs, “Why is this happening to me?”

I already know, but there is something about letting everything go, even if it has to be ripped from my hands, that makes me go a little crazy. And it feels good.

Life is constantly in motion. Change is inevitable, and the Winds of Change doesn’t discriminate.  Go with the flow, but go a little crazy sometimes. It is how we keep our sanity.

tributecr.com

 

 

Insight

Mom and Dad, 1989

It’s been a tough few months. My mother woke up one day and said her back hurt terribly. We were hoping it would get better, but instead it got progressively worse.  

The next day when she couldn’t get out of bed, I had no choice but to call an ambulance. It turned out that she had five stress fractures in her spine, a result of osteoporosis and sitting all the time.

She spent a week in the hospital and was moved to a nearby skilled nursing facility, where she got the care she needed, but she still complained of intense pain. They took another x-ray and found that she had fractured her hip somewhere between the hospital and care center. Probably because her bones are so brittle, but I think, too, that the aides didn’t realize how fragile she is.

They sent her home a few weeks later because she really had nowhere else to go. Her case worker helped as much as she could, but the family had to decide the best option. So here we are, playing the waiting game, literally. She’s been put on the waiting list for three different care facilities. I didn’t realize there were so many older people, but I suppose it’s because people are living longer.

I always told my mom that I would stay with her until I couldn’t take care of anymore, and I’m afraid we’re there. She can’t do a lot for herself and I’m sure she will be much better off, getting the care she needs, in a care center.

It’s horrible watching your parents get old; not being able to do the things they used to, depressed because they can’t remember the things they did.  And to experience that close-up and personal, well, it’s quite an awakening. I’ve had to adjust my attitude more than a few times. My patience has been tested to the limit, and it’s all I can do to keep it all together.

But it’s not just the taking-care-of-her part, it’s all the emotions that come with it. The family unit is being tested, and with so many different personalities, everyone wanting to be heard and in control, it’s sometimes hard to tolerate. And I’m right in the middle of it all.

Some days I just want to run away.  But I won’t. I know God has put me here to take care of my mom. The things I am learning about myself and my mom are astounding, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. And I get to spend quality time with one of the most amazing people I know.

Our relationship has changed over the years. There was a time when I was angry with her and resentful, but that has long-since been resolved. I know it’s because of the time I have spent with her. I’ve gotten to know her not as my mom, but as a person, and I have seen a side of her most people never will.

I didn’t get a chance to tell my dad how much he meant to me before he died, but I can tell my mom. Or at least show her; I do that by being here for her.

We all think we have time – time to tell people how we feel, heal broken relationships, and do all the things we want to – until we don’t anymore. I’m just grateful I have the insight to realize that.

 

 

 

 

Visit my website at tributecr.com

 

 

Luck Has Nothing to Do with It

Friday the 13^th wasn’t always considered unlucky. In fact, up until 500-600 B.C., both Fridays and 13s were considered extremely lucky, with some very feminine roots.

According to an article in the Huffington Post, the number 13 is the average number of menstrual cycles a woman has every year. Both the day and the number were associated with the Great Goddesses, and therefore, the day was regarded as the sacred essence of luck and good fortune.

Thirteen is also the annual cycles of the moon.  The Egyptians revered the number 13 as auspicious, and believed that life has 13 stages, with the last stage, death, leading the transition to eternal life.

According to boldsky.com, in ancient Greece, Zeus was the 13th and the most powerful God of Greek mythology. Therefore, in some cultures, 13 is the symbol of incorruptible nature, power and purity.

The number 13 is prime number and can only be divisible by itself, making it a complete number in itself. Some people see 13 as the symbol of totality, completion and attainment.

Friday is more than just the end of the workweek for most people. It was actually the day held holy to honor Shekinah, the female aspect of God. Those of Jewish and Islamic faith observe the Sabbath at sunset on Friday evenings.

Friday was associated with the early Mother Creation Goddess, for whom that day was named. She was known as Freya, or Frig. Friday was called Frig’s Day or Fredag in Danish. In Mediterranean lands, she reigned as Venus. In Latin, Friday is the Day of Venus, Dies Veneris.

Fear of the number 13 came about in Western cultures for several reasons. According to History.com, one of the reasons involves one of the world’s oldest legal documents, the Code of Hammurabi, which reportedly omitted a 13th law from its list of legal rules. In reality, the omission was no more than a clerical error made by one of the document’s earliest translators.

Another theory is that mathematicians believed that because 12 was often considered a “perfect” number in the ancient world, the number 13 must be “unlucky.”

The ancient Sumerian’s numeral system, based on the use of 12, is still used for measuring time today. Most calendars have 12 months and a single day is composed of two 12-hour half days.

In the Bible, Judas Iscariot, the 13th guest to arrive at the Last Supper, is the person who betrays Jesus.

Another ancient myth includes Norse lore, which tells of the evil and turmoil that were first introduced in the world by the appearance of the treacherous and mischievous god Loki at a dinner party in Valhalla. He was the 13th guest, upsetting the balance of the 12 gods already in attendance.

Fear of the number 13, or triskaidekaphobia, is a real malady, and should be taken seriously. For example, Winston Churchill refused to sit in row 13 in the theater or on an airplane. According to Donna Henes, J. Paul Getty, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and Napoleon also suffered from triskaidekaphobia (paraskavedekatriaphobia is the fear of Friday the 13^th).

“Christopher Columbus, too, seems to have been afflicted. In the 1950s, the Columbiana, a group of Italian Columbus experts, concluded upon careful study of his ships’ logs and notes that Columbus actually landed on the Western Hemisphere on October 13, 1492. The date, apparently, was deliberately changed to October 12, to avoid the imprint of such an evil omen.”

It’s a fear that many cannot control, and even though logic dictates that a number can’t possibly be held responsible for our destiny, we have a difficult time convincing our minds of it.

Friday, on the other hand, just happens to be the day that bad things seem to happen. According to the telegraph.co, in the 14th Century, Geoffrey Chaucer referenced Friday as being an unlucky day in his Canterbury Tales, “And on a Friday fell all this mischance.”

It is also possible that Thomas W. Lawson’s popular novel, “Friday, the Thirteenth,” reinforced the superstition. The novel depicts an unscrupulous stock broker, who takes advantage of the superstition to create a Wall Street panic on Friday the 13th.

So, if you feel better staying home on Friday the 13^th, that’s your prerogative. But if that’s the case, you might want to make plans now for Oct. 13, which also lands on a Friday this year.

Read more at tributecr.com

Nothing New About Resolutions

Like many others, I made a resolution in honor of the new year. I also wrote an article on how to keep those resolutions.  But then a thought occurred to me; even though resolutions are made with the intention of learning how to live a better life, no one seems to talk about what they learned in the process. And while 2016 wasn’t what I would consider a triumphant year, I managed to learn quite a few things. Here are a few of them:

1. I have limits. I get so caught up in the “doing” that I sometimes neglect the quality. A few times last year, I knew I was being stretched to the limit (with three jobs and caring for my mother), but I just kept going.  I became moody and short-tempered and my work began to suffer. I found myself exhausted and constantly apologizing for not doing what I said I would. After it was pointed out to me that my work was suffering, I realized something needed to change. I learned to balance my work with taking care of myself. Otherwise, no one wins.
2. I am only human. This is something I have tried for years to accept, but for some reason, haven’t been able to (insert laughter here). Consciously, I know I’m not perfect; but there is a little voice inside of me that says, “You can do anything you want to if you try hard enough.” Believe me. I have tried. And there are some things I can’t change, no matter what I do. I will always be clumsy and sensitive and a bit of a weirdo. I have learned to accept myself the way I am.
3. I think I have known this for a while, but last year occurred to me that I don’t like to follow the crowd. It’s not just the fads, fashions, or the latest cool idea; I really don’t want to be like everyone else. This is strange for me because at one time, I had a real fear of not being accepted. Maybe it’s part of getting older, or maybe I’m just tired of the bullshit. But I am honestly past the whole “afraid of being judged” phase in my life. I learned that if I want to change the world, I can’t be afraid to do something different.

“The ones who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones that do.” -Steve Jobs

A Shoebox Full of Holiday Surprises

I saw a post the other day about an international program that sends shoeboxes of gifts to little children across the globe.

Operation Christmas Child, started by Samaritan’s Purse, “a nondenominational evangelical Christian organization providing spiritual and physical aid to hurting people around the world.”

The person who posted the information on Facebook is a good friend of mine through a little more research, found out the collection would take place next week, Nov. 14-21.

So, wanting to teach my grandchildren a lesson about helping others, I picked them up and we set out to buy a few toys for a little girl, who lived on the other side of the world.

I expected a barrage of questions such as, “Why do we have to buy presents for someone we don’t know?” or “Why can’t I have a present?”

Instead they asked questions about where it might go and who might receive it, and concentrated on picking out gifts that a little girl might like. We couldn’t send chocolate, or perfume, or nail polish (all the things Lily wanted), but she decided on a Barbie doll, a puzzle, some gum, colored pencils, and a notebook.

“She might like to have this, too,” she told me, holding up a little white bear.

“Do you really think she’d like something like that?” I asked, teasing her.

She laughed and handed me the little bear. “Yes, I think it’s something she could sleep with, so she doesn’t have bad dreams.”

We added a few notecards to the box, as well as Lily’s name and address, in case the little girl wanted to write her.

It will be interesting to see where the shoebox ends up. I just hope it brings as much joy to the little girl who receives it, as it did to the little girl who put it together.