Small Progress Is Still Progress

Were I a bird I would be laying in the bottom my cage, trembling from my efforts to ignore the pain of my broken wing and return to the safety of my perch. It is the best analogy I have at the moment because it is the way I feel, broken and worn down by too many sleepless nights and too much time spent tumbling the known and unknown problems in my mind as if they are worry beads in my hand.

Through all of this, I have been fortunate enough to have my own personal knight in running clothes; Don has been supportive and understanding. Agoraphobia is not something I would wish on anyone. Any progress I have made in defiance of that fear is a credit to Don. He pushes me out the door and makes me leave the house. He always puts me in a situation of either crowds or big spaces. I guess I had to begin somewhere; this is as good as any.

I have not felt like writing; possibly because the medication makes me drowsy or perhaps the worry beads in my mind keep me distracting me. Whatever the reason I hope to return to posting regularly soon, when I get back to writing I will feel like have made huge progress.

There is always hope.

American Conservative Ideology an Archaic Concept

This may come as a complete shock to those of you who regularly read this blog but I am about as conservative a Midwesterner as you will ever encounter. Yes, I was being facetious and now you know why I never intentionally write humor. The conservative part however is true. I really do not like to blog about politics but it is impossible to ignore the subject. We shouldn’t want to ignore it but I confess I am sick to death of two year political races that have the outcome determined by the press months before I ever have the opportunity to cast a vote and have my say. I realize I am pouring water on cold ashes but even in my current state of mind where very little has the ability to stir an emotion in me this topic comes through clearly.

When my choices on the Republican ticket were narrowed down to one candidate in January, I was beside myself with fury. Even now, I cannot believe that we let the press dictate to us who the candidate would be long before the Primary season got into full swing. But they did, we did and there went the Republican ticket. So I turned to the Democratic ticket in my fury and I thought well, I am going to give Obama a fair chance to convince me that he can do the job. His age is not an issue or his lack of experience if he selects good advisers and is willing to keep on a few key people for the short term. I was open minded and ready to listen. As for Hillary, she was in consideration, her best asset in my eyes is that I know precisely what to expect from her. There will be no surprises and there will be no skeletons jumping from her closets. Then up popped Rev. Write and all of the rest and other than the very inspired speech Obama gave In Philadelphia (which might have been his get out of jail free card if nothing else had happened) and suddenly Obama was removed from my list of feasible candidates. There I was teetering between having to accept McCain and jumping onto his wagon or accepting Hillary and jumping onto her wagon and what happens then? Why the press started driving the point home that there was no way that Hillary could get the nomination it was in fact not only an improbability it was an impossibility.

John McCain is a man of honor, he is a hero and we as Americans are indebted to him and every other man and woman who has ever sacrificed for this country. It is my sincere hope that Obama remember that during this campaign and that he afford McCain the respect that is his due. Speaking of the men and women who put their lives on the line for the rest of us, I believe it would behoove Obama to pay them a visit since it is his intent and that of the press that he be their next Commander in Chief.

Moderation in everything they say; moderate ideology is required politically in this country at this point in time. Conservatives such as me are apparently in the minority and I say our only real hope of survival is moderation. We have to slide just a little closer to the center of the isle. I will never know if I would have actually voted for Hillary when I got into the voting booth but I do know that I am miles from voting for Obama. My vote is too precious a freedom to throw away and I refuse to stay at home in November just because the press has already determined whom our next president will be. You never really know, strange things do happen.

There is always hope.

Yes Betty, There is Hope

Today I changed to a new internist; actually, I have seen him before, he used to be in with the doctors at the group I just left. The entire mess is too much to deal with, the headaches and high blood pressure and asthma and on and on and I take more prescribed drugs in one day than any self respecting junkie would take in a year. Golly, I wonder why I could be depressed. I am glad I changed doctors; this one recognized the symptoms of depression as soon as I mentioned six weeks ago or so I had hit rock bottom in the black abyss of despair. No dummy, this doctor, we shall see if his version of the happy pill works. I wouldn’t mind floating around like a happy little cloud, smiling and humming and bouncing all day. I vaguely remember doing that once without anything more than my love for God and all He created.

As for yesterday, I went to Cleveland Clinic and discovered that the MRA shows something (well I take that as a good sign, I was beginning to wonder if I had lost a few marbles) and of course since there is something they would like to do another High Contrast MRI of the base of the skull with contrast dye in order to get a better look and verify what the MRA saw. So… as the Hasher’s say, on on. The translation of all that is; between waiting for approval from the insurance company for the additional MRI, actually scheduling the test, and then scheduling the Dr.’s appointment, it will be two months until I go back to Cleveland Clinic. In the meantime, all I can do is spend another summer always running away from and never toward the light. You would not believe how good I have become at doing my hair and makeup in the dark. The doctor did confirm my theory; trigeminal neuralgia can indeed trigger a migraine, or the stress caused from pain can. Hello brain, get a clue! Pain + pain does not= relief.

Yikes! I truly am sorry you suffered through reading all of that. Sometimes a person has to vent it off somewhere and since I am too big a coward to try and find solace in any drug not prescribed for me or in alcohol or any other vice that normal people turn to, this is it. When I was a working woman my favorite thing to say when I was at work was, “As soon as I get out of here I am going straight to the bar and downing three margaritas and then I’m going to start drinking”. Everyone I ever worked with probably thought I was an alcoholic but the truth is I have never went to a bar alone in my entire life and any time I ever went with people from work I didn’t drink alcohol because I am such a light weight with the stuff I would not have been able to drive home after even one drink. At any rate, it was saying I was going to down three margaritas that I enjoyed; it made me smile just to say it.

One additional note on depression; did you know that there is a 12-Step Depressed Anonymous Group out there? I stumbled onto the link while doing a little research for something I am considering writing for submission to a regional newspaper. They are international with groups in Israel, Poland, and the United Kingdom and they are of course, here in the US, though they are not established in every state, Ohio, for instance does not have a chapter. I have to admit it the concept fascinates me. Having never had the misfortune (praise God) to be addicted to anything other than cigarettes, I am not really familiar with the 12-Step approach to things but it makes sense to me that depression could be viewed from the addictive point of view because once a person reaches the black bottom of the abyss it takes near super human will power to begin the long journey back to the light. It is much easier to give in to the persuasive, almost seductive pull of the mind numbing, emotionless despair of eternal blackness. In any case, if you are interested, check it out.

Enough of all that for this day, again, I apologize for being less than I am capable of being please understand that I am trying. Perhaps it’s because I am light headed from breathing the rarefied air up here where I am hanging out these days, on God’s shoulders. One promise I have made to myself. I will not change the way I close each post because I know one day I will believe it again.

There is always hope.

TGLBH continues

I apologize for posting this abbreviated installment of The Great Lady Bug Hunt. It is not as long as I had hoped to post and I am not making excuses, the fact is that I have had two migraines since last I posted here and they have a tendency to stifle the creative process. It is my hope that writing the story will serve as a form of happy therapy and help to get me over the last of the depression, time will tell.

I am certain the entire story will see many revisions before I am satisfied with it, though it had been my hope not to post anything until I was sure it would hold water. This installment has I think, a few leaks but it is all that I produced last week and I feel obligated to post something. Perhaps next week will be better. Without further ado…

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Before Boomer had a chance to say anything, his Uncle Bill’s head popped through the car door and he reached down, pulling Oscar off his chest. “Sorry about that,” he said to Boomer.

“It’s okay,” Boomer, grinned. He shot out of the car like a rocket (that is how he got his name you know, he runs so fast he’s like a sonic boom) grabbing his cousins sticky fingers as he went and they tore around the side of the garage. This was what he had waited almost a whole year for, Aunt Hattie’s garden! That is to say, a bird house that hangs in Aunt Hattie’s garden. He could hear his great Aunt Hattie and Aunt Amy at the front of the house exclaiming, “Scott! Jessie! You’re finally here, just when we were beginning to worry.” The further back into the garden they went the louder the chatter from the birds became and the softer the voices of the adults until at last it was only Boomer, Oscar and the friends they had made last year.

The most wonderful thing about Aunt Hattie’s garden is that it is unlike any other garden anywhere else in the world. It is a wild and untamed place with large grassy areas that are mowed and large islands of wild grasses and trees and bushes left there for the birds and animals for food and shelter. There are only a few small flower gardens and even they have been encouraged to go wild to a small degree. One flower garden came to be because a tree fell down and Aunt Hattie could not move the bigger pieces of wood so she made what she calls a stump garden. Now there are plants that happily grow and cling to the fallen wood. Near the back of the proper yard, just outside of the woods in one of the wild areas, there are three large spruce trees and Boomer and Oscar made a beeline for them.

They were both laughing as they ran around to the back side of the trees. They ran up to the one in the middle and disappeared. At least that is what you would have thought if you had been peering out of the woods watching them. They had discovered the secret of the trees last year when they were helping one of their friends, the Great Lady. and you will soon meet her. For now, Boomer and Oscar were glad to be back and they needed to be sure everything was as it should be before they went to visit any of their friends. The first of which would of course be the Great Lady.

Once inside, under the heavy branches of the spruce trees it took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the shadowy light. It was cool and the air was moist, it smelled like Christmas trees and the ground was spongy soft with deep layers of pine needles. They threw themselves down onto the carpet of pine needles drawing in deep breaths of pine scented air and… was that… oh no a skunk! They sat up and crab walked to the tree trunk warily eyeing a skunk that sat just inches from where they were laying. They looked at each other and Oscar, gulped, and said in a dry, cracked voice, “Is that you Brutus?”

The skunk blinked a couple of times, twitched its tail, made a noise that sounded something like clearing its throat, blinked again and started laughing. He laughed so hard that his bushy tail shot straight up in the air, and he had a small accident that changed the look of surprise on the cousins’ faces to one of alarm and they quickly covered their noses. The skunk fell onto the bed of pine needles and rolled over onto his back, kicking his legs and laughing harder still. When at last he could speak, he said in a stuffy nose sounding voice, “Oh… I wish you could see your faces! Of course, it’s me, what other skunk would volunteer to wait for you in the daylight?”

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And there it is, warts and all. Thanks for taking the time to stop by. I have another visit to The Cleveland Clinic on Wednesday; perhaps my doctor there can get my brain back in working order. I have every faith that she will.

There is always hope.

The Great Lady Bug Hunt Begins

As I told you, I am writing a children's story. There have been several surprises for me since I first began this adventure. First, it is more difficult than I had anticipated, writing a story that conveys a message without sounding like a textbook. Second, my protagonists are little older than I thought they were, I had imagined them to be in the three to five year age group and they are instead seven and eight. Perhaps they are small for their ages. LOL Another problem I encountered is that the parent's seem determined to become involved in the Lady Bug hunt. That sent me back to Go and I had to begin all over again. Woe, the life of the amateur writer, I love it.

Without further ado, here follows my few short lines of the beginning of The Great Lady Bug Hunt. By and by, I do know ladybug is one word but for the purpose of the story, it is two.

**********************************************************************************************

The Great Lady Bug Hunt

Boomer had waited a very long time to return to his Aunt Hattie's house in Ohio, in fact, he waited nearly an entire year and that was quite long enough thank you. He wiggled around in the back seat of the car and asked, "Are we there yet?" for the ten gazillionth time. His parents both smiled and nodded their heads as his mother slowed the car and turned the wheel, Boomer felt a gentle thump and then the car wheels were crunching gravel as they pulled onto a long gravel driveway.

"Bill and Amy are already here. Oscar beat you to the top bunk buddy, I don't want you two fighting over it. Got it?" Boomer's father said as he opened the car door.

"Okay, but I get to…" We will never know what it was that Boomer wanted because at precisely that moment a head topped with brown curls followed by a stout little body clad in a blue tee-shirt and shorts pummeled him, nailing Boomer flat on the floor of the car. Sticky hands pressed his head back and Boomer was glaring into the broadly grinning, chocolate covered face of his cousin.

"Hi yah, Boomer! Gotcha didn't I?" laughed Oscar.

*********************************************************************

And there you have it; you may have guessed that it appears to be working itself up to being a much longer story than I had originally planned. As for the message, I do hope I can figure that out! At this point, my goal is to have enough new work to make a respectable post of it next Saturday.

There is always hope.

.

Chipmunks and Summer and Hope

My mind is unquiet tonight and I cannot sleep. Laughter works like sugar and caffeine with me. It is a potent stimulant and when taken in too large a dose in the evening it can prohibit sleep. We watched Alvin and the Chipmunks on DVD this evening and needless to say, I laughed a lot. It really is a cute movie and the extras on the DVD have the story of the creation of The Chipmunks in 1958. Wow, I didn't know that they are older than I am!

Something fun we did a few weeks ago was bottling our own port wine. J.B. (Don's sister) has been doing this for about a year now, I think and she had a kit brewed up for us the same time she had one done for herself and we all bottled together. Their Dad was there too and I think he enjoyed the experience. We dubbed our brew Shady Vale Orange Chocolate Port (the Shady Vale coming from the name of our home which I named in honor of Terry Brooks' Shannara series) and put it in cobalt blue bottles.

Another summer is on us and in typical Ohio fashion; we went from freezing to 90 overnight. Not literally but near enough to it, I assure you it felt as if we did. We had catbirds and robins nesting in the bush outside the kitchen window, both successfully hatched their babies, stuck around long enough to be sure, they would survive and then as some hippie parents do, they headed off to a commune. The babies are still hanging out waiting for mom to return, poor little mites; I think they have cleaned their rooms and everything trying to impress her. My hummingbird friends have returned as well but there are far fewer than there were a few years ago and that makes me sad because I know that hummingbirds return to the same feeders throughout their entire lifetimes and they do not vary their pattern. I can only believe that a few of them have died and that is so very sad.

We planted a wildflower garden a few weeks ago and it is coming up nicely. The baby bunnies are thrilled with the treat of the tender young greens. We get so much pleasure in watching the bunnies, groundhogs, deer, squirrels and chipmunks along with the birds. Our back yard has become a haven for so many animals and if I am not mistaken, we have a raccoon living in the front yard. Of course, nothing in life is absolutely perfect there must always be a little something to remind us how thankful we should be for the good. In our case, it is our neighbors' dogs incessant barking. Inevitability when we go outside to sit on the porch or in the yard the dogs are barking and a person can only listen to that for so long before the nerve ends begin to fray. If that is the worst thing, we ever have to endure then we should be on our knees thanking the Lord nightly, I say.

All that remains to fill in the remaining gap since I last posted regularly is to say that track season has come to an end and I am glad of it. It seemed an awfully long season this year, though it actually ended a week earlier than Don had anticipated. Perhaps it was because I wasn't feeling well, at any rate that one is now as Don says, in the books.

Now my friends, since I am at last truly beginning to feel more myself again I can at last say what I could not for a while. When my despair and depression were at the worst I could not see hope no matter how hard I tried. Those four small words were beyond my comprehension; those were indeed black hours.

There is always hope.

 

We Saw The Strangers

Today we went to the movie theater and saw… (Wait a minute I suppose my designating it as a"movie" theater dates me, what do they say these days?) Sorry about that, as I was saying we went to see The Strangers today. I have to tell you, if you are into edge of the seat, holding your breath and screaming like the girl that I am movies, this one is for you. Yes, I did scream, right out loud. Liv Tyler stars as Kristen McKay and she nailed her role, playing opposite Scott Speedman as James Hoyt. The two go to his parent's vacation home after attending a wedding, they have had some sort of disagreement (evidently James proposed and Kristen said no) which ruins the romantic plans James had for that night. Without giving away anything crucial, I will tell you that the gist of the story is that they are terrorized by people wearing masks and the people attacking them enjoy watching the fear they generate in their victims before they go in for the kill. Bryan Bertino wrote and directed this thriller and I think he deserves an award or two for the effort. I cannot remember the last time I screamed in a theater. We knew they should be afraid long before the victims did and it worked beautifully in building suspense and anticipation. I rate it four out of five stars.

I am in the process of writing a children's story. With my mind being so muddled lately, it is a bit difficult to keep on subject at times but it is coming along. I believe I'll go ahead and post what I have completed at the end of the week. It is nothing of consequence, only something I thought of while mowing the grass one day. I will tell you that I so loved the title of one of posts here that it actually gave me the idea for the story, that and a birdhouse. The post was titled The Great Lady Bug Hunt; you are familiar with the way I twitter off and take a different path than the one I had originally intended, so imagine what I will do with that title and a birdhouse.

There is always hope.

 

 

 

Despair and Depression

It is my sincere hope that I never again visit the dark and treacherous places my soul has wandered in these last few weeks. I have struggled mightily adapting to new medications while enduring the agony of migraines and trigeminal neuralgia pain. The three combined were responsible for sending me on a trip into the deepest, darkest depths of depression and despair that I have ever known. Depression is a terrible thing; depression alone is devastating. Had it not been for some compassionate people I found on line who were willing to befriend me, I am not sure I would be here to write this post today. In fact, I am fairly certain that I would not. And that is the topic of today's post, coping with depression.

As I am in no way qualified to offer professional advice or help to someone who might be experiencing a personal crisis, I would not consider posting such a grave topic without providing links to some of the places I found helpful during my time of despair. First and foremost if you are or know of a suicidal teenager call the Covenant House NineLine @ 1-800-999-9999, they WANT to help you. Suicidal adults should call 1-800-273-8255 (TALK). The following links are available to all of us: Walkers in Darkness - Support and information for mood disorders (depression, bipolar disorder & related mental illness) , WebMD Crisis Resources Links , Depression Booklets Online From Healthtouch ,NIMH · Depression · Complete Publication , No Stigma - It's Not Your Fault and Depression Is A Treatable Illness, and The Samaritans. There are many more options out there; the most important thing to do if you or someone you know is suffering from depression is to get help. Talk to someone, you deserve to feel better and with the proper help you will. If you know someone who is depressed, encourage him or her to get help. You will not regret taking the time to help a friend; every life is precious.

The older I get the more I see that age really has very little to do with it, it being nearly everything actually. Depression doesn't care if you are six or sixty; it is an illness that does not discriminate. We think nothing of running to the doctor if we can't shake a cold but for some reason we are reluctant to see our doctor and tell them that we are depressed and ask for medication or counseling or whatever would be best in our case. It makes absolutely no sense to me in this day and age when our children see commercials for Viagra and feminine what not's that we should be embarrassed to talk about depression. It is an illness and it is treatable. Those same children who are being bombarded with those commercials suffer from depression just as deeply (perhaps more deeply) than their adult counterparts. Oftentimes they do not have (or are not aware of) the same resources available to them and fear ridicule not only from their contemporaries but from adults as well. Places like Covenant House always take teens seriously.

From my personal point of view I have to confess I ran to the phone the day I knew I was in trouble and pleaded with my doctor to phone in a prescription (we knew depression was a possible side effect risk of the new medication) and then I went straight to the internet looking for help. I really needed a life line to hold on to and a compassionate ear to listen. All I can say is that it hit me like a ton of bricks out of the blue and that if it had not been for some compassionate people I am fairly certain that at the very least I would have done myself serious injury. Yes, it was that bad. Quite frankly, I am still quivering at the thought of what a near thing it was. That behavior is so far out of the realm of my usual behavior that looking back I can barely recognize myself. The cause is clear enough, always being in pain and the new medication but my goodness, to what devastating effect. Admittedly, I waited longer than I should have to ask my doctor for anti-depressants. There were warning signs that I ignored, I was downright sad and weepy, I had lost interest in virtually everything around me and I was so tired most of the time it was an effort to brush my teeth. So why did I put off getting the help I obviously needed? I suppose for the same reason most people do, intellectually I know that depression is a treatable illness but I was embarrassed to admit that it was effecting me.

Another point to make for those of you who may be unfamiliar with the murky depths of the depressed mind speaking strictly from personal experience and research, a person who is haunted with depression may not be functioning at a normal level of awareness. It may sound obvious to some you but it came as a bit of a surprise to me when on reflection I realized I had on several occasions wandered aimlessly through the house trying to recall what I was looking for only to discover it must have been a glass of water or some such.

Depression is a terrible thing and medication takes time to build up to effective levels in the bloodstream, but with a little support and care, you will begin to feel better. I am beginning to, finally.

There is always hope.

That Ear Thing & Turning 49

Hello my friends, I am sorry I have not posted in a while but I am adjusting to new medicine and it is not easy to say the right words at the moment all the time. I thought I would post something I wrote on my birthday in January. Warning to younglings, you may find this old people stuff gross.

The burning question for me, the day after my 49^th birthday is; do women get hair in their ears? Laugh if you must but I am serious. I keep thinking of how I learned that women also get hair in other places in the vicinity of the face that it is just to gross to say out loud; it was at work and the other women made fun of one of the older women who had hair in a place normally associated with tissues and sneezing (I told you it was gross), prior to that I thought that nose hair (aside from being a gross subject) was a guy problem. I thought it was mean to laugh at her because of that, she had a truly bad temper and that gave us plenty of belly laughs because she was ridiculously easy set off; there was no need to make it personal. At any rate, thanks to that experience I now know the answer to that question, which I sincerely do not believe I would have ever thought to ask. It is that knowledge that has driven me to wonder, do women get hair in their ears?

In keeping with the theme of my turning 49, I have to admit to being nearly giddy with excitement at the prospect of next year's birthday. I wish I could say precisely what it is about turning 50 that appeals to me so, other than the obvious answer of it's better than the alternative. I can only say that it feels as if doors will open and possibilities will become realities, all at the turning of the calendar and the passing of another year. I will have to spend this 49^th year wisely planning what I want to accomplish first come my 50^th birthday.

I am thinking that my excitement cannot be unusual, surely nearly everyone feels this way at turning 50. We are old enough and experienced enough to know how to navigate through at least some of life's waters and yet we are still young enough to do nearly anything in the world our heart's desire. And then there are the things we are interested in, I am certain I am not alone when I say that the older I get the more I find to be interested in, the more music I discover, authors to read and birds to spot. There is so much out there to see and do and for some reason I just know when I hit that magic number of 50 it will all sound sweeter, look brighter and be better… I still don't know about that ear thing though.

There is always hope.

Betty

Follow the Bouncing… I’m Who

Sometimes I think I have discovered a new game; Follow the Bouncing Brain (goodness that word makes me queasy, must be too many zombie movies). My mind (much better word) is, as you may have noticed, all over the place these days; bright sunny places and dark sad places, they all stream one into the next. Some are purely fictional and others are as close to reality as memory can manage; I believe they are all, to some extent, influenced by three major factors.

The headaches and medication adjustments we have all, I am positive, heard more than enough about. The third influence I think I will not dwell on overlong either, for two reasons, primarily in consideration of the younglings (C&G) Don coaches and secondly in consideration for Don. When I first started this blog it was under a pseudonym and for the express purpose of giving me someone (not literally, even I am not quite that loopy) to talk to during the very long, very lonely (hence the name) months when Don is busy coaching. I suppose I will have to find another sympathetic ear to whisper to now, for if Don is correct, the occasional youngling stops in here for a little light reading. The loneliness has set in early this year and I find myself reciting Moaning Myrtle's line from Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets, "I'm distraught!" I am not really, it's just fun to say and surely, you take my meaning.

Another thought bouncing round up there in the old brainpan, the significance of the songs that some of you may choose to listen to while you are hanging out here. Each of the songs has a special meaning for me; for instance, Elvira by The Oakridge Boys. Our niece, Cari, when she was just a wee Baunie lassie used to sing and dance to that song and because she is so dear to me, of course any memory connected to her is as well. Seasons In the Sun by Terry Jacks is a song that caused my youngest brother, Jimmy, to cry when it came out because at the tender age of three or four years old he understood that the song was about death. The Last Unicorn by America is on there because it is my anthem; I am alive! I could continue on down the list of 99 songs but I am sure you would rather I go on to the next fascinating topic.

This next is an item that makes me furious; yesterday, I received in the mail an announcement from Cambridge Who's Who. To quote, "It is my pleasure to inform you that you are being considered for inclusion into the 2008/2009 Cambridge Who's Who Among Executive and Professional Women…" Let me be brutally honest here; I know what the Who's Who books are. We have laws in the United States to prevent people from losing there jobs due to health reasons; I have not worked since October 8, 2002 when a locally owned insurance agency I worked for determined that I was too addle-brained from the new medication regime I had begun to work. They could not give me time off so they "let me go" and packed me up and shoved me out the door like a cooperate thief. The point is, after those experiences there are days when I don't feel qualified to clean my own toilet let alone be listed in some book that no one but others listed will ever read. Sadly, it would indeed be an honor for me to be there, given what has happened in the six years past, regrettably, I would not deserve the honor, addled as I am these days. Catch 22.

There is you know; there is always hope.

 

On My Deere Again and Screwdriver Betty

What a day yesterday was! The weather was about as perfect as a spring day can get and I got to do my very favorite warm weather activity; that's right, I pulled on my floppy hat, plugged my ears with cotton and climbed on-board my spiffy green John Deere LA120 riding mower with its V-Twin engine (manufactured by Briggs & Stratton) and off I went. Oh, sigh, the sweet smell of the first cut of the season; has there ever been anything better? If you would like to know how I really feel about mowing grass you might want to check out my post here from last September http://thelonelyspot.blogspot.com/2007/09/wahoo-and-beep-beep.html.

After I finished mowing, I did a most un-Betty-like thing. I should qualify that by saying that at our house the Betty things are generally "woman things" like cleaning and cooking and laundry and so forth. When it comes to electronics, I can generally figure out how to do what we need to with the computers and Don is the Tech no Wiz with the BA TV and sound system. The Don things are generally the muscle or brawn things and also include anything that requires grace, agility or attaining a height of more than 2 or 3 inches off the ground. In short, the man is phenomenal, though I do make a mean pot-roast (remind me some time and I'll give you the recipe). Back to the startling fact that I, did a Don thing. Every winter we put plastic covered frames over our screened-in back porch. It keeps treacherous ice and snow off of a high use foot traffic area and it also helps keep the living room warmer. It is always difficult for Don to find the time to install the frames in the fall because coaching cross country consumes so much of his time and he invariably has to put them up weeks early, cheating us of our porch at the end of the season or weeks late which can be a miserable job if the snow is flying. Conversely, in the spring if he takes them down before track season gets into full swing, there is sure to be a blizzard or two before it warms up. Preferring not to use our porch as a skating rink we left the plastic covered frames up this year; and it was a good thing too, it didn't get truly warm here until last week. (Sorry about the ramble, my mind is scattered further than the four winds these days.) The job I did was taking down those frames all by myself!

The motivation; medication adjustments, bugs – you would not believe the number of lady bugs on that nice warm porch just waiting to come into my house at the first opportunity, a heady sense of empowerment due to my success in mowing the yard? Who can say why I did it, but I did indeed. I had to re-outfit myself for the job; this was a serious undertaking. I traded my floppy hat for an old mobcap I have, it's really kind of cute, and it's white with little pink roses and it has a little white bow. Actually, Don laughs every time I wear it but I think he likes my granny cap too. The purpose of the cap was of course to keep the killer lady bugs from getting in my hair. With my ear-buds, protecting my ears from the unthinkable and connected to my MP3 player, which was playing, surprisingly, some of my favorite music the head was… um covered. Next item: put on a shirt with nice snug sleeves; I didn't want any of those little critters sneaking down my shirt sleeve. I am too big a woman to be doing a strip dance on my back porch, never mind that there are no neighbors to see!

I gathered up a few tools and I was in business. I knew Don had the cordless drill/screwdriver charged, so I went to the basement and got that, and then I got the shop-vacuum (I really don't want to talk about using that) and a step ladder from the garage and set to on those frames. The exposed or outside walls of our porch are on the north, east side, the south wall of the porch is part of the garage wall, and the west wall is the living room wall. The plastic lined frames hang in two tiers, I discovered with the first set that it is best to remove the top tier first and it is definitely best to remove the bottom set of screws on those frames first rather than last. I discovered that I could climb as far as the third step on the ladder as long as I could lean against something solid on the way up and that as long as I didn't look down and I leaned into the ladder I could turn round and face the screw I needed to remove. Not bad, I say, and it only took me a couple of hours, well, about three or four but I had to do a lot of sweeping and cleaning while I was taking down the frames because there is no way I will sit on a floor covered with squished and….no it is just too gross. Note to Robyn: I too love lady bugs as long as they are outside and especially if they are hanging out round my hemlock trees which they are very good for and I did let a fair few of them fly away.

May I say that at the end of the day I was very proud of myself? Don said it should have taken about ten minutes and perhaps I could have done it in much less time but do you know; I don't believe I would have had the same sense of accomplishment.

I'm exhausted just thinking about it all again. None of that is really important. Dr. Tepper from Cleveland Clinic called me yesterday. She is working on getting the MRA scheduled. I hate to go this evening my friends, but Don is due home soon and I haven't done a thing since he left at 3:00!

There is always hope.

The Arms of Angels

Until recently, I lived my life with a 'don't look back' mindset. I'm not sure why it is, but these days I often find myself standing near the empty chasms of the burned and left behind, but never forgotten, bridges of my past. I don't stand there pondering the viability of trying to bridge the gap in the dizzying depths of life, but I do sometimes creep nearer to the edge in an effort to catch even the smallest glimpse of the people that I have loved. This morning I received a rare and beautiful gift and I would like to share it with you.

My earliest memory is difficult for me to define in terms of my age, having no children myself, it is a little difficult for me to say how old toddlers are when they are still toddling but have just reached the stage when they are ready to wear hard shoes. Is there even a difference today? At any rate, I was still small enough to walk across the kitchen table. We were visiting my Uncle Buck and the grownups were talking about how connected we were because I was born on his birthday. I was sitting in my father's arms at one end of the kitchen table and my Uncle Buck was sitting at the other end of the table, he smiled at me and opened his arms and I scampered up and made my very wobbly way into his arms. The details of that short walk on the kitchen table in the basement house we would one day own are so vivid that they must be true memories. I can remember how strange the hard shoes felt on my feet and how much I loved the noise they made on the hard surface of the table. I cannot recall how many other people were sitting at the table but I know there were hands there, ready to catch me if I fell and I remember coffee cups hastily moved out of the way. I don't believe I looked at anything but my uncle as I walked toward him. I could not take my eyes off his face; it was the face of an angel. He was light; his complexion was very fair, he had pale hair with just a hint of red and his eyes were as deep and true and sparkling a blue as the heavens themselves. When I tumbled into his arms, he held me as if I were as fine and rare as Fairy Dust and twice as likely to blow away. My uncle had acquired a devotee and me my second conquest (after Daddy you know).

Tragically, my uncle, Albert Hartman, died a few short years later of cancer at a very young age. I believe he was in his early to mid thirties. He left behind a wife and three children.

What a precious gift for me to hold onto tight the next time a migraine forces me to become violently ill and I hear Gollum's voice in my head saying, "You don't have any friends". I hope I can remember that an angel once held me in his arms, and he loved me.

There is always hope.

The Light in Me

During the occasional moments of dazed consternation; when I question the purpose of my existence, the validity of my claim to life and all of the gifts and responsibilities implied in that gift of life I have, for the entirety of my life been flummoxed by one constant flaw. I have never belonged; I was shut out of the closeness shared by my mother and my sister, something I was bitterly jealous of as a child and resented so viciously as an adult that I have excluded them both from my life. Nor did I belong with the rest of my family, I was there and they were there and we surely loved each other as families do but it was always easier for them to exclude me than to include me. I can't say I blame them; I must have been a very odd child. My first rule of survival has always been to take every new situation deadpan seriously until it is proven to have a humorous element and then and only then can I laugh long and loud. I'm not sure where that comes from but it is probably associated with my second rule which is to never let anyone know when they have gotten to you.

Starting out life knowing you don't belong in your own family is, to say the least, uncomfortable. I didn't really fit in at school either; the fact that we were Welfare kids much of the time was an open secret and the offers of hand-me-down clothes and food from the school principal's office infuriated me. They told me to think of my little brothers and take the help they wanted to give us; who could blame my family if they never forgave me? I squared my little second grade shoulders, looked them in the eyes and told them I didn't need their charity. Pride is a sin. I tried a few times (much too hard of course) to fit in but I think I had pretty much resigned myself to being a loner by the time I reached the fifth grade.

High school was much the same and the family I married into wanted me no more than did my birth family; perhaps that was when I started to crave sameness. There is a certain amount of comfort in knowing what to expect. As for my marriage; if there is a flaw here it lies in me and not in Don. He is a confident, self-motivated, motivating, centered and focused individual who has gotten where he is today charged by his own steam and with the assistance of no one else. He neither needs nor wants my encouragement or approval. Still, there are moments when I do not belong; still…

I have had a theory on all of this since my early teens. I believe that in some past life, perhaps several past lives, I was a very prideful and demanding person. (I may still be, though I pray I am not.) I am a Christian, but I also believe I will not see Heaven until I have learned the lesson of humility. Why this convoluted view of a straightforward faith system? Because I am trying to figure out why I am here at all; I don't fit in; and loosely translated that means I am nigh onto unlovable. Why? What makes a person loveable? Is it redeeming qualities like compassion and the willingness to sacrifice in both word and deed, is it the ability to love unconditionally with no expectation of having that love returned? I have those qualities. Is it that light that shines in all living things that is put there by Grace the moment we are born? That light can grow to a near blinding quality in some and yet in others it may never grow at all. There is a light shinning in me; I can feel the strong but gentle pulse of its life and I know it is there for a purpose. Perhaps in this lifetime it simply is and I simply am.

There is always hope.

 

 

 

 

 

After the Melt-down

I am fixable; that is what Dr. Tepper at the Cleveland Clinic tells me and I believe her. Just one more test to see if surgery is an option and then the rest is up to me and medication adjustments. As for me, what can I say; I’m in it for the long haul. As for the medication, it is already beginning to have some unpleasant side effects; I will get by those. The really awesome news is that I may not have had strokes at all! The next test will give a definitive answer on that point as well as the surgery thing.

Today I had a mini-meltdown; I was alone and I am grateful for that because I am positive Don would have been clueless as to what to do. Flaming forsythia, even I didn’t know what to do but cry (which is very unlike me). I suppose the problem started last week when I started the new changes in medication and continued to escalate in the process of weaning myself off one med and adding another by slowly ramping up the dosage; add to that the fact that I have been trying to get my prescriptions changed from one carrier to another and am having problems getting the doctor’s office to write new scripts for those that will not transfer and the tension kept building. If that were not enough I only just today recovered from another very bad migraine. Put it all together and you have the perfect recipe for a Betty melt-down; not a pretty sight in any circumstance.

Just when I was beginning to feel lonely and abandoned (which we should never do) I glanced out my kitchen window and watched a chickadee scamper out of my bird feeder (yes, she was inside it) and fly away; and then out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of one of my favorite fair weather friends, the Common Flicker. For those of you who may not know, the common flicker is a woodpecker about 11” in size and they can provide hours of hilarious entertainment as they scratch and peck on the ground looking for ants and insects. There seems to be nothing they enjoy more on a hot August day than a good dust bath and I have watched them linger a good long while at their ablutions. I stood there at my kitchen sink looking out at the wilderness of my back yard and watched a pair of robins. How could I have gone 49 years and never before seen that the male robin does indeed have a deep red breast and that his lady has a more demure rust colored breast? A pair of rabbits was scurrying round doing what rabbits do this time of year, and a groundhog was obviously in hog heaven at the salt block we set out for the deer. No longer lonely with my friends just outside the window to keep me company I set about getting dinner ready.

There is always hope.

The Great Lady Bug Hunt

The use of the word hate generally rings a note of distaste in me, it is a truly terrible word and when directed at another human being it is always used with the intention of inflicting pain. There are exceptions to every rule and one major exception in the use of the word hate is when it is applied to bugs. I hate bugs with a true, deep and abiding hate that is so powerful it makes me tremble. At the moment I hate lady bugs to the point of total distraction.

Jennifer said I am a freak, when it comes to some things I suppose she is correct; when it comes to others, I suppose it is only a matter of time until the men in the little white coats come looking for me. Bugs; what can I say? I have been known to sleep in my own bed with cotton in my ears for fear a bug would… let's not go there. While I go tooling round my yard on my John Deere riding mower I have my ears plugged with cotton not because of noise but because of bugs. To clarify; my own unique definition of bug is: anything smaller than a human baby that crawls, walks, flies or rides its' way into within ten feet of me.

I have spent the last half hour on a quest for bugs in my house. With Tchaikovsky's Capriccio Italien boldly playing on the CD player I stalked and swept and vacuumed and I hope I have cleared my house of the dreaded bugs for once and for all. It would seem that I have a lady bug infestation and Don can't seem to stop laughing at my freakish obsession of wanting to get rid of them. I get no help from that corner, I can tell you. He is due home any moment from track practice and then my hunt will begin again because every time the doors are opened about a thousand bugs come in.

At least I don't have to worry about what I'll be doing tomorrow.

There is always hope.     

Dragons, Pooh Bear and Unicorns

The first song I can recall striking a deep emotional chord in me is Puff the Magic Dragon; I was four years old when it was recorded by Peter, Paul and Mary in 1963 and the fate of poor Puff, destined to spend eternity waiting for Jackie Paper to return broke my heart and drove me to tears. I loved it. From the first note to the last I was carried away on ships that sailed to the lands of noble princes who bowed when ere we came. To this day I have a very soft spot in my heart for Puff the Magic Dragon.

While I am revealing secrets about what a sop I am I may as well tell you about the other song guaranteed to bring tears to my eyes. For those of you who know me, you may not be surprised to hear that the other song is Return to Pooh corner by Kenny Loggins. I am not precisely certain why this song evokes such a strong emotional response from me. I didn’t have a Pooh bear or anything resembling one and the whole idea of the 100 Acre Wood would have seemed the most natural thing in the world to me. At any rate, by the time I heard about Winnie the Pooh and his friends I was too old to be taken in by the cartoon and stories in the way that toddlers are. Nevertheless, I fell hook, line and sinker for Pooh and friends; I offer my collection of Winnie the Pooh paraphernalia as proof of my continued devotion to all things Pooh. Having said that, I confess that when I hear the song, Return to Pooh Corner, I often weep like a baby who cannot find a loved and favored blanket or bear.

Another song I have a strong attachment to is The Last Unicorn from the movie of the same name, performed by America. The song is about the unicorn telling the world that “I’m alive!” and you will not defeat me Come to think of it, there are too many songs that have special meaning for me, hundreds if not thousands of them actually. Oh well, I only wanted to share with you some of the music that I like the most.

There is always hope.

Easter, Mayhem and Aliens

Happy Easter! I hope everyone is enjoying this most sacred of all Christian holidays.

As for me, I have recovered from the migraine that rocked my world more forcefully than did the students at Boardman High School’s Project Mayhem concert on Wednesday night. I knew I had a migraine coming on when we went to the concert but it is such a rare thing for us to attend anything the kids (nieces or nephews) do that I just could not back out. Truth told I am very glad I went; we sat with Curt and Erica and were able to see Bill, Amy and Matthew. Regrettably, I was not the only member of his (Matthew’s) fan club and I was unable to get close enough to say hello but even a glimpse from a distance was a treat to these hungry old auntie eyes. As for the concert, it was awesome. Those kids put their hearts into it and it showed; we enjoyed it immensely but Don says next time we’ll try a little harder to make it to a traditional concert LOL.

On to other, worldlier matters; I heard on the news today that Colorado is trying to work out legislation to bring alien workers to their farms; they would arrange transportation for and provide housing to these workers in order to acquire affordable help when they most need it. We should all be concerned with the farmer and his plight since much of his expense shows up in the grocery store. Here is my argument against importing workers. I can promise you that there are American citizens (perhaps not tens of thousands but many thousands at least) who are in desperate need of work (even at the wages paid to aliens) and cannot afford the transportation to get to employment or the housing when they reach their destination. If we have reached the point in social discourse where we can openly admit that there is still racism in this country (undeniably on all sides) then I say that it is also time that we say right out loud that there are Americans of every color who are, on a daily basis, cold and hungry and afraid that the car they call home may be stolen while they are out trying to make a days wages in order to feed their starving and sick children. That problem my friends is the most bipartisan problem this country faces and until we have addressed it we should not bring other unfortunate souls here to suffer struggle in conditions that no politician could endure.

There you have it, my Sunday sermon; unfortunately, what I say is true. Even so, this is a great nation and all we have to do to perpetuate it is work together.

There is always hope.

I Cannot Associate Myself With Obama

The talk of the town, if you watch the news, though not exclusively devoted to the 2008 presidential race; does center on Barack Obama and the speech he gave today in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I watched the speech hoping to be swayed in favor of Sen. Obama; I was sorely disappointed. There is in my opinion, no way for Sen. Obama to redeem himself in association with Rev. Wright. Not only has the senator refused to disassociate himself with his former pastor, he has also admitted to what he denied only last Friday; that he (Obama) has in fact been in church and heard firsthand the mean minded and highly prejudicial convictions espoused by Rev. Wright. “Yes,” Obama said today, “I have sat in church and listened to his (Rev. Wright’s) controversial remarks… He has a profoundly distorted view of America.” I am appalled at the news sound bites that I have heard, both from Rev. Wright and Sen. Obama both of whom have a significant and devoted audience. I understand that the Rev. has a right to free speech, but it makes me furious that he has attacked the United States of America. Flawed as we are; I believe this country to be occupied by good, hard working and determined people who will never stand idly by and watch as people like Rev. Wright try to rip this nation apart by causing a hateful racial war. White as I am, I refuse to deny the history of this country of mine and I just as vehemently refuse to disassociate myself with the progress we have made in addressing the consequences of all prejudicial and mean hearted convictions. It is my firm conviction that I am not alone when I say that the color of someone’s skin or their ethnicity makes no difference. We are all of us responsible for the moral development of future generations and I believe we are up to the task of instilling high standards of acceptance and forgiveness in the hearts and minds of this nation’s young.

That said, I also believe there were valid and important points made in Sen. Obama’s speech. He addressed the challenges poor white people face on a daily basis and many other things that crossed racial boundaries. He referenced blood relatives on three continents and his black father and white mother. Sadly for me, he was unable to say a thing that justified his association of twenty years with a man who said the kinds of things that Rev. Wright did.

I am trying to keep an open mind about all the candidates in both major parties. It is… difficult.

There is always hope.

The Open Road the Treadmill and the Party

We watched Into The Wilderness the other day and I have to say I liked the movie, though the ending was not what I expected it to be. I suppose one reason the story appealed to me is that I have always wished that I were brave enough to chuck it all and hit the open road.

I cannot begin to imagine how so much freedom would feel after 49 years of being someone's daughter or wife. Granted, there is very little I would change if I could go back and do it all again... still, I cannot help but wonder. Would that kind of freedom be as gloriously adventurous as I imagine? What would it feel like to wake up to the sound of the ocean and fall asleep to the sounds of the mountains as they settles into rest? Think of the valleys and the rivers and the sunrises and sunsets; and the people. Hard working and proud of it (as they should be) or rich and lazy (as I sometimes wish to be) and what of the people with stories to tell. Beaten down by age and worry or those who have attained a higher plain where their lives are lived in enlightened serenity. The experiences and opportunities are endless. There is no telling what I would give to be brave enough to do those things; I am too much of a coward (and at this point too old) to do anything but dream. Cari (my brave and beautiful niece) knows and I am very proud that courageous woman!

So much for dreaming, it is a sweet luxury that sadly can be endulged in only when time permits. I have much to tell and I believe the best place to start is at the end.

After sleeping in rather late (I worked and traveled all night long in my dreams and was, therefore very tired) I goofed around on the computer for a while (regrettably I had to pester Bill about tickets for the concert on Wednesday because I forget what he told me) and then when Don went off to track practice I forced myself down the basement steps and on to the treadmill. I walked 2 miles today and I have to say it is about time I did! Now if I can only force myself to repeat that feat again tomorrow I will have a good start to spring.

Yesterday, we had the Indoor Track Team over for an end of season party. It's always fun for me when they come over and I wish it could be more often. We had lasagna, watched two movies and ate the surprise birthday cake Liz and Haley brought for Don; they also gave him a very nice gift card for one of his favorite restaurants. I think they enjoyed themselves, or at least I hope they did.

Time is running out and Don is home and ready for dinner. Maybe I'll have a little more time to spend here tomorrow after my walk.

There is always hope.

A New Perspective

I find it fascinating, the way our preconceptions, perspectives and priorities can change in the blink of an eye. One moment we can be tooling along, a jaunty grin lurking around the corners of our mouths and the next we stop dead in our tracks; the grin replaced by jaw dropping incredulity that we are human and not, as we supposed, immortal. Further, that though we have the knowledge and power to prevent or at least reduce the risks or the severity of those things that would threaten our fragile mortality, we often recognize the problem too late. How then do we find ourselves in this position? When did we make the decision to ignore all common sense and caution and do the exact opposite of what we know to be the healthy and wisest course? In addition, the result of that less than responsible behavior is the undeniable truth that we have put ourselves in jeopardy of becoming at best disabled and at worst dead! We are fallible and the sooner we recognize that fact the sooner we can maneuver ourselves back to the center of the straight and narrow path of life. Back to the safety and surety of the trek trodden so successfully by so many before us; back to the comfort of company of friends and family.


All of that senseless prattle and pretentious posturing has a point. I have been debating exactly what I wanted to say in this post since last Friday. It is difficult and I am not precisely sure why that is. I have been open and honest about personal things here in the past and I found it comforting to express my feelings and concerns. Since I can think of no way to gently reveal the latest development in my long slow slide down; I will just say it. I had a MRI of the brain last week. The results show that I have had several small strokes. NO! There is no need to be overly concerned; but given the problems I have had controlling headaches and Trigeminal Neuralgia my neurologist has referred me to the Cleveland Clinic. WHAT! Well now, that’s something to think about and make no mistake about it.

First item; I am so lucky. I know I am and I cannot begin to imagine all of the truly terrible things a MRI of the brain could have shown. God is truly carrying me right now and I am so grateful for that. Second, just because I have been referred to Cleveland Clinic it doesn’t mean there is some mysterious and fatal problem that only they can handle. Though I do give myself a nod of sympathy due to the fact that the last time I was referred to Columbus University the surgeon found a large and rare tumor that my local hospital somehow missed. Intellectually I know nothing like that will happen this time, it’s just that I have a very vivid imagination and well, the mind will wonder.

I have decided that I will not have another small stroke. I am, as of Monday on a 700 calorie a day diet. I will walk every day for at least 45 minutes and I will not have a big stroke.


There is always hope.

A Marshmallow World

I awoke to a marshmallow world this morning. My back yard was a wonderland of deep drifts and sweeping branches tufted in a powdery splendor that can only be seen in late winter. I have always thought that late winter snows somehow attempt to convey sadness in their beauty. It seems, to me at least, that these snows are desperate to leave us with an impression of graceful beauty and serene majesty. It is almost as if they are trying to impress upon us a memory of cozy sleepy lie-ins and hot chocolate laced snow days. All of these impressions are, of course, as fickle as fairies and twice as hard to catch; nevertheless I stand firmly resolute in the conviction that they are, to me, a fanciful version of the world I see; a world where winter tries to exit in our good graces by providing one last spectacular show of the glory of snow.

My flighty version of a cold and wet late winter day is, I doubt not, at odds with Don’s firmly landed first hand account of the conditions outside our window; though he does on occasion surprise me with a brief yet fanciful view that parallels my own and when he does, it delights me. He left the house not long ago, loaded down with PB&J sandwiches, sugar free pudding and drinks for the indoor track team. They have a meet this evening and it is difficult to address their nutritional needs any other way than with very portable food that is, for the most part provided by the parents.

In closing, here is another random Betty thought. If I could be one “thing” I believe I would like to be a musical note because a single note of music will always be a part of something.

There is always hope.

Blow Me To Burmuda!

It has to be said, I really do not like winter! I find it hard to believe that once upon a time I looked forward to snow and ice and cold. What was I thinking? As Merlin said in The Sword In The Stone, "Blow me to Bermuda!" you can say that again. It's the cold you see, if I could just have a little more warmth and a lot less cold I would be fine. If I ever win the lottery (sadly, I don't play) I am moving somewhere that never gets cooler than 60 for a daytime high. Oh, to dream :-)

Because I am as frozen as a Popsicle (sounds like a valid excuse to me) I have done absolutely nothing for days now. LAZY that's what the cold makes me. I believe the technical term is hibernation. I must, in a previous life, have been a bear. Not a mean growling bear; a tubby contented bear who liked laying in the sun and eating nuts and berries and honey and chasing butterflies (and the occasional human, just for fun) and climbing trees. Yes, that is most definitely the kind of bear I was. Oh -- and I lived in a warm climate.

Back to the here and now. I guess I should trundle back down the hall and make a pot of decaf. Don will be home from his 10 mile run soon. What a man he is, going out into that cold! Maybe he'll inspire me to get back to walking now that my poor broken toes are all better.

There is always hope.

Betty

The Hobbit Central

Have you heard about The Hobbit movies? At last, well the release is not imminent (2010 and 2011) but they are going to happen! That’s right, they. Apparently the powers that be (including Peter Jackson and Fran Walsh as producers) have decided to make two movies. I am not qualified to speculate on the break down of the story lines, who can say how it will all come about. I am just so excited!

I have found a couple of places where people are talking and speculating about what will happen, who the cast will be and so on. They are great sources if you are interested in The Hobbit. First is The Hobbit Official Movie Blog http://www.thehobbitblog.com/ and then there is Hobbit Central http://www.hobbitcentral.com/smf/index.php. These are both fairly new sites and you need to know that though they do not at the moment have an abundance of information (no one does yet) they are building a base and as they glean information they pass it along. Hobbit Central has a really great forum.

Guillermo Del Toro has been announced as director for both films. He has directed Pans Labyrinth, and Hellboy and more. He certainly seems to understand the genre. It will be fascinating to watch him and Peter Jackson working together.

If you are a Tolkien fan these are indeed exciting times.

There is always hope.

Betty

American Politics

Am I the only person in this country who is feed up with politics? I really don’t believe that I am, though I must be in the minority. Frankly I am sick to death of having our so called “news” providers dictate to me how and what to think, who to vote for and what cause I should or should not support. CNN is firmly and unabashedly liberal and highly supportive of most things touted by the Democratic Party; while FOX News is unashamedly conservative and supports most issues dear to the Republican Party. Watching or reading the news has become an exercise in political science and I for one have no desire to know every television or print reporters personal views on the political game called American Politics. I believe it has become impossible to make an informed political decision based on information gleaned from the press and that is indeed unfortunate because even in this wondrous age of modern technology; this is still a very big country and there are those of us who find it difficult, if not impossible to attend political functions and rallies. Apparently the all powerful press has decided it is not obligated to report the facts and give us the opportunity to decide for ourselves where we stand on the issues.

Those of you who know me will, I am sure, be a little surprised that I even have a political view. For me it isn’t (at this stage) who I will vote for, it has more to do with what I will vote for when the time comes. March 4, (insert the appropriate date for your state) is a very important day in Ohio and I encourage everyone to vote. If you would go to the polls as an informed and responsible citizen your best source of information is, in my opinion, the internet; and even here you have got to exercise caution, as we Americans are a highly opinionated lot and never afraid to express our views. I suppose the bottom line on the subject is that those of us who are feed up with the press have our work cut out for us in the months ahead. Unfortunately to my knowledge, there is no single reliable source for news (political or otherwise) and if it is the truth we are seeking we shall have to find it for ourselves, Grasshopper.

Well, I feel better for having got that off my chest.

There is always hope.

Betty

Searching For A Resolution

What, I asked myself, will you make as your New Year’s resolution? It has been my rule in the last few years not to make resolutions, after all, I reasoned, why set a goal that is practically guaranteed to fail. It all seemed a little silly to me. I honestly cannot recall ever having made a New Year’s resolution that I actually kept and still, for some inexplicable reason I feel compelled to make them. This year I decided that making a resolution not to make a resolution was, well… a little too eccentric even for me. Choice; either make a resolution or ignore the impulse, decision; make one.

I have decided that 2008 is the year that I matter. What I think, feel, want and need are important and I have got to remember that. No wonder people treat me as a second thought and find it easy to disregard my opinion and feelings. If I don’t value myself no one else will value me; and all that other prattle you read about in the self-help books. Part of my resolution is that every day I will do at least one thing that is important to me or something that I want to do. I got off to a good start New Year’s Day, I watched Return of The King. I have wanted to watch that movie (well actually all of the Lord of the Rings movies) for ages. I also plan to continue with meditation; my hope is that I will somehow (in my drugged fog) find my center and then be able to view the world with more kindly eyes. I am convinced that if there were more compassion and kindness in the world many of our problems would cease to exist.

Today I hope (with Don’s help) to get the house set back to rights; Christmas decorations put away and the excess culled out and sent on to Good Will. This evening, I think I’ll watch one of my “Chick Flicks” while Don is out practicing with his kids. Ah, so many possibilities!

There is always hope.

Betty

Is There No Justice?

Just a quick post to bring you up to speed on how the holidays went here. Christmas was, dismal. Don came down with the stomach flu on Sunday afternoon and by by Christmas Eve I too had moved into the bathroom (upstairs, he had the downstairs) and was incapable of more than groaning. I admit that in this instance I have no sense of humor. There is no justice. It is unfair that I had only just begun to feel better from one bug and then was nailed by another.

At any rate; since I am posting this you must know that I am at last back on the mend

There is always hope.

Betty