Christmas in Dixie

     Anyone who knows me knows that I don't do big things.  I do small things in a big way.  I don't like too much hoopla, and am embarrassed by big displays of affection.  So it should be no surprise that I scaled down my Christmas-ing to reflect the things I consider the most important.  

      We bought a new tree this year... Smaller than the one we had for what seems like centuries, and much simpler to put up.  Maybe not smaller, but more narrow than the previous one.  It came in 3 pieces, with the lights already attached.  It also came with some flocked snow, pine cones and berries attached.  I considered leaving it that way for this Christmas, but wisely decided to change things up a bit.  

     I decided to start out slowly and consider the changes I was about to make carefully, and take the time to really enjoy the small moments.  I decided against putting up glass ornaments this year and to stick with things that wouldn't break, lest our new kitty, Snowflake, decide to go adventure seeking in the tree, as we have already seen her do more than a few times.  She has taken several of the ornaments off, and we sent her scampering in another direction when caught in the act.  

                                          

                         

The final touches on the tree were started yesterday by my sons, and finished is morning by me.  Years ago, when my sons were small, I crocheted dozens of snowflakes from cotton thread, and decided to put them on the tree this year.  It was a labor of love, and I was hoping for a time to use them again.  This is that time.  The result is what you see below, and although the picture does not do it justice, it is worthy of a title.  

                                        

     I decided to name this rendition of our Christmas tree, "Dreaming of a White Christmas".  As many of you know, I came from the Land of the Great White Winter, otherwise known as Chicago.  Winters there are brutal, and make even the hardiest individual weary, and longing for a warmer area in which to live.  But I would like to join with the frostiness of a real winter once again, as I believe it will help me to overcome the breathing issues that have plagued me for so long.  It will also give my family a true appreciation of what it means to come together as a family and enjoy each other's company.  This has been my Christmas wish for a great many years, and although my wish has gone unanswered, I am always hopeful that this will be my last Christmas in the south, and believe that this will be my year.  

     Where will we go?  Somewhere beautiful.  Somewhere that has snow in the winter, and is warm enough in the summer that I may have my little vegetable garden.  Somewhere that we can stay to the end of our days.  Somewhere that makes my family happy.  In the meantime, I will enjoy this Christmas and watch the happiness on the faces of my family as they eat their traditional dinner tonight, watch sappy movies, go to Starry Nights just a few blocks from our house, and settle in for a long winter's nap, knowing in my heart that their glee will continue as they open their gifts tomorrow morning while eating apple turnovers for breakfast with hot cocoa and peppermint spoons melting sweet goodness into the cup.  

     I am thankful.  Thankful that both Steve and I have jobs.  Thankful that I have the best coworkers in the world and they make my job fun.  Thankful that I was able to contribute to several good people who needed help this year.  And I am thankful that I have many gifts for my family this year, whereas, in recent years, that was not the case.  I am thankful for those of you who take the time to read my blog and enjoy it.  Merry Christmas Eve, Everyone!  May your days be filled with warmth and love.

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta

Giving Thanks

     On the eve of Thanksgiving, I am taking a few minutes to ponder my reasons to be thankful this year.  For the last few years, we have had a really rough time.  My husband had not quite landed on his feet after having lost his job of 33 years.  I was in college, and my only option was to finish so I could work and bring in some money.  That means we had no money coming in.  None.  We almost lost everything.  We borrowed from family members to keep us afloat.  We were on the edge of destitution, and we made it through it.

    I am thankful for those tough times, because it has made me thankful.  I'm thankful that I made it through school and now have a good job for which I am handsomely paid for something that feels natural to me.  My husband has the job of his dreams and is being paid well to do it.  My eldest son is done with college, and my youngest is starting his last semester in January.  We are all healthy and are beginning to become comfortable.

      I am grateful that I have a new mattress to sleep on and a new living room set to be comfortable on.  I am grateful to have two very nice vehicles to drive and the means to keep them in good running order.  I am grateful that after losing three of our fur children, a wonderful new kitty has taken up the vacant spot in our hearts that were left so empty.  I am grateful that the fleas are finally gone from our home and I am no longer being bitten up.  I am grateful for the memories left to me by several good friends who have passed away in the last six months.  I am grateful that I have not only time-tested friendships, but also have several new friends in the clinic that I work at most days.  

     I am grateful that we have paid back two of our debts and will be able to pay back others starting in January.  I am grateful to have health insurance.  I am grateful to have good lighting installed on the exterior of our house.  Did I forget to mention that I am grateful to still have our house? 

     I am grateful to still have my sense of humor.  I am grateful that I am comfortable enough with my colleagues that I can let my sense of humor take flight.  I am grateful that I have discovered a love for true beauty and for simple pleasures.  I am grateful to have time to color in my coloring book most evenings.  I am grateful that I no longer waste time on people or things which do not please me.  I am grateful for fine wine and for the meal to be served tomorrow.  I am grateful for my friends on Facebook and for those who keep me laughing.  I am grateful that I still have the love of my husband, even though I sometimes feel that I am unworthy of such love and respect.   I am grateful that even though I have been down, I've never lost faith in myself.  

     It's been a great year.  Here's to many more!  Happy Thanksgiving, All!

Nazdowie'

Paczki Puta

Raising Calico

Yesterday, my beloved companion, Calico, passed away in my arms at the age of 18.  She was the sweetest kitty in the entire world, and I want to tell you about her.

Calico came to us in 1997, after the death of Ginger, my cat who was 17 when we had to say goodbye to her.  First in the house was Lexie, who passed away on the 5^th of July.  Then was Shelby, our brown tabby.  But six months later, with both cats occupying spots in my family’s hearts, I felt as if I still did not have a friend to call my own.  So back to the Humane Society I went.  

There, I saw this sweet kitty, mostly white, with pastel calico markings.  She was sick.  She had been spayed, and her incision was infected.  She also had fleas and ear mites.  Her name was Patches.  Knowing that I had a dog at home, and two other cats, I adopted her and took her straight to the vet.  I told them to get her well and I would come to see her every day.  When they asked me her name, I said “Calico”.  We considered other names, but Calico seemed to fit her perfectly.  As promised, I came to the vet every day, bringing with me a treat or some food, a toy to play with, and a brush for her hair.  Every time I saw her, she purred and I knew that I finally had my companion friend. 

Calico recovered from her infection and came home with me.  Lexie and Shelby were getting along famously, but Calico threw a monkey wrench into it, and from that point on, things didn’t go as smoothly as I had hoped.  All three cats wanted a spot on our bed.  Calico won.  She had a mind of her own and determined that she would like to drink out of the glass of water that I always had on my nightstand.  She also liked to drink water straight from the faucet, and would wait for me to turn it on so she could lap it up.  It was the funniest thing in the world when a friend of mine would house sit and my instructions to her included leaving the water trickling in the bathroom sink for the cat.  It became necessary for me to leave a little cup of water in the sink for Calico every night.  She would drink what she wanted, and then she would push the cup off the counter onto the floor, making a mess.  It became a game to her, so I decided to play along, but to make it so that I wouldn’t have to clean anything up, by putting the cup in the sink.  Calico loved it and so did I. 

Calico acquired many nicknames over her lifetime.  She was Cali, Calipuss, Kittypuss, Kittyco, Duchess Cat and Growlico (for her habit of growling at the dog).  She responded to every name as if she always had them.  She developed many habits that we became accustomed to such as, waiting for us to open a door for her as if to say “You may open this door for me now, Human”.  Or she would start pawing on the door to get us to open it.  I had to wonder if this was a magical thing for her because every time she pawed at the door, the door magically opened.  Then she would look up and give us that little squeak of hers “me-eeh-eeh”.  Yes, Calico, you may come in. 

Every time I pet her, Calico would purr.  In the last few months, she would come to me for combing every night.  I would comb out the fleas, treat her ears, treat her eyes and pet her until *I* had finally had enough.  SHE never had enough love or attention.  In the last week, she didn’t come to me as she did before.  I had to go find her to give her the combing.  I noticed how frail she was becoming, and realized that her kidneys were probably failing.  She was getting painfully thin and I tried everything I knew to get her to eat.  In the last couple of days, she stopped eating completely, and the only thing she would eat was a little chicken noodle soup.  I was grateful that she was eating and for the first time in days, I smiled.  It didn’t last long, however.  Cali stopped eating again, and she didn’t eat again.  She still loved her ice water until the last day of her life, when I had to give her water by eye dropper.  I knew her time was coming soon, and I guess I just didn’t want to let her go, just like she didn’t want to leave me.  She fought hard to stay with me, even up to the moment of her crossing.  And I am heartbroken.  I will never see her beautiful face again, and never be able to touch her soft fur.  She had the softest fur of any pet I’d ever had.  Maybe it was because I combed her, but I don’t think so.  I think her softness was what made her what she was.  She was my Princess.  She was my Duchess.  And she was my Daughter.  She owned me, and I’d do it all again gladly.  I will never ever forget her.  She was my baby, and I was her Mama. 

I will always love you, Calico.

Mommy

Lexie, Our Zombie Cat

We lost another little soul last night… a little soul with a big presence.  Lexie, our cat of 18 years, passed away last night. 

Lexie came to us in 1997, after our other little soul, Ginger (17) passed away.  Lexie was at the Humane Society, and when I went to her cage, she rolled all over the cage trying to get me to play with her.  When I wouldn’t play, she reached out and grabbed my hair.  Since we were all grieving so much over the loss of Ginger and since Lexie was full of so much life, I brought her home.

Steve said “why did you bring THAT cat home?”  It didn’t take long for him to figure it out.  She belonged here.  The first thing that Lexie did when she came into her new home was to jump onto our large canary cage and hang onto the side.  When Jason came to get her off, she looked up at him and said “mrow”, as if she was saying “Whut?  This is MINE!”  Whenever we tried to discipline her or to call her, she never responded.  We soon found out why.  Lexie was deaf. 

We took special care not to let Lexie out in the backyard alone.  She loved to chase the birds, but since she couldn’t hear, she would never be aware of danger, nor would she hear a car approaching if she were to jump the fence.  In later years, she could go in the backyard alone, because she had lost the urge to leave the yard she loved so much.  We could let her out and she would lay on one of the patio chairs in the sun or find something to hide under, but she loved being outside.  She had the moves of a jungle cat, with a lumbering gait that left no doubt that SHE was queen of her yard. 

Lexie had a very long and happy life.  She ate well, she played well.  She was one of four cats we were to bring home after Ginger passed away, but she was the first.  When Shelby came to our home, Lexie ran right over to her and licked her clean.  She never knew a stranger.  She loved to antagonize the dogs.  First Rebel, and then Tucker after Rebel left us.  Both coonhounds hated when Lexie was near, because she would bite their ear to get them off her favorite couch so she could curl up and get comfortable.  And they obliged.  One of her favorite things was to climb the Christmas tree every year and get stuck up there.  She did it at least once every year until she got older, and we suspect she was responsible for our tree being on the floor when we woke up one Christmas morning.

In the last couple of years, Lexie started to lose weight, and lost so much that we started calling her our Zombie Cat.  She was still happy, and still purring the day before she passed away.  But yesterday, she stopped eating.  At first, we thought it was because Samantha was gone.  Lexie and Samantha had become unlikely friends, eating together and sometimes sleeping together.  Like we did for Samantha, we put Lexie in the crate to keep her safe and tend to her every hour or so.  Then she took a turn yesterday afternoon.  She had a seizure while I was watching over her.  It was pretty bad, and I knew it when I saw her eyes afterward.  I hoped it wasn’t so, but feared that she would go that day.  Unfortunately, I was right.

I awoke this morning to find the crate covered and a note on top, written in Jason’s handwriting.  It said, “T.O.D. 10:39pm”.  My heart sank.  Two babies in 48 hours.  It’s going to be a tough day.  Lexie will be buried right next to Samantha today.  I will be at work when it happens, although I am usually present when we have to do something like this.  I’m just glad I didn’t have to make the decision to put her down.  She wanted to be with Samantha.  We will honor her wishes.

Rest in peace, Lexie, our Zombie Cat.  We love you.  1997-2015

Samantha - Our Quirky Cat

One of our cats, Samantha, passed away in her sleep last night.  She was warm and comfortable at the end, and we knew that we did all that we could do.

In the last month, Samantha started losing weight quickly.  She was never overweight, and this alarmed me.  We tried to get her to eat different things, and for a while, it looked like she would recover.  Then she stopped eating.  We gave her turkey meat and she ate it.  The she stopped.  We gave her tuna, which she ate a little of.  Then she stopped.  We tried to give her salmon last night and she wouldn’t eat it. 

I combed her last night and could feel her bones through her skin.  She had lost all her fluid and a lot of muscle mass.  I knew it wouldn’t be long.  I brought her water.  She was poking her nose into the water dish, and it surprised her when her nose hit the water.  We started to give her electrolytes by eye dropper last night.  She got enough strength to wander around the house and change rooms a few times.  When she crawled under the piano leg and we decided to make her comfortable for the night, and to protect her from herself and her confusion, because she didn’t know us.  We brought out the cat carrier and put some cushioning in it to make her comfortable.  This morning, she was cold.

Samantha was a hard cat to love.  When she was at the Humane Society, we were told that she was adopted and then brought back.  Gee, I wonder why.  Any time anyone tried to pick her up, she would hiss and run away.  I tried anyway.  She would purr when stroked, so I did.  I decided to bring her home from the Humane Society as a Christmas gift for my son, Jason.  When Christmas morning came, I said “Merry Christmas, Jason!” and the carrier (box) that she was in was hissing.  That was her.  She hissed at people, dogs, other cats.  Everything.

She started to get close to me when I got sick years ago.  I had to sleep alone with a noisy oxygen machine, and she used to sleep with me then.  She would put her head in my outstretched hand and her body against my arm.  And she would purr.  Loudly.  Boy, would she purr.  I guess she decided she liked me.  But still, she wouldn’t let me pick her up.  If it was HER idea to sit on my lap, she did.  But she didn’t like me picking her up. 

Samantha was a constant companion, even when we didn’t like her.  She had lost her hearing a while back, and otherwise was healthy.  She had great posture, unlike any of the other cats we had.  We thought she was going to outlive the others because she was so healthy.  Her descent was fast.  I guess it was better than a slow descent.  I’m glad she’s not suffering, but I will miss her quirkiness.  She will be buried today, next to Gidget, Shelby and Sophie in our backyard.  I know she’ll be waiting for me on the other side, but she’s having fun playing with her housemates right now.  There’s time enough to wait for me later on. 

Rest in peace, Samantha.  We love you.  1998-2015

Wonderful Wanda

Wanda F. Wilson

A Lady Never Tells Her Age - January 30, 2015

Her name was Wanda.  She was a character.  I mean that in a good way.  I met her years ago when I was working at Opera Memphis as their wig and makeup designer.  After our regular rehearsals during Hell Week, the production team would go to various spots to have our midnight meetings.  One of those times, we went to at the P&H Cafe, and it quickly became a favorite nightspot for me and my crew after shows closed.  

Wanda welcomed everyone to her place.  It was her living room.  We were her family and we quickly got on a first name basis.  She dressed eccentrically, from the hat and wig on her head, to the shoes on her feet to the jewelry she wore and the polish on her long fingernails.  She explained to me once how one day she started wearing wigs daily because her hair was too thin and it was just too much trouble to take care of.  The wigs became her signature, and along with her hats, were also her trademark.  She came to be known for her eccentricity, but she did not live eccentrically.  Her home was a small bungalow in an eclectic part of Memphis, and she invited me there once during the Halloween season.

Wanda had regular events at the P&H which, for those of you unfamiliar with the moniker, means "Poor and Hungry".  One of her events was a Costume Contest at Halloween.  It happened to coincide with a costume day where I worked, so when I told Wanda about it and my idea to dress as her, she instantly loved the idea and invited me to come to her house, where she showed me what she was made of.  "Wow", was all I could think, as she showed me her wardrobe of wigs, hats, dresses, boots and shoes, and jewelry.  Her wardrobe would be the envy of any actress, if they only knew it existed.  She happily brought out some dresses that she would like to see on me, and we spent the afternoon playing dress-up.  I felt as if I had found a good friend or mother-figure that I so desperately wanted and needed at that time.  After selecting the proper outfit, we completed the selection with one of her trademark wigs, hat and jewelry.  I wore my own boots, but only after I received her approval.  Out the door I went, knowing that not only did I have the most wonderful costume ever, but also that I had a surprise in store for Miss Wanda.

After my successful debut at work as Miss Wanda, my husband and I were to attend a costume party at The Castle in Memphis.  As we left the party, we drove near the P&H, and decided to drop in.  When we walked in, the place fell silent, as the fake Wanda made her way to the original and sat at her table, after being welcomed with her characteristic hug, saved for everyone.  We stayed for the costume contest, and after some deliberation, which didn't take long at all, the fake Wanda won!  I felt somewhat of a fraud for accepting the prize, but gratefully accepted and proceeded to buy the house a round of drinks and burgers.  Wanda gave and Wanda received.  We took a picture together that night, standing back to back in a mirror image.  She put the picture up on the wall at the P&H.  It was wonderful and I felt loved.

As I grew to regard the P&H as my regular spot, I would bring my crew from the opera there on closing nights.  It was my custom to treat my girls to a beer and burger party to thank them for all the hard work they did, and yes, it was all on me.  We stayed until the wee hours of the morning, and on some occasions, closed the place down.  I loved giving the girls a treat, and loved giving Wanda my business.  It felt like home.

On one occasion, I wore one of my favorite sweaters to the P&H.  It was black, grey and white, and looked like a patchwork quilt in knitted yarn.  Wanda loved it.  I wanted to give it to her, so I asked her if she would like to trade for it.  Wanda did, and she brought out a sweatshirt in my size that said "I spent the night with Wanda".  I loved it and the trade was made.  I went to change and came out with the sweater in hand and the sweatshirt on my back.  I never saw her wear the sweater, but it made me feel good to know that I had done something personal for her.

As my health changed near the year 2000, I knew that I couldn't continue to work my day job and the opera job too, and I hesitated in telling Wanda that I would be leaving my opera job.  When I shared this bit of information with her, she said that she was upset because she thought she might never see me again.  Unfortunately, she was right.  After leaving the opera, my husband and I came back to visit her, but she was never there.  It was always too early in the day or she was off that night.  I had heard that she sold part of the business so she could take it a little easier, and it bothered me that I had let her go so quickly after leaving the opera.  

Wanda passed away this past Friday, January 30, 2015.  In a year of endings for me, she began her new beginning.  She never told me her spiritual beliefs, but it never mattered.  She was my friend, and that's how I'll always remember her.  When the movie, "Poor and Hungry", was being filmed, she invited me to come and be in the closing credits.  I brought my young son, Rhys, with me, and although I don't know if we made it to the credits, I like to think that we did.  After all, we were "poor and hungry" too.  

Rest in peace, Wanda.  I love you too, my friend.  

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta

An Open Letter to the Universe

Note:  this is one of a series of blogs which I wrote previously, and am now publishing.  This one is from January, 2014.

Dear Universe/Source/God,

My family needs help.  We have done our best with everything you have given us, but still we are almost destitute and don't know where to turn or what to do next.  My husband is still looking for a job that will pay the bills, as is my son.  I am still in school with a workload that would make the strongest people cry.

We are just a couple of months away from losing our house.  I don't know how we will pay all the bills that are stacking up against us.  It's only a short period of time before our electricity, phone, internet, cable and security system are turned off.  We are being hounded by bill collectors.  Haven't we suffered enough?

I wake up each morning in a city that I have hated for almost 32 years.  Have I not suffered enough?  What is it going to take before you are satisfied that I have done my penance for whatever wrong you think I have committed?  When are you going to show us the "grace" and "mercy" that you promised?  Have I not honored your creation?  What... WHAT is it going to TAKE?????  WHEN is it MY turn to be comforted???  I have long since atoned for everything I have done.  Please show me that you have not forgotten your promises to me.

If ever we needed a miracle, it is now.  Please help us.

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta

The Hitler Syndrome

Note:  This one is from January, 2014.

I admit it.  I have a hard time not saying things that need to be said.  I also have a hard time admitting things that are not true.  I say this because of recent events in school this week.

This program director and his cohorts have taken a disliking to me lately, ever since I outed them on their unethical practice of including items on exams that are from a unit to come.  They ambushed me and gave me their version of a third degree interrogation.  These ambushes are common for these people, who do not give unsuspecting students a chance to prepare a defense for what they claim are the students' "offenses".  The past couple of weeks, it has been my turn to be their victim.

I have had several major tragedies in my life as of late, none of which is any of their business.  I repeat, NONE OF WHICH IS ANY OF THEIR BUSINESS!  *whew*  That felt good to write.  These idiots think it is their right to pry into people's lives and that they, in their beneficence, will come to save the day.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  When you beat a horse constantly, there is going to come a point when the horse will turn on you or will just stop getting up.  That is where I am with this.  I have been beaten and harrassed constantly by these people, and this horse stopped getting up.  I have not turned on anyone; I have just stopped saying anything about my personal life.

A person's personal life will give many insights into what is going on in their head which, again, is NONE OF THEIR BUSINESS!  My life is my life.  I am passing my classes and doing the best I can.  And being in a physical therapy program, imagine my surprise when they decided to give me a hard time when I experienced a fall in my kitchen and came in to class with my foot wrapped and on a cane.  Got that?  I CHOSE TO COME IN instead of going to the doctor at that point.  I did go to the doctor later on, but was that good enough for these morons?  No no NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.  They gave me a hard time about not performing lifts that day.  So I came in with my doctor's note the next day.  And they decided to write me an "official letter" outlining my offenses.  Whatever.  I am not the only one they are doing this to; they seem to want to alienate the entire class 2 weeks before spring break and our next clinical.  I am personally fed up with them and their guerilla tactics, as is the rest of the class.  We had a guest speaker the other day who was a graduate of this program.  The class discussed this amongst ourselves later on, and all of us agreed that there was NO WAY that we would ever come back and do a class for these idiots.  They have burned their bridges with us, when they should have been building them all this time.

So congratulations, morons.  You have completely alienated the very people that could help you make this program less tedious and boring.  You have given us a reason to not keep in touch with you.  Why would we?  You are unapproachable.  You are unpleasant.  You are pricks.  We have no reason to ever want to even remember your names when we are done.  I can guarantee with about 95% accuracy that you will never hear from any of us again.  So if that was your goal, you made it.  Congratulations.

What idiots.

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta

P.S.  This is a series of posts that I am writing and saving to be published after I am safely out of their reach.  The provost will receive a letter from me as well.  I don't have to save the world, but these people should not be in charge either.

The Hazing Continues

NOTE:  This is a blog post that I wrote on the 20th of January, 2014, but have taken down until I am safely out of the reach of the idiots that run the program I am in at school.  Enjoy.


I can't believe it is already the 20th of January and I haven't written anything about this semester.  Even though it just began slightly over a week ago, this semester is shaping up to be everything that has been promised:  The worst semester we will have.

My first week began with two practicals, an exam and a quiz.  I did fine on the quiz.  I think I did fine on the exam.  Can't remember if we got those grades back yet.  I usually write those things down.  Did fine on one practical but not on the other and have to repeat it tomorrow after class.  *sigh*  All that in one week, along with mind-numbing lectures, a group project this week (which are always SO much fun), an in-service individual presentation, and another exam.  AND I have been sick.  Sick enough to take an antibiotic.  AND we have issues with finding jobs and no money to speak of.

When I was young, we used to say "Say UNCLE" when we reached a point of surrender.  UNCLE!!!  UNCLE!!!  Wait... it worked when I was young.  Why isn't there anyone around to let me have some rest now?  Oh yeah... that growing up thing.  I have to be the grown-up.  If I'd known that being an adult was such a pain, I would have stayed a child... or at least tried to enjoy my childhood a little more instead of rushing to be a grown-up.

I can't help but feel that every semester has been an exercise in hazing.  The schedule is never consistent; we never have a schedule we can count on.  I keep hearing things like "you have to listen to me".  Yeah, honey, we only have to listen for another 30 classroom sessions.  Yes, we are counting it down.  I have heard it from a lot of people.  I haven't heard anyone say that they will be sorry when this is over.  For someone like me, putting me back in a classroom after being in a clinical setting is like being a caged animal.  I WANT to be out of school and get our lives on track!

I've heard some things from instructors and therapists in clinic about keeping in touch.  Honestly, after I'm done, it will take a while before I keep in touch with anyone.  My focus will be on getting a job and becoming the best that I can be for my sake and for my family.

I need my sanity back.  "These are the times that try men's souls."  Who said that?  Thomas Paine?  He was right.  I'm trying, really I am.  But I have too much going on.  I am starting to understand why people wander away from their lives and never come back.  You just get to the point that you can't take anymore and anything else feels like relief.  I will try not to wander away... but I make no promises.

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta

Self-Reliance

There have been several times in my life that I have had to find out who I am and what I'm made of.  This is one of them.  After making it through school, being the first in my class to get my license and the first to get a job, and now the first to get my second job, I am faced with the knowledge that maybe I had it right all along.  Maybe I'm more than what I thought.  Maybe I'm made of tougher stuff.

The first time I realized that I had to be self-reliant was the day I left my parents' home.  The second time was when I left my ex-husband's home to be on my own.  And now I am on that road again.  Not the road to leaving, but on the road to the future, and on my road to self-reliance.

I am now in control of all the decisions I make and the choices I make are also mine.  These decisions will affect my family, yes, but they will be in the direction that I know I must go.  I have to make these decisions to allow my family to grow in wisdom and to flourish financially.  The first of these decisions will be in our moving away from Memphis to seek a better life elsewhere.  My target date is the middle of May, when Rhys is finished with his transfer scholarship at the University of Memphis.  He will still have a full semester plus a senior project to do, but he can do those at any university.  Jason is still unemployed, and so is Steve, so it looks like the way is being cleared for us to go.  Finally.

It's no secret that staying in this town has not been my choice.  Now more than ever, I have to make the decision to leave here count.  I am pursuing another job... this time, a travel job.  This will allow us to move our home base where we want to be.  And once we are there, I will look for a permanent position.  In the meantime, we are preparing the house to be sold, and tidying up all our affairs here.  It's time to take the path we are on and see where it leads.

Somehow, it feels easier this time, and harder as well.  This is a permanent decision.  My family will continue and we will thrive.  All the preparations I have been through in my mind are coming to fruition.  Our collective health is improving as is our financial health.  These are in my control.  My family is making life easier for me, as I leave to do battle every day with a collection of elderly dementia patients who test my very sanity.

My only job when I get home every day is to take care of myself and that, I do gladly.  I remember well how my own mother's body was all used up by pregnancies and a lifetime of not taking care of herself.  That will not happen to me.  I caught it in time.  Now I move forward.  WE move forward.  Look out, Colorado.  Here we come!

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta