Smoke On The Water, True Friendship And An Angel To The Rescue

Wow... what a day/night we had on the riverfront! My hubby and I were invited to the Memphis in May BBQ Fest and decided we would take a chance on going. Generally, when you go to one of these things, you have to know someone in order to eat at any of the booths. There are vendors available, who will be happy to sell you their wares, but the fun is in visiting people you know. There is a LOT of walking, which is extremely difficult for me. I was soon to find out exactly HOW difficult it would become.

Before we left for the BBQ, I had my doubts as to whether I could make it, but I wanted to do this for my hubby. We had received an invite from some fraternity brothers of his, and there were friends that we hadn't seen in 30 years. Okay, 30 years for him. Probably 25 for me. Anyway, when we first got there, we sought out the booth that his brothers were in. They weren't there at the moment, so my dear hubby decided he wanted to walk around a bit. That was bad news for me. I was already having trouble walking. But I went with him, trying to keep up, and having to stop every couple of booths to let my hip joint rest. We caught up with the Parrotheads, who we had met years ago when our friends Pat and Tim still lived in Memphis. A quick story about the Parrotheads... we also ran into them in Chicago! At the Billy Goat Tavern! It was shear luck that we ended up there that night. What a group! They were wonderful and we resolved to be lifelong friends.

So back to the BBQ... We stopped at the AT&T booth which, thankfully, was air-conditioned and had internet access set up! I was shocked. We quickly went in and checked our Facebooks. Ha ha! Can't get away from that, it seems. It was a good thing though, because I saw that some other friends of ours were there as well, and we made a silent note to visit them before we left. We found some funnelcake vendors, which is one of my favorite greasy treats. We quickly found shade and gobbled up the sugary mess. I was getting really hot and tired, and I didn't want to take any chances, so I asked if we could please stop at the First Aid station. I'm so glad we did! We met two really nice nurses who took my blood pressure (normal), gave me some ibuprofen and an impromptu ice pack made from a rubber glove. As we sat and talked, I made a mental note of the proximity of the exit gate and where the EMT's were located. I was on dangerous ground, and I knew it.

We finally went to the Earthquake BBQ booth, sat down and got some water. We sat for a really long time, talking to Phillip, who was cooking the butt. After numerous references to "do I want some of his butt", Steve and I decided to see how good it was. I was totally shocked at how moist and flavorful the meat was. Phillip kept asking me what I thought it needed, and although I'm not a connoisseur of pork barbecue, I couldn't help but think it needed more hickory. Phillip asked me "You could taste the hickory?" Yes, I could, but it needed more. I've never... EVER tasted such good pork. And the conversation flowed... he told us all about Huntsville, where he lives and works, and about how the judging is done at the fest. We were completely enthralled at how it all worked, and how much preparation and planning went into not only having a booth, but the entire festival. I regret that we had to leave suddenly, when a call from home made me realize that we had some medical matters to tend to.

As I went to find Steve (who had conveniently disappeared from view), I ran smack into his old classmate, Greg, who welcomed me with the biggest hug I had ever had. Tears filled my eyes as I realized that this was the kind of welcome I had hoped for when I first came to Memphis. Greg and I talked for a while, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. When we found Steve, the guys talked for a while longer, and I knew I had to get home or die. The pain I was feeling was getting intense. Reluctantly parting, we all agreed to get together next Tuesday at Cafe Ole' and headed for the exit. What came next was the biggest surprise of the evening.

I knew I was in trouble trying to head up the hill. It can be brutal if you have any kind of leg trouble. And boy, was I having it. We asked an EMT if she could give me a ride in the cart, just to the top of the hill. She said no. We ventured a little farther and spied a woman getting into a cart just ahead. I begged Steve to ask her if I could ride. By then I was starting to cry. She didn't even hesitate when she said "get in". She told me to sit in the front and kept asking me if I was all right. She wanted to take us directly to our car, but there was some trouble at the south gate, with a tach squad and multiple grey cruisers blocking the streets. She was on the horn immediately to find out what was going on, and apologized to us for holding us up. Good heavens! She wasn't holding US up... she was helping us! I made a note to look at her badge and found her name... Diane Hampton. She dropped us off at a gas station not far from our car and apologized for not bringing us all the way. I was crying and impulsively hugged her... thanking her and telling her she had earned her way into heaven tonight. She smiled and Steve gave her his card, letting her know who we were. And then we found out exactly what her position was... The Executive Vice President of Memphis in May! I was FLOORED!!! I couldn't believe this person of SO much importance was helping ME! We thanked her again, and she went to handle the emergency at the south gate. What an angel. I'm going to write a letter to let the whole city know what a wonderful person she is.

We finally got to our car, after having to stop quite a few times to soothe the pain in my legs. Steve had been begging me to stay at the gas station, but I insisted on going to the car myself... slowly... slowly... and I made it! All the way home, Steve and I talked about his friends, our lives and how much I have needed the generosity that was shown to me that night. I cried almost all the way home, realizing how much goodness and friendship I had missed in my life. This is just the start of making it better.

Oh, the pain? I'm going to try and get in to see my doctor on Monday. The left leg feels like it did when I had the clots in it. I may have to go back on coumadin, but it's better than having another embolism. Wish me luck and good health!

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta

So How's The Exercise Program Going?

I just peeked in here and realized I had not written in a couple of weeks. I guess the pull of daily life got a little stronger lately.

I have had a lot of things hit me lately, and am trying to figure out how I used to do this dance of cleaning house, running all the errands, doing laundry, ironing, mending, cooking, shopping, raising two children AND holding down a full-time job. As I get older (and weaker), I realize it's no mean feat! How in the WORLD did I do all that? By myself? Are you kidding me??? Nowadays, the boys help me out with a lot of it, but dayum... I didn't realize there was SO much to do. I have an upcoming visit from my aunt and uncle at the end of this month, and now the heat is on! I know they don't care about how things are in my house, but *I* care. I'd like to have the hallway finished by the time they get here, and have some of the clutter organized. I have been in the "Let's get rid of all this clutter" mode, but there is so much of it, especially since I got sick 6 years ago. My health has gone up and down since then, and it's become painfully evident that I can't do everything I used to be able to do, and that things have gone to pot.

But I digress...

We have been working on stripping the paint off the woodwork in the hallway so we can redecorate. We have lived in this house for the past 20 years, and have never redecorated. With raising the family and working, there was just never time or energy to do it. So I'm doing it all a little at a time with the guys' help. Last weekend we started stripping the paint in the hallway. This weekend (if they ever wake up... since it's raining, they're all still in bed) I want to finish that chore. Then we can sand... then prime... then paint. We did the study already (did that when I came home from Chicago in November). In the meantime, Rocky has decided to start tearing up the blinds in the dining room, so I will have to replace some of the slats today, along with everything else I have to do. Bless Steve... he works so hard during the week and only has the weekends to rest, and I make him either go on a bike ride or help out with these extra chores. I try not to overtax him, but he does everything at 200 miles per hour, so it's hard to make him slow down. Case in point... when we (and by "we" I mean Steve and I) started on the hallway last weekend, I wanted to just take it slowly and do a little at a time. He started putting stripper on all the doorways, not realizing how much work was involved in the scraping and sanding. So we pushed really hard to get it done, and all the refuse cleaned up before the dogs or cats could eat it. And they would have. Needless to say, it didn't all get done, and the hallway looks like it has cancer. Today, I'm going at it slower, whether he likes it or not. There's something to be said about working with your hands at a slow rate, focusing on quality rather than quantity.

I also have to work on the aquarium. It sprung a leak in the last few weeks, and I have to figure out where the leak is, patch it up and get a new glass top for it. Ugh... when do I have time for work? Oh wait... this blog was supposed to be about my workouts. That's going all right, I guess. With everything else coming at me, who can tell? I get up in the morning, have two cups of coffee, have some oatmeal, and then MAKE myself do my weight training. Or my yoga, if it's one of those days when I wake up in pain. Weight training is getting easier though. Okay, not easier. I'm sweating up a storm while doing it. I added a couple of extra exercises yesterday, so that's a good thing. But I'm still weaker than a newborn kitten. Okay, so maybe not THAT weak. But I'm a whole lot weaker than I used to be, when I used to go at this with guns blazing. I'm becoming aware that maybe I'm not as young as I used to be. But I'm trying. Watching The Biggest Loser this week put my mind right again, so my nutrition is back where it needs to be. Yeah, yeah, I know... The Biggest Loser is an unsafe program and not realistic for anyone who doesn't live on a ranch, all expenses paid, with nothing to do but eat and workout 8 hours a day. It's not that. I can identify with the pain the contestants have been through that got them in their present state of dis-ease. That helped me to get my focus back.

So how much weight have I lost? Practically none, if that's what my gauge is. But it's not. I'm all about gaining strength so I can get through the last third of my life without having to have someone help me lift a bag of groceries. And I want to be able to tend my garden out in the country. Yes, you heard it here first. We are moving to the country in the next two years. I have picked out a community that's about 30 miles east of here, and I love it out there. No water really, but lots and lots of fresh air. My doctor wants me to have lots of it. And I don't think civilization will catch up for a while. It's far enough that I will have to travel for about 20 minutes before I find a grocery store. We are looking for about 10 acres. That will give me enough space to have a vegetable garden, plant fruit trees and bushes, and landscape a flower garden with a path and bench (I've always wanted to do that). And most of all, I can BREATHE!!! Those of you who don't have trouble breathing have no idea how much cleaner the air is in the country. Once I get out there, I don't want to come back in the city for ANYthing. I'm afraid I might miss a bunny or squirrel.

Anyway... the crew is stirring, so I guess I'd better make breakfast. Oatmeal with raisins. Yeah, I know... but it's healthy.

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta

DOMS or "Why I Hate Exercise"

DOMS - Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness

How could I have been so dumb? I knew fully well that my workouts were going to result in a sudden onset of DOMS. So how is it that I ignored that so completely when I started working out again this week? Of COURSE I was going to be in pain!

So after 5 weeks of the flu (and still suffering the after-effects of it), I set out on Monday to do a short strength-training workout. And instead of taking it EASY, like I knew I should, I did full stability ball crunches, floor to floor. My transverse abdominus (abs down the front of the body) have been screaming ever since.

Okay, okay. So maybe that wasn't the smartest thing to do. But I was prepared to be sore. I just wasn't prepared for the pain that I experienced when my husband and I went for a walk around the block. I thought, "It's a beautiful day, and Steve is getting off work early after a tough week. We should go for a walk." How humiliating it was when the pain in my hip flexors was so great, I had to stop quite a few times to rest. Thank God we didn't go to the park or hit the Greenway on our bikes. I'd never have made it.

And here's something else... it wasn't my lungs that held me up this time. I suppose I should be grateful for that. So of course, I had to come home and look up the musculature involved in what's commonly called the "hip flexors". I have a kiniesiology site I'm fond of: www.exrx.net That's the site I go to whenever I want to know something about musculature or exercise in terms I can understand. I found the numerous muscles that comprise the hip flexors and I understand that this pain goes deep into those muscles. What I don't know just yet is what I need to do about it. Yoga tomorrow? More walking? Complete rest? Ibuprofen? I have refrained from taking anything for the pain if I can help it.

Something further... the pain in my arm is back, which usually tells me that there is something malfunctioning in my spine again. *sigh* I guess tomorrow is going to include a long, painful session of yoga. I'm going to have to stretch until my spine loosens up. I don't know what's worse... knowing that I have this ahead of me tomorrow, or knowing that if I don't do it, there will be an even greater price to pay the next day.

Maybe I ought to just get a head start on it tonight.

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta

The Tough Road Back

Anyone who has been following my blogs here or in other places, knows that I have been down with the flu for about 5 weeks. It has really taken a toll. I'm hocking up things that shouldn't be mentioned, and I would not be the least bit surprised if I saw a lung in the sink the next time I cough. However, I feel like I have finally taken the turn for the better and am taking the long, tough road back to health.

I started this road again today, with a short, half-hour strength workout that would have made me shake my head and say "wimp" earlier in my life. I had to stop several times to make sure I would get each rep in. Mind you, this is a NOTHING workout. But afterward, I felt like I was going to puke my guts out. Those 2 sets of 15 crunches on the stability ball just about did me in. I watched Gidget sleeping right next to me as I grunted and groaned. The sweat was so intense that I had to wipe it off several times, and wonder if maybe, just maybe, I was taking it a little too fast. TOO FAST??? Geez. This is not the "me" of several months ago, when I was adding to my workout, and it was not the "me" of several years ago, when I spent at least an hour daily hitting the iron. But I had to start somewhere, right?

And I hate cardio. God, how I hate it. I'm not going to do any until my strength gets a little better. My heart was already pumping like I was running a marathon. And now I'm tired. You know the feeling after you've pumped iron for a while. You want to collapse. At least I do. I'm gonna love tomorrow. Yoga. Ahhhhhhhh... stretching to beautiful, calming music.

So here I start the tough road back. I know it's not going to be easy. But I've got to try. Sistah, you there with me?

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta

Easter Traditions

Today is Easter Sunday, and with the world celebrating the traditional Christian belief that Jesus rose from the dead, I had time to reflect on the Easters past and thought I would share a few of them here.

Last night while I was making the makowiec (poppy seed cake) for my family to share, I remember the time when my grandmother Sophie taught my mother to make the very same cake with a prune or apricot filling. Sophie was right-handed, and my mother was left-handed, so it was a comical learning experience for both of them. Sophie was mixing the dough with her right hand, and my mother was mixing with her left, both on the same side of the table. Flour was flying everywhere, and before the task was done, both were covered with flour and laughing as I had never seen them laugh before or since. The resulting cakes were wonderful, and knowing they had been done in tandem made them all the more delicious to me.

To my knowledge, no one in the family continued making those cakes after my mother passed, so I took it upon myself to learn how. What I thought was a simple task turned out to be very complicated, and I suddenly had great respect for the reasoning of making the cakes ahead of time. By ahead of time, I mean starting the cakes early the day before serving. It took a VERY long time to put this cake together, and my creation was finally completed at about 10:30 last night. I put about 4 hours into it, all told. If all goes well and it doesn't suck, I will, in all likelihood, make it again for the holidays, but will make it with prune and apricot filling.

In researching Polish Easter traditions, I came across some practices that I had forgotten. For example, I had completely forgotten that we used to take our filled Easter baskets to church to have the priest bless them. This practice is called Swieconka. Baskets were filled with cakes, fruits and candy. Also, the coloring and writing on the eggs is still practiced today. The eggs which are painted in one color are called "malowanki" or "kraszanki". If patterns are etched with a pointed instrument on top of the paint, the eggs are then called "skrobanki" or "rysowanki". The eggs decorated with the use of treated wax are called "pisanki".

Later on today, we will be having a baked ham for dinner, complete with sweet potatoes, creamed spinach, peas and carrots, and whole kernel corn. I suppose I should make some biscuits or cornbread to go with it, but honestly, after cooking last night and this morning's breakfast treats, I feel like I've done enough. Oh, the verdict on the poppy seed cake? Thumbs up!

Nazdrowie'

Packzi Puta

The Rain, The Park and Other Things

Anyone who was around at the end of the 1960's or early 1970's, will recognize the title of today's entry as a song by the Cowsills. The Cowsills was a family singing group from that era. I think of that song every time we have had weird weather that prevents me from getting outside and doing what I want to do, namely going to the park or riding my bike. We've had so much strange weather this year. I really hope it goes to being blistering hot soon, like it's supposed to. The family and I have been wanting to go ride our bikes at what we lovingly call "The Greenway", which is a strip of bicycle path, 2 1/2 miles long at this writing, which winds along the Wolf River. There was a time, a couple of years ago, when we went riding every evening. Last year, I couldn't make it even a quarter of the way.

When we were going regularly, I was feeling strong... stronger than I had in a long time. I wasn't working outside the home at the time, but was spending most of my time getting healthy. (That was undone last year when I got this lung thing, but I digress.) We would use our daily bike rides as our cardio exercise, and boy, was it! The trail we ride isn't a straight shot. It's a long, winding, up and downhill asphalt trail. There are several hills that are hard for me to get up, and one that is impossible if you're not ready for it. Well guess what! I'm not. At the time, it took me several weeks before I was able to get up that last hill, and it wasn't without extreme effort on my part. That hill just wasn't gonna lay down and die for me. I had to work up speed from the two previous hills, and even though my quads were screaming by then, I had to push them even harder. Making it to the top was always an accomplishment. I was always the last one to make it up the hill, and was always the last one to meet back at the truck afterward. Sometimes, Steve would go further than than the allotted 2 1/2 miles. I wish I were strong enough to do that. I'll be glad just to make a mile the first time.

Along the path, there was always something of nature to witness. I remember the time the boys saw a bobcat on the other side of the river, and the time I almost ran over what I thought was a stick on the path until it moved! God, I hate snakes. Last year, I knew there was something wrong when I couldn't go very far on our rides. Once I even had to turn around very close to where we parked and go back. It wasn't long afterward when I was diagnosed with this lung thing. Even though I'd love to go riding, I realize it may not be possible for a while. I wish I didn't do everything as if a marathon was riding on it. I'd like to go riding just for the fun of it. But there's no where to go riding just for the "fun" of it. It's not like when we were young, and we could go riding in our neighborhoods, testing out the newly laid asphalt, racking up the miles as we sped back and forth. I'm not sure my lungs would hold out. I'm not sure my thighs would hold out.

Why is it everything I do has to have a "purpose" associated with it. When did we forget how to play? I haven't played in so long that I really don't remember how. I guess being a mother has made me forget. I've been making sure the boys have a good time for years. Maybe it's time I started having a good time too. Maybe when it gets warm, I can get Steve to take me paddleboating on the lake some weekend. I miss the years when we used to take Rebel (our black and tan coonhound, now long passed) to the park for "off the leash" hours. Rebel would howl all the way into the park, and people would point and laugh at him. But people loved him. He was a good dog, and made friends at the park easily.

Steve and I also used to take weekend morning walks at the park, taking the long trail (3 1/2 miles) from one end of the park to the other, where it winds back into itself and back to the parking lot. We would bring a couple of water bottles with us, and they were usually gone within minutes of returning. Steve was running at the time, and although I could never run, I never begrudged him his time with himself. I just trudged along as best I could, with my short little legs hauling me around. There was a time in my life when I used to go walking with a girlfriend every evening. The friend has long since moved away, never to be heard from again, and I never got my love of walking back. I was pregnant with Rhys when I had to stop; for some reason, that pregnancy just didn't sit right with me for walking. I always had a stitch in my side and had to stop early on.

I miss the times when my body would obey my mind and move freely and gracefully. The years of damage and disease are taking their toll. I do the best I can just to make it from one day to the next, trying to keep my mind sharp in the process. I keep trying to learn new things. After all, why would I want to keep doing the same things over and over? Didn't Einstein say that was the definition of insanity? I struggle now with giving myself new challenges that actually spark my interest. I want hobbies and I want to play. Anyone want to join me?

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta

Speak ENGLISH!

I was sent this in e-mail and thought I would post it. I have always loved Bill Cosby and his common sense.

'They're standing on the corner and they can't speak English.

I can't even talk the way these people talk:

Why you ain't,
Where you is,
What he drive,
Where he stay,
Where he work,
Who you be...

And I blamed the kid until I heard the mother talk...

And then I heard the father talk.

Everybody knows it's important to speak English

except these knuckleheads.

You can't be a doctor with that kind of crap

coming out of your mouth.

In fact you will never get any kind of job

to make a decent living.

People marched and were hit in the face

with rocks to get an Education, and now

We've got these knuckleheads walking around.

The lower economic people are not holding up

their end in this deal.

These people are not parenting.

They are buying things for kids.

$500 sneakers for what?

And they won't spend $200 for Hooked on Phonics.

I am talking about these people who cry when their son is standing there in an orange suit.

Where were you when he was 2?

Where were you when he was 12?

Where were you when he was 18 and how come

you didn't know that he had a pistol?

And where is the father?

Or who is his father?

People putt their clothes on backward:
Isn't that a sign of something gone wrong?

People with their hats on backward,

pants down around the crack,

isn't that a sign of something?



Isn't it a sign of something when she has her dress

all the way up and got all type of needles

[piercing] going through her body?

What part of Africa did this come from??

We are not Africans.

Those people are not Africans;

they don't know a thing about Africa...

I say this all of the time. It would be like white people saying they are European-American. That is totally stupid.

I was born here, and so were my parents and grandparents and, very likely my great grandparents. I don't have any connection to Africa, no more than white Americans have to Germany, Scotland, England, Ireland, or the Netherlands. The same applies to 99 percent of all the black Americans as regards to Africa. So stop, already! ! !


With names like Shaniqua, Taliqua and Mohammed

and all of that crap ..... and all of them are in jail.

Brown or black versus the Board of Education is no longer the white person's problem.

We have to take the neighborhoods back.

People used to be ashamed.

Today a woman has eight children with eight different 'husbands' -- or men or whatever you call them now.

(Babydaddy)

We have millionaire football players who cannot read.

We have million-dollar basketball players who can't write two paragraphs. We, as black folks have to do a better job.

Someone working at Wal-Mart with seven kids,

you are hurting us.

We have to start holding each other to a higher standard.

We cannot blame the white people any longer.'

Dr. William Henry 'Bill' Cosby, Jr., Ed.D.



WELL SAID, BILL

It's NOT about color...

It's about behavior!!!

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta

Sacrifices

As I was going over some pictures and funeral home prayer cards yesterday (a favor I am doing for the "lost" portion of my family with the same last name), I had a good cry and reflected on the effects of my life decisions. I have decided to share a few of them here. I have been persecuted by members of my birth family for these decisions, and they don't even know the reasons for my decisions.

First, my decision not to turn my father in to authorities for abusing me:

This decision was not made lightly. I knew that my father would be thrown in jail, and maybe killed there, as a result of his actions toward me. My mother would be left without an income. My brothers and sisters not yet of legal age would be sent off to live with other relatives or foster homes. They would not know each other, or would not want to know each other (as in the case of my mother's brother, Joe). Their lives would be irretrievably broken. I left them to my parents' devices and, as my husband and I have often remarked, they were willing followers of my father's indulgences. So my early life was sacrificed so that the rest of you could have all the advantages and you could go on with your lives.

Second, my decision to leave home at the age of 18, never to return:

I had to get away from the abuse. I was the family scapegoat, so they would have to find someone else to take the abuse. I'm sure chores were dealt out after I left, and I'm positive that my brothers and sisters were told to never have anything to do with me again. Thanks Mom and Dad. This is how someone who is "different" was treated in my household. I didn't just sit there and take it. I left to save my sanity. I was doing all the chores (well, not all, because my next sister did some), AND working full time, AND making the meals, AND being abused by my father, AND paying rent... I could do better somewhere else. You cannot possibly understand the betrayal I suffered at the hands of my parents and now from my siblings. And also, it is impossible for anyone to understand how heart-wrenching it is to make that decision... to walk away... and to know that you will never have a relationship with any of them again, unless you have walked that walk.

Third, my decision to tell the truth about my father:

It was time for all the pretense to stop. If I am to go forward with MY life, I had to tell the truth. My birth family doesn't like it, but that's not my problem. I know the truth and so do they. They could not possibly understand that kind of betrayal.

Fourth, my decision to not keep up with birthdays, etc.:

I used to call, send cards and send gifts for birthdays and Christmas. I used to call for Easter and Thanksgiving. That all stopped one year when I made slippers for every last person in my family and not one of them even let me know that the package had arrived. I made 35 pairs of slippers. It took me 4 months. Not even one acknowledgment. I wasn't looking for a thank you... just "it arrived". I decided that I would never do it again and I haven't. I don't keep up with your birthdays and won't be writing any more cards at Christmas. I'm not bitter, just realistic.

There are people who read my blog who have been extremely abusive toward me because I chose to write the truth... a truth they didn't "want to hear" or know.
Let me say this to them:

You had all the advantages that I didn't have, as a result of my life being sacrificed for yours. As one of you pointed out to me, you have the education, you have the career, etc., and I don't. And you are right... about the education. Everything I have ever had to learn for my career is something that I had to learn on the fly... on the job... and I had to teach it to myself because I couldn't afford the money or the time away from my kids to go to school. I have an IQ of 141, and learn VERY quickly. Without the paper behind my name, it has been difficult. However, my career and life experience DOES count in place of a degree. I have always had a job up until the last few months, when it was decided for me (by God) that I could not do the physical aspects of my job any longer. I have been in the process of changing gears and working toward a "sit-down" aspect of my profession... software programming. I highly doubt that any of you who have been so judgmental of me could do what I am doing.

As for the comments made to me about my sanity:

I am not mentally ill. That has been proven for me and my family over and over again. I doubt that any of my siblings would be as sane as I, given the same circumstances. I know of other abuses in my birth household and may go into those at a later time. But for right now, I won't. And to my brother-in-law Mike, I would like to say this: Thank God you were always in my sister's life. I know for a fact that if you had not been there, she was next on my father's list.

For those of you who have turned your backs on us/me:

You don't know me, and you don't know my family. My husband and I have decided to go with the rest of our lives with the knowledge that we will not be seeing most of you again. It works no hardship on us. If ever there comes a day when you want to get to know me, I hope I'm still around and am open to it. But life moves at an extraordinarily fast pace and I will not waste one more minute of it. When my husband and I move to our new house, we won't leave a forwarding address or phone. When I or my husband passes away, most of you will not even be told. We are going to have very VERY private services and only people who have kept in touch with us will be invited to come. Our ashes will be spread at a private location and only those we choose will know where.

Congratulations. You've lost a sister, aunt and friend.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Snow Casualty or "Why We Should Build a Room Onto Our House"

We got hit by a freak snowstorm yesterday and awoke to 9 inches of snow on the ground and everything in sight. A nice ending to the month of February but really freaky, since it was 70 degrees 2 days ago, and we expect to see 70 degrees later this week. What could be really upsetting is that not only is the south not ready for this type of weather, but there was nothing we could do to prevent the destruction that awaited us this morning.

We have a canopy over the patio in the backyard.

Correction: We HAD a canopy.

The weight of the snow weighed down the canvas and bent the bars holding the canvas up. The result is an inverted canopy with lots of snow and ice still on it. Fortunately, we are not panicking about it. Casualties are to be expected during weather of this kind. I related to the boys how the roofs of shopping centers have been known to collapse under this kind of weight, and that we were lucky to have escaped serious damage to our house and garage. In fact, we were fortunate not to lose power and heat.

Memphis is known to be ill-prepared for any type of extreme weather. We lose power in the cold, in the heat, during storms, and for no reason at all. We had an ice storm here February 11, 1994 and it collapsed trees onto power lines. We lost power and heat, but we were lucky. We were only out of power for 40 hours. The rest of the city and suburbs were out for up to 3 weeks. When we found out the extent of the damage from that storm, Steve and I traversed the mangled city streets to get to where he works to borrow a generator. We were able to run 3 things from the generator. We alternated between the tv, lights, heat and the refrigerator. The Winter Olympics were on tv, and we sat watching them, while I made sweaters for the boys with my knitting machine. I made sweaters for both of them during that storm, and when the boys outgrew them, I put them safely away in the attic as memories.

Another storm gave us straight-line winds that toppled several thousand hundred-year-old trees in the city, and took down 2 of our own trees. Again, the city streets were a snarled mess. We were fortunate to escape that storm without damage to our vehicles. Down the street, a neighbor wasn't as lucky. Their large tree rested in the middle of their smashed car, right in front of their house. If the tree had fallen the other way, it would have collapsed their roof. Again we were out of power, but the weather was warm that time, so we could do without a generator for the most part. But we drove to West Memphis to take our showers at my husband's mother's house. The area has still not quite recovered from those winds. The forest at Shelby Farms looked as if a buzz saw had cut off the tops of the trees.

So back to our canopy. This is the second time we have lost a canopy over that patio. Since we tiled over the old broken concrete, the time may soon be arriving when we will put up a solid roof and walls there. It would be a nice addition to the house, and would add a weather-proof path to our workout room (garage) as well as about 200 more square feet. We could add a free-standing fireplace to the room or a hot tub, and my plants would have a nice sunny place to grow without taking up all the floor space in the rest of the house.

Or we could just move.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

A New Day and 4% Body Fat Loss

I was feeling pretty low about my body weight today because yesterday, a muscle between my shoulder blades decided to clench for absolutely no reason at all. Great. Just when I was starting to feel good about my exercise program. But then I remembered something from my training as a personal trainer and sports nutritionist. I hadn't taken my calipers in some time. So I got out my trusty body fat calculator program, calipers, measuring tape and blood pressure cuff and went to work.

First was the calipers. If you've never had your calipers taken, let me tell you that it can be an eye-opening experience. You come face to face with exactly what is going on in your body... the good, the bad and the ugly. What I saw today was not exactly ugly, and it showed progress. In comparing the calipers of today with the measurements I had taken last October, it was shown that I had lost 4% bodyfat since then. It stunned me to see that the last time I had taken my calipers was on the day my father died. It must have been before I got the news. I remember not really caring what happened to my body from that point until just before the holidays. I was pleased to see that the concentrated effort I have been putting forth since that time has borne fruit.

Tape measurements came next. I was pleased to note that my measurements had gone down. And by looking the history of these measurements, I was able to see exactly where I had gone off track. Between 2005 and 2008 I had put on 43 pounds! I think it's safe to say that I wasn't putting on muscle during that time. I had started working a horrible shift at a new place, and it was obviously taking its toll. I had the PE's in 2002, but was still on that horrible rat poison in 2005, and then shattered my foot in 2007, which didn't help my health any. I believe that was when my weight skyrocketed. I was stuck in bed for 6 months. The foot still isn't right, but I deal with it.

Blood pressure was the next stop on my list. I could plainly see that my blood pressure had gone from being healthy to being borderline hypertensive.

In view of all this, I am re-developing my program to kick myself into gear. I have a project coming up that has to be done at the client site, so will have to work around that. So far, I have been doing hatha yoga and vinyasa yoga, to help my body to adjust to the changes I am making. If that muscle in my back unclenches for tomorrow, I will begin the program I am outlining here.

Since I have about 130 pounds of lean body weight, I will need approximately 1700 calories to keep my basal metabolic rate working properly. That's the easy part. The hard part will be forcing myself to do cardio. So... I'm bringing in some dumbbells from the gym in my garage and going to use that to help my upper body strength. I wish I loved cardio. It would make this so much easier. But my lungs won't tolerate much right now, so I will have to increase my cardio slowly. I used to go walking for hours. I don't have anyone to walk with now (and the streets aren't safe), so I have to come up with an alternate plan. I have several different pieces of cardio equipment in my gym, and can work on those. I'm going to have to try and get a little cardio in every day. Strength training will have to be done on an increasing basis, 3 times per week. Yoga will continue to be done almost every day for balance and flexibility. So my tenative schedule looks like this:

Sunday - Saturday AM - Cardio
MWF - Strength training
Sunday - Saturday PM - Yoga

I have been used to getting my yoga done in the morning, because I feel that it is a good start to my day. I don't know how it's going to be, getting it in later in the day. Maybe it will help me to sleep better at night. If it gets to where I am unable to practice in the evenings, I will have to switch it back to the morning. Nope nope nope... already I am changing my mind. I can't do without yoga in the morning. So here's the revised plan.

Sunday through Saturday AM - Yoga
Sunday through Saturday PM - Cardio (I should have Steve and the dogs to walk with.)
MWF PM - Strength training

That should get me through. A bath after the workouts would be good, so I can wind down and get to sleep at a decent hour. Ugh... I hate to have to plan all this, but my progress will stop if I don't. I guess I'm going to have to go back to my weight training log as well. When is my deadline for starting all of this? There's no time like tomorrow (Friday) to start. With warm weather starting up, it should be easier for me to stay on track (literally).

The boys and I were just out in the gym, surveying what needs to be done so that we can use the gym again. A few things made their way into the attic, and my rebounder and 3 pound dumbbells came into the house, where I suspect, I will be doing most of my workouts until the weather turns warm enough for me to be outside. We have several space heaters for the cold, and an air conditioner for the hotter weather, but for now, I will start inside. Tomorrow we will make some strides in cleaning up the gym. On my list of to-do's includes oiling up the bikes and test riding them in the neighborhood before taking them on the greenway.

Ah yes... it's going to be a lovely spring.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Judy, Getting Out, Books and Another Pound Gone!

I had the opportunity to go to lunch with my friend, Judy, today and had a wonderful time. I have not seen Judy for about a year, when I stopped working at the place where she and I met. It was really good to see her.

Judy had been a really good friend to me, a better one than I have been to her. Judy loves to talk on the phone, and I don't. Maybe it's because if I'm on the phone too long, it feels like I've been running a marathon. I used to love it when I was younger. I guess as I got older, I got away from the habit. I don't like to talk on my cell phone at ALL! I don't mind as much when someone calls the house number. But I digress. Judy loves to talk, and I love to listen to her. That makes for a very good relationship.

Judy has been working as a security guard for a really long time. But that wasn't always her profession. She was in 3 different branches of the armed forces, something of which I am very envious. I think it would be wonderful to have had that kind of experience. To be able to serve the country and travel all over the world. Yes, I am envious. But in a good way. I am glad she was able to do it. I think it made her the person she is today.

Judy is very outgoing and full of common sense. I love being around her. She lives 40 miles away from me, so it's very difficult for me to get there. She came to see me today (well, really she went to get her glasses replaced, but I was on the way). Jason dropped me off at the mall so I could meet her. I found her exactly where she said she would be, and was surprised to see that her hair is actually longer than mine, which has never been the case. As we always do, we picked right up where we left off, laughing and cutting up. We did a little (okay a LOT) of walking around the mall and window shopping. I never had the opportunity to do any window shopping with any of my birth family, and was surprised at how much fun it was. And okay, Judy was making me walk a bunch. And that's good. But it's very hard for me. My legs don't work like they used to, but I did my best, and she would slow down for me when she noticed I was doing all the huffing and puffing.

Bless her for making me walk. This was good for me, because I really do HAVE to be made to do it. A few days ago, I walked for the very first time (in the past year) all the way around the block, which is 4 blocks total. I am trying to up my exercise quotient, and Judy knew that, so we just started wandering around the mall. Before I knew it, we had gone almost completely around. We did a little stopping here and there, with our favorite place being the bookstore. I love books. I have hundreds of books in my home. They are like old friends to me. I love getting used books... the kind that show they have been used. My favorites are hardbound classical literature, and I have quite a collection. Unfortunately, the two used bookstores in Memphis are no longer in business. *sigh* I used to go in there and browse for hours and come out with my arms full. I feel like the old books have a life. I love to hold them and to run my hands over the worn covers. They have more than one story to tell. They are comfortable. I love them.

Back to Judy... she didn't know that I have been on a fat loss regimen, but when she found out, it made the mall walking all the more important to her. She would do anything for me, and this proved it. She wants to see me healthy and feeling well. I have stopped all medications and she is concerned about this, but since the medications were making me really ill, I decided to let nature take its course and fight it off naturally, if I can. If I fall, I fall. I would rather go out like this than to be on 20 different medications that don't work.

We went on to lunch, which was the $6.49 lunch special at On The Border. It had been SO long since I'd been out to lunch. I had the chicken quesadilla and salad, and loved every bit of it. I couldn't really afford to go to lunch, but I also can't afford to stay home when I haven't seen a friend in that long. Judy made comments about what I was eating, asking if I could "have that" on my "diet". Sure I can!

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Knowing Where You Came From

In the course of my genealogy research, I have been waiting for pictures from a cousin of mine to help me get a firm picture of where I come from on my father's side. I already knew what my great-grandparents on my mother's side looked like, but never knew what my grandfather's parents looked like. Today I got what I was waiting for.

As I looked at my great-grandfather's face, I took note of what a nice face it was. Not necessarily handsome, but a strong face, and a good face. He was definitely the force that drove his family. He had to be strong. He had 8 children, and times were tough back then. He had two brothers, one of which died when he was 21 years old. I can't prove it just yet, but I think he took care of this brother. The other brother was a bartender, and they all lived within 3 houses of each other. Imagine being that close to your family... that you'd want to live that close. Maybe they didn't have a choice. Maybe times were SO tough that it was necessary. I feel that families took better care of each other back then. I feel they were closer.

I turned my attention to the face of the great-grandmother I had never known. It also was a good face. She looked a little care-worn, but I guess I would too if I had 8 kids and was marrying one of them off. She had been through a lot. Medical care wasn't good at the time, and I know that both of them were gone by 1940. I wish I had known them. I think I would have liked them, and I think they would have liked me.

I have always known what my mother's grandparents looked like, at least on her father's side. Funny that I never thought about the 4th pair of great-grandparents. My mother didn't talk about them much, except to say that she didn't know her grandmothers' names, and she wanted her own grandchildren to remember her name.

One of her sets of grandparents was an arranged marriage. I can't imagine having to marry someone that your parents chose for you, have his children, live and die, all without making a single choice for yourself. It must have been incredibly difficult. I suppose that women didn't have many choices back then. Without a dowry, a woman was lucky to have a husband at all. A husband meant security and protection. A wife meant someone to "take care of things", i.e., clean house, cook and take care of children. Not much more was expected, but that was enough.

As I go forward in my life, I will at least have the security of the faces of three pairs of my great-grandparents. That's more than most people get.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

My Aunt Marge

I got a call from my Aunt Marge the other day, telling me that she was having surgery this coming Friday. She is my mother's younger (and only surviving) sister, and has suffered from a hiatal hernia for a long time. They are operating on her to "take care of" this condition. I worried at little as I talked to her, because she could not stop coughing. She said that the coughing is caused by the hernia, but as a layperson, I don't know the slightest thing about that condition and hope that the doctors are right. However, they also told her that she has a mass on her right lung. She asked if it was cancerous, and they told her "If it was cancer, it would have killed you by now." The doctors' flippant answer did nothing to assuade my fears. Aunt Marge is 70 years old, and although she seems strong, she's had 2 strokes, and that's serious enough for anyone.

As is always the case, our conversations go on and on. She tells me about things that happened a long time ago, how it was when she grew up, and the early life of my family as she remembers it. It has been my pleasure and my honor to know her, even though we didn't grow close until after my mother died. I regret that I haven't had enough time to know her better, and haven't kept in touch with her children. Her oldest daughter, Daphne, and I used to write letters back and forth when we were teenagers. She's one of the sweetest people in the world. I reconnected with her at my Uncle Dick's funeral last year, and it was wonderful to see her. She looks exactly the same as she did when she was young. I wonder how it was, growing up without her extended family, and know that my own sons must know that better than I. Her paternal grandmother told Aunt Marge years ago that she didn't want anything to do with her granddaughters. What a horrible thing to say! Even in the worst of circumstances, I cannot imagine a grandmother saying such a thing.

Even though Aunt Marge told me about the things of her past, there is such a big gap there. She went through so much... and much of it I did not know about until the other day when she called. I didn't know, for example, that when she was being abused by her father and his new wife, she ran away to Ohio to be with Aunt Flo (another of her sisters). The police came, and both Aunt Flo and Uncle Walter told Marge that she had to go back. She did, but ran away again before she was 18, lived with a girlfriend, and then joined the Navy. I had no idea. I had heard snippets here and there from my mother, but nothing like this.

Aunt Marge got married and had two daughters from her first husband. When she found her husband had a girlfriend on the side, she left him. He never even touched his second child, Krystle. He never picked her up. Marge said "here's your daughter", but he just looked at the baby on the bed. I can't imagine how he could do that. I guess he got it from his mother. They divorced, and she met and married my Uncle Fred. They had two sons. Thank God she got out of that first marriage and into a good second one.

In the course of our conversation, I told Aunt Marge what I had written about and the reactions of my birth family and their "friends". She said unreservedly, "I believe you". She went on to tell me about how my father had tried the same thing with her when she was a teenager, and she told him that "You are married to my sister, and if you don't stop it, I will tell her!" God bless her for telling me.

She has been through so much in her life. I certainly hope that she makes it through her surgery all right. She has her doubts, but I will be praying for her, as I know the rest of her family will and hope for the best. I love you, Aunt Marge!

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Wrapping It Up, Dr. Pierce and More (or Less, depending on how you want to view it)

Wrapping It Up

It's funny how making people accountable for what they write makes them stop writing it. On this blog, I have made it impossible for anyone without an account to post here. So you may read, but unless you have an account, you're SOL. And I still have the option to ignore you if you DO send a comment. Considering the negativity has come from my former family and their "friends" (you know who you are and so do I), know this. You are not in our lives. What you say and do has no effect, and I want no further contact with you... now, or ever. Since I have been the one to send flowers when someone was in the hospital, to call on people's birthdays and send cards at Christmas, I have stopped doing that.

Goodbye and God Bless.

Now, on to better things.

Dr. Pierce

There was an account today of an asthma physician, Trent Pierce, who got in his car in his West Memphis garage, and it blew up. Dr. Pierce is in critical condition at The Med, and our prayers are with him and his family. The authorities have stated that they do not suspect foul play, but you have to wonder, with all the stuff that Hollywood produces, Soprano-style. I once saw a show (or movie, can't remember which), where the hero put a piece of scotch tape on the hood of his car, with one end of the tape on the hood and one end on the top fender. The idea was that if the tape were dislodged or broken, he would know that someone had tampered with his car. It turned out that someone DID tamper with the engine, planting a bomb with a trip wire, so that the car would blow when the engine started. I sincerely hope that someone did not intentionally sabotage the good doctor's car, but he is in the hospital all the same. I do not know him, but can imagine the horror when his wife found him in the flower bed in front of his home. We are praying for you, Dr. Pierce.

Update: 12:48pm Officials have found an explosive device (or parts of it) that were planted in Dr. Pierce's car. They are calling it a "terrorist attack on one person". Hmmm....

More (or Less, depending on how you want to view it)

In other news, I was pleasantly surprised this morning when I weighed in to find that I was a whole 10 pounds down from where I started. This is a milestone, and one I will not take for granted. I have had great success on www.sparkpeople.com, which is unmatched in its program of support, encouragement and tracking tools. And it's all FREE! I don't know about you, but FREE is a magic word for me. I can't wait to log in every morning and track my food and activities. I have 63 pounds to get to where my body will function without hindrance, so I am on my way. It seems like a long way, but I've come this far in only 6 weeks. This is a journey for me, not a destination. This is something I know I can stick with. The first 10 pounds are the hardest, I think. I went through my first plateau... or at least I thought it was a plateau, and broke it. Now the weight is coming off a bit easier.

The thing that is astonishing me... well, two things, actually... is that I am eating SO much, and that I seem to need at least 10 glasses of water daily, to make this change happen. It's all right with me; I love water. And I love to EAT! AND I love to cook! So this is great. As long as I have the time right now, I will continue doing all the cooking necessary. However, when I get one more website project, we may have to re-evaluate the cooking duties. We have so much on our plates right now, that I'm not sure if we can even take on another project, but it's a very happy dilemma to have to solve. Film at 11.

Okay, boys and girls, that's enough for now. I've got work to do, and yoga to practice.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Cockroaches Analogy

It has been my pleasure to read all the hate mail and comments that have come my way as a result of telling the truth about my father and the abuse I suffered at his hands. My extended family has shown themselves to be nothing more than cockroaches, who skitter away when light is shined upon them. Let it be known here, that I do not run, and I do not hide. I do not shrink from a fight and never have, especially when truth is on my side. You may not like the truth, and you may not want to hear it, but it doesn't make it any less true.

Let me recap some of those hate messages for you.

1. I received hate mail from my youngest sister, telling me to "get some help you sick f**ng B**ch". I'm sorry you don't know how to spell those words and have to use symbols to help you out. I believe the words you were looking for are "fucking bitch".

Here are the definitions from dictionary.com:

fuck (fŭk) Pronunciation Key
v. fucked, fuck·ing, fucks

v. tr.

1. To have sexual intercourse with.
2. To take advantage of, betray, or cheat; victimize.
3. Used in the imperative as a signal of angry dismissal.

AND:

bitch

   /bɪtʃ/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [bich] Show IPA Pronunciation

–noun

1.	a female dog.

2.	a female of canines generally.

3.	Slang. a. a malicious, unpleasant, selfish person, esp. a woman. b. a lewd woman.

4.	Slang. a. a complaint. b. anything difficult or unpleasant: The test was a bitch. c. anything memorable, esp. something exceptionally good: That last big party he threw was a real bitch.

---

Please make sure you use the correct vernacular when attempting to insult me as a result of your denial. And also, if you do not intend to be subject to public ridicule in the form of a rebuttal, show some courage and let me reply directly to your email. Cowardice does not earn respect.

2. This same person sent hate mail to my husband, which is unforgiveable. And she did it twice. Let me answer those for you now.

Holly, I am not mentally ill. It is common for the family of the abused person to lash out when the truth is revealed. Your comment for my husband to keep me on a leash shows exactly how little you know about the bond of marriage. Although, having your own marriage fail, I can see how you would have no knowledge of such a bond.

As for your comments about us never even thinking about going to Minnesota or Chicago, let me say this. Nobody made you custodian of either place. You do not own it, you do not rent it, and you have no say over what we, or anyone else does with their lives. We will go where we please, when we please. There have been many times when we have been to both places and never told any of you we were there at the time, because we chose not to deal with you. Not seeing you in the future is no hardship on us. We chose this a long time ago.

3. Then there was the nastygram from my nephew, Joseph. To him, I say this. Joey, you're nothing but a spoiled punk without an authentic thought in his head. I'm glad you're out of my life, as I am glad that your alcoholic camera-whore sister, Nicole, is out as well. I choose not to have your influence in my life or that of anyone I love.

4. Then there was the nastygram left on my blog, from this Janet character, telling me all about how she and her mother LOOOOOOOOOOOOOVED my father and he was the "grandpa they never had". I'm glad for you. I'm glad you had to wipe his ass and clean up his vomit, as well as listen to his tired old stories of heroism of yore. As I remember, I thanked you for doing so at the wake. I would have signed his sorry ass over to the state and let them deal with his care. And that's the truth.

You wanted to know why I came to the funeral. To make sure the bastard was dead, of course. And also to see people that I knew I would never see again. I accomplished that. I established contact with the only "real" people I know, who are keeping in contact with me through letters and phone calls. All that you accomplished by writing your comments were to show that you did not know the true nature of the man. He was more than demented. He was vulgar. He was several different people, depending on who you were to him. Look it up in any book regarding sexual abuse. The abuser generally seeks one person out, and tries to cover for it with others. The victim is generally abused further from family when the truth comes out. Read the story about Ronald Gene Simmons, who murdered his own family, including his daughter that he had an incestuous relationship with, and a receptionist who had rejected his advances. This is the same kind of person my father was. When his hands were around my throat, choking me until I submitted, he was not the "grandpa" that you came to know. I cannot tell you how many times he backhanded me down a flight of stairs and then told everyone "she's so clumsy... she ought to be more careful". It was well known by the elders in the family what he was, and several of my cousins and my Uncle Jerry know of his abuse and intended abuse toward others. You are not family, and as such, your comments do not count. Even if you were, your comments do not eliminate the truth. Denial serves no purpose and attacks on me do not work.

As a result of all of these nastygrams, I will continue to tell the truth, only more so. It matters not to me if it disrupts anyone's version of reality. The fact is, that the only people that matter to me are the ones that accept the truth. Any comments to my blogs will continue to be moderated and shot down. Any comments to me or any of my Memphis family on Facebook will result in reports of harrassment and further written revelations. I have no qualms about pressing charges against people who have done me wrong. Wanna try me? My father was lucky I didn't have him prosecuted.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Paczki Puta Tells The Truth About Her Father

I thought that I would finally tell all about my father. Those of you who are squeamish should get off this blog right now. And for those of you who refuse to believe the truth, God help you.

My father was a good father to me while I was young. I remember idolizing him, thinking him the most handsome, smartest, "bestest" dad in the world. But that was until I got to my teen years. My father turned into the worst kind of predator, and betrayed me in the worst possible way.

When I was about 14, I started to notice my father watching me. It was to the point of making me very uncomfortable. He would watch me change my clothes, through a slit in a door that wouldn't close all the way. I was becoming a young woman, and was astonished at the changes that were happening to me. One day, I was standing in front of a mirror in the bathroom, and was shocked to see some marks on my breasts that I had never seen before. I called my mother into the room and asked her what they were. She said she didn't know, and called my father into the room to look at me. Here I was, naked to the world, and she was calling him into the bathroom! He took a look at my breasts, and said "oh that's nothing... nothing that can't be taken care of through massage". And he put his hands on my breasts. I was horrified! I looked at my mother, who turned away and left the room, with my breasts in his awful hands! He told her that he would "massage" my breasts every night so the marks would go away. They turned out to be stretch marks, but he took that opportunity to start the abuse he had been planning since my body began to develop from a girl to a woman.

What an asshole. What a fucking asshole. I hate him to this day. And I'm glad he's dead.

Just as promised, he abused me nightly. He would wait for everyone to go to bed, and tell me to stay up. He would take me in the downstairs bathroom and put his hands on me, and it didn't end there. My father thought he was a great hypnotist and tried to use that crap on me. It didn't work. One day, I came home from school (I was in high school at the time and my first class was at 7:00am) and went upstairs to take a nap. He came in the room and tried to give me suggestions as I lay there, trying to sleep. He thought he would "hypnotize" me into submitting. As he whispered "you're getting sleepy" in my ear, I shot my eyes open and said "I'm AWAKE!!!" He left the room. But that didn't stop him. He would overpower me, get on top of me and shove his dick in my face. Mind you, it wasn't even large and definitely nothing to be proud of. Then he'd run his dick on me until he had an orgasm. Other times, he would shove my head down on his dick and force me to suck it until he orgasmed. Then there was a time when he brought home a porn film for me to watch with him so I would know how to please him. It was the worst kind of betrayal. I heard the cheesy music start, and I said "I don't want to watch this" and left the room. I used to wonder why he didn't do this crap to my sisters instead of me. Why ME??? What the hell had *I* ever done to deserve this??? NOTHING!!! I never had a boyfriend and didn't know what was happening to me or why. I wanted it all to stop, but it wouldn't.

It got to the point where I wouldn't wait for everyone to go to bed anymore. I went to bed early. I stayed in bed. I went out and stayed out. I did everything possible to limit the amount of time I had to spend with that asshole. I looked for a way out and considered suicide. Then I met my future first husband, and realized that he might be able to help me get away from my father and that abusive situation. My mother? Oh she hated me. She would hit me on the back as I walked up the stairs, hit me when I came around a corner, shout nasty things at me, scream at me. All because this fucking asshole she married was abusing me. What... did she think I was her COMPETITION???? I hated him. I still do. She would scream at me to pack my clothes and get out. I heard that all my young life. I swore to myself that when I was 18 years old and I knew they couldn't bring me back, I would leave the first time she screamed it at me and never come back. That's what I ended up doing.

One night, I came home from my future first husband's parents' house, and my mother was in a snit. She started screaming at me. She was telling me that I "couldn't go" over to "that boy's house anymore. He will come here." I said we were getting married. We had just decided it the night before. She started screaming again "oh you are, are you? Where's your ring!!!" What should have been a joyous moment was nothing of the kind. I wanted the screaming to stop, so I turned to go up the stairs to bed. She started screaming at me again, to go pick up my brother from work. I stopped in my tracks and for the first time, I realized that I couldn't stay there anymore. I was the family nigger. I was working full-time, paying "board", doing the cooking, the cleaning, the ironing, "servicing" my father, and being told I "couldn't" go out on dates unless my sister Cheri wasn't on a date. NO MORE!!! My mother's screaming never stopped. She screamed to pack my clothes and leave. I went back up the stairs, put on my coat, picked up my purse and keys, walked back down the stairs, waved "bye" and walked out the door. My mother was screaming "get her keys". I left anyway. I went over to Bob's parents' house, where he still lived. We called his parents, who were on vacation in Wisconsin, and asked for permission for me to stay, since I had nowhere to go. They were very nice to me and allowed me to stay as long as I needed to.

The next day, I went to work, in the same clothes that I had on the day before. My plan was to go to my parents' house after my mother left for work, and pick up my things. I went there, and found a note on the table in my mother's handwriting telling me to "come home and we'll talk". I turned the piece of paper over and wrote a letter on the back of it, so she would know I'd seen it. I told her that I wasn't coming back, that I'd had enough, that I'd been told one too many times to go, and I was gone. I took my clothes and my stereo, which was all I owned, and left.

A week later, my clothes were still in my car, when I got a call at work, from my father, telling me that they had taken my car while I was at work because they "pay the insurance on it". I talked to Bob and told him what happened. I asked him to take me to my parents' house after work so I could get my clothes. He agreed. So we pulled up in front of the house, in Bob's brother's truck, and I opened the trunk of "my car" and started taking my clothes out. As I did, I was converged upon by everyone in the house, including my mother. I took the keys to "my car" and threw it at the people in the yard, telling them that if the car meant so much to them, TAKE IT!!! Bob and I got in the truck and left.

A week or so later, I got a call from Aunt Shirley, asking me to come over and talk to her and Uncle Jerry. I did. They wanted me to go live with Busia, my grandmother, for the time being. I did. For a month. Then I found an apartment and moved out. I didn't make enough money for the rent, so Bob moved in with me and we got married a week later. There were 7 people at my wedding: Bob, me, his parents, his brother and a family friend. That was it. No ceremony, no music, no pomp and circumstance. I wore a green plaid dress that I had worn to a wedding. It was over quickly. Bob's parents took us out to dinner and they made a big deal out of it all. I remember there being champagne, and Bob's mother wore her mink stole. I never felt more special. THEY made me feel special. They gave me the love that my parents should have given me but denied me. It was December 14, 1973. I was 18 years old.

About a week after that (must have been around December 21) I got a call from my mother asking me to come for Christmas Eve, stay the night and stay with them for Christmas Day. I told my mother that I couldn't come. I had responsibilities now. I had married the Friday before. All hell broke loose then. It was a feeding frenzy that I wouldn't wish on anyone. There were constant phone calls to the place I worked, and my father would come there, trying to disrupt my workplace and get me fired. I finally told them to leave me alone... don't call me and don't come there. I was an adult and I was going my own way. My father told me I was dead to them.

The abuse... no, it didn't stop there. My father would come to the first house that Bob and I owned, during the day and try his bullshit again. I told him to get out. It got to the point that I had to pretend I wasn't home. I wouldn't answer the phone. I changed the phone number several times and kept the doors locked and the window shades drawn.

Bob and I divorced 7 1/2 years after we got married. I finally felt like I could make it on my own, and did. But the abuse didn't stop. I was invited to go swimming at my parents' house... my mother invited me. So I went... and what happens? My father comes behind me and unties the top of my bathing suit. I yelled at him and he laughed. Oh, it was all SOOOO funny, wasn't it? No boundaries. I tied my bathing suit again, and he untied it. This time I told him to keep his fucking hands off me. My mother was sitting right there. She didn't say a word.

I knew that I was going to have to get farther away from them than just Richton Park. When Steve came into my life, I knew that he would be good for me, and moving away from Chicago was what I was going to have to do. So I did. I moved to Memphis. I realized that I had to keep my sons away from my father, since I didn't know if he had "atoned" for what he did to me. So I kept them safe in Memphis. They grew up knowing what had happened to me. There are no secrets here. My mother and I made peace about 8 years before she died. We got close, but we never talked about what happened.

After my mother passed away, I got a call from my father, telling me he was ready to let go of some of my mother's jewelry, and he wanted me to come to Chicago to help take care of that, as the eldest daughter. I foolishly thought he actually wanted to be a father to me, so I went. And I went alone. I was very mistaken. He didn't want to give away my mother's jewelry, or have me there for any reason except that he wanted to see if I'd help him get his dick to work again, since he had his prostate removed and had all that radiation. I told him I was the WRONG person. He started telling me about the times that he had abused me and how those were "good memories" for him and he hoped they were for me too. I told him in no uncertain terms how what he did to me FUCKED ME UP for YEARS!!! He didn't say anything, but looked down. But that didn't stop him from trying to stick his tongue down my throat. I sat there in astonishment. He sat there in his living room at the condo, with his head hanging, and cried because he had taken Viagra and his dick just looked at the floor. I left in the middle of the night, and resolved to never stay in the same room with him again, much less under the same roof. I went home to Memphis and told Steve and the boys what had happened. If we had all been in Chicago, I'm sure my father would have been killed by my husband that night. As it is, I am settling for knowing that we have a very JUST God. He doesn't get mad, he gets even. He got even in the very best way. He took away my father's use of his dick. And since my father thought he was so smart, God took his brain later. Rest in peace, asshole. Good riddance.

And so... as a tribute to my GRANDfather... who was the only true father I've known, I sign my posts with...

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Addendum April 7, 2014:  I found out recently that I was not the first one to be abused by this awful man.  I sincerely hope I was the last.

Making Friends With Aging

For years now, I have been battling the onset of sudden aging, and to my regret, I am losing the battle. However, in conceding, I must survey the damage to see what has been done and what can changes can be made in the future so as to live the best life.

For example, what can be made of the graying of the hair? Certainly I can and do color it, but wish that it would all go white so I could just let nature take over. I have my mother's white streak on the right side (hers was on the left). If all my hair were gray or white, it would be a badge of honor. But noooooo... mine has decided to come in little spurts. A little here, a little there, a huge streak THERE! So for now, I guess I have to contend with the monthly colorings. Maybe I should just go platinum.

What about wrinkles? Yes, unfortunately, I have them. And they are, of course, right where I don't want them... under my eyes. I would have gladly succumbed to laugh lines (crow's feet), but this is difficult. I have to be very careful how much concealer I put in this area, because too much of it will show the wrinkles further! They don't show on a regular basis, but when I laugh or smile, there they are! So I'm guessing that as my weight goes down, as long as good nutrition and skin care remain the order of the day, this problem will get better. But it's a guess. Maybe I should laugh with my head thrown back so no one notices. They will think "what a great laugh". But what about the dark circles? Unfortunately, this is genetic, and will never go away. My mother had them, as do some of my cousins, and my firstborn son. Whenever I have a sinus infection, the circles deepen. Ugh! Talk about adding insult to injury! Other people tell me they don't notice it, but I notice my skin thinning, as the blue vein under my eyes becomes more pronounced. Thank God for Maybelline.

I notice the elasticity of my skin failing and sagging... Hurry, before my face hits the floor! Losing weight does help a little, as does weight training, which of course I have not started. I am using yoga right now to ease my transition from sedentary to active. Is it working? Well... not on my face. Not yet anyway. It's too soon to tell, since all I've taken off so far is about 7 pounds. But I look at my driver's license, which was renewed only 3 years ago during a period when I was working out heavily, and I look too healthy for words. Scary.

Maybe with the onset of spring weather, I will make the transition complete and add cardio and weight training to my yoga regimen. That's the plan. There are no quick fixes for this. I don't have money for a facelift, nor would I get one if I had it. I will never have a tummy tuck or liposuction. For now I have to sit back and accept that this body of mine is all I've got, whether it works or not, and do the best I can with what I've been given. It's too bad I didn't appreciate good health when I had it. Maybe I can get someone to paint a Dorian Gray portrait of me and that'll make all this go away. Think it'll work? Nah, I didn't think so either.

So will I accept aging and become a funky old lady? What choice do I have? I will still take care of myself and put on a face daily. But you know what I noticed? My makeup doesn't have to be heavy anymore. My hairstyle doesn't have to be severe. My body doesn't have to be perfect. And maybe, just maybe, I'll don hats and wear purple. Maybe I'll get back to some of my hobbies that have been put on a shelf during my years of child-rearing and working in the corporate world. There is value in sewing, quilting and crocheting as a means to achieve peace. And maybe I'll just get a pair of rocking chairs and rock out.

Self-acceptance can be wonderful.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Therapy as a Deterrent to Progress

I haven't written anything since January 12, and here is what I think has been going on in my head.

I began seeing a counselor. Not "seeing"... but seeing (for those of you who think evil thoughts). I wanted to be able to deal with my past so I could go on to a brighter future. However, I feel like just the reverse has happened. Since I went to the counselor the first time, I stopped writing. Well, I had written a blog on the 12th, but it looks like a 12-year-old wrote it. I used to pour my existence into my writing. But after some family conferences in which this was the topic, I decided to pull the plug.

I know where the problem is/was in my life. I know it's not me. But the issue is how I handle things now. I can't change the past, and digging up and breaking open old scabs is not going to help me. Things scab over for a reason. It's so you can grow from your experiences. I can, however, change the hair-triggers that I have had for so many years. There is so much to be experienced yet and so much life to be lived. To continually break open old wounds is counter-productive to the way I want to live the last part of my life. I can choose my reactions. I can choose to be happy. I can choose to succeed. I can choose NOT to put 110% into wherever I am working at the time, and enjoy myself a little more instead of being the company pack mule. So let it be written. So let it be done.

Like Captain Kirk says in the last Star Trek movie... "I want my pain. I NEED my pain. Our pain makes us who we are." What a profound statement. It's not that other people have less pain than I do. But my pain is different from others'. The way I choose to live with my pain is a statement in how deep it has affected me and what kind of person it has made me. Does time and pressure make a diamond? Yes it does. But at what cost? I don't have to be perfect. Thank God.

So my decision is to give myself permission to be happy. I can still grieve for the little girl who had everything taken away from her in one fell swoop, but I can also choose to not let it affect how I treat others, or how I treat myself. I am going to be good to myself. I've earned it.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

A New "Do", A New You

It's amazing how a new hairdo can re-energize your outlook. On Saturday, I took the plunge and cut it off! Eight inches! My hair is finally up to my shoulders, and is giving me the impetus to make more changes. I'm working on "making over" the total ME! In making myself over, I decided that I couldn't do what I intended with my health unless I got rid of the hair. So it's gone. And it feels good.

So here I am... working up energy on my new workout and nutrition plan. I refuse to call it a diet. The fact is, it's a nutrition plan that is helping me to feel better than I have in a really long time. A little of this, a little of that... and LOTS of cooking! I don't mind cooking... in fact, I really like it when I have time to do it right. This is a little more than I expected, but this site that I'm using to help me (www.sparkpeople.com) is making it all very easy for me. Not only does it work up a nutrition plan that works, it allows me to print out a grocery list and keep track of my water intake and servings of fruit and veggies, not to mention keeping track of physical activity. I have found a lot of support there, and I'm grateful for it. It's slow-going, but it's working. Three pounds down, and another 67 to go.

It's a very difficult thing to make the decision to take care of yourself and follow through on it. The weight gain over the past 6 years has been abominable. One thing seems to lead to another as well. The weight gain has caused physical problems, and the health issues have led to medications which fuel the weight gain. It's a never-ending downward spiral if you don't stop it in time. That's what I'm doing. Stopping it. NOW. I inherited my mother's body, and I want mine back! My mother spent a lifetime battling morbid obesity and paid the ultimate price in her health. I don't want that to happen to me or anyone in my home. In fact, it should never happen to anyone. I want to be able to walk without pain, to dance, and to have enough strength in my legs to be able to mount a horse. The last time I got up on a horse, I couldn't get up there without help. Even with a boost, my poor husband had to give my behind a shove. How embarrassing! Now I know how my mother felt, not being able to do things that she wanted to do... things that her body wouldn't let her do. It's funny, when I was growing up, my mother used to tell me to watch my weight... that my father had never cared whether she gained weight or not, so she kept putting it on with each child. The result was 235 pounds on a 5'2" frame and a lifetime of health problems.

You don't think about the high price you're going to pay for not taking care of yourself... of putting everyone else first. But it's there... ticking away like a time bomb set to explode at any time. "But I was just busy taking care of everyone else", you say. But it's wrong. Dead wrong. You're drawing from an empty well if you put yourself last. Seeing what obesity did to my own mother makes me want to do more than just lose weight. When I get through this, I want to spend whatever time I have left on this planet helping others who, like me, have to wage this battle. It's uphill all the way, but more than anything, I want to feel comfortable in my own skin. And I will. This time it's for keeps.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Lighting Up The Snow and Winter Fun

We took down the Christmas tree this week. I was really sorry to see it go this year. We had put it up a week late, due to our home being a wreck during the recent redecorating of our office/study and I guess I didn't get my fill of the lights, so I was sorry to see it come down. It's like the light going out of your life (and whatever am I going to put in that dark spot in the living room?) However, we have a way of keeping Christmas in mind through March every year. We leave our lights up outside until after the first snow. Yes, we have snow in Memphis. We just have less of it than say, Chicago, New York or Detroit. We get about 4 inches per year, and if we get it all at once, that's a good snowfall! A snow that big begs to be celebrated. It goes without saying that the city shuts down, due to all the slippin' and slidin' going on on the road. And when it snows those big, wet flakes... ahhhhhhh... there's nothing like it. But I digress.

Snow is big news here. Whenever there is even a HINT of wintry weather coming our way, as was the case TWICE in the past week, you'll hear Dave Brown doing a teaser "Is snow in our forecast? Find out at 5." Uh huh. Most of the time, we don't get it. But when we DO... and it looks like it's going to be a good snowfall... by that I mean that it's the sticking kind, not the "I'm gonna make Memphis look worse wet than it does dry" kind, we hook the extension cord up to the lights that have been patiently waiting since everyone else kicked their Christmas trees to the curb the day after Christmas, and voila! Instant holiday spirit! We go out in the snow and let Tucker get a good romp in it, and watch as the chihuahuas pick up their tiny feet and look up at us as if to say "I don't like it, I don't like it, I don't like it..." We watch as cars go by, swerving all over the road as the driver tries to get a glimpse of our lights and keep both hands on the wheel while trying to avoid the next crazy motorist. A common sentiment here is "I know how to drive in it, it's just all the other idiots don't!" With that logic, it would seem that all Memphians know how to drive in snow. (Most of them can't even drive when it's dry, but again, I digress.)

Last year, we had a 4 inch snowfall, turned on our Christmas lights, took pictures, and sent them to the local tv station with a picture of Tennessee Tucker Blue in it. No surprise that it ended up on the news. Anything with "Tennessee" in it, will usually garner a few minutes of air time. And with the "Great White Death" coming out of the sky... well, you know it's definitely going to hit the news.

I remember one year when the boys were small, that we had a decent storm come through. There was ice, then snow, then ice again. Of course, we stayed home from work and school... long enough to get our sled out and trek over to the nearest hill. The boys had never been sledding before, and as a seasoned Chicagoan, I was anxious to show them the joys and travails of traveling down a frosty slope on two thin blades of metal at breakneck speed. The boys were asking us "how do we do it" so I took that occasion to put my behind on that poor little sled and mushed down the hill. What a great glide! The boys wanted in on the action, and fought over who went next. First was Jason, then Rhys rode with Steve. Over and over again, they took to the hill with gleaming smiles and rosy cheeks. I think I only got one more turn down the hill, but I didn't care. Just watching the guys made my heart glow. Our neighbors caught up with us at the very same hill, armed with nothing but a piece of cardboard box for a sled. Everyone had a blast. And when our fingers and toes were good and frozen, lips numb and noses running, back to the house we went for some homemade hot cocoa and apple pie. Mmmmmmmm.... Sounds good! I think I'll go have some. There's no snow, but that's no reason not to have pie!

So... no snow for now. But it's still January, and the latest snowfall we remember is March 7 of 2008. But those lights are ready, just in case...

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta