Holiday Mash up

I have finally made sense of the holiday mash-up, well, sense for myself anyway. Halloween is barely over before Thanksgiving decorations go up and Christmas decorations often share shelf space with Thanksgiving left overs before we even carve the turkey. We shop for cranberry sauce, stuffing mix and pumpkin pie while Christmas music assaults our ears way too early. You feel rushed, pressed, anxious.

Then it hit me…the world can only mold my actions and force me to embrace the next holiday if I let it. The world will hit my children and family with ideas, early sales and flashy ads, but it is the tone I set, my example that they will remember. So no preaching, no lectures, no big boycotts of stores opening on Thanksgiving. Instead, I will maintain the normal, focus on one holiday at a time, not decorate early, make sure each occasion is a special day they will remember. I will embrace small children and Halloween, then move on to Thanksgiving as a day of thanks, not as a celebration of white Europeans taking over the land. Then and only then will I focus on Christmas.

Family has the power to form a child’s mind, beliefs and values. If you shun the pressure, the black Friday and Thanksgiving day sales, your kids will notice and absorb this. They may not appreciate it now as they have their eyes on a new X Box or phone, but the example you live will be forever etched in their memory. Hopefully they will fall back on that memory when they are older and wiser. Lay a good foundation now and your kids can build on it later. They will learn from your example. I won’t let shopping break up my Thanksgiving meal or game time. I want them to value family, people and relationships more than consumerism. All I can do is show them, give them values. They will either embrace this as adults, or they won’t. I hope they do. We have all year to get things, we only have one day to come together, relax, eat, share old stories and bond with our youngest family members. Don’t screw it up.

Rights and Social Change

Every generation that ever occupied this country has been split. They either fought for change, or fought for the current status quo.
People who came over on the Mayflower lived a hard life, but still  felt it was up to them to tell the natives their beliefs were wrong and tried to convert them to Christianity. Blood was spilled, cultures lost. Then came slavery, one greedy group felt it was ok and made piles of money from it, others knew it was wrong, Again, we took up guns and went to war to abolish this established practice. More blood was lost.

Then came a woman’s right to vote, work and make an equal wage for equal work, have children or not have children, drive or partake in numerous human activities. There were sits ins, arrests, violence, family fights and death over this issue. Eventually laws were passed to insure these rights. (They could still use some tweaking) Our businesses had to be forced to add safety standards to the workplace to save lives. They were forced to shield moving conveyor belts, protect workers from chemicals and provide safety equipment. This didn’t happen from the goodness of someone’s heart, it took laws to make it happen.

Civil liberties were a big one. We locked people of Japanese descent in camps, we denied ethnic families not born in this country access to housing and schooling. Our country clubs denied admittance to people of a certain race and schools turned away children with differing skin color.

In each instance, people were hurt, arrested or killed. In each instance it took laws, not popular by people with deep personal beliefs, to make a change, but change was made. Guess what? The country survived with these laws! All races can mingle at school, women can work and fight for a fare wage, people can not be denied housing over skin color. We became a nation that let people be who there are. You can still adhere to your religion and follow your beliefs. You can bring your children up with these beliefs, but you can not use them to deny fellow humans basic rights.

It is time to let those who are gay have the same freedom and rights as the rest of us. Let them marry, divorce, rent an apartment, work and carry insurance. This would be another basic human right forced on us by law and we will survive this as we have all other changes. Added bonus? You can still worship in any way you see fit and make sure your soul ends up in the resting place of your choice. We can make this change, keep your soul intact and not spill any blood or waste anymore hard-earned tax payer money on the fight.

Don’t write to me with tales of women or minorities who still face discrimination, unsafe work conditions or a woman fired because she wouldn’t sleep with the boss. I know these things still exist and people deal with it daily, but it is dealt with far less with the laws than without the laws. There will always be immoral, greedy people who do what they need to do to feed their needs.

Long story short, people who pay taxes have the right to reap the same benefits from this country as the rest of us. Law is law  and religion is religion. If we continue to deny them the right to marry, be in a hospital room with a dying loved one or take away their right to an estate, we should stop collecting taxes from them as they are not full citizens of this country.

 

 

 

A Great Day!

My youngest grandchild, shown in the photo below is in his “mom or dad only” phase, as he should be at the age of two. He flashes us a smile from time to time and watches us with interest, but only mom and dad can hold him or bestow kisses. The hat you see in the picture is sported whenever he is awake and he pulls it over his face like a shield, flashing his eyes only when he deems it proper, sneaking in a smile from time to time. His brother is a bit more gregarious, runs to and fro as you chase him for a kiss or a tickle, letting you catch him as Blake watches from the sidelines.

fathersday13 015

With that said, I will tell you why Father’s day was the best day.  We all gathered to celebrate our dad’s. The food was flowing and the two babies warmed up and interacted with one and all at their own level. Blake even popped out from his hat long enough to shove in some meatballs. He sat and played in the sand with me and played with his little tykes car. Grandkids are great, you get the fun and hugs and don’t have to do diapers or discipline! When it came time for them to walk home I went on my usual chase to give Logan a hug and a kiss, a chase he has come to expect. I caught him, took off his hat and planted a kiss on his head. He wiped it off.

I turned to Blake, expecting him to pull his hat down and hide. I bent over and said “Love you Blake, come back soon.” To my surprise he took off his hat and pointed to the top of his head, telling me to plant a kiss on him! I planted that kiss and he smiled, then put the hat back on. It was one of those break your heart, tear forming minutes you get now and then. The image is  frozen in my mind. It was father’s day, but I feel I got the best gift of the day.

I have snapshots in my head, from different eras, permanently etched in my mind. My oldest daughter running from the bath, naked as a jay bird, her blond curls bouncing on her back as she mounted her hobby-horse, she was all of two. Or her posing on a frosty November day in a paper pilgrim hat, nervous as all get out over her part in a school play. My son, standing by a lake at a local park, clapping his hands as the frogs croak around him. I can still see his joy, just him and I alone, all was right with the world. My son watching me open a Christmas gift he made himself. Elise on the porch, no more than six, telling me she wished my pain was a balloon so it would fly into the sky and disappear! She was so deep and serious she made me believe her idea. Jimmy’s eyes lighting up when he saw a train, or the light bouncing off his long blond curls as he ran after a butterfly in the front yard. Emma playing with my paint tubes as she learned her colors, the sun streaming through the patio door, highlighting her face as she smiled, proudly naming off the colors. All these snippets are burned into my brain like buried treasure.

Blake taking off that hat and pointing to his head, and the look of pride on his father’s face was the latest.  Treasure these snapshots, and your family.  These are the riches you are looking for. You need money to live, but you need memories and family to live well.

Families, Mom’s and Death.

I have avoided thinking about my demise for years. I know I am going to die someday, I just didn’t want to actually face it.

I did learn a lesson when my mother, diagnosed with stage four cancer, got busy taking care of business instead of floundering in self-pity. She sorted drawers, and after offering it all to me, sold her 5,000 plus volume library and her collection of eastern artifacts. I battled conflicting emotions’  as she asked me to box books, deliver statues or deposit payments in the bank. All of these items were what made “her… her.” I didn’t want to be a part of wiping her out, removing all the things that built her home! My poor dad hovered in the background, afraid to make a move while trying to support her needs.

One day I took a chair and locked eyes with my mom.

“I don’t like this!” I said forcefully. “This feels like you are giving up and I am helping you do it!”

Tears filled her eyes, a sight I had only seen twice in my life as she struggled for words. Moments later, her face composed she told me to sit still and shut up! I did as I was told, lol. I was mesmerized as she began to speak…

“As you know, my childhood stunk, I survived  abusive step-mothers, thyroid and weight issues and more. Then I met your father and my life changed. The only sorrow I had then was the news that I would never carry a child to term if I got pregnant. You proved them wrong, you were my miracle baby. Your father and I vowed to keep you away from the cruelty of our families and we vowed to protect you, and I won’t stop now. I can’t leave knowing you will have to wade through a ton of possessions and paperwork, I want it all taken care of now.” she said intently.

I tried to end the conversation because I was REALLY uncomfortable but she wouldn’t back down. Grabbing my fidgeting hand she forced me to sit still, locking me in her steely gaze.

“You need to know that you are my rock. My relationship with your father has been touch and go but no matter what, you have been here. When I am upset, you listen. When I am mad, you listen. When I am sad or need support, you are there. Every time I reach my hand out for comfort, you are there to take it.”

I lost it here…mom sat back and let me have my fit, just for a short time before taking charge.

“If I am going to die, I have to know that you and your father will be ok. I don’t want you weeping over boxes as you gather my books and Orientals. I want you to spend time with me now and move on later. I need to know that my passing will not strain your body due to your disease. I want to know that your limited energy will be available to take care of your father, he can’t even write a check and he has no idea of how to pay the electric bill or cook dinner. All I ask is that you don’t let them put me in the hospital. I want to be here, in my home when my time comes.”

It took almost twelve months for me to sell all the books, meet with her lawyer, get my name put on the checking account, savings account, savings bonds and house title, but she was bound this would be taken care of before she left. She trusted me to look out for my father.

The morning I got the fateful call from my dad I was not prepared. He said that he had fallen asleep for about two hours and when he woke my mom was unresponsive and gasping. I flew to the house, a mere mile away to find an ambulance backing into the drive. My dad had called paramedics, the one thing my mother asked me to “not” let happen.

They bundled her into the squad and drove her to the local hospital where we were mired down with reams of paperwork and well-meaning nurses. I was angry, all of this red-tape  cut into the time I could be holding and talking to mom. My dad, convinced that someone could save her held fast to his decision to call for help, but I heard the doctors say that she was in for “palliative care” all they could do was drug her up and keep her comfortable until she passed.

I played along for a bit, out of respect for my father, but I ended up snapping. Mom’s last wish, her ONLY wish was that if she was to die, she wanted to do it in her own home! Thankfully, a few doctors and nurses helped me convince my dad that she would not survive more than twenty-four hours.

I was torn between comforting my dad and fulfilling mom’s wishes. I climbed onto the gurney, spooning her onto her side as I know laying on her back was painful. When she finally moved, it was to place a hand to my face as she uttered one word, “home.”

She never let go of my face or hand as she kept repeating “home, home, home.”

Torn between making sure mom’s wishes were fulfilled and doing what my dad needed was heart-wrenching, but I had to side with my mom. I asked the staff if there was a quick way I could get mom home and back on her couch, but they passed me from person to person. I finally got pissed and told the staff to call somebody, ANYBODY that could transfer mom to the house before I picked her up and walked all the way! Waiting for an answer I climbed onto the gurney, embracing her from behind as laying flat hurt her back, letting her know I would get her home if I had to throw her over my shoulder and carry her. She squeezed my hand and relaxed.

The ambulance staff showed up thirty minutes later and respectfully wrapped and loaded her into the squad. Once home, lounging on the couch she had slept on for years, her face relaxed and she smiled. It was here that my father and I spent our last twenty-four hours with the most important woman in our life. We held her hands, we rubbed her feet, administered pain medication and told her all about family events. My son, daughter-in-law, their son, my granddaughter, husband, aunt and my mom’s best friend were all present when she took her last breath. My father yelled for me to do something, but once I gazed into her eyes, I knew she was gone. I felt for a pulse and watched her chest, praying that it would take a breath, but it was obvious she was gone. Leaning in for a kiss, I moved my hand over her face, closing her eyes so she could rest.

She NEVER let the cancer rule her, she ruled up to the last twenty-four hours. She dictated where she would sit, she watched Susan Boyle videos online and sat in her usual chair with pride. A mere twenty-four hour period took control, but she stayed on her feet, ruling until the end!

In the days after her death, I realized what a final gift she had given me. Knowing she wouldn’t be here to help me through this loss, she did all she could to take care of the clutter and legalities. A wise woman my mom.

I decided I need to think about the legalities and give the same gift to my kids. I don’t want to face it, hell, I don’t want to go! But I will, so I need to draw up papers and leave my family with a legacy like the one my mom left. I don’t want them bogged down in a sea of possessions and paperwork. It is morbid and not pleasant to talk about, but you are giving your family a great gift by purging belongings and tending to paperwork long before you check out.

Give it some thought. Who would raise your kids you if die in an accident? What will it cost for your family to retain legal custody of your home? How can you word a will to keep it out of probate? Who get the Christmas ornaments, the furniture, the home and everything else?

This was a long ramble and a doubt that many of you are still reading, but for those who are, please know that my mom filed papers to name me as co-owner on all of her savings bonds, checking and savings account. She had my name put on the deed to the house and gave me her most treasured mementos with hand written notes listing the history of each item.

Thanks to the notes, I know that odd, faded teddy bear pin was the first gift my father bought her with his meager wage. I know that the pearls were given to her by a life-long friend so she could wear them at her wedding. I have a box full of history and memories that would have meant little to me if she had left without telling me about each one.

Morning of the Hawk

It was a typical Friday morning. My hubby, (who works third shift) was sound asleep, the kids were at school, the animals were fed and I was alone with the quiet. Not ready to tackle chores or a new painting I wandered through my wooded lot, stopping when I noticed something out-of-place on the roof of my garage.

I say garage, but it is actually the end of a barn whose roof if only a few feet over my head. I stopped dead in my tracks when I noticed a pair of intense eyes staring down at me. Hovering over the edge of my roof was a Broad Wing Hawk about sixteen inches tall. I froze in place, returning the hawks gaze as I took in its beauty. I talked to it like an idiot, expecting it to understand that I appreciated its beauty and that it was welcome to use my wooded lot and buildings at any time.

After staring for what felt like a frozen moment in time, I said goodbye and moved toward the back of my lot as the hawk swiveled its head, watching me from behind its lethal looking beak. Noticing a ray of sun warming the chairs surrounding the site of our campfires I scurried over and closed my eyes, reveling in the heat and healing vibes of my yard.

Minutes later a sound yanked me out of my revelry. It was like a loud rustling and flapping rolled into one. A metallic clank followed as the loose hairs around my forehead fluttered in an unexpected breeze. Springing to attention I was shocked to find that the hawk had landed on the back of the wrought iron chair next to mine, a mere twenty-four inches away.

Afraid to move for fear of scaring it off I let my eyes absorb the experience. I marveled at the size of its talons gripping the chair back. I checked out the feather pants adorning the top of its legs and the graceful curve of its body, wings and tail. I noticed it’s aroma. While not overtly offensive, it was not one I would want in my house.

I peered over the bent, wicked looking beak, into a pair of bright yellow eyes that were scanning my face. We sat like that for a good five minutes. From time to time the hawk would pace back and forth on its perch, or it would extend its neck feathers and shake its head, but it never let its gaze stray from me for more than a second.

A high-pitched screech above our heads drew the hawks attention. After emitting a few answering shrieks it took to the air to join what I assume was its mate. Just like that it was over. This was a short encounter, but one I will treasure forever.

It turns out that this pair of hawks is nesting at the edge of the Cuyahoga river across the road from my home. I often see this hawk and it’s mate glide over-head in search of dinner but there hasn’t been another “meeting.”

For that brief period of time, I felt like the luckiest person on earth.

C2012 Jane Kohler

Nancy the Great!

Nancy, such a common name for such an uncommon woman. I have my disease to thank for placing Nancy in my life. Alone, in pain and looking for help I turned to an online support group. It was here I met my long time friend “C.” “C” and I got to know each other after he threatened to boot me off the group for joking around with a few folks, something against the rules. (Not so much against the rules, but i was doing it in the wrong way)

Long story short, he and I became friends. When he founded the FMS Community I jumped on his train to help however I could. I became a moderator on the support group and began to work with both “C” and Nancy. Egad, was that really eighteen years ago?

No slacker herself, Nancy, a former financial whiz from Boston, stricken with her own chronic pain founded a 501(3) non-profit org. called the “CSSA.” She was president, treasurer, researcher and public relations. She and a small group of others collected donations, networked with medical professionals and published  a newsletter mailed to subscribers, all while dealing with her own health and family issues and…keeping up with her job as moderator for the Fibom-L online support list. She is also a talented photographer with work in quite a few collections, I am lucky enough to have one of her framed works.

I watched with cautious eyes when I realized she was caring on a “flirtation” with my pal “C.” Not out of jealousy as I am in a long-term, stable relationship, but out of concern, not wanting my friend to be hurt by a conniving woman! Worry quickly morphed from respect for a strong woman to love for a dear friend. Her and “C” met in person and never parted again. They not only joined in marriage, they blended the two organizations and we became one happy family, with Nancy handling the financial reins and legalities of maintaining a 501(3) non-profit standing.

Fast forward to 2012, my strong, intelligent, compassionate friend who wielded her computer and cell phones like weapons as she cut a swath through research, misconceptions, myths and lack of support for very real, very painful conditions, can’t even turn on her own computer.

Diagnosed with Stage 3 dementia at a young age she can’t remember how to use her computer or dial a phone. Her short-term memory is sketchy and her health is failing.

I am angry, PISSED that the universe has handed her one more blow. It’s as if taking away her health and striking her down with chronic pain wasn’t enough. The fates that be weren’t happy until they took her mind too!

I am grieving for “C.” He was a thriving musician, disc jockey and printer before chronic pain and other conditions took control of his life. He is a caring, open-minded, generous and intelligent man who had lived alone for far too long before he found Nancy. Now he struggles with her comfort and his own feelings of loss and anger.

IT’S NOT FAIR DAMMIT AND IT PISSES ME OFF!

Those who can approach their doctor and mention the term Fibromyalgia without getting laughed out of the office as the doctor tells you it is all in your head can thank Nancy. In our day nobody believed our pain was real. We were fed anti-depressants and told to lose weight and exercise more. Hell, I was 120lbs soaking wet with a highly physical job, and they STILL told me to lose weight and exercise, and maybe see a shrink.

Nancy fought day and night, shelling out thousands of personal dollars to find answers. She offered support and information to those floundering in a sea of medical professionals that thought of us as a joke. She met and worked with researchers on the cutting edge of progress. She formed friendships with medical professionals and authors who suffered from chronic, unexplained pain and fatigue who wanted to find answers. She worked with Devin Starlanyl and others, keeping up with research and funneling that knowledge to us via CSSA.

This is a personal blow for me, but I want every person who can now talk to their doctor about FM, CMP, IBS, Sjogrens and other conditions without feeling like a mental case to give credit, and thanks to this hard-working, generous, genius of a woman.

It is time to let her rest and be taken care of, but dammit, if I have anything to say about it she will be thought of as a champion, a loyal friend and dominant force in the fight against an uneducated system that refused to look for answers until public outcry backed them into a corner. Nancy stood at the front of that mob, using her phone and computers like an electronic megaphone.

I thank you and I love you Nancy. My world is better because you are in it.

c2012 Jane Kohler

The Perfect Morning

Gentle sunlight lightly tapped at my eyelids, pulling me from my slumber. Rolling onto my back I stretched the longest stretch possible, reveling in the feeling of my limbs coming alive. Wiggling my jaw back and forth I realized that for once I had not tried to grind my teeth to dust as I slept, my jaw and temples felt pretty darn good!

Sitting up in one quick move I grinned like a fool when I realized that for once, my neck and shoulders were not holding me hostage, forcing me to move and stretch before raising my head from the pillow. Instead, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, looking forward to all I would do with my day. My feet didn’t wince when called on to hold my weight. My hips didn’t scream through the days first twenty steps. My hands, no longer numb, gripped the door knob, flinging open the door so I could greet the day.

I was going to paint, hike, cook, clean and visit people I hadn’t seen for years. I couldn’t wait to embrace the day and make up for time lost to CMP and FMS. I had WON and I was gonna make the most of it!

Then the alarm went off. I blindly slapped at the alarm with a numb arm and winced in pain as I tried to pull my head from the pillow. It seems so unfair that I can live the life I want while sleeping, but when I awaken my tortured body rules my life! I don’t want disability payments. I don’t want to stay home and not make a difference. This sucks and I am DAMN MAD that this disease, this pain is ruling my life!

Acupuncture, physical therapy, water therapy, cognitive therapy, stretching, herbs, vitamins, inversion tables, raw foods, fiber and countless other strategies have not improved my life or lessened the pain. I am sick and tired of being “SICK AND TIRED!”

I sigh, knowing that the recent rash of people addicted to prescription pain killers has doctors running into the shadows. The chance of my doctor giving me any measure of pain control is slim to none. We need help, we need relief, we need to function, make a living, raise our children, be a good spouse, help others and just live our lives.

Who is going to step up and help those stuck in the cracks, the chronic pain patients who are not dying, but they may as well be at times?

c2012 Jane Kohler