The Beginning of "The Purge"...

Ok...then...it's been a bit since the last posting...I've been tired...I'm getting old.

Costa Rica was fun, really FUN! We arrived home to Thanksgiving preparations and "catch up".

My mother is 80. 80 years old...that's..."gettin' up there". I have never doubted that my mother loves me. She does. She just has an extremely obsessive way of showing it.

Mom started life...80 years ago...as an illegitimate child. 80 years ago, that (illegitimacy) was her fault, and if not her fault, her stigma. Her mother married in desperation, five years after my mother's birth. When Mom had bonded with her Aunt and established a place in that household, Mom was "kidnapped" from that familiar home to a creepy stepfather and a neglectful narcissist of a mother. So, it's understandable that my mother "has issues".

Mom married my Dad, a man 19 years her senior. Yes, for all the reasons you might suspect. He WAS a father figure, a provider, a protector. Unfortunately, he died at 61, leaving a 42 year old widow with a 16 year old daughter (me) and a 13 year old son, and all the "old" issues firmly intact....

Mom loves me for all the reasons you see touted out on the "Dr. Phil" shows about 16 year old teenage mothers. They just want so desperately for something to love them, only them, only them, only them. They see that baby as validation. They will correct all the wrongs inflicted on them....I am her victim...

My mother was almost 26 when I was born...she had been married to my father for seven years. But, I think she still carried with her the 16 year old, unwed mother, mindset. Dad was a means to an end. My mother's whole world was (is) her children.

This is not healthy....

And, now I am her caregiver...

Mom is my "difficult person".

A Good Story?

This doesn't happen to me very often...because, I consciously turn my thoughts in other directions. I strictly adhere to my commitment "to want to do everything I have to do". I do not normally dread anything or anyone. Today, I have a "dread".....that uncomfortable fearful expectation of not performing satisfactorily a simple task that I've taken EVERY precaution I can to properly complete. I have done my best to gather the best information from every available source...and yet, there are still some unknown factors involved. This task is for my mother...and I seriously would rather die than fuck this up.

Ok, that's an extreme overstatement...but, I'm in a bit of crisis...

Mom is on a VERY fixed, low income. Tall One and I help out wherever and whenever we can. Mom lives in a condo that we own, she pays us a monthly rent, plus her utilities. WE operate in the red (in the VERY red). My brothers help out financially, every single time I ask them for help, with gifts and medical equipment. I have been "supplementing" her grocery situation for years. I found an agency to modify her bathroom and install a vertical life, since she can't live independently otherwise. I have researched and helped her apply for medical assistance, energy assistance, rent rebates, and now the "Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program", formerly known as Food Stamps.

Mom deludes prides herself on her self-sufficiency and financial acumen.

I have tried repeatedly to contact the Public Assistance (Welfare) Office to ask a couple of simple, common sense type questions...I have left messages. No one has returned my calls. Mom can't shop for herself...I want to know if I'll get arrested for using her card. I want to know exactly HOW to use this card. I want to know for sure, before I do her grocery shopping if said card WILL WORK because it is, apparently, according to the lady who issued it, the MOST SENSITIVE CARD EVER MANUFACTURED! I MUST keep it securely in its protective sleeve. I can't get it too close to other cards, my cell phone, batteries, or magnets. This card has almost as many self-esteem issues and phobias as my mother. I have successfully activated it. But, what if I swipe it and the damn thing doesn't WORK! I'm doing two weeks worth of grocery shopping for my mother today, and then I'm going out of the country! My mother sees me as a mildly retarded twelve year old. Every legitimate screw up of my entire life (and a host of perceived fuck ups) is paraded out periodically and "chuckled" over. If this doesn't work, Mom's life will be ruined and IT WILL BE MY FAULT.

This is a ridiculous way for a 54 year old, accomplished, self assured, woman with average intelligence, to behave. ENOUGH! WHATEVER! ONWARD!

Either way, success or crushing failure, this will be a good story. I love a good story....

Fortress of Solitude...

...I don't have one...

I have a few moments in the morning where I can drink a cup of coffee without grand kids hanging off both legs and my left arm...but, that ends at approx. 8am, when I get the obligatory phone call from Nana. This is nothing "new". I've been talking to my mother AT LEAST once a day since before she retired at age 62. She is now, 80. Since retirement, it has been twice a day, morning and evening. This is by arrangement...hers. It's according to VERY strict guidelines formulated from massive expectations...hers. We do not deviate from the plan...I lie...I do not deviate from the plan...or I will die.

The Tall One is always around...I live with him, because we're married and he pays the bills for my indulgent, extravagant life style. He also works out of the shop...in our home. (This is his dream. He would be very grumpy if he had to commute. He's actually a bit put out if he has to spend more than 20 minutes a day in the truck.) I work out of our home, too. I'm putting off the laundry and cleaning as I type. The grand kids will be here before too long, with my daughter who works with my husband in the shop in our house. (And, there's a wart on the frog, on the bump on the log, in the hole at the bottom of the sea....)

On those rare occasions, when there is NO ONE in the immediate vicinity, the phone will ring and I will have to make an unscheduled run to my mother's (it's ok, because it is MY inconvenience, not hers) or to my boss's (because he's a quadriplegic and can't do ANYTHING for himself!). I am 99.9% ok with this, as I realize I am their "lifeline". But, it sucks the solitary out my day. I "nap" with the cell phone turned to vibrate IN MY HAND! I do! Before Nana moved four miles away, and I was still working full-time for Wheeler, I would wake up to the phone (not a cell) at 2am for an emergency run a couple of times a week. I can't do this anymore - physically, I can't. Wheeler has to "schedule" me for night time emergency standby. If I KNOW that he will be calling me (say, when his parents are out of town, or his other, younger, stronger attendants aren't available) I will not ignore hear the phone and rush to his rescue.

I wanted to be a mother...I love being a grandmother...I am a natural care-giver, it is my gift...Tall One annoys me a little bit with his clingy pouting, but it's only because he loves me and enjoys spending obsessive time with me, not out of an inability to do things on his own...

I just want to be left alone sometimes, without feeling guilty (my mother) or worrying that I'm missing something (everyone else).

Requiem

Tall One just stood up from breakfast and announced, "I'm not a Justin Beiber fan." Thanks. I guess I'll have to send back the CD and poster I got him for Christmas. So, it's going to be one of THOSE days. You know, the surreal, pinch myself to see if I'm less than comatose, take deep breath breaks every, oh, 15 seconds...

A.'s daddy died. He was old with Alzheimer's, it shouldn't have been unexpected...but, it always is. Even if you haven't seen them in years, even if they are disagreeable, absent, or even abusive...parents have a hold that exceeds space, time...and even death. They can reach out from the grave and snag you when you least expect it. It is their final revenge.

A., and all of us that know her, raised a glass of Scotch to Daddy, and wished him god's speed on his journey. Theirs is a story worth telling. I'm not the best one to tell it.You should REALLY hear A. tell it in her southern drawl, with her singular animation! What I can eulogize is Daddy's legacy.

A. is the younger of two sisters born to Daddy and Mamma in hometown, Arkansas. Theirs was a marriage of mutual respect - love - but, mostly convenience. Daddy and Mamma both wanted children, they had an understanding. An understanding that functioned well enough to survive for close to 50 years. A.'s sister appears to be her mother's child...A. was all Daddy's. He taught her to drink Scotch. He showed her what it meant to be a STRONG southern woman...not overwhelmed with convention or appearance. He challenged her to think for herself. And, all this serves her well, as the road she travels is not the easy path.

A. is not a couple. She was married once, inadvisedly it turns out, and the other relationships have never really clicked. I think she may see that as a problem, in the way that most of us long for a special connection, but A. seems to have more than compensated with a system of love and support from friends that have endured from high school and college, and have been gathered throughout her New England home town and travels. Friends that stick closer than "a family"...but, we grieve for what "is not".

A. has talent, passion, courage...all provided, at least in part, by Daddy. She struggles with bipolar disorder, which she manages well with medication and therapy...but, look at all the great creative geniuses...this comes with that territory (and I blame her mother).

A. writes, wonderfully, hysterically, with an intuitive, quirky insight. She's thoughtful AND spontaneous. She's analytical. She reads, everything, and I'm convinced, has a photographic memory...or at least a partial photographic memory...at least she remembers what and who she reads. She knows everything and has been everywhere...but, because of Daddy, she is teacher, not a braggart.

There could be regrets...A. has been estranged from her parents and sister's family for years. I hope not. It is what it is...and always will be. I don't think Daddy has a problem understanding that.

Daddy should be proud of his little "legacy"...I have no doubt he is...I am...and I'm profoundly grateful for the circumstances that brought her into my life.

If You Follow Me....

I've been chronicling my efforts to not drink on "Excellent Adventures". One of the reasons I wanted to stop, was because I haven't been feeling well, and wanted to know how drinking a couple of glasses of wine everyday was affecting my stamina. Well, guess what, after two weeks, I'm beginning to believe that I actually feel better after a drink...or two.

I rarely drink to excess. I don't like feeling out of control. I definitely don't like feeling hung over. What I do appreciate is the anesthetic value.

I have not been feeling too good. I'm tired. I'm very gassy and bloated. My arms bother me a GREAT deal! There's a fatigue and pain in my biceps that radiates to my hands and fingers. It's a kin to the "hitting the funny bone" feeling. Or a pulling-pain. I think it's definitely muscular, as opposed to my joints, but, the other idea is that it's neural. It could have something to do with my spinal stenosis. My massage therapist worked exclusively on my arms and left shoulder blade, which has been a historic problem...but, it doesn't seem to have impacted the pain, except for bruising and THAT pain!

A new wrinkle, is the ill feeling I've been having every evening. I usually feel better after I have dinner, but it's an odd sensation. A truly achy, diseased feeling, like the flu.

So, what I'm doing is documenting this new-ish physical wrinkle to try and keep some sort of "track".

I do believe that most of my maladies are caused by the hormonal fluctuations of menopause. I do have spinal stenosis of the lower lumbar vertebrae, and this causes pain and fatigue in my legs. My upper back hasn't ever been MRI'd, but, it stands to reason that the congenitally small openings in my spinal column could continue all the way up and affect my arms and hands....

The Fire...

And, then there is the wildfire out in Four mile Canyon, west of Boulder Colorado....

The day after Labor Day, the funeral for summer freedom, Tall One and I sat eating our breakfast and watching the Today Show. We saw the footage of the Fourmile Canyon Wildfire, and heard the dire predictions of scorched acreage and the displaced homeowners. I always watch the Today Show and eat my breakfast with my computer in my lap (that's a major inconvenience waiting to happen, don't you think?), and since the wild fire was west of Boulder, Colorado where our older son makes his Grizzly Adams/My Side of the Mountain, largely solitary home, I began to Google and realized that O.S.'s cabin is smack dab in the middle of the evacuation zone.

Even though it's 7a.m. on the east coast, it's only 5a.m. in Boulder, so I thought about courtesy but called immediately! O.S.'s cell went right to voice mail. No need to panic, it's only 5am in Boulder. I talk to my mother and our younger son, and ask them to let me know if they hear from O.S. (you may remember that O.S. was estranged from us until his ex left, so I wouldn't have expected him to necessarily call me). Later, it's 9a.m. here at home, 7am in Boulder and I've had two hours to learn as much as is humanly possible about the fire, the fire fighting efforts, and the projected damage...no call from O.S., so I again leave a voice mail message. I'm thinking that I sound reasonably calm and controlled...but it's probably coming across as abject panic. Eleven a.m., and I'm kicking myself for never having asked the name of the shop where O.S. worked - do you know how many machine shops are listed in Boulder, Co? I call my nephew, thinking maybe HE knows, he doesn't. He calls O.S., and reports that the phone goes right to voice mail....I KNOW! At somewhere around 1p.m., I got a text message from our younger son, PhD. "Have you heard from O.S.?" I fairly shout back, via text, that I haven't and I'm starting to get a bit worried....and, my phone cuts to an incoming call with O.S.'s caller ID!

The day before, even though it was an official holiday, O.S. went in to work early. He had some jobs that he'd been working on and no special plans. He missed the evacuation. Which was good and bad - good that he wasn't ever in any danger, bad, because he wasn't able to grab anything meaningful, and he said he NEVER would have worn the clothes he had on, if he'd thought they'd be the only clothes he'd own. O.S. spent the first night on his boss' sofa, and after that with a co-worker who had an extra room. He was well taken care of. I'm glad I fought the urge to jump on a plane and fly out there.

It was over a week of increasing reports of more and more homes lost, fortunately no loss of life or even injuries. It became increasingly obvious that it would be a miracle if O.S.'s cabin wasn't a pile of ash, but his address wasn't listed in the official reports. He told me that while the waiting was bad, he had never taken his mountain for granted. Every day he stood on his porch and appreciated the place he'd come to call home. He was concerned that he'd have to live in the city. That would be a big disappointment.

I finally got the text message, that O.S. was able to get home. The firefighters had taken a stand and dug a fire-line 150 feet from the cabin's back door. All was saved, still standing, still livable. I am so grateful, so thankful, and more knowledgeable about the streets and developments in the Fourmile canyon than I am of the ones in the hometown I've lived in for over thirty years! Let's hear it for Google Earth!

The mountains and canyon are scorched, with areas knee deep in ash. When the wind blows, there are ash storms. But, in their own words, these are mountain people. Strong, resilient, and determined to clean up and rebuild.

I can picture O.S. being a part of it all. He's found a place, a home, a life that suits him. I'm looking forward to visiting someday.

First Day of School.....

It's been a "difficult" couple of weeks. "Difficult" is in quotes, because while there have been circumstances of note, I think 50% of the difficulty is centered squarely in my crushing hormonal fatigue...yes, here it is yet again...

You be the judge...

Bigger started kindergarten. He's thrilled! He came home after orientation, and when I asked about his teacher he told me, "she's even nicer than you are Mammy!" I took it as a compliment, why not? Bigger is eager to please, and certainly of average intelligence and physical appearance. There is every indication that he will do just fine.

Daughter is struggling with the disruption of schedule, and the idiocy of policy and staff. Other than the form letter informing Daughter and Dude that Bigger would be attending morning kindergarten, and the date and time of the orientation, there has been no communication of protocol or procedure. Everything must be gleaned from the tragically ineffective, and frustrating website. Or, as a last resort, calling and talking to the clueless administrative staff. It's not their fault. The left hand, truly has no idea what the right hand is doing... This does not bode well for the confidence of the first time parent. Daughter is handling it all with grace and tact. I'm struggling not to give in to the urge to bitch slap the next snarly peon that takes it on themselves to point out our gross shortcomings in the areas of expected conformity and etiquette.

Because of the mismanagement of our school tax dollars...there was a huge overrun in the cost of building the new state-of-the-art elementary school a few years ago. Said school is already obsolete. Oh, there isn't enough room for all the students in grades K through 5...so the kindergarten kids are bused from the spanking new elementary school to a "kindergarten center" in a former day care facility on the other side of the district. Ok. At 11:45 am, Daughter and/or I walk the mile and a half to pick up Bigger from the bus. Apparently, from the snide remarks of the overweight, intelligence impaired AIDE, we aren't supposed to WALK to pick up the kids. The ACCEPTABLE method, is to drive, park in the designated pick up line and run our engines for the 20 to 30 minutes it takes to actually procure the correct, properly designated child (known by the yellow sign with hand printed name that we flash out the side window) into the car and securely anchor them according to Federally mandated safety seat protocol. Can you tell, I'm bitter....

I'm wondering what this procedure will engender when the weather is much, much less than ideal. Five and six year olds standing on line in sub freezing temperatures, in the sleet, in the rain...they've already been enduring 90 degree heat...and they aren't supposed to sit in the shade of the tiny tree a couple of yards behind the designated line in the sidewalk where they were instructed to assemble...they stand awaiting the signal from the union supported teacher's helper, who a). can't yell loud enough to be heard an extra 20 feet away, or b). is too fat and lazy to walk a few extra steps, that their caregiver's SUV is next in queue.

After about 20 seconds, I've come up with a far better solution. Have a room or foyer, or hallway, or even the freakin' bus where the kids sit for 15 minutes waiting for the aide to show, designated as a kindergarten pick up zone. The parents can park their cars in line, shut them off, haul their asses and the asses of younger smaller other children out of their seats and walk to pick up the kids...they can then return to their vehicles and proceed on their merry way...

Then there is the aide, not the same kindergarten pick up aide, but another equally skilled and intelligent, that couldn't fathom a six year old off to school for the very first time, getting off of the bus that brings him to the grade school and following the safety patrol fifth grader, designated by the bus driver as the very person to travel behind, into the building and not onto the transfer bus that would take him safely to his teacher and classroom...and I quote, "I don't know WHAT Bigger was THINKING!?!" Duh, you stupid blank, it was his second day....HE HAD NO CLUE, AND ISN'T THIS YOUR J-O-B?????

It is very, very, very, very good that I'm not handling this stuff...cause I would have sooooo alienated the entire staff and most of the other parents. And, I wouldn't have given a flying f....I'm that annoyed....because I've been through all of this, and behaved graciously, and supported the teachers, and admonished and/or uplifted my children and quite frankly I'm sick and tired of trying to get along. Some one has to care about the students and if e-d-u-c-a-t-i-o-n has to suffer...so be it...but, trust me, education will survive....we might "inconvenience" a few aides......

WTF! vs. wtf?

Whose stupid idea was hormones, anyway? I find it almost incomprehensible that the human race has survived it's procreative process. Apparently men aren't easily daunted? Women, even after experiencing pregnancy and childbirth, will decide to propagate yet again? Puberty, with it's first flush of raging sexuality, may explain an initial preoccupation. But, adolescents are terminally annoying! Why doesn't the irritation override the attraction?

Then in young adulthood the real horror of PMS takes over. You've got seven days of active menstruation - bleeding, bloating, cramps, followed by a week's worth of ovulation woes - food cravings, excitability, sleeplessness, followed by one pretty good day - but you're exhausted from the tribulations of the past two weeks, followed by a week to ten days of pure emotional hell. Not much of a window of opportunity. But, love finds a way...and you spend the next two decades raising the fruits of those ten minute intervals.

So, what's natures reward? Menopause!

I'm actually in the throes of perimenopause. Thank you, Experts, so much for clarifying that for me! According to these Experts, who should all rot in hell, perimenopause are the 5-15 YEARS leading up to a 12 month cessation of menstruation, after which you can say you are menopausal. During this interminable time you will experience hot flashes, mood swings, crushing fatigue, mental confusion, loss of libido, feelings of dread, there are 35 listed here: http://www.project-aware.org/Experience/symptoms.shtml. Ok, that may be technically correct...but, right now I'm using the term "menopausal" as a synonym for "raging ax-murderer", which is what I could become before ultimately making it to the nirvana that is postmenopause: brittle bones, facial hair, abdominal fat distribution, dry skin, thinning hair and incontinence.

I can get sooooo angry...and irrational.

I'm pretty much void of "warm fuzzes". If I'm not actively irritated, than I'm inwardly hyperventilating. I'd really rather you didn't touch me...don't even talk to me...stop LOOKING at me! I feel overwhelmed. Don't get in my way! Don't ask me to deviate from my projected course, and, for god's sake, don't ask me anything and expect a civil reply!

I was cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, which involves multi-tasking. "Sudden lack of multi-tasking ability" should be listed under the previously mentioned list of perimenopauseal symptoms. In addition to putting the dishes into the dishwasher, washing the dishes that can't go into the dishwasher, wiping the counters, & refrigerating the leftovers, I'm getting the grandsons more chocolate milk and/or lemonade, monitoring video game play, feeding the Princess a bottle, and kicking the cat out of the way. Tall One picks this exact moment to ask me if I want to bike to the Rotary picnic tomorrow night. My response wasn't pretty...and lasted about 20 minutes...for which I apologized repeatedly over the next 36 hours.

When I'm not flying off, irrationally, at the smallest provocation, I'm just idiotic.

My interpersonal barometer is stuck on "lacking social skills". It's not just that I say stupid things...I've always done that, and could laugh at myself and move on...I'm just ridiculous, and then I freeze. I'm imagining it's embarrassing. It would be embarrassing if I had the capacity to discern. My mind, for days at a time, is just a fuzzy blank.

I ran into a couple of friends while out walking with the Pretty Princess this morning. The first, a couple, were going into the coffee shop. I haven't seen the wife in many months and she looked fantastic! She'd lost weight, and was blond with a GREAT cut. Really sharp. My witty comment on her weight loss consisted of, "Starving?"...yup, that's what I said. I have a vague remembrance of stammering other sentences that I hope conveyed the underlying delight in seeing her and just how impressed I am at her stunning transformation...at least I'm assuming I would be delighted and impressed if I were capable of feeling anything over the oppressive confusion and stifling intellectual lethargy!

Then, Pretty Princess and I stopped by the local farmers' market. I'm pretty sure I was stupid at the two stands from which I purchased products, and maybe a bit moronic to the others as I smiled, nodded, and drooled some sort of mumbled attempted witticism as we walked past. Then I saw a dear friend. He's a joker. So I greeted him with, "Oh, I was hoping I didn't run into anyone I knew! ha, ha, ha!" I know, it doesn't make any sense, it didn't at the time, it never will. It's just hanging out there in conversational purgatory...the poor man probably thinks I'm brain damaged. I'm surprised he didn't call a family member to come and pick me up!

And, now I'm sitting here, with Spongebob Squarepants on the television, trying to put three or four words together to make some sort of understandable sentence, and it's just impossible. I usually save posts, emails, and other internet contributions from these mentally challenged ramblings, for times when I'm able to THINK, critique and correct, but, I'm going to go ahead and post this...if it doesn't make sense, perhaps you'll understand...if it does make any sense at all...well, damn, I'm good!

Oh, and I have cramps, and I'm bleeding to death.

"Not Again....and again...and again..."

It's a lazy Sunday morning....

If I had my way, and I often do, all mornings would be lazy. I used to "hit the ground running". But, that was before "the decline". I hit a wall, physically, somewhere in my mid-forties...and I've never been the same. The "coup de grace" came in the form of a great personal accomplishment. I ran a marathon. In 5 hours, 18 minutes. It was the most glorious run of my life. The training almost killed me....I'm not speaking figuratively...and I've barely run since then. The spirit is willing. I miss running.

I'm a spectator in my inevitable physical decline. I expected this. I also expected that as my physical self deteriorated, my character would compensate....stop laughing...this is serious...

I am greatly troubled by my lack of integrity. I am 53 years old...and I'm desperately hoping that integrity is not a finite, fixed entity, that we aren't born with a certain amount, determined by genetics, and that's all there is - sorry.

I look at my husband, especially, and the children we've produced, and I'm shocked and amazed as the integrity oozes from every pore. They make it seem so natural, so effortless. They know just what needs to be done/said/believed and then they do/say/believe it! And, it's always fair, right, just, and magnanimous. I, on the hand, have to think, fumble, blunder into an action, then excuse, regret, and apologize for the dismal mess I made of the most innocuous situation. I will illustrate:

Daughter and I were in a grocery outlet the other day. At the checkout, I dropped the glass jar of marshmallow fluff on the floor (clumsiness is apparently another benefit of "the decline"). Fortunately, it did not shatter into a million pieces, although that would have solved the ensuring dilemma quite nicely. It would have taken any ambiguous course of action completely out of my hands, cause you HAVE to deal with a smashed jar of marshmallow cream by calling attention to it...especially in the presence of store employee witnesses. What did happen was that the jar lid cracked. I put it on the shelf and asked Daughter to get me another jar. I'm sure the clerks SAW what happened, I don't know what they THOUGHT. Daughter asked if I wanted to say something about the damaged jar with a gesture, look, and question...and I waved it off with a cavalier flair. Moments later, in the car, on the way home, the wrongness of my actions registered.

Why don't simple, honest, honorable decisions come naturally to me? Why did I immediately react as I did, by denying the obvious and taking the low road? I think this is a fundamental flaw. One, I recognize, and can sometimes have the presence of mind to override. But, what is it I lack - or possess - that causes matters of morals and conscience to loom so large in the minutia of daily interactions?

Am I fundamentally dishonest? Immature? Self absorbed? I should have been past this at puberty!

Anyone have a cave I can crawl into? Because my own solution of "try, try again" is getting awfully old, feeble and ridiculous....not unlike me....*sigh*

Guilt 101

Wow! Can it almost be a YEAR since I've posted?? Actually, it seems much longer.....

I live in a state of constant self-imposed guilt...because I firmly believe that NO ONE can impose guilt on you! Oh, they can try...but, if you aren't predisposed to assume the guilt it just rolls off you like water off a duck's back! I, apparently, am a sponge...sucking up the guilt from the air like a dehumidifier!

I can NEVER do enough, be enough, care enough to do or be enough! It probably started with Nana...and unrealistic expectations. Then it was fanned and nurtured by years in a fundamentalist Christian religious cult! I probably should seek therapy...but boxed wine is much cheaper and infinitely more enjoyable.

And, I'm tired. Bone tired. I'm not sure what that's about. I'm assuming it's something to do with hormonal fluctuations precipitated by change-of-life. But, who knows.

I'm not a bad person...I'm probably on the "good person" end of the spectrum...and yet, I can't rid myself of the nagging suspicion that I'm selfish.

There's a mocking bird singing in our evergreen tree as I write this. I am a Mocking Bird. I can assimilate others needs and I'm content, indeed it is my gift, to regurgitate these needs in action. I am good at this. I am content with this.....and yet....

There is a part of me that always falls short, that fails. I want desperately to have an excuse...but, there is no excuse that satisfies.

This has been a glorious day. As I sit here the moon can be seen in a blue, blue sky rising just above our newly blooming oak tree. The sun is shining, but not hotly. The birds are indeed singing and our lovely baby grand-girl (now a year old) is talking loudly in her crib. I love my life. I do. And, yet, if I'm still and quiet I feel, acutely the pain in a dear friend dying, my mother's declining physical condition and continuing neurosis-es, Daughter's pain in a difficult marital situation, the potential distruction in the lives of our grandsons (only imagined, but possible). And it's my fault. It is. Damn.