Spin Cycle - So Much to Hate, So Little Time

What do I hate? Sprite’s Keeper’s Spin Cycle is on the topic of hate.  After reading some of the other posts regarding this topic, it got me thinking about true hate. Do I know hate?  Have I felt real hate?

As the oldest of five children, all one year apart, I can honestly say that we all experienced hate.  Put five rambunctious children; keep them closed up in a tiny house, always hungry, playing and arguing constantly with each other. Add to the mix a dog, a cat, and a bird flying around and you have chaos. The four girls had to share everything, clothes, shoes, socks and coats.  Four girls eyeing the same outfits or stealing clothes from each other and it’s a recipe for knock down, drag out fights, with lots of hair pulling, name calling, clothes tearing and lots of tears. (Go ahead pull my hair.  My scalp doesn’t feel a thing. Mega Scalp.) By the time I was eight years old, I knew my sisters hated me. They kept telling me so.

Now don’t let this Lord of the Flies situation get you down. It is so true that there is a fine line between love and hate. But I have to admit, that as a child, I experienced great love and great hate when it came to my siblings. I wailed at my mom many times, “Why didn’t you stop having babies after me?!” 

But do I hate as an adult?  Like many of you, I do not hate individuals.   People can be misguided, sick, ignorant, ridiculous, blinded, dramatic or unthinking.  People can also be con artists, greedy, unfeeling and prey on their fellow human beings. I do not hate individuals.  It’s what they may do as a group that scares me.

Here are a few things I do hate.

Hypocrisy – I can avoid hypocritical individuals. When they come into my life, I run the other way, closing the doors and windows behind me.  But massive hypocrisy as I witness in our political system and parties, I truly hate. They all move like schools of fish, first one way then the other, swishing around, changing direction in ethics, speech, and mores.  It hurts me to listen to the parroting rhetoric, the propaganda, and the hypocrisy. Have our attention spans become so small that we can’t remember?

Dramatics – I can avoid dramatic individuals. I can avoid the “chicken little” people or the “poor little me” people that dot the landscape with a quick side step or by using the phrase, “You and a thousand other people in your situation.”  But mass dramatics as I witness in everyday television is frightening.  It’s like a primer for our nation on how to act. 

Here you go folks, a little problem, and no big deal, really.  Let’s see how to handle it.  Oh yes. Blow it out of proportion. Right, have a tantrum. Finger pointing, Excellent. Oh good, make a scene. Let’s make it much bigger than it really is. Did you just call him a bleep? Fantastic. We’ll put you on television. You will be our new national hero! 

Oh yea, what was the problem in the first place, inconsequential. No need to correct it. It was just a means to an end, dramatic anarchy and incivility. Don't worry your little pretty heads about it.

When did we become satisfied with the lowest common denominator?

But what I hate is that it has leaked onto our political scene. Why has the high school mentality taken over our politicians?  I hate it that the struggle between them is not for our benefit (American people), hasn’t been in many, many years.  It’s more like the jocks against the greasers, the Jets against the Sharks, the nerds against the pops, just a struggle for power.  They would rather bring each other down instead, taking us down with them. 

My, this has truly turned into my own dramatic tirade. I’m going to stop now.  Oh believe me there’s more.  But the post would probably be way too long. But in my defense if you asked me what I loved, it would take up volumes and volumes.

Gee, reading over my post above, it seems I hate politics.  And my friend, you would be right. 

RTT: Purge or Become a Collyer Situation*

My house is getting smaller and smaller.  Storage has become a big issue.  Beloved informed me yesterday that he decided he had to move back home as a base of operation. He was hoping to be in a new apartment by this time but needs a second job to accomplish this goal. For the last month he has been staying with friends while he searches.  Finally, the truth of what needs to be done has hit him. No more living in limbo.

Since he graduated, I have been purging, reorganizing, and making room for his belongings.  How do I fit an apartment’s worth of stuff in our little bungalow?  I put up three shelving units in the attic. Wow, look at all that floor space. Yessssss!  I bought eight 18-gallon bins, all still sitting in my living and dining rooms, ready to head up to the attic. So if the floor or ceiling depending on the way you look at it holds up, we might make it. 

I need one of those $19.95 television products, the one that sucks all the air out of a bag filled with comforters and throws making it a mere four inches thick.  I imagine a whole linen closet full of those bags. The only thing I’m worried about is if they get pierced or fail, will the resulting explosion destroy the closet?

Speaking of purging, why is it so hard?  Well I guess the word itself may hold a clue.  Throwing up one’s stuff, not pleasant.  My house was supposed to be a starter home.  I was looking forward to my dream home, with a fantastic kitchen, immense closets, and a family room that could accommodate big family gatherings.  Well, that’s been way out of reach for decades.   

The lovely gifts I’ve received over the years are wasting away in the attic.  Would I like to display the Peanuts’ Schroeder playing a Grand Piano with skating Snoopy on top? Damn straight.  Would I like to display my Christmas village with operating railroad?  You know it. Would I like to show off my Guy Noir bobble head? Yes, indeed-y. Would I like to display the exquisite Asian tea set that Queen Maker’s dad got in Okinawa? You betcha. These are possessions that I will never get rid of, yet will never see the light of day.  Sigh.

How about the one room I never, ever use.  I could make it into an office or my artist’s sanctuary.  I could get rid of the couch. No one sits on it.  I could get rid of the electronics. No one listens in there. I could get rid of the coffee table. No one takes coffee in there.  Would it be wrong for a home to be without a living room, especially when no one lives in it? Or is that taking purging a little too far?

RRT is getting huge. Check UnMom for more Random Thought Tuesdays.

*Collyer Situation

Dear Four and Five Year Olds

Visit 3 Bedroom Bungalow for more Dear So and So's. This is my first one.  

Dear four and five year olds,

Please refrain from calling my name 17 times in one minute.  Although my ability to hear three conversations at once is amazing, I can’t possible do five, six, or seven.  The cacophony of noise actually made my brain freeze.

Yours in hiding, Teach

Dear four and five year olds,

My bad. After my brain unfroze, I realized my mistake.  Please raise your hands if you want to talk to me.  Thanks.

Hopeful, Teach.

Dear four and five year olds,

I meant raise your hands and wait until I look at you before talking.  Thanks a heap.

Got it Now, Teach.

(With a deep breath and thinking, "How do real teachers do this?) 

Dearest four and five year-olds,

Again my apologies. Raise your hand and wait until I call your name before you start talking. 

Learning lessons, Teach

Dear four and five year olds,

Please don’t get angry because I call someone else’s name first. I’m sorry I didn’t get to you fast enough, no offense meant. That furrowed brow of yours is so deep I’m tempted to sow some seed.

Tired, Teach

Dear four and five year olds,

Mom and Dad are here to pick you up.  I will see you tomorrow.  It will be a different day I’m sure.  I will be better prepared, I promise.  I’ll figure it out. I’ll be going to bed early tonight, and for my sake, please do the same.

Lessons learned, Teach

Exciting News for Crazy People

While visiting some of my favorite blogs, Sprite’s Keeper and historymike I found the word neuroses on both of their blogs.  When I visited Keely's blog UnMom, she had a link to something called, Emails from Crazy People. How timely.  My very next entry was about one of my many little crazy eccentricities - talking out loud to myself.   I often say things to myself like, “Well, that’s what you get for being so…” or  “You’re such an idiot!”  Now many folks might do this too, but I actually will answer myself.
  

“Well, that’s what you get for being so…”    “What, What, being so what? You don’t know what you are talking about!”   Or   “You’re such an idiot!”    “No, I’m not. You are!”

I will attribute this to the many years of conditioning, yelling, arguing, or telling secrets with my siblings and old friends.  Maybe I miss the tete-a-tete, or maybe I am just crazy.

How exciting for crazy people. At first I thought more and more of us were all coming out of the closet.  Based on anecdotal evidence the percentage of people talking to themselves in public seems to have risen significantly.  Now of course, I realize that it isn’t the crazies that are talking out loud, it’s the normals. 

A new technology has been introduced to the world that allows us to walk among the normals.  We no longer have to hide the fact that we talk to ourselves. Now I can go out in public and talk away to the many people residing in me.  I can have whole conversations or let my inner child playact, rehearsing imaginary dialogue out loud. I can gesticulate all I want, flailing my hands, pointing my finger to the sky to make a point.  In the ancient times, in the twentieth century, people usually crossed the street.

But now it a new millennium, it’s the twenty-first century and I’m giving a shout out to the inventor of the Bluetooth earpiece. Now everyone sounds and acts crazy.  While waiting in a line, for a split second I wonder if the person behind me is speaking to me. With a sideways glance I realize, “Ooooh, the person is on the phone,” which seems sane enough for some reason, even though they are staring out into space having what seems an imaginary argument with someone.  My fears of standing next to a weirdo subside and the person will segue from the “possibly insane category” into “just really annoying category.” Yes, even crazy people are scared of other crazy people.

My route to work goes through the middle of a park. I’m used to seeing dozens of people walking or running on the walkway along the rode every day.  But yesterday I noticed that some of the walkers are doing something bizarre.  They are waving their hands and talking loudly to someone.  What used to be a contemplative time has become “crazy person walking!”  Honey, look at that woman.  What is she doing?  Poor thing. Why isn’t anyone with her? Ooooh, she’s on the phone. She seemed crazy a second ago.  And that’s when the light in my head went off. 

Now it is relatively easy to talk out loud whenever I want. So whenever someone looks up with a queer look on his or her face or when a whole room becomes silent because I made the mistake of saying something out loud, I can point to the cell phone and say, “Oh sorry, I’m on the phone.”  (I really don’t have a cell phone. I just pretend I’m holding one. With my long wavy hair, no one can tell the difference.) They look so relieved, give me a little smile and nod their heads knowingly. Their world is right again.

So crazy people go right out and buy an earpiece for your phone. Wear it all the time.  Or get the earpiece and don’t bother getting the phone. Go take a walk in the park, to the store, or even up and down your street. Talk loud, wave your hands about, and tell yourself some stories. If someone spots you, point to your earpiece and smile. You will fit right in because you can now hide among like things. Crazy no more. Priceless.

“That was a dumb post.”  “So what, you didn’t even try to come up with anything better.”

Silly Me. What Middle Aged Tween Years?

For the last two years, I have been grappling with the Mom Missing It stage and finally started embracing my Middle Age Tweeness, you know, between mom and grandma. I am only fifty years old after all and still young enough to enjoy many new things. I was looking forward to a carefree, rediscovery of myself. I thought I had all the time to pamper myself, renew old hobbies, rejuvenate connections with friends and sisters, and throw in a little travel. How naïve am I?

Little red warning signs started popping up. The first flag appeared about six months ago, nothing to really get worried about, just a sign of things to come years in the future. Or so I thought. But now they appear monthly. Although my role of Mom is on hold or on permanent hiatus, and my role of grandmother doesn’t seem to be coming around anytime soon, I still have one role that I had been taking for granted lately, a role that seemed fairly carefree and easy thus far, the role of daughter.

I’m finding out that the Tween years also means between children and parents. My parents are 78 and 80 years old and are still independent. They were always highly active people and are just now slowing down. They try to avoid driving at night and mom is showing signs of real fatigue because of her asthma. Luckily there are five children in our family, so we share in keeping them occupied and entertained.

Queen Maker’s 75-year-old mom has COPD, and her husband is 71 years of age. Both have been inactive for years becoming feeble fast and increasingly need of help in running a household. Last week, my mother-in-law ran into the lid of the dishwasher when she was loading it. It tore a huge gash in her leg. Because of the steroids and medications she takes for her condition, her skin has become very thin. It doesn’t take much for her to sustain a wound and unfortunately her wounds are always major ones now.

Her husband called us in a panic around nine o’clock in the evening. He couldn’t help her to the chair or to the car to take her to the hospital. Queen Maker told him to call 911. But hearing the panic in his voice, we drove the hour to get to them, fretting the whole way. She managed to stop the bleeding, and they were debating and unsure on whether to sit three to four hours in an emergency room and asked us to make the decision for them. I looked closely at her leg and realized I was looking at fat cells and muscle. No question we should go.

Before making the trip to the hospital she needed to refill her portable oxygen tank. It of course decided not to function. Taking her without her oxygen was out of the question. The alternative was to call an ambulance, but then afterwards, how would she get home without her tank. She was adamant that she couldn’t go without her oxygen; that sitting in an emergency room for hours was stupid and besides the bleeding had stopped. Then she realized that she couldn’t sit with a lot of sick people because of her COPD. She was in full panic attack mode.

It is now eleven o’clock and ignoring their protests (they hate to bother anyone), I immediately call the oxygen company. I got a human being. Amazing. She connected me to a tech in the field. Hope. Ignoring their protests, I call her doctor’s office and found out the office was open the next day, Saturday, for emergency care only. Great. So the decision was made. The tech would bring a machine in the morning (or I would hunt him down like a dog) and my in laws would go to her doctor’s office in the morning instead. I bandaged her leg to cover the wound, keeping my worries about infection to myself.

Because I was so worried, I chastised them. First, I told them, they needed to create a larger support group. They may need the immediate help of neighbors, especially if my father in law can’t help his wife off the floor. In a real emergency, swallow your pride and enlist the help of neighbors if need be. Secondly, my father in law’s daughter lives much closer than we do and works at Beaumont Hospital. Although their relationship is not as close, it was no excuse. Make her part of your support team. It would make driving that hour less stressful. Thirdly, I looked at my father in law, who lately is refusing to exercise, or walk, or do anything to keep his vitality, most likely due to depression over the deteriorating health of his wife, and told him, “Exercise.” He should at least maintain his strength to be able to help her the two feet to a chair for goodness sake! He was their first line of defense and he should be ready for it.

This event shook me to the core. My eyes have been opened. I saw what old age was going to be. It could be like my parents or like my husband’s parents and it was only a mere twenty years away. I am guilty of inactivity, of laziness, of constantly saying I was going to do something about maintaining my own strength. This has motivated me to start core strength training now.

I also realized that my time as a Middle Aged Tween was highly limited. I was fantasizing about all the time I had. How silly. Life’s reality has a way of pushing fantasy back to where it belongs. I see it coming. In the near future, I will be devoted in maintaining and caring for our parents’ home and health and eventually taking care of them full time. Actually for some people there are no Tween years, just moving from children that need you to parents that need you.

I got a big reality check, but I will endeavor to enjoy my teeny, weenie, Tween year as long as it lasts.

Spin Cycle - Embracing the Motto

This too shall pass.

I’m really big in keeping balance in my life these days and this motto alone can keep me centered.

This too shall pass was a phrase that was supposed to help a person through many turbulent times. My mom used to pat me on the head and say, “Don’t worry sweetie, it won’t last forever.”

It’s gotten me through pubescence, gym class, arguments, the depressions, the job I hated, the terrible twos, the vomit in my hair, the sleepless nights, the sickly parents, the funerals, the hospital visits, the tumultuous teen years, Beloved’s girlfriends, the lost jobs, my broken toes, and the downward spiral of my 401K.

This too shall pass allows me to look to the future with hope and understanding, mostly hope.

This motto rings true for both misery and happiness. When you realize that all that you know to be beautiful, the things that bring you happiness and joy may also pass away, you begin to live in the moment. I look at things with new eyes. Clarity of what is important in life finally permeates the thorny thicket in my head. I understand that knowing that “This too shall pass,” is a means to cherish without smothering, to hold on without squeezing tight.

Instead of bemoaning my losses or feeling cheated of happiness, instead of feeling the hole, I am able to appreciate the happiness and joy I was given and still hold it in my heart. You can enjoy, and want, and care but still feel inner peace to let it go later without reservation.

Sister After Me, always into self-help and uplifting literature, her favorite saying is, “Ellie, maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be.

Middle Sister always had three snappy mottos she used whenever someone tried to make her feel bad or when bad things happened. The first was “So what?” The second one was “I don’t care.” The third was, “Oh well.”

Only Brother’s saying was “Don’t sweat it.”

And Little Sister’s saying was “Bite me.”

Visit Sprite Keeper for more motto reading.

How Yah Gonna Keep "Em Down on the Farm...?

My college student, Beloved, just returned to the nest. He's distraught over the situation. Secretly, I'm cheering. I called Middle Sister a few weeks back and gave her the news, "Beloved is moving back home, temporarily." Her happiness for me was emphasized beautifully by saying, "Yaaaahooooo, Alleluia! I'm so happy for you. This is sooo exciting." I really appreciated the glee, the yelp for joy, the acknowledgment of the truth. I thanked her for saying aloud what I was feeling. "I'm keeping my emotions on the down low," I told her.

Ex-college student thinks moving back home is a step backward. Mr. Maturity, I've Got It All Together, had no choice but to move back home. For his sake I'm feeling sorry for his plight. He wants desperately to be independent, not to be a financial burden, and to stand on his own feet. Plus QueenMaker pointed out that coming home squelches particular social gatherings, ahem, to which Beloved had become accustomed. O00000h, I'm so dumb sometimes.

I've dismantled the sewing, craft, and projects room formally known as Beloved's Room to make room for his things, thus becoming Beloved's Room once again, temporarily. My house is a wreck with boxes piled high. I'm still trying to find room for it all.

Then there's QueenMaker. I didn't ask how he felt about our newly evolving "alpha male" offspring returning to his domain. But the look in his eyes tells me that he is as happy about the outcome as I am. At least temporarily.

I don't ask Beloved when will he come home, or whether he will come home, or if he will be home for dinner. I don't want to fall into that trap of parenting when it is no longer required or desired. We recognize that his autonomy is paramount. It maintains a balance in his life and in ours.

He still works in Ann Arbor, so he stays there with friends four days of the week. So QueenMaker and I still have the alone time that we have learned to relish. We are just as grateful that our kid is with us a few days and a few hours more each week for a little while longer, temporarily.