tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251386812024-03-06T19:52:20.877-08:00just sayin'annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.comBlogger200125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-4500742804181909352010-07-14T12:19:00.000-07:002010-07-14T12:19:50.033-07:00PeaceSo far, knock on wood, lovely peaceful summer. Our yard is so pretty this year, flowers and trees and birds all over the place. Bill and I haven't had a knock-down, drag-out for awhile. A veritable eternity for us. Our kids are in a relatively good place; things are okay.<br />
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I'm horribly busy with work and trying to keep the house and maintain relationships with friends and kids and husband. Thank God for my Blackberry because that's my main computer these days. I can blog and chew somebody out while waiting for the dentist!<br />
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I know this will pass, this peaceful period. Because life turns on a dime. The good news is that inevitable hard time will also pass. And thank God, as I'm getting older, it passes pretty quickly. <br />
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Today is my oldest child's birthday. He would be 39---technically speaking, I could be a great-grandmother! He was the sweetest smartest child I've ever known. Too good for the likes of me. James' birthday was July 9---he'd be 37. His friends all have families, careers, and are so kind to me. I miss them so.<br />
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Which makes the quick passing of time a blessing---I cannot wait to see them again.annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-54524795141297158892010-06-09T07:43:00.000-07:002010-06-09T07:43:38.381-07:00This Too Shall PassI've been fighting with people on four different fronts of my life and found that it removes the spirit. I've felt anxiety, unease and despair. My daughter-in-law, true to form, did something I disapprove of and once again, brought chaos into my life. I've spent the better part of the last 8 months trying to force her to live according to my standards and it's sapped me emotionally and physically. <br />
<br />
An old friend, who works at the bank, offended me. Bill and I argued. The downward spiral continued with an unexpected and vicious attack on facebook from a nephew who's been apparently nursing resentments from his mother's death. (I don't know why my family thinks I'm the responsible person, my sister got really mad at me when my other sister's daughter died and I didn't call her first---she's not mad at our other sister or anybody else in the family, just me.) <br />
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I used to jump right in on these types of battles, but anymore, they just wear me out. I defended myself to my nephew; disassociated myself from my daughter-in-law, first attempting to take responsibility for my part in the debacle, made an unsuccessful attempt to reconcile with my granddaughter, who got caught in the crossfire; voiced my objection in the way a bank transaction was handled, but I felt no peace.<br />
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Finally, I had a good 10 hour cry and dang, I feel a little better this morning. But let me tell you, contention is a soul killer. I'm not at peace, but I'm not in that dark place I was a couple of days ago.<br />
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I feel like a failure in life. All the things that were important to me, the goals I was committed to, have turned out wrong. I made serving others the focus of my life, but actually, I think it was about controlling others and forcing them to be what I thought they should be. I've worked for years on this tendency in Al-Anon and have made minimal progress. <br />
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But, increasingly, I'm learning that human contact is the most disagreeable thing I do every day. So, now I'm making Bill and his ex-wife deal with this daughter-in-law (Bill's already frustrated, but I do not care. It's their turn). My nephew, I just have to turn over to God. My friend at the bank? Well, lesson learned. Changing accounts as soon as it's possible. <br />
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The older I get, the less sure I am of anything. But I have learned that bad times don't last. Nor good. Might as well please myself in the meantime. annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-32894670722388481722010-06-02T09:50:00.000-07:002010-06-02T09:50:08.001-07:00Welcome SpringIt's an absolutely beautiful day today. We've had the coldest spring I can remember (although I remember it snowed once the end of June here in southern Utah). But today is perfect. Bill has planted flowers all over the place and our trees are brimming with birds--I saw a butterfly out my kitchen window yesterday!<br />
<br />
Bill and I haven't had a screaming ugly fight in oh, months. He gets the credit more than I because he's changed. He doesn't yell at me much anymore. He doesn't get that upset. I think part of that is because we have separate checkbooks and I pay for my own excesses. So we don't fight about money. I've just noticed that when I ask him for money (boy that took a long time, I wasn't going to take anything from him at first!) he just gives it to me. <br />
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Our grandson, Maxwell, is here to help Grandpa plant the garden and they're going fishing this afternoon. Bill is a much better grandfather than he was a father. When we first married, he was obsessed with his hobbies and disinterested in the kids to a large extent. Except to yell at them and make them clean up their spilled milk. I think, too, he was exhausted, coming from the divorce a few years earlier and having to be a Mr. Mom. Wouldn't all the single moms in the world have loved a wife like I was at first, adoring, waited on him, trying to please him with my every move?<br />
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Boy, that girl is long gone :)! <br />
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I'm wondering now if a lot of what we've gone through the last 5 years, aside from my former best friend's son's conviction for sexual molestion and the devastation that caused, has been the result of an empty nest and my horrible perimenopause. You know, doctors threw lamictal, lithium, and abilify at me like M&M's and diagnosed me with a lot of major psychotic illnesses. Which the trip to that clinic in California ruled out.<br />
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Girls, before you check yourself into the psych unit, consider estrogen, the wonder drug.<br />
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I worked last night and work again today, so I'm taking it slow and easy with Bill (off today) bustling circles around me. annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-62450616459378843062010-05-31T23:48:00.000-07:002010-05-31T23:48:10.952-07:00Long time no seeI haven't been up this late on my computer since I started working customer care for ATT. That's a year and a half ago. I don't even know what possessed me. I think it's because my fellow bloggers at Mormon Mentality have started doing some interesting stuff. And I'm feeling better. Vitamin D & estrogen, the wonder drug.<br />
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Something somebody wrote at BCC referring to Banner of Heaven has made me wonder about blogging. They depended on that blog for moral support through a tough time. I pretty much stopped blogging when I left Bill. I didn't have it in me.<br />
<br />
I'm not wondering if blogging is a tool of the devil, it's made me ponder about the good blogging can do for people. Tracy's honesty regarding her divorce has given me immense moral support---just that I'm a "normal" person. Others as well. <br />
<br />
Just thinking about it.annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-56011134473627742272010-04-29T08:28:00.000-07:002010-04-29T08:28:40.431-07:00Vitamin DSo I've gone downhill again, weak, achy, etc. Same old, same old. This time I went to my dr. and insisted he test me for everything possible. I want to have some kind of numbers to balance against when I'm REALLY sick and times when I feel pretty good. Plus I thought I had MS, which it turns out I don't. But I do have a severe vitamin D deficiency. I've been studying up on it and it looks like a lot of people are deficient, especially in the winter, and it can cause a lot of things. Like the symptoms I'm having. So I'm gulping down the pills and today I don't feel so much pain. I guess I'm giving up cheetios, 7up & milky ways bars as my primary source of nutrition.annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-69959095136070189252010-04-07T11:29:00.000-07:002010-04-07T11:29:32.714-07:00Reality TVI used to love American Idol, but the last two seasons the candidates have been so mediocre. This season, the only one I feel good about is Crystal Bowersox. Which, she does make the show worth watching.<br />
<br />
Dancing With The Stars is interesting this time around. Pam Anderson is a pretty good dang dancer! But you know, Kate Gosselin, she just totally sucks. She sucks so bad that I tried to vote for her last week out of pity (forgot I don't have ATT). This week she sucked even worse and I think she deserves to be slapped really hard. She has no rhythm, no sense of humor, gag a maggot. She said she wanted to stay on the show till she learned what she needed to learn and I want to say, "honey, you need to learn to dance!"<br />
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Buzz Aldrin, well, that's just sad. I did wonder how he and his wife got all the money to afford all that really awful plastic surgery. No aging with grace there.annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-68977803190962441712010-03-04T10:26:00.000-08:002010-03-04T10:26:32.549-08:00Snowy DayBoy, it's a blizzard out here. I might have to have Bill pick me up from work--don't know if I want to risk driving home at midnight in this weather in my car. <br />
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I have four extra minutes today. I work and sleep. In my "spare" time, I try to keep up with the laundry and eat. Life is going way too fast.<br />
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I've decided to treat Bill as if he has dementia, which I think he has. I'm reminding myself to be very patient with him and treat him like a little old man. It seems to be effective. :)annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-10826442609864491082010-02-14T10:26:00.000-08:002010-02-14T10:26:07.856-08:00Conversation with BillBill: "Our dogs are barking at the neighbors' dogs."<br />
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Me: "Will you put our dogs in the house?"<br />
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Bill: "But didn't you want this to air dry?"<br />
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Me: Looking at him like he's crazy<br />
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He can't hear. He thought I said something about the dishwasher.annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-89444479255158826302010-02-12T12:51:00.000-08:002010-02-12T12:51:13.509-08:00Best Chicken EverTake some boneless skinless chicken breasts. Cut them up however you want for serving. Dip them in beaten egg and then in ITALIAN (this is important) seasoned bread crumbs and brown them in oil I prefer regular corn or the dangerous kind of oil, not olive oil, but olive oil works too.<br />
<br />
After they're all browned and cooked through, take a cube of butter and melt it in a saucepan, add 1-2 cloves minced garlic, 1 can (1/2 quart jar) cooked tomatoes, 1/2 teaspoon basil, and 1 cup white cooking wine. I use the cheap kind.<br />
<br />
Pour this over the chicken in the frying pan and just simmer it for maybe 15 minutes or however long you want. At least 15 minutes.<br />
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I've served this with potatoes or pasta and you will not believe how good the flavor is. It looks like a company dinner, but it's so easy and tastes dee-lishus!annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-47729949086738463342010-02-09T09:24:00.000-08:002010-02-09T09:24:08.787-08:00Shock of My LifeI told Bill I spent too much money because I'm helping to pay for Rowan to take dance AND I bought 3 new books (I had to, I just had to) and he didn't yell at me. I'm in treatment for severe shock.annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-15597381904359073492010-01-28T10:18:00.000-08:002010-01-28T10:18:03.917-08:00I love TVI don't even feel guilty about it. For me, it's one of the great pleasures of life. My favorite shows this season are (in order of favoritism) 1. Men of a Certain Age---Ray Romano is really talented! I thought "Everybody Loves Raymond" was just an extension of his life and personality, but in this other show, he shows his range. Wonderful show. I hate when that hour comes to an end. 2. Modern Family--laugh out loud funny in so many ways. I think my favorite character is the ditzy dad. He's kind of me. 3. The Good Wife---I didn't care for Juliana Marguiles in "ER" but I love her in this show.<br />
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I've gotten hooked on "I Survived" and the stories of how people survive being attacked or in wrecks in gullies for days.<br />
<br />
And now, American Idol's come around again! I love Ellen DeGeneres and I'm looking forward to watching the show with her as a judge. I will miss Simon Cowell, diva that he is, because he has the guts to tell it like it is and some of those people need to hear it like it is. I'd be harder, sometimes.<br />
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And I'm immensely grateful to Direct TV for my DVR because with my schedule, I'd miss all these great shows. Woo-hoo for TV!annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-11634237511204055512010-01-26T10:15:00.001-08:002010-01-26T10:15:30.634-08:00Power of the PriesthoodGot a blessing last night. Feel better. I'm a believer. annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-56207633278169916712010-01-25T08:47:00.000-08:002010-01-25T08:47:28.373-08:00Family Medical Leave ActThank God for it. And thank God for God, because I'm sure he inspired me to apply last month for intermittent FMLA. I'd had to go home a couple of times with vertigo attacks, which cost me points. Now. We don't get sick leave. If we are sick and miss work, we have to go to a dr. and get a note and bring that to avoid points.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2dIddEGYw-YtVe2AAee7y1M1dyLBiCnO83C08jqKsFHvk9CLDpsl7gzmIEAiQcpB9mugeuOggENZKSo84ViN-cgWYpGzk3F4q6_kZVMf5t_t1B7eI3PbxTNG555tzks6_P4Xx/s1600-h/j0396183.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2dIddEGYw-YtVe2AAee7y1M1dyLBiCnO83C08jqKsFHvk9CLDpsl7gzmIEAiQcpB9mugeuOggENZKSo84ViN-cgWYpGzk3F4q6_kZVMf5t_t1B7eI3PbxTNG555tzks6_P4Xx/s320/j0396183.jpg" /></a>o, you miss work, you are out the $80 for that day; AND you have to pay a dr. $50 (+ or -) so you aren't docked "points" which can lead to firing. You re allowed 11 points before they fire you. It's really unfair. <br />
</div><br />
You could throw up on your computer, pass out and have to be carried out in a stretcher, be life-flighted to a major city and still be docked points if you don't have a doctor's note.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I was inspired to file for the FMLA deal. I filed under three illnesses--the vertigo, diverticulitis, AND chronic fatigue/epstein barr/fibromyalgia. My dr. seemed to be embarrassed for me on the third thing, the epstein barr. I said, "Doc, I know for many people (including that insult to humanity, Dean Edell)this is equivalent to saying I was abducted by aliens, but there is clinical documentation for this and we both know it.").<br />
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It was approved! All of it. And, Murphy's Law being what it is, I got sick immediately. I missed a week of work. I couldn't think straight, I had terrible vertigo and pain, I was so weak in my hands I kept dropping things. I'm wondering now if I have MS, which I've long known I was at risk for, because another of my symptoms is my feet have gone to sleep. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">That is all beside the point. I didn't have to go to a dr. for permission to be sick! (Although I did, of course, and have an appt with a neurologist next month--I hate neurologists, urologists, and orthopedic surgeons---oh and psychiatrists, too. they think their butts are made out of gold and I haven't met a one that was a decent human being. But necessity will force me to go to this woman for whom a smile is unprofessional. I actually wrote her a letter years ago about this, but I've heard she didn't take it to heart and is still cold as hell). No points for me! No questions asked. <br />
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</div>And that is from God, because this can't be coincidental. Family. Medical. Leave. Act. Remember those words. It's the law. annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-36821232573546179482010-01-13T11:09:00.000-08:002010-01-13T11:09:54.895-08:00Grateful because.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzRWf6pTjSrppL9V9T0o1PYFc8DT81LXJ8zVfhyphenhyphenwXlkCIm17joFA1h49pLwMDhGV_FDwsHqDMRS8gT_htxohYq2NkLmyTuuuO3My2EGhu8Pc04M_v-pLGIP3-ebksi4vN-dCS9/s1600-h/j0390513.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzRWf6pTjSrppL9V9T0o1PYFc8DT81LXJ8zVfhyphenhyphenwXlkCIm17joFA1h49pLwMDhGV_FDwsHqDMRS8gT_htxohYq2NkLmyTuuuO3My2EGhu8Pc04M_v-pLGIP3-ebksi4vN-dCS9/s320/j0390513.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>I had a bit of energy today and....I've colored my eyebrows! woo-hoo! This has been a problematic issue for me because I only do it when I get my hair colored, which I can only afford every other month and my eyebrows are growing in white and the color doesn't last that long. Now, I can do it myself. I will look like 50 instead of 70. I might even try coloring my regrowth myself. But I'm pretty sure my BFF hairdresser Amy would kill me if I botched it. She's barely speaking to me after I cut chunks that were sticking out last time because I delayed the haircut.<br />
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Also, the dog is bouncing off the walls. I saved that dog's life. The vitamin K made him throw up and we were tempting him with chamomille tea, chicken noodle soup, soft scrambled eggs, he got spoiled, actually. But he counldn't keep it down. I had the thought it was the vitamin and we took it off him, and off food for most of day, then began giving him soda crackers, which he nibbled gingerly. And kept down. <br />
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Life is good.annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-29337120427658355792010-01-11T10:57:00.000-08:002010-01-11T10:58:14.004-08:00Counting BlessingsI'm making an effort, not a resolution, to be more positive this year. Since I'm apparently not dying, I must find a way to choose life. This is a small step.<br />
<br />
We had a lovely Christmas and the tree's put away, thank heaven. The living room looks so much larger!<br />
<br />
1. I applied for, and received an approval of, FMLA at my job. Which will permit me to take time off when I'm sich without penalty. The fact that it was approved on the basis of chronic fatigue, among other illnesses, is a small miracle in itself. <br />
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2. I love my job! And as of this minute, I'm still employed. Although still not the best at it, technically, I would bet most of my customers would say I'm the best agent they dealt with.<br />
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3. My husband is looking better and better to me all the time. Perhaps I'm coming out of my midlife crisis, menopause, empty nest meltdown. A bit. We are both working on giving to each other and finding those times when it's just us at home a peaceful joy. We're bending. He doesn't nag as much about my ever-present clutter; I allow him to fuss. He brings me the paper every morning; I acknowledge and provide for, to the best of my ability, his need for meat and potatoes, every single meal!<br />
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4. My dog is alive. After he ate a whole box of D Con, which was kept under the sink, behind the garbage can, surrounded by a large fire extinguisher and gallon jugs of distilled water, which had a child-proof lock! D Con must smell really really good. I was home sick from work or he'd be dead. And I got up at just the moment he finished the box. He looked so guilty because he knows he's not supposed to get in the garbage. I now know what it's like to be a vet, on a limited basis, because I, at the vet's orders, poured hydrogen peroxide down that dog's throat with a syringe and made him throw up the poison into the bathtub. I was throwing up myself. Sitting there in my nightgown, Bill gone to a scout meeting, making my Jack Russell puppy throw up. He's traumatized (he's the only quiet, frail, sensitive Jack Russell on the planet) and sickly and looks at me with those huge sad brown eyes, but he's alive. That was a grace of God thing.<br />
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Bill so loves that sweet little dog, it would have broken his heart---and mine---if he'd died. So now we're leaving soda pop and dried potatoes on the counter for the mice, per searching the internet for alternatives. How the hell he got that D Con just blows our minds. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMKsZ5-Xshe9iqgI4MRjI3mzCwD6PMqIlbUi30zJw12IBnso1Kl6Ex8RSLhC_08R8dP7i9DqoCTWlCd6lhc3I5gGrX7kqPwhxJHXfQOG3xujQ817-cr4mAbM3EkNYliRc9YxZz/s1600-h/j0442224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMKsZ5-Xshe9iqgI4MRjI3mzCwD6PMqIlbUi30zJw12IBnso1Kl6Ex8RSLhC_08R8dP7i9DqoCTWlCd6lhc3I5gGrX7kqPwhxJHXfQOG3xujQ817-cr4mAbM3EkNYliRc9YxZz/s320/j0442224.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>And that's the good news for today. annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-8495582797614140212009-11-24T12:49:00.001-08:002009-11-24T12:49:13.029-08:00HaitusI'm taking a holiday for the holidays :); be back next year !annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-1816309735056855562009-11-12T08:40:00.000-08:002009-11-12T08:40:18.339-08:00Observations on LifeI'm sick again, I'm assuming mono, but my dr. won't let me get tested because it always shows that I've had an infection. I don't know when he became all born again about lab tests. I had a colonoscopy on the heels of a diverticulitis attack and now I'm limping around feeling crappy. Story of my life. Discouraging to the max.<br />
<br />
But I'm still going to work and last night, I was listening to a conversation a couple of other agents were having. This guy was telling his friend about his medical symptoms and how he manages his illness. I only heard a bit of the conversation, but it struck me how call center agents are so much alike in temperament. <br />
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Seriously, a lot of us are sickly and we love to talk about our symptoms. We listen to others talk about their symptoms, with interest and concern. Other ways we're alike: we're all readers. You walk into the break room at lunch time and there are a bunch of agents, eating their healthy food lunches (seriously, you wouldn't believe the salads and carefully prepared meals!) with their noses in a book. Always, always, of course, people are on their cell phones, checking in with kids and spouses and texting busily. So, we also are great multi-taskers. I'd bet many of us are ADD. <br />
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I'm always amazed when I meet another agent and we start talking, at the similarities in our personalities. Very few dummies in our crowd, they get weeded out right away. If you can't cut it, you don't last. That being said, I'm always worried I'll walk in and be fired, but you know what I mean.<br />
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So, next time you call customer care for your cell phone, know that the person you're speaking with is probably 1. a reader with a very good awareness of the world 2. sickly in some chronic way, diabetes, chronic fatigue, heart trouble, etc., 3. doing 3 things at once, not including TALKING TO YOU! 4. concerned about others, I forgot to put that. We're givers, servers, for the most part. Many of my co-workers volunteer in the community or give back, even when they have very little to give.<br />
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Once again, I encourage you to see the people around you, really see them. If you can make a human connection with that faceless voice when you call in upset and angry or stymied, you're going to get a lot better service. We're always encouraged to do that with our customers and almost all of us do---of course, it's something I'm a genius at---well, not a genius, gifted from God. But not too many of us go in to work every day with an apathetic attitude toward our fellow man. <br />
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Just think about it.annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-4931567543622280762009-10-29T09:13:00.000-07:002009-10-29T09:13:34.215-07:00GraduationBrad will be graduating from Marine Corps boot camp tomorrow. He'll be home ten days, then leave for two months. By the time they have their one year anniversary, they'll have lived together for 6 months. It will sure be glad to see him. I'm so glad he made it :)annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-12361682153516236162009-10-27T08:32:00.000-07:002009-10-27T08:32:21.234-07:00Scaring myselfI usually get off work around midnight. Well, between 10 pm and midnight. I drive home the back way and am usually the only car on a long dark road. I turn on talk radio and at that time of the night, they're talking about aliens and satanic stuff and ghosts. And I drive down the long dark road half scared to death, waiting for something to pop out at me on the road.<br />
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The few houses are dark; like I said, no other traffic. <br />
<br />
I can't believe I keep doing this. It's probably quicker to take the freeway. And safer. annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-17489088822577018892009-10-21T11:02:00.000-07:002009-10-21T11:02:19.081-07:00KindergartenI went to the school yesterday to help in my granddaughters' classrooms. Rowan is in 3rd grade. They talked about counting change; piece of cake. I could handle that.<br />
<br />
Then I went to Rhiannon's class. I was in charge of her center, helping her and other children write numbers. You know, it's very confusing to know what is the correct way to teach a child to write "2" and "5" not to mention, the teacher instructed me so quickly, I was a bit mystified about the graph the kids were supposed to fill in using dice. And Rhiannon wasn't having my help on this day. She kept mixing up 2 and 5 and arguing with me about it. As I looked around the room, another mother helped in one corner, the teacher was at a different table and at another table, kids had on earphones and were laughing and turning pages of a book quickly as chimes rang out. <br />
<br />
The teacher suddenly got up and turned on music and everybody seemed to know what to do except me. Rhiannon, age 5, knew where to put her things and exactly what to do. I was thinking, "what a good teacher to have taught them this routine so quickly."<br />
<br />
And I was also thinking "even Kindergarten's too complicated for me."annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-32882511095489814742009-10-18T09:28:00.000-07:002009-10-18T21:33:22.575-07:00FiredI worry about getting fired every day. Being fired would be one of the worst, most humiliating experiences I can imagine. Unthinkable, getting fired. I think it's my generation because a lot of the young people I work with talk about being fired in a rather blithe fashion.<br />
<br />
I worried about being fired all last year, too, when I worked at the school. Looking back, I realize I was the stupidest person there, totally unsuited for a job like that and my worry probably was well founded, although I managed not to be fired, but still.... I'm pretty sure I was on a chopping block and missed that bullet by an inch.<br />
<br />
At first, in this job, I worried I'd be fired for being too stupid. Totally daunting, being surrounded by young people for whom computer work was second nature and who knew so much already about cell phones. <br />
<br />
It's so easy to make mistakes in a job like this, where things change on a daily basis and it's impossible to memorize the information about the cell phone industry, to be technically adept at everything a customer could possibly call in about.<br />
<br />
I wish I could say I've made every mistake known to woman, but I'm sure I have millions more to make. When I do, I am filled with anxiety and it upsets my apple cart for days. The young people I work with don't worry about it at all.annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-72658267784760494792009-10-08T08:16:00.000-07:002009-10-08T08:18:03.305-07:00KimberlyYesterday I answered the door to a young black man selling some shampoo product door to door. He was kind and cheerful as I declined to purchase. I asked him "You're a member of a traveling sales crew?" When he answered positively, I commented, "It's a hard life you've chosen."<br />
<br />
He nodded, but remarked that he enjoyed the travel and meeting new people. These traveling sales crews are popping up all over the country and remind me of the gypsies of old. It is, indeed, a hard life, if you follow the news. I can't imagine why one would choose to live that way.<br />
<br />
My niece, Kimberly, has chosen that life. When she was 17, she disappeared for a year. We had her dead and buried, of course, it was just an awful experience. She was listing in a missing childrens' registry and her poster was up on the Wal-Mart bulletin board. Not a word from her for a year. Then she turned 18, and turned up out of the blue, with a boyfriend named Paul---or Mark---or David, last name Evans, or Piccini. We don't really know.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>No one liked her boyfriend and she didn't last very long staying with family. She said she'd been all over the country selling magazines door to door with the yo-yo boyfriend, who I despised on sight. She lived with her brothers for a few months, and they were so good with her, so eager to take care of her. But they threw the boyfriend out (she worked---he didn't) and she went with him. She became pregnant and they married. My sister, Dessie, adored that little girl, Sammy (Samantha). <br />
<br />
We couldn't find Kimberly to tell her that Dessie had died. Her husband had been arrested in Salt Lake City and while out on bail, had absconded, Kimberly and the baby in tow. She called two weeks after the funeral and Dessie's common-law husband, in a fit of bitterness, lashed out at her "your mother's dead and in the grave!" Kimberly hung up and we never found out where she was and we haven't heard from her since the end of April 2008. <br />
<br />
I worry so about that baby girl, Samantha, with the beast of a father and an obviously incapable mother. I worry that something will happen to Kimberly and Sammy will be in foster care, not knowing there's a family out there who loves her so much. Kimberly's two brothers, my nephews, would take such good care of that child and her mother. <br />
<br />
Kimberly's disappearance haunts me. So, when I saw that smiling young man, I asked him if he knew anyone named Kimberly with a baby girl, about two years old. No, he replied, he didn't. I asked him to wait a minute and quickly ran into my office and grabbed up a picture of myself that I'd run off to send to an old school friend---stupid, but I was in a hurry---and stapled a copy of the Irish blessing that I had on my desk and scribbled a note on the back. I gave it the salesman and asked him if he ever met her, to give him the picture and the poem and to tell him we missed her. He was kind and assented and also said he would mention her to everyone he met. <br />
<br />
I know, it stupid to think anything could come of it. I alternate between wanting to throttle this niece of mine and praying fervently for her return. I'm mad at God because He's messed up on following through on my instructions once again. Most of the time, He's good on the follow-through, but once in awhile, I'm left extremely frustrated, screaming out to Him in my mind. I don't understand what He thinks He's accomplishing by not returning this lost sheep to us.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, we pray. Here's a copy of the Irish blessing, one of my favorites, I had impressively printed cards, but gave them all away, so now I make my own.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-size: large;"><em><strong>Irish Blessing</strong></em></span><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCGT1rLKXmrpvW5PEOh4XVUYvECMLvNtFe99GjaH6wLwYAn9M_kCcLHuAShVQafo7lrCc9ZnWlpDVquknzeiY6YxA-ypQvqQiZG56WLAPCT0JOmprPUiwyWBtfi-79ZS0c2yJ/s1600-h/j0437826.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img $r="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCGT1rLKXmrpvW5PEOh4XVUYvECMLvNtFe99GjaH6wLwYAn9M_kCcLHuAShVQafo7lrCc9ZnWlpDVquknzeiY6YxA-ypQvqQiZG56WLAPCT0JOmprPUiwyWBtfi-79ZS0c2yJ/s200/j0437826.png" /></a><em><strong><span style="color: #38761d;">May the roads rise to meet you,</span></strong></em><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
<em><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"></span></strong></em><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em><strong><span style="color: #38761d;">May the winds </span></strong></em><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
<em><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"></span></strong></em><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em><strong><span style="color: #38761d;">be always at your back</span></strong></em><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><br />
</span><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong><em><span style="color: #38761d;">May the sun </span></em></strong><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #38761d;"></span></em></strong><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong><em><span style="color: #38761d;">shine warm upon your face;</span></em></strong><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #38761d;"></span></em></strong><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong><em><span style="color: #38761d;">The rains fall</span></em></strong><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #38761d;"></span></em></strong><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong><em><span style="color: #38761d;">Soft upon your fields,</span></em></strong><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #38761d;"></span></em></strong><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong><em><span style="color: #38761d;">And until we meet again,</span></em></strong><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #38761d;"></span></em></strong><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong><em><span style="color: #38761d;">May God hold you in</span></em></strong><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #38761d;"></span></em></strong><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><strong><em>the hollow of His hand</em></strong>…</span><br />
<strong></strong><br />
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<strong></strong></span><br />
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<strong></strong></span><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><br />
<strong></strong></span><br />
</div>annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-47853295091226909862009-10-07T08:56:00.000-07:002009-10-07T08:58:10.300-07:00Rascal, the dogWe got Rascal in 1996; he was the cutest puppy ever, a little white furball. We'd stopped in at a pet shop and there he was and Sarah cried the crocodile tears, and we had to buy him. The very next week the pet shop was raided and they found dead and dying dogs and very sick animals and the pet shop owner went to jail over it. As we walked out of the pet shop, Sarah carrying her new dog, she said "His name is Rascal."<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>That was pretty psychic because he was a rascal if ever there was one. He never comes when called, to this day. He ran away from me, he chewed up the house, he barks if a car drives down the street. Well, he used to, now he can't hear worth a darn, which has made our life quieter. He sure was a good watch dog, though.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">For all that, Rascal is a gentle soul. He's never aggressive with other dogs, he's very mentally healthy that way. He never bothered the cats and for all his barking, has never hinted at hurting a human. He's good with kids. My little granddaughter just loves to put the leash on him and he will gently follow her around, putting up with it. Once, when she was little and he'd had enough, he put his teeth on her arm. I saw it. He didn't bite, he didn't hurt her in any way. It was a slow, gentle act of discipline. It was like "My dear, I've had quite enough. Cease and desist." She screamed her head off, but her feelings were hurt, not her arm. <br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzO4nC734aE3T1k1PHoYRNI7K4uZ_lBLW94IrffSE6mcRWIiXsHeUsYAEPRrsaj1Tbhm4vh-lo5p93tTdNMOembVaBUTnrCK0avHe_pWyXi1UeSWoMA762uWsundxUpktMoZyM/s1600-h/Extra+grandma+161.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img $r="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzO4nC734aE3T1k1PHoYRNI7K4uZ_lBLW94IrffSE6mcRWIiXsHeUsYAEPRrsaj1Tbhm4vh-lo5p93tTdNMOembVaBUTnrCK0avHe_pWyXi1UeSWoMA762uWsundxUpktMoZyM/s320/Extra+grandma+161.jpg" /></a>Now, in his old age, he's my buddy. He follows me everywhere I go and sits with me till I go to the next room. When I'm really upset and crying----I cry very quietly, which may come as a surprise---he seems to know it and he stays glued to my side. <br />
</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">He's a lot slower now. We surprise him often; I've learned to touch him softly on his head when he's sleeping or he jumps all over the place. We have a Jack Russell puppy and sometimes Rascal has a hard time keeping up. He'll still "man up" though and they play tug of war and tag all over the house. Rascal just tires out quicker. He's on a special old dog diet.<br />
</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ1sHkHs_LfRyvrluYBCGco79IK5ZYOg5FzNSv-_cZosyRiM19O_atYp7YGpSYjTZ5MVpS2a9iWzxFn76drCsO4tKDHMv2LFUFoDAbMDnpf3uNKavL_sc40ISH-hTfLNRjmL7N/s1600-h/Extra+grandma+135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>It saddens us a bit, to see this spitfire dog who once ran circles around the kids in the neighborhood (so funny to watch them try to catch him---he can still cut a rug that way if he feels like it). We coddle him. We let him lie on the front porch in the sun---the other dogs are never allowed out of the fence. He's the grandpa we're taking care of in his old age. <br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">He was always Sarah's dog, although he bonded well with me because he had Parvoe when we got him and I nursed him with total loving care. His life has been a gift in our lives. Nothing like a good dog.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_8a9rGgCfTS9aFQlj3DSDtZQgDpN-eztEBrjKWhB3-HnX-EEDtm3ms2dSsDgQcFceOcRuHGg1DbDeL4BSwO3JIgzXA_yMX3obOp3GCLVf1DoJ8pL6q-Rg0QDPpJbrYlBNl7-/s1600-h/Extra+grandma+154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $r="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_8a9rGgCfTS9aFQlj3DSDtZQgDpN-eztEBrjKWhB3-HnX-EEDtm3ms2dSsDgQcFceOcRuHGg1DbDeL4BSwO3JIgzXA_yMX3obOp3GCLVf1DoJ8pL6q-Rg0QDPpJbrYlBNl7-/s200/Extra+grandma+154.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtScpoXvWZj0MvTB_A7EIJ5uFxnrva9whvq_EY_SPTjvjh-yo82GMP6RqdDRNcXK72IwBwskdd7ogO-O7NIOEWEsorq3eYEgKys1n3v1ZFyNR9A8UFPYGAm6xQfguPLlJwyO4w/s1600-h/Extra+grandma+156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $r="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtScpoXvWZj0MvTB_A7EIJ5uFxnrva9whvq_EY_SPTjvjh-yo82GMP6RqdDRNcXK72IwBwskdd7ogO-O7NIOEWEsorq3eYEgKys1n3v1ZFyNR9A8UFPYGAm6xQfguPLlJwyO4w/s320/Extra+grandma+156.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">They were all blissfully nappng. It didn't look very comfortable to me.</span><br />
</div>annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-31764564610197797882009-10-05T14:26:00.000-07:002009-10-07T08:07:02.074-07:00Hmmmm.....Is it possible for a person with MS and Lupus to live through an attack of Swine Flu and Whooping Cough? Wouldn't they be dead? Or in Intensive Care?annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25138681.post-44852645020098937252009-10-05T14:17:00.000-07:002009-10-05T14:25:04.201-07:00Stranger in a Strange Land<em><strong><span style="background-color: white;">I<span style="color: #0b5394;"> often feel like the character in Heinlein's novel (he was a human raised by Martians on Mars, who came to live on earth---I've read the book, but can't remember much about it except for his rather lost feeling); a stranger in an even stranger land. As I recall the book, he seemed more confused than rejected, but the title alone tells many stories. For many people.</span></span></strong></em><br />
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</span><br />
<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong></strong></span></em><br />
<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>I relate to that feeling of not belonging. I never felt like I belonged in my father's family; because I didn't meet most of them until I was 16. My mother's status as black sheep in her own family created a feeling of other-ness from my aunt and uncles and grandparents, although still, they were family. </strong></span></em><br />
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</span><br />
<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong></strong></span></em><br />
<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>Luckily, I had three little sisters and we formed a rather cohesive group---to this day. We went hungry and cold together, but we always had each other. For better or for worse, that is, because we bicker amongst ourselves with the best of them. That sister-hood, though, has been a source of strength and family to us and to our children to this day. </strong></span></em><br />
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</span><br />
<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong></strong></span></em><br />
<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>There was a fifth sister. Born third of us (actually the fourth of our mother's children, she'd been raped and impregnanted with a child when she was 18---the child, our brother, Larry, died 3 days after he was born from the pneumonia my mother developed during the pregnancy), our sister was born with the same birth defect that our mother had---a cleft palate sans the harelip. My mother had a sister who'd died as an infant from the same problem. My research leads me to believe this was the product of malnutrition in our mother and grandmother. </strong></span></em><br />
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</span><br />
<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong></strong></span></em><br />
<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>My mother had me in September 1952; another sister in May 1954; our middle child born July 1955; another sister was born August 1956 and the baby was born September 1958. Two later babies died. My father, as I have written, was a beast, and I can't imagine what my mother went through with three babies in three years, one with a birth defect necessitating hospital stays and time away from her other children. We were shuffled around quite a bit during that time. </strong></span></em><br />
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<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong></strong></span></em><br />
<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>This third sister lived with an older couple who had older children, the in-laws of our uncle, during a hospital stay and they fell in love with her. They begged my mother to give my sister to them and she did. Not without misgivings. I was adamantly opposed, but since I was 5, my vote didn't count for much.</strong></span></em><br />
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<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong></strong></span></em><br />
<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>It would seem like a Cinderella tale. Comfortable, stable, mature couple adopts child from poverty-stricken home of ignorance. It certainly seemed like that to me when we visited her. She had a bike! and her own room with Barbies! I wished they would adopt me, too. </strong></span></em><br />
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</span><br />
<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong></strong></span></em><br />
<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>But at the time, only she and the people adopting her were happy. This picture tells the tale, I think. Her new parents brought us pencil boxes. They were lovely, kind, generous people, decent to my mother till their deaths. But you know, I felt like I was being bought off with that pencil box. I was not a happy camper. Look hard at my face.</strong></span></em><br />
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<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong></strong></span></em><br />
<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>Ultimately, there was no happier ever after for this little sister of mine. Ultimately, she didn't belong anywhere. I know she loved and was loved by the people who adopted her. But it seemed like she was alone. I think she was alone at school. Kids are mean to those who are different. </strong></span></em><br />
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<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>Had she stayed with us, certainly she would have suffered hunger and cold and that awful white trash stamp put on us wherever we happened to land. She would have never had a bike. She would have never had that cute little room at the top of the stairs----she would have had a spot in the double bed where we all slept in home after home after dumpy home---often with outdoor toilets and no electricity. The kids would have still been mean. They were mean to us just because we existed. She would have had it worse.</strong></span></em><br />
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<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>But----she would have had us. I held on to my sisters tighter than any mother held her children. We would have fought for---and with her. She would have had best friends. No doubt Chris probably would have beat her up a time or two and I would have bossed her unbearably and drug her sorry little butt to whatever church was around. We would have curled up together in the closet when we were afraid and told each other stories and played with each other at recess. </strong></span></em><br />
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<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>Now, there is no relationship. She is bitter and angry. Through the years, I tried to make a relationship with her, but my other sisters weren't very interested. Mistakes were made on both sides. She has chosen to distance herself from her adoptive family, to a large extent and there are frequent temper tantrums and constant blaming and re-hashing of old wounds. </strong></span></em><br />
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<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>She posted some ugly comments here last week. Her hatred and vitriole are coming from a place of deep pain and that feeling of not belonging. She has chosen to turn her children against me as well. Truly, I feel this is unwarranted. My sin? I forgot to call her immediately when my niece died. Had there been a relationship between her and my other sister, of course, there would have been no oversight. But she hadn't seen this niece since she was a baby---25 years at least. She'd never made an attempt to have a relationship with this girl. I would bet before she got the call that she'd died, she didn't even remember her name, nor can she name any of my sisters' children now. Her last interaction with Annie was when she called Annie out of the blue 8 years ago to yell at her for not taking care of our mother. Our mother, who she despised and never wanted anything to do with. She never forgave our mother for giving her up for adoption.</strong></span></em><br />
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<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>I did forget to call her. Totally. I know what it's like to be on the receiving end of that kind of oversight. It happens all the time with my father's family. It stings, but I don't lash out. I never have. I send flowers when I hear of a death and celebrate and we will talk every few years, long, loud "catch-ups" with cousins I didn't know existed until my father died. It's okay really. It's life.</strong></span></em><br />
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<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>On the other hand, I've called her other times. When Dessie died, I called. She called me, too, a couple of times, but Dessie's death meant nothing to her. Our mother, the same. Why would I think she would mourn---grieve the death of a girl she never knew?</strong></span></em><br />
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<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>Which is rhetorical, because she's not mourning. She's been yet again left alone, forgotten and reminded that she doesn't feel like she belongs anywhere. And she's lashing out at the person, perhaps, she feels safest doing so with---is that a dangling participle? </strong></span></em><br />
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<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>I have Chris, and Dessie, and Annie. My other sister, she doesn't have them. And I will mourn that till the day I die. I couldn't make them care about her and I couldn't make her care about them. I could never get past the walls to establish a real relationship with her kids. So they won't know that their other aunts are dames---broads--in the truest sense of the words. They will knock you down and then pick you up and give your kids a bath and feed them all the while telling the funniest jokes. </strong></span></em><br />
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<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>She won't be allowed to post here again. It's funny how people drop you and won't leave you alone. I've gotten a vicious note on Facebook from her daughter. I haven't responded till now . I don't think anyone else in the family has received this treatment, but then again, who knows? </strong></span></em><br />
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<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>Just a heads up if you see anybody bashing me elsewhere. It will be poorly written and spelled, and filled with hatred. That's how you'll know. </strong></span></em><br />
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<em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><strong>I was thinking the other day that it's not the people with high self esteem---even hubris, or conceit----who do the most damage. It's those who are convinced somewhere inside themselves that they're worthless. Because they think what they do doesn't matter. Doesn't have an effect. I know I do myself and others the most harm when I'm feeling the worst about myself. Really sad situation.</strong></span></em>annegbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037271914260019842noreply@blogger.com