EB-The Fat Lady's Thinks

Yearly Reminder--Celebrate Responsibly!!

2022-12-31T12:23:00.000-06:00

... do yourself a favor. Tonight is a night when so many will be out celebrating the end of 2022 and the beginning of 2023. Please, make a plan. If you drink, don't drive! If you drive, don't drink! Not complicated. But it does require some thinking ahead. It requires you to think about using an alternate form of transportation such as a taxi,or Uber or Lyft, or using a designated driver, or being a designated driver. It might mean that you provide a place for your guests to stay, or that you provide a driver. There are many ways to be responsible.

Now I have nothing against enjoying yourself. I have nothing against those who choose to enjoy alcohol. Personally, I will be celebrating 42 years of sobriety in a few weeks, but that is because I am an alcoholic. I do not begrudge you one sip. But I do want you to think ahead and plan accordingly.

If you drink, please do not drive. I don't care how much you drink, one drink or several. Drinking and driving do not mix.

Lives are changed, destroyed in the blink of an eye. When my husband was killed by a drunk driver not only was my family destroyed but the family of the young woman who killed him was changed forever.

I know, most people think this can't happen to me. The young woman who killed my husband did not think she was impaired when she got on the freeway going the wrong direction and hit him head on at 60 miles per hour.

So, celebrate.Enjoy the party! Have a great time, but have a plan in place. Please.

If you drink do not drive!!

Peace and Blessings,

EB

Christmas Eve

2022-12-24T17:17:00.001-06:00

As my son prepares our traditional DiGiorno pizza for dinner, a Christmas eve wish...

There's nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child.~~Erma Bombeck~~

Now, when you read that do not think, oh dear, that is so right. Think, I am a child. A child of the Creator, and I deserve to believe that I am a beautiful, wonderful, worthwhile individual with so much to offer myself and those I love. The most important things I have to offer have nothing to do with the house being spotless, or the decorations being Martha Stewart worthy, or the Christmas dinner being course after course of delicious. What I have to offer is the heart of a worthwhile person. A heart that knows that I am intelligent, and caring, and worthy of treating myself well. A heart that is able to be a better mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend because I know my value.

Take time today to rest, even though you have things to do. Take some time to get at least a few moments with yourself, and remind yourself that a confident, loving smile is worth more than anything you can possibly accomplish today. Remind yourself that when we wake up on Christmas morning we are all someone's child, and relax and enjoy the day, no matter the circumstances. CHOOSE to believe in yourself, CHOOSE to hear only the truth about yourself from yourself and others, CHOOSE to remember who you are and nothing else can take that wonder away from the day. Relax, refresh your spirit, and wake up Christmas morning with the eyes and heart of a child!

Now why is DiGiorno your Christmas Eve dinner you might ask. Well, it's a tradition.In our family Christmas Eve means that my son is in charge of the kitchen. Not a bad tradition!

We came up with this tradition because I was a working mother.Well, we all are. My last job,I worked in a huge grocery store. I would finish the midnight shift on the 23rd, and then go back in and work the day shift on the 24th. By the time we closed the store at 6:00 pm, took care of all the customers, and allowed the teammates a few minutes to grab that last item, it was often close to7:00 by the time I got to my car.I would drive home, tired. So, we decided that we would just have pizza for dinner, and if I called home just before I headed to the car, it could go in the oven. My husband and son would wait for me to call, and by the time I got home, changed my clothes, and sat down in my recliner to put my feet up dinner would be ready and our son would serve Mom and Dad.

I hope that you and those you care about have traditions.Traditions are an important way to bridge the gap between generations, to enlarge your tent and bring new people into the circle of your hearts.Traditions are an important way to share memories, to make memories, and to anticipate new memories the next time you act upon the tradition.Tradition is a way that our families, our friends,our communities can stay connected one to another.Tradition can be the way that we remember what it is to love and to be loved. In our house, a boy who was born blessed by autism did not have the ability to tell us with words that he loved us, but he can bake a pizza.

Peace and Blessings,

EB

Norman Rockwell was an Artist

2022-12-18T07:42:00.000-06:00

...not a historian.

This time of year is just hard. For a lot of reasons.

Some of us are struggling. But the truth is most of us--women especially,just get frazzled this time of year.We get so busy.

Whether we are rich or poor, young or old, we get stressed out around the holidays. If you are having financial problems-like we do at our house, you worry, and stress out about how you will keep the electricity on, and still manage to provide a semblance of cheer. It's really hard to think you won't be able to buy a gift for your child. Really hard.

If you are lucky enough to have money, you still worry.
So much to do,so little time...
We all need to remember to breathe at this time of year--

The quote for the day is...
A man can do only what he can do. But if he does that each day he can sleep at night and do it again the next day. ~~Albert Schweitzer ~~

All we can do is all we can do. Maybe we are doing too much to begin with. Maybe we need to take a minute and look at the things that we consider urgent, are they? Are they necessary for our happiness, and wholeness, or are they just trappings that we think the world expects.

The world does not cease to exist if we bake 2 kinds of cookies instead of 6. the world does not cease to turn on its axis if we take an hour out of the day and spend it paying attention to our health and our spiritual needs. If we cease to run around frenetically, the sun still comes up in the morning. If we choose to not spend money we don't have this year, no one will hate us because their present is smaller (well, if they do they don't count anyway!) Besides, the little ones play with the boxes longer than the presents! The older ones will understand if we are being honest, authentic in our lives.

So yes, let's remember to slow down, to breathe. When we get all caught up in the frenzy we miss so much-moments of grace, opportunities for gratitude, evidence of our connections to others, signs of the presence of Spirit.

"But,but..." you say,I want wonderful holidays like when I was growing up. Ah, yes the good ol' days.

Personally I think people have this skewed vision of what life used to be-too many Norman Rockwell magazine covers. Norman Rockwell was an artist not an historian.

Honestly, people weren't all that much different 50, 60, 100 years ago. There were good people, there were not so good people. It wasn't a Norman Rockwell magazine cover or an episode of Leave it To Beaver. Just like now, so many things depend on your economic status. Poor women worked outside the home-often in the homes of women with more resources. Poor people spent their limited resources trying to keep a roof over their head and feed their families.

So, let go of the imaginary memories. You are probably equating a movie you saw with what actually occurred in people's everyday lives.

If you are feeling bombarded by the things going on around you, scattered, stressed, that is the reminder you need to chill, breathe, take some time to pay attention. Make today important, live the best you can today, and stop longing for a different time that never existed.

It's hard for everyone this time of year.It's cold, and dark, and it just seems like troubles are amplified in that darkness. Probably the reason that nearly every faith tradition has some sort of celebration around this time that centers on light.

So, as you go about your days, try to remember to breathe,and relax, because the darkness never lasts forever, and even on a cold dark day something will be worth smiling about.

Take time today to rest, even though you have things to do. Take some time to get at least a few moments with yourself, and remind yourself that a confident, loving smile is worth more than anything you can possibly accomplish today.

Peace and Blessings,

EB

Where were you at 22?

2022-07-14T11:20:00.000-05:00

In honor of my late husband,today is his birthday, please tell your young ones your stories as they make their way into the world.

My husband was killed by a drunk driver.

Quick, what picture did your mind flash when you read the words 'drunk driver'?

In our case the words 'drunk driver' mean a 22 year old girl. A lovely young woman with her entire life before her. Recently graduated from college, with honors. From all reports, she was a goal oriented, studious college student.She is very close to her family, she goes to church on Sunday. After her May graduation she went to work, as an accountant and moved into her own apartment.

After she got off work Friday night, she reportedly went out with some friends. Young people, enjoying themselves on a Friday night. Laughing, talking, drinking. Then she got into her car to drive home. Her blood alcohol level was around .118, well over the legal limit. In her intoxicated state she drove up a freeway off ramp, past the signs that said WRONG WAY and drove northbound in the southbound lanes for a couple of miles at freeway speeds until she hit my husband's car head on, killing him instantly I am told.

This is on my mind because some of my friends and family have children in this age group. Children that are stretching their wings. I remember reading somewhere about how a butterfly struggles to exit the cocoon. If we were to help the butterfly, the butterfly would not be able to fly and would die. It seems that the struggle to break free creates the strength necessary to fly. Those of us with growing children know the truth in this. We watch as our children struggle with the silken constraints, and we want so much to help them, but the most we can do is hope that we have taught them right from wrong, and that life is always about choice, and every choice has consequences. We watch our children stretch their wings, and hope they know that there is nothing they can do that will make us stop loving them. We hope they know that when we see them struggle, we will do our best to make sure they learn how to fly.

My husband and I were always very open with our son about our youthful struggles with drugs and alcohol. We felt that since genetics may play a role in addiction, we had a responsibility to tell him our stories. He knows about our 12 step programs, and why we attend. He knows that we celebrate 2 birthdays a year. In fact, he has been quite proud of our milestones over the years. He will tell you that we choose not to use alcohol at our house. He will tell you that we choose not to use illegal drugs at our house. He will tell you these things with pride in his voice, because he knows that in life there is always a choice, and every choice has consequences.

Being a parent is a hard job. We watch our children stretch their wings with such pride and fear. What if we see them struggling, when do we help, how do we help. Have we talked to them about the embarrassing stuff? Kids will groan when the subject turns to sex, drugs, alcohol. They will roll their eyes, but we must tell them anyway.

Do your children know your stories? Do they know that you were their age once, and that you made choices and lived with the consequences of those choices. Sometimes the consequences are benign. You are 22 years old and you choose to celebrate the end of the work week by going out with friends and laughing and talking and having a good time. Since you are choosing to have a drink, you have chosen whose turn it is to be the designated driver.

Sometimes the consequences are tragic, and you have too much too drink and you choose to drive drunk, and you drive up the off ramp past the WRONG WAY signs and you kill a man, and nothing is ever the same again.

Peace and Blessings,

Empathy is still important

2022-05-31T10:02:00.000-05:00

So, I have been very quiet recently.Life sucks.

In case you haven't noticed,when I get down and out I tend to get quet. The thing is, if your life is hard you don't have much else to talk about--and you figure nobody wants to hear it any way.

I have lost friends because I have made jokes about financial problems. True. A couple of winters ago I posted on facebook what I thought was a joke about being behind on the gas bill...

Dear Mother Nature,
It's the middle of MAY-I don't care how many shares of Missouri Gas Energy you have in your retirement portfolio-I am NOT turning the heat on today.
Sincerely,
Shivering under a quilt

Dear Mother Nature,
It's May 16. 36 degrees and a frost advisory, seriously? I'll need to find a corner and a cardboard sign to ever catch up on funding your retirement.
Signed,
Shivering

One of my 'friends' messaged me that they would be unfriending me because I was 'whining about being poor again.' Granted, I am not always as funny as I think I am, but 'unfriend' me for a couple of jokes about the weather?

I realized recently I have been censoring myself a lot. I stopped posting political stuff a couple of years ago because I have friends from all ends of the political spectrum, and I don't want to lose anyone. So,my facebook became just a place to be friends. I do have an outlet for my political views, and I cherish that outlet also.

I guess what I am trying to say is I am needy,and I need to stop feeling like I shouldn't talk about that.

So,if I am lonely and stressed, I may have to whine about it. I need to stop letting the problems isolate me...and that is something that dawned on me in the middle of the night. I am feeling isolated,and it is mostly my own fault. Because I have people with empathy in my life,and I need to trust that more.

"Empathy is really the opposite of spiritual meanness. It's the capacity to understand that every war is both won and lost. And that someone else's pain is as meaningful as your own."~~Barbara Kingsolver

Empathy goes many directions. When we lose the ability to empathize, we not only lose the ability to understand and share when people are having hard times, we lose the ability to be joyful when they are being blessed. And I think that, leads to what Barbara Kingsolver describes as spiritual meanness.

So, do I need to not make jokes about my hard times? A sense of humor (and some awesome friends) helps me get through the days. Do we need to censor and not share our frustrations for fear that some else in our community has lost the ability to empathize? That won't work for me.

What will work for me is to remind myself and others that even though life is hard, I will get caught up some day because my list of blessings is longer than my list of troubles-even on days I can't see that. Because the truth is being behind on the gas bill, or having a really bare pantry because money is tight may be a problem. But, losing the ability to empathize is a far worse affliction.

The truth is in that old saying...Shared joy is joy doubled. Shared sorrow is sorrow halved. THAT is empathy in a nutshell!

Peace and Blessings,

EB

P.S. I dislike doing this but there is a paypal button over there,just in case. I told a friend once who was embarrassed about asking for help that if we don't make our needs known how does anyone ever know we have needs.The William and I are struggling,and just as embarrassed I am pointing out the button.We are continually blessed.

25 Years Ago Today--A love Story

2022-03-24T12:45:00.000-05:00

March 24, 1997...

It was a beautiful day. The kind of spring day that we wish they all could be. Bright sunshine, about 60 degrees. I had been to a meeting and after my friend dropped me off I remembered that William needed something for school the next day. It was the perfect day for a walk, so I decided I would walk to the neighborhood store. As I was walking down the street I looked up and this tall thin man was cutting across the street diagonally. He was going to end right in front of me. My mind immediately started searching for a reason, but this was not someone I knew. He walked up to me and said "I have been trying to get up the nerve to talk to you for six months. You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." I laughed. It definitely was not a pick up line I had ever heard before. But when I laughed I saw his eyes, and he meant it! "Excuse me?" was all I could say. He said it again, "I've been trying to get up the nerve to talk to you. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." I am still kind of speechless, and I say "Thank you, I guess." He goes on to explain that he lives at the bottom of the hill and he sees me walk my son to the school bus every day. He has tried a couple of times to speak to me, but he was too nervous. But when he saw me walking down the street today he told himself it was now or never, and he crossed the street. I was prepared to continue walking, but he kept talking. He told me how he had just got out of rehab 4 days earlier, and that he was on his way home from putting in job applications. Well, I had been clean and sober for 16 years and the friend of Bill W. in me wouldn't let me just ignore him. I told him I had to go to the store, but if he was still in the park at the end of the street when I got back I would talk to him. He was there, we talked for 2 hours that afternoon, and every day after that.

Such a simple act, crossing the street. No big deal. But in that simple act of walking across the street the world would never be the same. In that moment our lives became eternally joined, entwined. We would never again make a decision without discussing it or considering the impact it would have on the other one.We would never again think of ourselves as Bill or EstherBelle. From that moment on we were BillandEstherBelle.

Valentine's Day

2022-02-12T16:55:00.002-06:00

Valentines Day. Such a lovely holiday, let's all celebrate love.Yada Yada Yada. (can you see how I feel about it?) But Valentines day can be a minefield for those, like me, that have mixed experiences of the day.

Oh, I hated Valentines day as a child. The Fat Lady started out as the Fat Girl, you know. Back in the dark ages when I was in elementary school 'self-esteem' wasn't a part of the psycho-babble yet. So those of us who were outcasts for whatever reason hated Valentines day. Oh, it was all so innocent. For a few days before we would spend our art class time creating a receptacle for the valentines. There was red and pink construction paper and paper doily scraps everywhere, and the Elmer's glue residue stuck to your fingers. At least that was fun, peeling the Elmer's glue from your fingers.

Then the big day arrived, and we were allotted time to deposit our valentines in the boxes. A mimeographed list of names had gone home with us,and we were free to create to our hearts content. If you were lucky your Mom would let you buy a box of school valentines, 32 to a box back then plus the bonus teachers card. So, every one went around and put their little cards in the box. Then of course we had the treats our room mothers dutifully provided and everyone looked at their valentines. As you reached in your box and took out 2 or 3 cards, after all the teacher had to give you one, and maybe you had one friend, and then some dumb boy had to tell you why you were outcast, you did your best to make sure no one else saw. But it seemed like they all knew anyway. But, you knew that if you showed any emotions they would have power over you, so no tears. You bravely told everyone that you wanted to wait and look at them at home.

Fortunately all of those classroom Valentine parties were in elementary grades, and you didn't have to repeat that particular little piece of Hell again once you reached middle school. But, Valentines day was still an empty day, void of love, and rife with bad memories.

Decades pass, and one day a tall thin man crosses a street in a small town in Missouri. He teaches you, among other things, that yes, you are able to love and to be loved. He manages to surprise you every year with a lovely expression of love on Valentines day. You give him a small plush animal for his collection. A collection that he started when you gave him his first one. A silly little collection for a big tough Marine, but a collection that is cherished by him.

Then circumstances change again. The love of your life is taken away from you by a drunk driver, and you get thrown into the long, difficult act of grieving. Every special day, every holiday is another reminder that you are alone again. That no one will make you smile, and tell you you are loved and ask you to be their valentine. Valentines day is a difficult, difficult day for those who are on the outside looking in. Those who have never had a love, and there are many, those who have lost their love and are all alone again.Valentine's Day is hard.

The other holidays are difficult, but there are ways to get through. But Valentine's Day, that is hard. Everywhere you look, from the aisles of the grocery store, to the restaurant ads in the paper, the commercials on TV you are reminded that this is a time for love and a time for lovers, and you feel all alone. It seems as if the whole world is operating two by two, that no matter which way you turn you are surrounded by couples, and you no longer have the person that made you part of a couple. Valentines day is long and lonely.

If you know someone who is alone this year on Valentines day, please reach out to them. A note, a small card, a phone call. Let them know that they are not alone in this world. Let them know that another human being cares about them. See, we all need a human touch. We may be rooted in faith,and know that there is a Creator,and that that Creator loves us. We may know that there is in us a part of the Divine, and that there is no where we can go that the Divine is not with us. But, the love of Most High, as wonderful as it is doesn't have the human touch unless we provide it. We must be the human touch.

There is someone out there in need of your voice, or a hug, or just the touch of your hand on their sleeve. So, make sure that you do something special for your sweetheart. Do not ever let a day go by, and especially on the holiday that is about love, make sure the one you love, the one who loves you, knows that you never take one moment for granted. But, please, if you have an extra moment reach out to one of the lonely ones. They will appreciate you more than you can know.

Love Is Stronger Than Death

Love is stronger than death.
So I must be content to know that
love is not affected by death-- ...
it doesn't end, it doesn't diminish,
it doesn't change.
Instead, love is immortalized
and eternalized through death.
And the possibility of that love ever
being damaged or broken
is eliminated forever.
I'll put my trust in love.

Always Say I Love You,

ONE Day At A Time...for 41 years

2022-01-19T07:19:00.001-06:00

Oh my word, I haven't had a drink in 41 years!

Today is my birthday. Not my belly button birthday, my day I got clean and sober birthday. Today I am celebrating 41 years of sobriety. Celebrating 41 years of choosing to deal with life and all its challenges, obstacles, defeats, and victories without using drugs or alcohol.

And,take my word for it the last two years have been challenging,fucking pandemic.

I don't remember when alcohol wasn't available to me. My older brothers-14, 18, and 21 years older than me- were the kind of guys that thought it was cute to give a baby or toddler a sip of beer, or whatever cocktail they might be drinking. There was always a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen cupboard, and when my dad wanted a glass of wine in the evening, he sent one of us to get it.Alone in the kitchen, no one was there to see me take a swig for myself. If there were family gatherings, not much attention was paid attention to what you were grabbing out of the cooler. After all, the men usually sent a kid to get the beer out of the cooler. So I developed an enjoyment of the taste and effect of alcohol at a very young age. It was an easy way to make life stop hurting for a little while.

Of course,as soon as I left home it was no problem. I looked older than my age, and was never carded. Really, the first time I was carded was on my 21st birthday. There was a new guy at my liquor store, and he carded me and wished me a Happy 21st birthday. The owner was shocked, since he had been selling me alcohol for 4 years. But, he didn't make a big deal about it. I was a very good customer. By the time I was 21, I was drinking every day. I had started down that road as a teenager with undiagnosed bipolar disorder. I was self medicating with drugs and alcohol for several years. When I was diagnosed, I started letting go of the drugs, but consumed more alcohol to make up for it.

I drank my way through college, and 5 years into my working life. I managed to get good grades, and do good work while I increased my drinking. I had good jobs, but my drinking caused me to make some really, really stupid decisions about men and relationships.Just like the song says "Looking for love in all the wrong places."

I knew that eventually I would have to quit drinking. I knew that it was impossible for me to drink in moderation, and I hated that, because there were things I truly enjoyed and did not want to give up.I truly enjoyed choosing the right wine for a good meal. I truly enjoyed a cold beer on a hot afternoon.But, as much as I wish I was, I am not the kind of person who can stop with one glass of wine, one cold beer, one mixed drink. So, I had to listen to the small voice and quit. The last time I got drunk was on a Sunday night. I had been to a party. I don't remember much about the party, I had been drinking all weekend of course, but for some reason I got really drunk at that party. I think that I totally embarrassed myself, and a friend suggested we leave and go somewhere else. We ended up at her Mother's house. I don't remember how we got there, but I do remember sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and talking to her mother until 5 o'clock Monday morning. I drove home and got in the shower and then I decided to call in sick and get some sleep. I had never done that before, I always went to work. In fact, I got in the shower intending to get ready for work, but while I was in that shower I started getting quiet, and when I get quiet I can hear the small voice, and the voice said "It's time to heal."

So, I called in sick, went to bed and slept for a couple of hours. When I woke up I felt like crap.I never got hungover, but that day I was hungover. I spent some time feeling sorry for myself, but then I remembered hearing the voice. I knew that it was time to stop numbing the pain, time to stop dulling the memories and to start healing the wounds. I called my doctor, and went to see her. I had a good talk with her and she referred me to a therapist. She called him right then, and he saw me that afternoon.It was Monday, January 19, 1981. The therapist said that he would work with me, but he also suggested that I go to AA. He got out the phone book, and handed me the phone. I made the call and found a meeting that evening. That was the beginning of my journey to health and wholeness, a journey I am still on. It is not an easy journey to start. It is not an easy journey to continue, but it is a journey I believe we must all undertake.

So, here I am. I haven't had a drink, oh how I have wanted to, but I have not had a drink.My Higher Power and I are taking a journey. One day at a time.

Peace and Blessings,
EstherBelle

Breathe, Christmas is on it's way

2021-12-16T18:43:00.000-06:00

Norman Rockwell was an artist...

...not a historian.

This time of year is just hard. For a lot of reasons.

Some of us are struggling. But the truth is most of us--women especially,just get frazzled this time of year.We get so busy.

Whether we are rich or poor, young or old, we get stressed out around the holidays. If you are having financial problems-like we do at our house, you worry, and stress out about how you will keep the electricity on, and still manage to provide a semblance of cheer. It's really hard to think you won't be able to buy a gift for your child. Really hard.

If you are lucky enough to have money, you still worry.
So much to do,so little time...
We all need to remember to breathe at this time of year--

The quote for the day is...
A man can do only what he can do. But if he does that each day he can sleep at night and do it again the next day. ~~Albert Schweitzer ~~

All we can do is all we can do. Maybe we are doing too much to begin with. Maybe we need to take a minute and look at the things that we consider urgent, are they? Are they necessary for our happiness, and wholeness, or are they just trappings that we think the world expects.

The world does not cease to exist if we bake 2 kinds of cookies instead of 6. the world does not cease to turn on its axis if we take an hour out of the day and spend it paying attention to our health and our spiritual needs. If we cease to run around frenetically, the sun still comes up in the morning. If we choose to not spend money we don't have this year, no one will hate us because their present is smaller (well, if they do they don't count anyway!) Besides, the little ones play with the boxes longer than the presents! The older ones will understand if we are being honest, authentic in our lives.

So yes, let's remember to slow down, to breathe. When we get all caught up in the frenzy we miss so much-moments of grace, opportunities for gratitude, evidence of our connections to others, signs of the presence of Spirit.

"But,but..." you say,I want wonderful holidays like when I was growing up. Ah, yes the good ol' days.

Personally I think people have this skewed vision of what life used to be-too many Norman Rockwell magazine covers. Norman Rockwell was an artist not an historian.

Honestly, people weren't all that much different 50, 60, 100 years ago. There were good people, there were not so good people. It wasn't a Norman Rockwell magazine cover or an episode of Leave it To Beaver. Just like now, so many things depend on your economic status. Poor women worked outside the home-often in the homes of women with more resources. Poor people spent their limited resources trying to keep a roof over their head and feed their families.

So, let go of the imaginary memories. You are probably equating a movie you saw with what actually occurred in people's everyday lives.

If you are feeling bombarded by the things going on around you, scattered, stressed, that is the reminder you need to chill, breathe, take some time to pay attention. Make today important, live the best you can today, and stop longing for a different time that never existed.

It's hard for everyone this time of year.It's cold, and dark, and it just seems like troubles are amplified in that darkness. Probably the reason that nearly every faith tradition has some sort of celebration around this time that centers on light.

So, as you go about your days, try to remember to breathe,and relax, because the darkness never lasts forever, and even on a cold dark day something will be worth smiling about.

Take time today to rest, even though you have things to do. Take some time to get at least a few moments with yourself, and remind yourself that a confident, loving smile is worth more than anything you can possibly accomplish today.

Peace and Blessings,

EB

Trying to Be more Thankful

2021-11-24T18:12:00.002-06:00

(I wrote this a couple of Thanksgivings ago,and it speaks to me today)

Sometimes it is difficult to feel thankful. I have days when I am just a big old bottomless pit of envy, bitterness, resentment,and downright crankyass misery. I try to not have those days often,they are exhausting.

But,even when I am the world's worst crank,I know better. I know that even though life is a struggle,and difficult beyond measure, I have things I am truly thankful for.

I have an amazing son. We've spent a couple of years now just trying to keep him alive.He has to tolerate medical interventions that his autistic brain really isn't even capable of processing .He hates to be touched and yet he has to put up with being touched.He does it with quiet strength and reserves we only suspected he was capable of.Things most of us take for granted can be difficult for him,but he perseveres and deals with the challenges. He is my hero-most days.

I have a community of friends--most of whom I have never met in person. Which I am old enough to find amazing. Who could have imagined 30-40-50 years ago that the majority of women I consider my dearest friends are people I have met in online communities? Kind of boggles the mind.Smart,caring, kind, incredibly generous friends for whom I am eternally thankful.

AND I have me. Now, I ain't worth claiming some days. But,I'm what I have, for what it's worth.

I wrote this 10 years ago and it still rings true to me today...

The quote for today...

I am an indestructible fortress,
I am an unassailable rock,
I am a precious jewel.
--Ancient Irish Prayer

I think that is where I get my strength. Now, I am not saying to you that I don't have days where I am nothing but a quivering mass of jello, but what I do have is an innate belief that I am indestructible. In fact, I am fond of saying, you can't kill me it's been tried.

OK, so I know that is a slight exaggeration but most humor is. What I am saying is that I am strong enough to withstand what the world has to throw at me. We all are, some of us may not know it yet, and one of the things I try to do is to help people see this truth about themselves. If we believe we have the strength to take what the world is handing out, then we journey forth into the world in a much different manner. Our very presence changes. Our posture is taller, our countenance brighter. We shine like the precious jewel we are. Now where do jewels come from, with the exception of pearls, most things that we consider precious jewels come from the earth, from dirt and rock, created by great pressure.Not the most glamorous of beginnings So it would seem to me that the more the world throws at us, the more we manage to crawl our way through as more than a survivor, as a victor, the more precious jewel we become. Even pearls start out in an unglamorous place. Now as much as I enjoy an appetizer of oysters on the half shell, it isn't a pleasant thing to look at.But look at how that oyster reacted to an irritant that it couldn't get rid of, it surrounded that irritating little grain of sand, piece of debris, with beauty.And a precious jewel was created from irritation and probably a lot of pain.

So, I am going to take my cranky ass in hand and try to be more than thankful.

Peace and Blessings,

EB

P.S. I dislike doing this but there is a paypal button over there,just in case. I told a friend once who was embarrassed about asking for help that if we don't make our needs known how does anyone ever know we have needs.The William and I are struggling,and just as embarrassed I am pointing out the button.We are continually blessed.

Happy Mothers Day--Stories of my little Mama

2021-05-09T11:52:00.001-05:00

Well, I really must tell some stories of my little mama, Mothers Day and all of that.

Talking about Mother is totally different than talking about Papa. I occasionally called her little Mama, especially if I was talking about her, but usually I called her Mother.Her grandchildren called her Mom-she didn't like to be called grandma. Mother was a lot more complex person than my father. Not as easy to get a handle on most days. She would look you in the eye and truthfully tell you her age, or her weight. But she would lie about her height. Mother was probably just a tad less than 5 foot tall. As she aged she shrunk down to about 4'10". But all of her adult life, she would tell people she was 5' 3". Now, everyone knew that wasn't true, but you did not contradict my little Mama. So, even though I was taller than her by the time I started kindergarten, Mother continued to claim that she was 5' 3". I asked her once, when I was a brash young teen, why she told people she was taller than she really was. She looked up at me as if I were an alien from outer space, calmly said "I am 5' 3" tall, I always have been." That was the last time I brought up the subject.

I was 6' tall before the time I was a teen, and 6' 2" before I stopped growing taller. People would look at us when we were together, of course, commenting on my size, and Mother would tell them "Shoot, she'd be 7' tall if she didn't have so much tucked under for feet." or "I grew her that tall on purpose. The man who built my kitchen cabinets was 7 foot tall, I wanted to find out what he might have left on the top shelf."

Mother was sometimes a difficult woman. She raised 6 children, and as we grew older there may never have been a time when she was speaking to all 6 of us at once. She had a bit of a mean streak sometimes, and she seemed happiest when she was surrounded by drama. Now this doesn't mean she wasn't the best parent she knew how to be. I think in those days most parents were doing the best they knew how. They were so wrong sometimes, but I honestly believe it was because of the times we grew up in, and not necessarily maliciousness on the part of our parents. My Mother may have been a strict disciplinarian at home, she may have exerted total control, but do not let a teacher or other adult pick on or treat one of her children unfairly. Little mama became a giant in those situations.

One of my favorite stories is told from her perspective and mine. My 1st grade teacher was not the best teacher in the world. I was a complication for her, and she would write notes home to my mother. Mother told everyone that she thinks I was born knowing how to read and write, because she certainly didn't remember teaching me and according to her I was reading at age 2. I think she probably wasn't exaggerating too much, because I do not remember when I didn't know how. Well, my kindergarten teacher thought I was a bit of a problem, probably because I would get bored and rather than napping preferred to spend time reading. In first grade, we started learning to print our letters. The issues arose because I already could write, in cursive, and except for the printing lessons, would write that way. So a letter from my teacher would go home with me, and Mother would respond with a lengthy letter back. I suppose it would have been too easy to call each other.

The teacher wanted Mother to tell me that I wasn't allowed to write in cursive. It seems it caused a problem for the teacher because the other students saw me do it. Mother apparently wrote back that the teacher should not be showing my work to the other students and that I was to be allowed to carry on. Well, that letter must have amused my teacher, because I was on the playground during recess when my teacher and another teacher called me over and asked me in not kid friendly terms who my Mother thought she was. In the middle is not a comfortable place for a 6 year old to be. Mother ended up in the Principal's office, and according to her the principal, Mr. Johnson, started explaining that first grade children could not be allowed to write in cursive because, as told by Mother, "We use slim pencils when we teach children to write in cursive, Mrs. Jones, and at 6 years old the muscles in their little hands aren't strong enough to hold a slim pencil." The next thing my mother said was a question, "You don't have any idea which child is mine, do you Mr. Johnson?" He admitted as much and mother told him to call me to the office and that the conversation would not continue until I got there.

Now I knew my mother had planned to speak to the principal that day, and so when the call came to my teacher and she sent me to the principal with a smirk on her face I was a bit anxious by the time I was ushered through the swinging gate into the inner offices. I was escorted into the Principal's office by the school secretary, and my little mama came and stood shoulder to shoulder with me.I was a few inches taller than her. Then she said "Tell me again, Mr. Johnson, about the muscles in her little hands." Mother grabbed my 'little hand' and said we were leaving. She asked me where my class was, we marched down the hall, she went in the classroom, the teacher sputtering that she was disrupting the class. Mother told her not to worry, it wouldn't happen again. Mother cleaned out my desk, and we went home. I was transferred to a different school a couple of days and some phone calls to the school board later. My Mother may have had issues with her children, but she was always our staunchest supporter when it came to others having issues with us.I still miss my mother, especially when my son does something amazing. I will think, I should call my little mama. I learned a lot about advocating for my very special child from my mother advocating for me.

I also learned to say I love you to the people I love. It was something I never heard growing up.It was a different time. My parents didn't say it to each other or to us children. I think it would have made quite a difference if I had known how much they loved each other when I was young. I know how much of a difference it would have made if I had known if they loved me.I was blessed that both of my parents died at home in my arms. It may not have felt like a blessing at the time, but as I look back it was. I was able to say good bye to them, knowing that I had forgiven them, and hoping that they had forgiven me. But, no matter, I know that they were loved, and surrounded by love as they crossed over. I wish my husband had not died alone in a car on a freeway. But I know he knew he was loved, and I knew he loved me. We had the opportunity to say that to each other a couple of hours before he was killed by a young woman with almost twice the legal limit blood alcohol count.My husband and I told each other that we loved each other dozens of times a day. William would turn around, and roll his eyes when would 'make out' in the kitchen. But he knew his parents loved each other, and he knew he was loved, because we told him every day. I still do, I always will.

Choices Have Consequences

2020-08-23T08:36:00.001-05:00

Today is the anniversary of my husband's death.

My husband was killed by a drunk driver.

Quick, what picture did your mind flash when you read the words 'drunk driver'?

In our case the words 'drunk driver' mean a 22 year old girl. A lovely young woman with her entire life before her. Recently graduated from college, with honors. From all reports, she was a goal oriented, studious college student.She is very close to her family, she goes to church on Sunday. After her May graduation she went to work, as an accountant and moved into her own apartment.

After she got off work Friday night, she reportedly went out with some friends. Young people, enjoying themselves on a Friday night. Laughing, talking, drinking. Then she got into her car to drive home. Her blood alcohol level was around .118, well over the legal limit. In her intoxicated state she drove up a freeway off ramp, past the signs that said WRONG WAY and drove northbound in the southbound lanes for a couple of miles at freeway speeds until she hit my husband's car head on, killing him instantly I am told.

This is on my mind because my friends have children in this age group. Children that are stretching their wings. I remember reading somewhere about how a butterfly struggles to exit the cocoon. If we were to help the butterfly, the butterfly would not be able to fly and would die. It seems that the struggle to break free creates the strength necessary to fly. Those of us with growing children know the truth in this. We watch as our children struggle with the silken constraints, and we want so much to help them, but the most we can do is hope that we have taught them right from wrong, and that life is always about choice, and every choice has consequences. We watch our children stretch their wings, and hope they know that there is nothing they can do that will make us stop loving them. We hope they know that when we see them struggle, we will do our best to make sure they learn how to fly.

My husband and I were always very open with our son about our youthful struggles with drugs and alcohol. We felt that since genetics may play a role in addiction, we had a responsibility to tell him our stories. He knows about our 12 step programs, and why we attend. He knows that we celebrate 2 birthdays a year. In fact, he has been quite proud of our milestones over the years. He will tell you that we choose not to use alcohol at our house. He will tell you that we choose not to use illegal drugs at our house. He will tell you these things with pride in his voice, because he knows that in life there is always a choice, and every choice has consequences.

Being a parent is a hard job. We watch our children stretch their wings with such pride and fear. What if we see them struggling, when do we help, how do we help. Have we talked to them about the embarrassing stuff? Kids will groan when the subject turns to sex, drugs, alcohol. They will roll their eyes, but we must tell them anyway.

Do your children know your stories? Do they know that you were their age once, and that you made choices and lived with the consequences of those choices. Sometimes the consequences are benign. You are 22 years old and you choose to celebrate the end of the work week by going out with friends and laughing and talking and having a good time. Since you are choosing to have a drink, you need to have chosen whose turn it is to be the designated driver.

Sometimes the consequences are tragic, and you have too much too drink and you choose to drive drunk, and you drive up the off ramp past the WRONG WAY signs and you kill a man, and nothing is ever the same again.

World Autism Awareness Day

2020-04-02T08:12:00.001-05:00

Today is World Autism Awareness Day. People all over the world will 'light it up blue' in order to raise awareness for autism.This is a good thing, unless you are talking to someone who thinks it's a bad thing.

Why is it every thing becomes a subject for controversy these days. I support awareness. My son is an adult now. When he was diagnosed, most people had never heard of autism. We did a lot of educating one on one over the years. We had too, because my son was treated like some kind of monster when we went out in public.

Now that there are awareness campaigns, and now that autism seems to touch more families, we no longer fear going out in public. In less than a generation perceptions changed.

There is a lot of controversy in the autism communities. The voices on all sides can be loud and strident. Don't ever dare to disagree with a mom that believes autism is caused by vaccines on a message board or facebook. Don't dare to say that you think the 1 in 50 study is a flawed study and that number meaningless. Why is it that everything these days becomes so heated and adversarial?

I don't believe vaccines caused my sons autism. In fact, I know they didn't, because of some medical concerns my son recceived his vaccinations after he was diagnosed. I don't believe toxic food, aspartame, or GMO's caused my sons autism. Because this old hippie mom never allowed her child to have any of those things. Does that mean I don't believe there are children who have had reactions to vaccines? No. But am I the enemy if I say that is a different issue than autism?

I don't believe the 1 in 50 numbers. I think self reported studies are rarely indicative. There is a 6 year old in our apartment complex who I have been told is non-verbal. The thing is, I know he is verbal. I have seen him, heard him, and had conversations with him. His mother would report that he is non verbal. She called me a liar when I said I had heard him talk.This is one of the reasons I don't trust these types of 'studies'.

But, does it really matter that I disagree with other parents of autistic children? Does that make me the enemy? I hope not. Does the fact that I think Awareness campaigns have made our lives easier make me a 'sell-out'? I don't think so.

I try to hold my tongue in these situations. I have listened to parents fight over these things. I have cringed every time I have heard parents say their child is broken-a term I despise above all else!My child is not broken. My child is exactly the way he was born to be.

Autism is not a new phenomena. It was being studied in the 1920's,1930's and 1940's in Australia, the UK, and The US. It was called other things before the term autism was coined in 1943. Genealogy can find evidence of autism going back generations in families. Anecdotal evidence can describe autistic behaviors for hundreds and hundreds of years.

So, personally, I support Awareness campaigns. The more people who are aware that our children are amazing people deserving acceptance the better.

It is Autism Awareness month, but like the button says, at our house we have autism awareness every day. If having an awareness campaign makes one less person look at my son funny when we go out in public, then I say light it up!!

Peace and Blessings,
EB

P.S.I dislike doing this but there is a paypal button over there,just incase.

Valentine's Day

2020-02-13T11:27:00.000-06:00

Valentine's Day. Such a lovely holiday, let's all celebrate love.Yada Yada Yada. (can you see how I feel about it?) But Valentines day can be a minefield for those, like me, that have mixed experiences of the day.

Oh, I hated Valentines day as a child. The Fat Lady started out as the Fat Girl, you know. Back in the dark ages when I was in elementary school 'self-esteem' wasn't a part of the psycho-babble yet. So those of us who were outcasts for whatever reason hated Valentines day. Oh, it was all so innocent. For a few days before we would spend our art class time creating a receptacle for the valentines. There was red and pink construction paper and paper doily scraps everywhere, and the Elmer's glue residue stuck to your fingers. At least that was fun, peeling the Elmer's glue from your fingers.

Then the big day arrived, and we were allotted time to deposit our valentines in the boxes. A mimeographed list of names had gone home with us,and we were free to create to our hearts content. If you were lucky your Mom would let you buy a box of school valentines, 32 to a box back then plus the bonus teachers card. So, every one went around and put their little cards in the box. Then of course we had the treats our room mothers dutifully provided and everyone looked at their valentines. As you reached in your box and took out 2 or 3 cards, after all the teacher had to give you one, and maybe you had one friend, and then some dumb boy had to tell you why you were outcast, you did your best to make sure no one else saw. But it seemed like they all knew anyway. But, you knew that if you showed any emotions they would have power over you, so no tears. You bravely told everyone that you wanted to wait and look at them at home.

Fortunately all of those classroom Valentine parties were in elementary grades, and you didn't have to repeat that particular little piece of Hell again once you reached middle school. But, Valentines day was still an empty day, void of love, and rife with bad memories.

Decades pass, and one day a tall thin man crosses a street in a small town in Missouri. He teaches you, among other things, that yes, you are able to love and to be loved. He manages to surprise you every year with a lovely expression of love on Valentines day. You give him a small plush animal for his collection. A collection that he started when you gave him his first one. A silly little collection for a big tough Marine, but a collection that is cherished by him.

Then circumstances change again. The love of your life is taken away from you by a drunk driver, and you get thrown into the long, difficult act of grieving. Every special day, every holiday is another reminder that you are alone again. That no one will make you smile, and tell you you are loved and ask you to be their valentine. Valentines day is a difficult, difficult day for those who are on the outside looking in. Those who have never had a love, and there are many, those who have lost their love and are all alone again.Valentine's Day is hard.

The other holidays are difficult, but there are ways to get through. But Valentine's Day, that is hard. Everywhere you look, from the aisles of the grocery store, to the restaurant ads in the paper, the commercials on TV you are reminded that this is a time for love and a time for lovers, and you feel all alone. It seems as if the whole world is operating two by two, that no matter which way you turn you are surrounded by couples, and you no longer have the person that made you part of a couple. Valentines day is long and lonely.

If you know someone who is alone this year on Valentines day, please reach out to them. A note, a small card, a phone call. Let them know that they are not alone in this world. Let them know that another human being cares about them. See, we all need a human touch. We must be the arms and hands and voice of love. We must be the human touch. There is someone out there in need of your voice, or a hug, or just the touch of your hand on their sleeve. So, make sure that you do something special for your sweetheart. Do not ever let a day go by, and especially on the holiday that is about love, make sure the one you love, the one who loves you, knows that you never take one moment for granted. But, please, if you have an extra moment reach out to one of the lonely ones. They will appreciate you more than you can know.

Peace and Blessings,
EB

P.S. I dislike doing this,but there is a Paypal button over there just in case.

Today is my Jack Benny Sobriety Birthday

2020-01-19T10:37:00.001-06:00

So,yes, the Jack Benny reference indicates I am old...but hey, I am celebrating my 39th sobriety birthday today,the fact that I am old is a given.

Oh my word, I haven't had a drink in 39 years!

Today is my birthday. Not my belly button birthday, my day I got clean and sober birthday. Today I am celebrating 38 years of sobriety. Celebrating 39 years of choosing to deal with life and all its challenges, obstacles, defeats, and victories without using drugs or alcohol.

I don't remember when alcohol wasn't available to me. My older brothers-14, 18, and 21 years older than me- were the kind of guys that thought it was cute to give a baby or toddler a sip of beer, or whatever cocktail they might be drinking. There was always a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen cupboard, and when my dad wanted a glass of wine in the evening, he sent one of us to get it.Alone in the kitchen, no one was there to see me take a swig for myself. If there were family gatherings, not much attention was paid attention to what you were grabbing out of the cooler. After all, the men usually sent a kid to get the beer out of the cooler. So I developed an enjoyment of the taste and effect of alcohol at a very young age. It was an easy way to make life stop hurting for a little while.

Of course,as soon as I left home it was no problem. I looked older than my age, and was never carded. Really, the first time I was carded was on my 21st birthday. There was a new guy at my liquor store, and he carded me and wished me a Happy 21st birthday. The owner was shocked, since he had been selling me alcohol for 4 years. But, he didn't make a big deal about it. I was a very good customer. By the time I was 21, I was drinking every day. I had started down that road as a teenager with undiagnosed bipolar disorder. I was self medicating with drugs and alcohol for several years. When I was diagnosed, I started letting go of the drugs, but consumed more alcohol to make up for it.

I drank my way through college, and 5 years into my working life. I managed to get good grades, and do good work while I increased my drinking. I had good jobs, but my drinking caused me to make some really, really stupid decisions about men and relationships.Just like the song says "Looking for love in all the wrong places."

I knew that eventually I would have to quit drinking. I knew that it was impossible for me to drink in moderation, and I hated that, because there were things I truly enjoyed and did not want to give up.I truly enjoyed choosing the right wine for a good meal. I truly enjoyed a cold beer on a hot afternoon.But, as much as I wish I was, I am not the kind of person who can stop with one glass of wine, one cold beer, one mixed drink. So, I had to listen to the small voice and quit. The last time I got drunk was on a Sunday night. I had been to a party. I don't remember much about the party, I had been drinking all weekend of course, but for some reason I got really drunk at that party. I think that I totally embarrassed myself, and a friend suggested we leave and go somewhere else. We ended up at her Mother's house. I don't remember how we got there, but I do remember sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and talking to her mother until 5 o'clock Monday morning. I drove home and got in the shower and then I decided to call in sick and get some sleep. I had never done that before, I always went to work. In fact, I got in the shower intending to get ready for work, but while I was in that shower I started getting quiet, and when I get quiet I can hear the small voice, and the voice said "It's time to heal."

So, I called in sick, went to bed and slept for a couple of hours. When I woke up I felt like crap.I never got hungover, but that day I was hungover. I spent some time feeling sorry for myself, but then I remembered hearing the voice. I knew that it was time to stop numbing the pain, time to stop dulling the memories and to start healing the wounds. I called my doctor, and went to see her. I had a good talk with her and she referred me to a therapist. She called him right then, and he saw me that afternoon.It was Monday, January 19, 1981. The therapist said that he would work with me, but he also suggested that I go to AA. He got out the phone book, and handed me the phone. I made the call and found a meeting that evening. That was the beginning of my journey to health and wholeness, a journey I am still on. It is not an easy journey to start. It is not an easy journey to continue, but it is a journey I believe we must all undertake.

So, here I am. I haven't had a drink, oh how I have wanted to, but I have not had a drink.My Higher Power and I are taking a journey. One day at a time.

Peace and Blessings,
EstherBelle

Celebrate Responsibly--my Yearly reminder

2019-12-31T13:01:00.003-06:00

... do yourself a favor. Tonight is a night when so many will be out celebrating the end of 2019 and the beginning of 2020. Please, make a plan. If you drink, don't drive! If you drive, don't drink! Not complicated. But it does require some thinking ahead. It requires you to think about using an alternate form of transportation such as a taxi,or Uber or Lyft, or using a designated driver, or being a designated driver. It might mean that you provide a place for your guests to stay, or that you provide a driver. There are many ways to be responsible.

Now I have nothing against enjoying yourself. I have nothing against those who choose to enjoy alcohol. Personally, I will be celebrating 39 years of sobriety in a few weeks, but that is because I am an alcoholic. I do not begrudge you one sip. But I do want you to think ahead and plan accordingly.

If you drink, please do not drive. I don't care how much you drink, one drink or several. Drinking and driving do not mix.

Lives are changed, destroyed in the blink of an eye. When my husband was killed by a drunk driver not only was my family destroyed but the family of the young woman who killed him was changed forever.

I know, most people think this can't happen to me. The young woman who killed my husband did not think she was impaired when she got on the freeway going the wrong direction and hit him head on at 60 miles per hour.

So, celebrate.Enjoy the party! Have a great time, but have a plan in place. Please.

If you drink do not drive!!

Peace and Blessings,

EB

P.S. I dislike doing this but there is a paypal button over there,just in case. The William and I are struggling,and embarassed I am pointing out the button.We are continually blessed.

Happy Christmas

2019-12-25T07:16:00.004-06:00

(I wrote this a few years ago,it still fits)

The quote for the day is...
There's nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child.~~Erma Bombeck~~

Now, when you read that do not think, oh dear, that is so right. Think, I am a child. A child of the Most High God, and I deserve to believe that I am a beautiful, wonderful, worthwhile individual with so much to offer myself and those I love. The most important things I have to offer have nothing to do with the house being spotless, or the decorations being Martha Stewart worthy, or the Christmas dinner being course after course of delicious. What I have to offer is the heart of a worthwhile person. A heart that knows that I am intelligent, and caring, and worthy of treating myself well. A heart that is able to be a better mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend because I know my value.

Take time today to rest, even though you have things to do. Take some time to get at least a few moments with yourself, and remind yourself that a confident, loving smile is worth more than anything you can possibly accomplish today. Remind yourself that when we wake up on Christmas morning we are all someone's child, and relax and enjoy the day, no matter the circumstances. CHOOSE to believe in yourself, CHOOSE to hear only the truth about yourself from yourself and others, CHOOSE to remember who you are and nothing else can take that wonder away from the day. Relax, refresh your spirit, and wake up Christmas morning with the eyes and heart of a child!

Peace and Blessings,
EstherBelle

The Best Kind of Gift

2019-12-21T12:01:00.000-06:00

I am blessed that I have lived long enough to have my community-my tribe-include avery strong online community. Without them I would feel totally useless and abandoned most days,and they are indeed a gift to me.

But today I want to talk about in person contact,which many people have a great lack of in their lives and what an enormous gift you are giving when you make an hour or two of your life available to someone else.

This was reinforced for me a few of days ago.I needed help navigating some errands,and the daughter-in-law of my favorite cousin was there for me--not for the first time.

Now the errand turned out to need a visit to more than one bank branch, so we had some extra time together,and for that I am truly thankful. Not only is this young woman a family member--I truly LIKE her and like spending time with her. One of the reasons is we are getting to know each other,and the way you do that is tell your stories.

Now,I live with a non-conversationalist. Oh,the eternal teenager and I have conversations,but they revolve around his interests--he is after all a person with autism.Having a conversation is not easy for him. His world is defined by his parameters, and frankly,how many kids are actually all that interested in their parent's stories?

So,the gift of having actual conversation with a live, breathing person is indeed an amazing gift,and I am forever grateful for the gift of time this young woman affords me.It means more than I can express.

This time of year is a natural time for remembering and telling our stories, the winter season is a time for reflection and renewal. Today, with the solstice upon us, we are reminded that there is a reason why most cultures, from our prehistoric ancestors until the present time have holy days and ceremonies at this time of year. The nights are long, and life has slowed down as the earth sleeps and rests for the growing that will come. We are supposed to have time to reflect, and time to share the stories of our lives and the lives of those who have come before us.We are supposed to have time to be social, and so we honor this season with ritual, tradition, and ceremony.We are meant to have time to tell our stories.

As you go through this season, no matter your traditions, I hope that you will find time to share someone's stories. Take a few minutes to connect with a friend who is grieving, or an older relative, and just give them to opportunity to remember.If they cry, all that is needed is your hand on theirs. If they laugh, your laughter will naturally come to mingle.It may be the greatest gift they receive this year.

Peace and Blessings,

EB

P.S. I dislike doing this but there is a paypal button over there,just in case. I told a friend once who was embarrassed about asking for help that if we don't make our needs known how does anyone ever know we have needs.The William and I are struggling,and just as embarrassed I am pointing out the button.We are continually blessed.

Thanksgiving

2019-11-28T06:58:00.003-06:00

(I wrote this a couple of years ago, still fits)

Sometimes it is difficult to feel thankful. I have days when I am just a big old bottomless pit of envy, bitterness, resentment,and downright crankyass misery. I try to not have those days often,they are exhausting.

But,even when I am the world's worst crank,I know better. I know that even though life is a struggle,and difficult beyond measure, I have things I am truly thankful for.

I have an amazing son. We've spent a couple of years now just trying to keep him alive.He has to tolerate medical interventions that his autistic brain really isn't even capable of processing .He hates to be touched and yet he has to put up with being touched.He does it with quiet strength and reserves we only suspected he was capable of.Things most of us take for granted can be difficult for him,but he perseveres and deals with the challenges. He is my hero-most days.

I have a community of friends--most of whom I have never met in person. Which I am old enough to find amazing. Who could have imagined 30-40-50 years ago that the majority of women I consider my dearest friends are people I have met in online communities? Kind of boggles the mind.Smart,caring, kind, incredibly generous friends for whom I am eternally thankful.

AND I have me. Now, I ain't worth claiming some days. But,I'm what I have, for what it's worth.

I wrote this 10 years ago and it still rings true to me today...

The quote for today...

I am an indestructible fortress,
I am an unassailable rock,
I am a precious jewel.
--Ancient Irish Prayer

I think that is where I get my strength. Now, I am not saying to you that I don't have days where I am nothing but a quivering mass of jello, but what I do have is an innate belief that I am indestructible. In fact, I am fond of saying, you can't kill me it's been tried.

OK, so I know that is a slight exaggeration but most humor is. What I am saying is that I am strong enough to withstand what the world has to throw at me. We all are, some of us may not know it yet, and one of the things I try to do is to help people see this truth about themselves. If we believe we have the strength to take what the world is handing out, then we journey forth into the world in a much different manner. Our very presence changes. Our posture is taller, our countenance brighter. We shine like the precious jewel we are. Now where do jewels come from, with the exception of pearls, most things that we consider precious jewels come from the earth, from dirt and rock, created by great pressure.Not the most glamorous of beginnings So it would seem to me that the more the world throws at us, the more we manage to crawl our way through as more than a survivor, as a victor, the more precious jewel we become. Even pearls start out in an unglamorous place. Now as much as I enjoy an appetizer of oysters on the half shell, it isn't a pleasant thing to look at.But look at how that oyster reacted to an irritant that it couldn't get rid of, it surrounded that irritating little grain of sand, piece of debris, with beauty.And a precious jewel was created from irritation and probably a lot of pain.

So, I am going to take my cranky ass in hand and try to be more than thankful.

Peace and Blessings,

EB

P.S. I dislike doing this but there is a paypal button over there,just in case. I told a friend once who was embarrassed about asking for help that if we don't make our needs known how does anyone ever know we have needs.The William and I are struggling,and just as embarrassed I am pointing out the button.We are continually blessed.

RSD/CRPS Awareness Month

2019-11-01T21:42:00.002-05:00

Awareness months seem commonplace these days, and so it can be easy to ignore them. Then of course, something hits home with you in a personal way, and you feel the need to be part of the awareness. As the parent of a young man with autism, I have written about autism awareness. This month, I am writing as a person with RSD.

What is RSD/CRPS you ask? Well, according to the National Organization of Rare Disorders "Reflex sympathetic dystrophy syndrome (RSDS), also known as complex regional pain syndrome(CRPS), is a rare disorder of the sympathetic nervous system that is characterized by chronic, severe pain. The sympathetic nervous system is that part of the autonomic nervous system that regulates involuntary functions of the body such as increasing heart rate, constricting blood vessels, and increasing blood pressure. Excessive or abnormal responses of portions of the sympathetic nervous system are thought to be responsible for the pain associated with reflex sympathetic dystrophy syndrome."

Now, this post is not to seek sympathy, but to increase awareness. So many live with what are sometimes called invisible diseases. It can be difficult for those who love us to come to terms with the fact that we are in pain. My late husband hated my pain more than I did. He felt completely helpless, not an easy thing for a loving spouse to feel. The first few years-I experienced my first symptoms in 2001 on our honeymoon-I felt a lot of guilt. Yes, guilt. It isn't easy knowing that family times and plans depend on how Mom is feeling that day.

It took a year before I found the doctors I rely on. Rare disorders are like that. Most doctors have limited knowledge of the disorder and even less knowledge of how to deal with it. I was misdiagnosed by several doctors. Really unfortunate because if diagnosed early there is a chance to stop the progression. I was progressed into phase 3 of 4 before I found the right doctors.Still, I was not finished with unknowing medical professionals. After I found my wonderful neurologist, who not only knew what was wrong with me, but knew how to help me, I had to change my primary care physician. The one I had been using quite simply looked at the diagnosis from the neurologist and told me there was no such thing as RSD and that I was imagining it.

Now, RSD has been in the medical literature for 150 years. The name has changed through the years, in fact the name has changed since I developed it in 2001, but it has been written about since the Civil War. So, you can imagine how disheartening it was for a physician I trusted to look me in the eye and tell me I was imagining the most excruciating pain known to exist. He simply refused to continue treating me if I persisted in seeing my neurologist for treatment of the RSD. For me, this is underscores why we need to have an RSD/CRPS awareness month.Even doctors need to be educated.

Thirty years ago when I first started seeking answers for what was different about my son, it became obvious that educating people was going to be part of the equation. I had never met anyone dealing with autism, and so I found myself researching and studying so that I could educate family, friends, even the doctors and educators we were dealing with. Fast forward,and I am find the same need to educate when it comes to RSD. Luckily, we now have more avenues open to research, share information and connect with others doing the same thing. All too often when you are dealing with something you can feel isolated, as if you are the only person in the world who has to go through what you are going through. In this day of social networks and awareness months it is so good to know that there are others out there who understand.

While no two people have exactly the same experiences, it is always helpful to know that you are not alone. This disorder is not easy to live with. There is no cure, and as horrific as enduring the physical pain can be, the psychological and spiritual pain can be even worse. It is not easy being in pain, being treated badly by the medical establishment,misunderstood by friends and family, needing large doses of narcotics just to get through the day. It will wear you out. It isn't even easy to describe the pain you are feeling.OK, imagine that someone has set your nervous system on fire, is applying a cattle prod and attempting to shred the flesh from your bones with a giant meat fork, all at the same time. I told you it was hard to describe the pain that an RSD patient endures. NOW multiply what you imagine that might feel like by about 10,000.You might be getting an idea of the severity of the pain. Honestly, that is the best picture I can give you. Now imagine that the pain that is constant at about a 6-7 out of 10 can be spiked up to about a 12 out of 10 (I am not exaggerating) simply because the fabric of the skirt you are wearing was touched by a puff of wind. The pain colors every moment of your life. Every breath you take. Am I enjoying a sunset on my deck? What if the wind comes up, what if the fabric in this skirt is scratchy, what if I simply breathe deep and the pain flares? You have to think about these things,and learn to deal with them.

Of course, RSD is not the only disease/disorder that involves chronic pain, there are way too many. It just happens to be one of the diseases I have. There are an estimated 5 million people worldwide suffering from RSD.The reason I talk about RSD is so that other people can be encouraged to talk about what they are dealing with. It is my small way of saying that you can learn to manage your pain, and perhaps even to manage to have a life in spite of it.

You can learn to manage the pain with medication, good doctors, and with the meditation and breathing that you use for so many things.Some days you might be stuck in poor pitiful me mode, and that is OK.Life is hard and pain just multiplies the hard some days.

BUT, you are not alone.Even people who can't imagine the pain can sharetheir energies with you...but you have to share your story so they will know you need them.

Peace and Blessings,

EB

p.s. I dislike doing this but there is a paypal button over there, just in case. I told a friend who was embarrassed about asking for help that if we don't make our needs known how does anyone ever know we have needs.Right now our needs include car repair,utilities,groceries and medical suppies. So, just as embarrassed, I am pointing out the button. Blessings.

Steps taken, baby steps, but steps...

2019-07-25T10:35:00.001-05:00

So, after I got brave and blogged about where I have descended to in life, several things have happened--many more need to, but that is part of the story.This will be long, but for me putting things down and out there is a step--and don't we say on social media when we talk about life sometimes that "this may be bloggy"?

FIRST, I am still working on not feeling the shame and fear, and it is just hard. The positive words and actions of encouragement from so many online friends has been the only thing keeping me taking even baby steps, and I can not express how very very important you all are to me.

When you come to the place where you can admit that you have become pretty much non functional, you see how much you have let slip, and it is all overwhelming. You are operating from the bottom of a deep hole, and just starting seems impossible. You tend to feel paralyzed by it all into remaining in inaction--even though you are not stupid enough to think inaction is acceptable. AND of all my fears and anxieties--feeling stupid is one of the things that is most uncomfortable to me.

SO, after I blogged my distress signal, I actually did make some phone calls.

I ended up with the numbers for 4 crisis lines, and called all 4.Let me say ONE was extremely helpful, one was generally helpful, and two of them, when I got off the phone I wanted to smack the person I had been talking to.

I found that the County Mental Health Center has changed the way it does things and I will be welcome to use their services, after some obstacles have been cleared.This is big, since I was denied service there while we were in the midst of my sons worst health issues. Long story, but it really is the most convenient place for me.

But there are major obstacles.

First, I lost my drivers license--not they took it away from me, I just must have dropped it somewhere, and you have to have valid ID to be helped. SO, this was a step I managed to take--I steeled my nerves and went to THE DMV!!

Now,it also seems my license had expired on my birthday last month, and I have also managed to lose my birth certificate. BUT, being old has its perks--you do not NEED a copy of your birth certificate at the DMV if you are 65 or older--and my last birthday put me in that category. Who knew getting old wasn't all bad?

So,things actually went really easily at the DMV--and how many times will you ever hear someone say that so far the DMV experience has been the most positive part of the story?

I renewed my driver's license, I have a lovely temporary copy-BUT the Mental Health Center doesn't accept temporary and the new license takes 2-4 weeks to arrive. OK , setback, but what are you going to do? I have made calls, and taken at least one proactive step, so it is half a victory.

The next obstacle is getting enough money to take care of the expired tags on my car. Because of the generosity of strangers I am halfway there.

I was also able to pay the gas bill, so they won't turn that off--we still have hot water.

The electric bill is in arrears, along with the car that is the next project.

So, I am not out of the woods, I am however taking teeny tiny little steps towards the meadow (ok, was that a really bad metaphor?)

I just need to keep moving, as slow and tortured as it is, and I am doing my best.

So, I guess all of this is just to say thanks for the support--please keep it coming, and I think using my blog to be accountable will be something I can do as a step.

Thank you all.

EB

Why I stopped looking at Facebook and other things

2019-07-23T07:44:00.001-05:00

I am depressed. Seriously depressed, and I need to find the strength to start calling and getting help.

I stopped looking at and posting on facebook without really realizing that is what I was doling.

Last fall, I blogged about someone who had been harassing me online, and that it had affected me more than it should have.Turned out it was someone that I didn't know,but then a couple of times I posted on facebook about problems in our lives--and our lives are problematic, and someone I did know made comments.

So I stopped posting.

Part of the problem is that it is all too easy to retreat into isolation in this day and age.Too easy to not have real life face to face interaction with people, and so there is no one to tell you that they are worried about you as you become detached from life.

So, here I am deeply depressed, and not really knowing how I let it go on this long--but then that is the thing about depression.

So, send me some good thoughts. I am working up the strength to start making phone calls and finding help--again.

It is not easy.

There is embarrassment and shame, and fear. SO MUCH FEAR.

Life is just hard, we are always struggling financially with no let up, and as blessed as we are we also live in fear. Is this the day they turn the gas off? Is this the week I can't afford groceries? Damn, my car tags are expired again.

The stress and shame has worn me out, and I need all of the encouragement I can get to find my way back to the world.

So prayers, mojo,good thoughts please. I miss being a real person, and I feel so unreal right now.

Peace, I really need some.

EB

P.S. I dislike doing this but there is a paypal button over there just in case.My son and I are struggling, it is embarrassing and fearful to point it out.

Where were you at 22?

2019-07-14T08:10:00.002-05:00

In honor of my late husband,today is his birthday, please tell your young ones your stories as they make their way into the world.

My husband was killed by a drunk driver.

Quick, what picture did your mind flash when you read the words 'drunk driver'?

In our case the words 'drunk driver' mean a 22 year old girl. A lovely young woman with her entire life before her. Recently graduated from college, with honors. From all reports, she was a goal oriented, studious college student.She is very close to her family, she goes to church on Sunday. After her May graduation she went to work, as an accountant and moved into her own apartment.

After she got off work Friday night, she reportedly went out with some friends. Young people, enjoying themselves on a Friday night. Laughing, talking, drinking. Then she got into her car to drive home. Her blood alcohol level was around .118, well over the legal limit. In her intoxicated state she drove up a freeway off ramp, past the signs that said WRONG WAY and drove northbound in the southbound lanes for a couple of miles at freeway speeds until she hit my husband's car head on, killing him instantly I am told.

This is on my mind because my friends and I have children in this age group. Children that are stretching their wings. I remember reading somewhere about how a butterfly struggles to exit the cocoon. If we were to help the butterfly, the butterfly would not be able to fly and would die. It seems that the struggle to break free creates the strength necessary to fly. Those of us with growing children know the truth in this. We watch as our children struggle with the silken constraints, and we want so much to help them, but the most we can do is hope that we have taught them right from wrong, and that life is always about choice, and every choice has consequences. We watch our children stretch their wings, and hope they know that there is nothing they can do that will make us stop loving them. We hope they know that when we see them struggle, we will do our best to make sure they learn how to fly.

My husband and I were always very open with our son about our youthful struggles with drugs and alcohol. We felt that since genetics may play a role in addiction, we had a responsibility to tell him our stories. He knows about our 12 step programs, and why we attend. He knows that we celebrate 2 birthdays a year. In fact, he has been quite proud of our milestones over the years. He will tell you that we choose not to use alcohol at our house. He will tell you that we choose not to use illegal drugs at our house. He will tell you these things with pride in his voice, because he knows that in life there is always a choice, and every choice has consequences.

Being a parent is a hard job. We watch our children stretch their wings with such pride and fear. What if we see them struggling, when do we help, how do we help. Have we talked to them about the embarrassing stuff? Kids will groan when the subject turns to sex, drugs, alcohol. They will roll their eyes, but we must tell them anyway.

Do your children know your stories? Do they know that you were their age once, and that you made choices and lived with the consequences of those choices. Sometimes the consequences are benign. You are 22 years old and you choose to celebrate the end of the work week by going out with friends and laughing and talking and having a good time. Since you are choosing to have a drink, you have chosen whose turn it is to be the designated driver.

Sometimes the consequences are tragic, and you have too much too drink and you choose to drive drunk, and you drive up the off ramp past the WRONG WAY signs and you kill a man, and nothing is ever the same again.

Peace and Blessings,

P.S. I dislike doing this but there is a paypal button over there,just in case. I told a friend once who was embarrassed about asking for help that if we don't make our needs known how does anyone ever know we have needs.The William and I are struggling,and just as embarrassed I am pointing out the button.We are continually blessed.

Father's Day Memories

2019-06-16T08:21:00.000-05:00

Even though my father was very stern and reserved with me, I do still have some very good memories of him.

This one starts out hard, but ends up with a great line...
I had to pretty much run away from home to go to college. My father forbid me going, and I ended up living at home a couple of years until I turned 18 and could leave on my own.My mother understood it was something I had to do, and I think that is because she couldn't afford to go to college when she graduated from high school in 1930. So, I turn 18, and I am on my way to the bus station to head to college. The last thing I hear my father say to my mother is that "Nothing good will come of this, she'll go off and come back pregnant." He had such faith in me! So of I went to college, majored in theatre, ended up working in theatre and radio, won awards in both careers. My father saw me on stage one time, and heard me on the radio once. A few years later, when their health was failing, Papa had congestive heart failure, emphysema,and Alzheimer's. Hard to believe, this was a man who retired from a roofing company at 65, and went back to work at the roofing company at 67, and the young guys couldn't keep up with him. He fell off a roof when he was 73, around Halloween. He broke his hip and had surgery to implant screws and a rod the first of November. Doctors said he would take 8 months to a year to walk again. On January 1st, we were watching the news and there was a fire at the company where he had worked for 50 years. He said "They're going to need everyone and went back to work on January 2nd. He worked for several more years, until the Alzheimer's got bad enough that he couldn't work anymore.But I digress...when his health was getting worse and he and mother couldn't manage on their own anymore, I left my career in radio and back to California to take care of them. I did not know at that time that I was pregnant. After I had been there a couple of months it became obvious I should see a doctor, and I was shocked to learn that I was expecting. Remember what my father said when I left for college? Well here it was decades later,I was an award winning actress, designer,and broadcast news director, afraid to tell my father that I was pregnant because I was his old maid daughter. So, I call my little sister (two years younger than me) who was a married mother of two. My sister tells my mother, and my mother goes in to tell my father while I sit on the porch. It is late summer, and the windows are open and I can hear my mother telling my father what the doctor had said and the next thing I hear is my father's voice..."I told you if we let her go off to college this would happen, she came home pregnant."

Did you notice that I was his old maid daughter? This is one of my favorite stories. I was working at a theatre on my 25th birthday. We didn't have a phone back in the costume shop, so if there was a call someone would have to come get us. So it is the afternoon of my 25th birthday, here comes the office girl who says "You have a phone call, it's you're father." My father? My father never calls. He always has my mother call, even his favorite sister. He will talk on the phone but he never makes the call. Assuming the worst, that something is wrong with Mother I run to the office to answer. I pick up the phone and say hello. My father says hello, and I ask him if everything is OK. Is something wrong with mother? Here is the rest of the conversation...

"No, your mother is fine, I wanted to talk to you."

"Is everything OK?"

"Do you know what today is?"

"Yes, sir, it's my birthday."

"Do you know how old you are?"

"Yes, sir, I am 25."

"What did you do last night?"

"We had a show, I worked."

"What are you doing tonight?"

"We have a show Papa, I am working."

"Did you get married since the last time we talked to you?"

"No, sir, you know I didn't."

"Are you sure? Do you have plans to get married tonight?"

"Yes, sir.I am sure.No, sir, no plans to get married.""

"Do you know what it means when a girl turns 25 and she's not married?"

"No, sir, I don't."

"It means you are an old maid.If you turn 25 and you're not married you are an old maid. there has never been an old maid in my family.I'll be the first one to have an old maid daughter.Do you know what happens when you turn 35 and you're not married?"

[By this time I am laughing]
"No, sir, I don't know."

"If you turn 35 and you're not married,and it doesn't look like you're going to be,at 35 you become the little old lady who lives on the corner."

[I am really laughing now]
"Papa, I am 6'1" and weigh over 300 pounds, I hardly think I will be a LITTLE old lady."

"It doesn't matter, at 35 you become the little old lady who lives on the corner. I won't be able to hold my head in my family."

And then he hung up. I am not sure to this day whether he was serious, but once again I did not disappoint my father. I was 47 when I married. I wish he had still been alive to come!

Here's the last one I will share today. I only talked back to my father twice in my life. The first time was when I was 13, and it was the last time he whooped me with the leather strap. It had to do with me sassing my mom, and that was NOT allowed. The second time, I was 22. It was the night before my sister's wedding. For reasons that don't really matter anymore, my father had decided he was not going to the wedding. My sister was hurt. Some in the family thought he didn't want to get dressed up. He wore bib overalls every day of his life. I only saw him dressed up in slacks and jacket one time. But my sister didn't care if he came in his overalls, she just wanted him to come. One of our older brothers would be walking her down the aisle because of my father's stubborn stand.So, since we are all busy getting ready for the wedding, it is decided that we would go pick up some take-out food. I ask my father to go with me, and he does. While waiting I get my nerve up and I say to him "I am going to say this and you can whip me if you want, but you are going to that wedding." "No, I'm not," he answers. "Yes, old man," I say, "you are going to that wedding if I have to knock you out and take you there myself." Nothing more was said, the food came and we took it home. We all went to the wedding the next day, and left him at home. We got dressed, and the music started.As the maid of honor I start down the aisle just before my sister, and there in the last pew, sitting on the aisle, was an old man in bib overalls. I looked him in the eye and smiled. He did not smile back. My sister, who had not cried yet that day started crying when she saw him. So, later as I drove him and mother home from the reception,a reception where he had a great time and maybe got a little tipsy, he said to me "you were right, but don't you ever talk to me that way again." I never spoke back to him again.

The morning he died, his mind was amazingly clear. I had him up and bathed and dressed in his beloved overalls. he was playing with my son, who was about a year old. Papa told my son he loved him, then looked at me and said "He's going to grow up to be a fine young man, I wish I was going to be around to see it."

I treasure those words, and I miss my father, and I wish he were here to see that his words are true. My son is an amazing young man, and I tell him the stories of my father.

Peace and Blessings,

Mother's Day

2019-05-12T08:49:00.000-05:00

Mother's Day is not an easy day for all of us. Some of us are struggling,physically,financially,spiritually.

Some of us are alone,missing Moms, or kids,or just wishing life was easier even one damn day.

In years gone by,my guys were not the best shoppers. So, I would get really sweet Mother's Day gifts like a San Francisco 49'ers ink pen-we live in Kansas City and my guys were die hard Chiefs fans. So, we began a new tradition. I would go shopping for my annuals and soil, and my guys would provide the muscle for me to spend the day planting flowers. Then rather than go out to a crowded restaurant, William would bake a Di Giorno pizza and serve dinner. It became a wonderful tradition. I loved it so much.I miss it so much. Amazing how traditions are formed,and how important they become in our lives.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY. You either are a child of a mother or a mother or are truly blessed to be both of those things. You may be a friend or an auntie or a neighbor who smiles, but you deserve to feel the love and respect and admiration that comes from those words.

Some Mothers may not hear those words out loud. OH, I could remind my son to say them, but it would sound forced.So, I choose to not remind him. I choose to allow myself to feel true gratitude for the gifts I have received this morning. Brother sun peeked out for a minute--and it has been raining all week, so that was a gift.

When the eternal teenager gets up, he will read me the funnies.We will talk about last nights hockey game (his beloved team did not win) and I will treasure the times we are able to have a spontaneous conversation no matter how short or long every single moment of my life. I choose not to feel left out because I do not receive gifts or hear the words. I choose to know and believe that they are there.

I will share vicariously in the joy of others as they post pictures of their families.Being able to share the gifts and blessings of others is definitely a choice, and I have to choose to feel gifted instead of bereft.So, blessings to all who share their gifts, and to all who can be grateful for those gifts.

Are you feeling alone today? Has someone forgot to call or write? I am so sorry. We will choose to forgive them. Recognize the gifts all around us, thank Mother Nature for the sunshine, or the rain.

I may even wish Mother Nature a Happy Mother's Day, even though she has been annoying me to no end with the never ending days of rain this week.

Happy Mothers Day to those who need to hear it.

There is a place in all of us that needs to know we belong.

Happy Mother's day.

Peace and Blessings,