Shell Shock- you should try this.

Know the diagnosis helps with the cure. I am healer, it's what I do. Just like any other attempt at doing things correctly, I first started to study. Currently there is a vast amount of information relating to this 'disease' even to the point of a recent attempt to relabel it as a Disease. Frankly my hallucinations and don't care if it's called Vanilla Machine Gun. I used to be a brilliant and vivacious woman. Now I hide, even in public, I hide. Nothing about me is consistent. I have become fluid, sometimes at a boil, sometimes frozen. Seldom do I stand still, for fear I will grow something on me.

I watched this video made in between WWI and WWII. It's brutal to watch, and as a medical professional, I find treatments deplorable. As a patient, I stop and think "hmmmmm" several times. It is most assuredly Food For Thought


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XwTdHwJadV4

Succulents

I have jumped into overhaul mode. Must be time. I moved into a house a few years ago that has character. Established character. It spoke to me the day I walked in and saw the previous owners creations all over the house. She used gourds and seed pods dried flowers and wood as her medium. The house was full of painted, carved, stained and shiny shellacked bits of all sizes and shapes. She made lamps, tables, wreaths. The house was stuffed to the brim with artsy things.

The front yard is a southwestern hardscape. It is not UNattractive. I just am no fan of rocks instead of greens.  Take out the cactus' that are pretty, but rude. I like cactus. I do NOT like it in my yard. It is not a friendly plant. Ask my daughter. I don't know how she did it. But the dog came to the house for help one afternoon, many years ago. She had managed to suspend herself magically on 5 inch cactus tines on a 4 foot tall beast of a thing. I don't know how it happened. It looked like she was placed there by crane. It was a bitch to get her down. It was hours of baby on the kitchen table, dosed strongly with Benadryl. A pair of tweezers and a magnifying glass. Poor baby. Cactus and I are no longer friends. It tried to eat my daughter.

 The back yard has a sturdy lawn with different grasses to cover the sun only and shade only areas. Watering is handled via sprinkler systems on a timer. I LOVE the timer. I SUCK at programming it. We have had a few deaths along my learning curve. I've had to kill a mature and gorgeous honeysuckle. It was full of wasp nests. The largest I saw was the size of a paper plate. I was stung. I got very sick. Taking antihistimines along with my regular medications....18 hours of sleep...bad idea. The honey suckle had to go. I was really sad, it was pretty. Rotted fencing. A sturdy and full attitude palm tree stands proudly. The pompous grass had to go. Several blank palates have been looking at me for a year. I have planted marigolds that are happy and hearty and are taking over. I am letting them supplement the soil. Little rotted plant matter build up.

I know soil changes like this aren't fast. I am waiting, sort of. I am no good at patience. I want the 30 minute improvement, just like TV. No such luck. I am not spending an arm and a leg for that. Yards don't handle such grand overhauls well. Lots of things can become mulch for their neighbors, but not everything survives planting.

I am trimming the palm in back. Little at a time. The leaves will droop and touch you as you pass. I cut those down, and trim up the trunk. I have tackled the soil in the bed next it. Marigolds. A jasmine which seems determined to stay. Roses in different places that are all going to relocate to the corner and become a rose garden with a bench. The bird bath is living in the middle of the bulb garden. There are two gloriously tall junipers that I have trimmed up from the bottom so it is safe to walk past them.

This week I started with a brick garden box by the front door. Has a yucca (going) some ivy (going) and two roses (relocating). I have discovered a succulent garden thought process. Little clusters of this and that. They are water wise. They are green and don't try to skewer you. I also have a strawberry pot that just doesn't like to hold plants. It's future destiny is a Fairy High Rise.

Things CAN change. Things can GROW. Things can become more than what they are. Yes, they can fail. I prefer to consider these failures as fruit for the survivors. Alright. lets get dirty.

Reactionary

I have had the need to assess my responses to situations around me. Am I REacting to what I perceive as your Insert Adjective  behavior. Or am I acting out of Life Experience and somehow imparting a piece of my Character into this situation to a Useful End. Am I participating in someone else's emotional reactions and snowballing something out of control? Or do I stand firm and tell my Truth without seeking my own end?

I have lived in different cultural situations. The nomadic existence of being a military brat created short term relationships that sometimes led to certain young people telling fish stories of their grandiose life styles and secrets of state we swore we knew and could never tell. The adolescent tales of 'who is sleeping with who' and who wore what, and how cool are you, as opposed to me? That all took place in a culture that my family had spent generations in, though I was still an outsider, since not everyone of my contemporaries immediately knew my family. The short term 'ole lady. The long term wife. Co-worker. Lover. Friend. Partner.

I have never had time for 'survivor' style manipulation. I don't get the amusement. I don't understand the need to undermine another person for professional (or personal) status. If you have to step ON me, apparently I have more value than you want to admit. So, get off me.

Since I have had to take a detailed inventory of ME (which is a damned chore), I have been watching my responses to things. I have always been pretty careful during my young life to watch my body cycles and make sure that I am fed and watered well if I got short tempered. Checked the status of the moon to see if I had to put all my knives away, made sure I let the people around me know that I could be surly, and to just smile and nod if poison drips from my face. Any other response usually just escalates my temper. I have had some absolutely wonderful partners in my life that have stood and yelled "rawr-rawr" right back at me, and let me just hollar a bad mood away until the behavior just made me laugh. I have very good friends.

I have been watching Action versus REaction in myself very carefully. I have been working on my constructive ability and functionality. I would like to someday trust that I can make a plan, execute, tidy up, and reap the benefits of my good work without pausing, second guessing, finding a squirrel, or just tossing my hands up and taking a nap instead. I am a difficult teacher, I do not accept failure. My ears have no ability to process whining (even my own). I cannot hear the word "No" (ask my anyone).

I stumble. I fall. If someone cuts me off in traffic, I still scream my newly invented epithets. But I have never beaten anyone for driving like a moron. I have had lots of opportunity. I am not saying I never will. Just that I have not.

It's not my core character to hurt someone. I do not do so with intention. My intention is to bring comfort and honesty. My intention is to act with an open heart and give what I can to this situation. My intention is to Listen and Teach. No more than you need, no less than you require.

I am working very hard to give myself Time and Space. To evaluate what, in my day, may be motivating my next sentence, or the way I feel RIGHT NOW. Is it important that I say the next sentence that is about to come shooting out of this pie hole of mine? Or should I bite my tongue, wait 24 hours and see how I feel about it then? Is this next sentence going to permanently change my relationship? In a good way? Will this benefit one of us? Is is shallow and trivial? Is it hurtful?



--Pleasure's couch is virtue's grave  <<Augustine Duganne 

Music

I started here to ask if you if music can save your mortal soul, but Don McClean asked that years ago, the Day the Music Died.
.

There are so many options for music. My current addiction has to do with Auditions from talent competitions (I think I have a crush on Simon Cowell, please don't tell him). I used to say "I love everything but opera". That is no longer true. There are many pieces that I have come to love. I don't know how it happens, but there is a hand that cups my heart and gives a gentle squeeze and my eyes well with tears.

Mozart was challenged to write an opera in German. This had never been done before. He wrote a piece for a woman whose voice was enthralling to him. The Queen of the Night aria, from the Magic Flute.The story is a queen demanding her daughter marry a man she despises or mother will kill her. I can listen to it two or three times in a row, then my brain just cannot make my voice construct that sound. Diana Damrau constructs this particular aria with her soul. I am enchanted by the way her body becomes involved and embraces the sounds:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UXOYcd6KZ0E

There is a singer my daughter inducted me to nearly a decade ago. His name is Vitas. His range is phenomenal. This is my favorite of his. It's a love song written by a crane to the Moon. Astonishing.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qn6b5mZZD-I

There are few people who can tolerate my music. Especially when I get motivated. I start looking for things I have never heard. I beg for tunes. I find new and old. This one is fairly new to me. I listen. I feel.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wbgb3lgMluA

Healing. It covers the wounds of my soul with stanzas and notes and pure sound. A salve for stings. A poultice for pain. A tea for tribulations.

I have no 'go-to' tune for a consistent refreshment. I would love to say there was ONE SONG that made it all better. There isn't. Pain is never the same. The need for bouncing around the house doing my really crappy Risky Business dance just has no soundtrack. Today the Soggy Bottom Boys. Yesterday Sam Baily. The day before, well it was Beyonce.

SING LIKE NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU

Mini-Me

A mini-me update:

I've been feeling entirely more Me in the last few months. Haven't really said much more than little obnoxious asides on Life & Me.

Four years I've been living under new 'management'. PTSD & ME has been a liaison I wish no one to share. I forget. I'm scattered. I'm moody as a prepubescent girl. I am eagerly distracted (no, that wasn't autocorrect "eagerly distracted").

My closest and best therapy has been Scooter. He helped me learn focus and that little things really ARE the big things.

I've gained a few insights on myself. A big one is that I spent a very log time practicing medicine. With that came the internal dialog, external dialog, global survey, assessing current physiological status of everyone around me to know if/who was capable of maintaining the forward momentum that dictated every aspect of my career. This multitasking thought process is an ability I am sure many are aware of. However, fractured brains that KNOW only this thought process require a multitasking in healing/entertainment/silencing/measuring/growing/sealing simultaneously.

SO--

I have researched history. Moved backwards, Nixon, Franklin (my Fav), Vikings, Rome, Greece, Huns, Silk Road, etc....Egypt has been a long time favorite. As have the Aztecs (thanks, Ma).

I have begun a slow and steady nurture in the yard. Removing the locals deadly (to me) insects by drawing in insect eating birds. Supplementing the soil this season with my prolific marigolds.

Leading my rowdy canine down the path of Peace. So she can help remind me to center (for this, I deeply miss Monster Berry Pie).

I spend a few hours everyday creating. Solid goals ahead of me with deadlines. I am making them. I am pleased.

I have found if I have little interest, I give it no attention. None. Delete. Moving On.

I've revamped the Blog I haven't touched in a coons age. I have a few goals with that as well.

I MUST multitask. My brain has no choice. It's just how it works. I can sew for hours, but I need a nature documentary on head phones droning on. I can type thoughts out quite clearly, but I need music to move the words.

There is more. There will be more. I have goals. I make small ones. One step in a process (today I am cleaning out THIS cupboard). I must then STOP. Clean up my mess. And then I can go do something else. Two hour blocks of time. The length of an average 9-1-1 call.

Beginning. Middle. End.

Welcome Aboard, the train is now leaving the station. If I don't LOVE it, it's donated.

Change of Heart

Well, I hit bottom. About two weeks ago, I thought it couldn't get any worse. And then, my bank account got hacked for $600, when I really was pinching pennies. That seemed like a real annoyance. Bank forms, police report, late fees.... 100 days to recover lost monies.

But, something happened in the bank. Something inside me just 'snapped'. Sorta like it did before, only back the other direction. I felt centered, in control. Tired of being the victim. No one else was going to do anything about this. No one else gives a royal crap that I am in pain, and broke and spiraling down a dark abyss.

Don't get me wrong. I have family, loved ones, those that love me. But no one made such a big deal of all this pain that I was having besides me. And I was letting it consume me, almost literally.

See, I wasn't so much contemplating suicide as listing the ways I could NOT kill myself. I spent three days in this place, like a small shack on the edge of Hell. Treacherous cliffs, burns on my skin from the heat, and a triton in the corner, waiting for it's owner to come and shove me over the high side.

Then, I got hacked. SNAP. Done. I feel completely normal. No deep depression. A tune rolling around in my head over and over. I felt a healing in my bones. No shack, no dark burning abyss, no triton.

A few days later, my 12 year old dog collapsed. He died about 14 hours later. In my lap, in the parking lot at the vet clinic. Just died. After asking a few questions to my house mates about what they had seen in the last few days... it sounded like he had acute renal failure. My best mate, gone from my life. I was in tears for three days. No matter what I was doing, or what positive or negative conversations I was having, my eyes were full of tears and they rolled down my cheeks. Weeping for my lost, beautiful dog.

Don't get me wrong, this didn't put me back into the abyss. But it did give me a place to lay an enormous amount of grief. For patients lost, and partners lost, downed firemen, police and emts from a long past. Near misses, write ups, career shifts. I got to grieve a great deal. I saw, in my minds eye so many things that I got to let go of. Babies, kids, grannies, grampas, moms dads, and an assortment of those who died completely alone. And me. My broken armor and my broken heart. I got to grieve for me. For that I thank that smelly old dog dying in my arms.

And so I grieved. Deep and wide and long. My beautiful dog. Monster taught me more than I wanted to learn, or expected to learn from a dog.

Tomorrow will be two weeks. I don't like missing him. But when I do, I let myself weep, for a few minutes. But I am so fricken' tired of not flipping people shit, being a pain in the ass and generally making sure that I get my bite out of world. I am tired of being in charge of every body else's shit. I can't make it happen for you, I have tapped myself out. Get over it, I am healing.

I feel better, and that doesn't mean I will continue to feel better. But there are things I no longer have to deal with. I am tired of being a victim of my own brain.

So I did some house cleaning. Got rid of shit that was a burden, wasn't inspiring. I reconstructed several things here. Brought stuff in that makes me peaceful. I am done 'owing' strangers my life. My heart. My depth. My energy. I think my family could use more of that.

But first, it's me.

I

I am in pain. Things were going so well and then the dreams started again. Shredded. Torn. Burned. Bleeding. Screaming. Smells. Sound. The ever present flashing red lights.

I am not thinking clearly either. I forget from one day to the next. I cannot assert my thoughts clearly to others. I think in movie lines. I cry several times a day.

I am sad at my situation. I try to alleviate pressure from here and there. I get poor responses from those who are supposed to be helpful. I don't get calls I want. I get calls I don't want.

I try to breathe. I try to be present and appreciate the air, the sounds, the warmth around me. Then the thinking gets confused and like searching on the internet for a term paper on the statistical probabilities of next years income formula and finding myself in ancient Egypt discovering Ahkenaten was the first recorded person to worship a single god. Fuzzy logic in my brain. Useless things that still remain. Years of asking "Why?", then ascertain.

I am weary. Of hearing "No" or nothing. I am weary of my lack of assets. I am weary of my prospects. I am weary of my fears.

I listen to pop music. I listen to blue grass. I listen to "oldies" rock tunes I grew up with. I listen loud and long. I sing my pain. I sing loud and long.

I sit quiet. I listen to my heart beat. I listen to my breath. My mind wanders and the sound of my internal riot picks up. I slow the noise, I turn it down. I listen to my breath.

This is tiresome. This is weary. This is me, wallowing.

I love my best friend. I love my children. I love my parents. I love my grandbabies. I do love the concept of conquering this shit, crushing it beneath my toe. Making this time in my life a healing. Accepting the feelings I have. Feeling it. Knowing intimately. Learning the texture of it. Letting the weariness pass away. I look forward to the refreshing feeling of what strength this will leave me with, like a steamy hot shower after completing a filthy job. Being clean of these times. Letting this negative black tar drain away.

I have, like most people, considered suicide, once in my life, long ago. The reasons are not important. I got to the edge then, and found that I am too damn curious. Most of you that know me have experienced this curiosity in me.

I am too damn curious to see what comes next.

Yelling

Do not yell at me any longer. I do not fear your wrath anymore, not like I did when I was little. And I never respected you for being angry with me. I am a grown woman who has fought you my whole life, in my head, in my heart and in making others 'be' you and then hating them instead. My hate runs deep, my heart is as cruel as yours. I would love them and cherish them and run them through with a blade of ice.

Hating you was never an option. Your lap was the safest place in the world. Your arms around me, smelling like Blistex and Old Spice, it was Heaven. It was perfect. It was Home to a vagabond girl that knew of boxes and moving and change, all too well.

Do not yell at me when you cannot see my eyes, so much like yours. You would learn fear, as I did when my eyes could see no higher than your elbow. Looking into your own eyes would paint a strip of fear in your heart as wide as the one you painted in me.

I love you and I respect you, but no more yelling. None. I am no more yours to yell at, than you are mine to abuse. Try learning to respect me, as a woman. Might heal us both.

Right now, all I feel is hurt, and the weary fear of my own creation. Right now, all I want to smell is Old Spice and Blistex, to feel safe.

Still I open my heart to you. I let you run me through, again, with your blade of ice. I try to remember. I try NOT to continue your Legacy.

I love you.

Clotho and Lachesis and Atropos

The Three Fates are really not well documented in mythology. There are the three hags in most tales of heros and legends. These are the Three Fates. Some say they are the daughters of Zeus, some say they are the daughters of Necessity. It matters not to me, they are part of too many tales not to be important.

Clotho is a spinner, she creates the moment of your birth, she spins the thread of your life. Is it golden and pure? Is it tattered and thin? Is it brown, grey, or a fine silvery thread that blows in a gentle breeze, like gossamer?

Suffering is part of those threads. Do you suffer? What is your tale of woe? Money. Love. Illness. Abuse. Neglect. Is your car broke down? Suffering is part. But so is happiness.

Are you rich in family? Are your pockets full of money? Do the dogs lick your toes just to watch you jump?

These threads can be woven into a tapestry of your life and either warm you and comfort you or feel like a wet blanket on a cold night. Are your threads rich in embroidery of joyful moments of peace? Your outlook is purely your own, she only provides the threads.

Lachesis determines the length of the thread. And the quality of life, or your destiny. Will you create ripples on the pond that span the world? Or will your ripples make your families life richer by your love and ability to knit wonderful booties every year at Christmas? Will your life bring happiness to millions? Or will you keep body parts in your freezer? Lachesis determines that with the creation of your thread. Free will still applies, but that thread is your destiny.

Dip a thread into a glass of water, it makes ripples. If you dip the same thread into a pond, not so much with the ripples. If you dip this same thread into the sea, the ripples are hardly noticeable. But some say if a butterfly flaps it wings in Brazil, it can create a tornado in Texas. Your presence has purpose. And you may never know what that is.

Atropos is the woman with the "abhorrent shears" to cut the thread. At times she does so with little notice. An infant that breathes twice and lays lifeless had a very short thread. Their lives were not meaningless, as their deaths were felt deeply by someone, somewhere. A prison guard wept bitter tears when this baby died, the prisoner only felt the pain of childbirth, her daughter meant nothing to her. She cared little for her own situation, the baby was only a burden.

My great-grandmother was over 100 years old when she passed. She saw the automobile evolve from a hand cranked bicycle-type gadget to a bat-winged door Ferrari. Her thread was long and rich. Full of learning and knowing and very busy fingers. She took her thread and made quilts that still warm us, even now, nearly 20 years since she breathed one last time. 

I have made a difference in someone's life. I don't know whose. But I have touched too many lives in precarious and dangerous places to not have made a difference. My ripples are unknown to me. I like to think they travel far. I know there are two wonderful men and wonderful young woman that travel the world. I have made a difference in their lives, and they have made a difference in mine. Those changes affect those they touch. So my ripples are in Cuba. My ripples are in Indonesia. My ripples are in Ghana.

I do not know if they are good and pure. I do not know if they are harmful. But so far, my tapestry appears to be rich and full.

Happy Thursday.

Sincerely

Sincerity is very difficult for some. It is second nature (so it seems to me) that lots of folks have a separate agenda when they speak to you. Either to glean information, or to make certain that your intentions are blocked. To what end, I do not always know or understand. Why would someone be so deliberate in their actions?

To say something to someone and leaving something withheld (that is not a sarcastic remark), is to lie to them, or be insincere. This is a very narrow path, to me. I love the sarcastic remark, and don't like to hurt people's feelings when my opinion is petitioned. Honey, where did you get that hair cut? At the dog groomers? -- Funny, yes, sincere, no.

I want to try something a bit less hard edged. Such as, darling you have such a pretty face, that hair cut is not flattering at all. This could hurt a person's feelings.  But should be considered as a more tactful way of being honest with someone. According to Franklin, even this is too much of a lie.

It is difficult to find the sincerity in myself without using humor and sarcastic tone. At that point I know I have failed to be honest with what is the center of me. This is the me that presents itself to the world, humor and sarcasm. It is funny and it does dance around the topic that is at hand. Therefore diminishing it's importance or lesson. This is also the character I present to my loved ones. This has shaped my relationships with them. With that in mind, can I please say something about your hair? It is very pretty and catches the light a glistens in a beautiful way. I think the waves in your hair show your character quite nicely. The way it is shaped does nothing to show off your good qualities.

How is this? I could not be more proud or more excited for both of you. You are both choosing paths that will challenge you and bring you great happiness. For this I am filled with love for you both. I hope with all my heart that your pains are few. But I will be here, as best I can, for you when you need me to be happy with you, and to hold you when Life hurts.

Today's reflection

“To be persuasive we must be believable; to be believable we must be credible; to be credible we must be truthful.”

~~Edward R. Murrow

Shadows

A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.

Oscar Wilde

I have spent a lot of time in your home, listening to your story, while I read between the lines. I have come when you called, even for a hemorrhoid that you have had for years, but now has a pregnant belly providing extra pressure. I have apologized for things that were not my fault, but it closed a ridiculous issue. I have smiled to keep your day nice, no matter what my day has been like. I have eaten crow publicly "No sir, I did not do as directed". I have patted those on the back that deserved it, as well. I knew a man I called The Airway God. But the thin veneer of bravado is very poorly maintained, even by the best of us. We put on our suit of armor, and our loud and comfy boots. Every item is a fragile piece of rice paper, even us ladies wearing makeup, waiting to be ruined by some unexpected bodily fluid. This is what happened to me. Blood saturated through my long standing suit of armor, and contaminated my body with God, only knows what. I have my last test this week. All clear so far. But the panic that set in, and was almost immediately was profound.

I have Combat-PTSD, so they tell me. Flashbacks, nightmares, insomnia and startle reflexes are common place for me. I can only read a few pages of a book at a time, it becomes too much information and my brain downloads the newly absorbed text and drops it out the bottom of my head. There is an abundance of advise to 'heal' from this, but my doc says, this stays with you forever. Learning to manage it is the key. The need for grounding is strong and leaves me with  a sense of isolation that can only be described as complete. There are voices in my head, whispering just out of range of detecting any words. Like exuberant roofers wanting to complete a task that has run two days over schedule.

Cortisol is your friend and your enemy. Too much and you rage like a bull elephant in musk, too little and you are deeply depressed, over eat and cry endlessly. Meditation is the best thing to keep your levels under control--CRAP. I can meditate for an hour, and in 30 minutes I am a black rage that has me at the verge of breaking my house to pieces.

I know I am taking my anger out on my housemates. I do not intend to, but I find that particular anger has a beginning, a middle and an end. The 'end' part is good, it suggests I may be done with my stress (open mindedness, makes any possibility present itself). I love them all, and I want to provide, but this extended leave has me in a position that no longer allows for such things.

This is my thought- when you hit rock bottom, there is nowhere to go, but up. And hey! it aint cancer. So there is that.

A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it.

Oscar Wilde

The Dog's Day

If I could be anything I wanted in the whole world, I would be one of my dogs. That sounds vain and ridiculous, but my dogs have it good.

I have three dogs, and a poodle. I cannot call her a dog, but will include her here as 'the exception'.

Napping is an art form here. Either lying in the sun, or stretched out in the middle of the floor, flat on their backs, napping is taken quite seriously. I adore that moment when the dog lays down on the floor, takes a deep breath, and moans long and soft, letting go of every care in the world. To slumber deeply for a few moments. They probably get 10 to 12 hours of sleep a day, mostly in short 15 to 30 minute periods. And never seem tired always vital and refreshed. I could live without the steady snoring, though. At any given moment, somewhere in the house, there is a dog snoring. The exception is almost always laying out, baking in the sun. If she were a person, she'd be overly tanned and wearing frosted lipstick, and that would be smeared all over her crooked mouth.

Eating is another thing. Timeliness is very important. If, at 7:02 there is no fresh food available, there is a dog attempting hypnosis on me. "You want to fill my bowl. You want to fill my bowl. YOUWANTTOFILLMYBOWL". But the food is really just grazed upon. One at a time, they mosey by the bowls, and take a few bites. Then slop water all over, so their slightly dirty  feet make darling little muddy foot prints in my kitchen. There is the occasional belch, and a wet whiskered nose shoved at me.

Playing. I have, at any given moment some sort of dirty, slobbered upon toy in the house. I actually don't mind. They are like gifts. They make dogs happy and can be thrown by dogs, or by people. Two of the dogs fetch, with single minded purpose. It took some work, but there is no longer competitiveness over who plays with what. There is a large variety of balls here, soccer, tennis, and football. The football is my favorite. The boy here has worked for years on his fetching and catching skills. It is astonishing to see him catch a football in midair. I have a small collection of ropes floating around here too. Two of them are fetching items, they get caught in the tree once in while. One is either used for tugging or untying the knot, over and over. It doesn't matter how often or how difficult a knot, she works at it tirelessly until it comes free (not bad for only being four months old).

I want to be one of my dogs. I want to learn that tranquil peace; that comfort of routine; that determined focus. To live completely in the present moment, as though there was nothing to worry about.

How the Garden Grows me.

If I had a formula for bypassing trouble, I would not pass it round.  Trouble creates a capacity to handle it.  I don't embrace trouble; that's as bad as treating it as an enemy.  But I do say meet it as a friend, for you'll see a lot of it and had better be on speaking terms with it.  ~Oliver Wendell Holmes

This sounds ridiculous to some, but I have learned quite a bit about Life just by gardening. Some things live and some things just don't, but there are some basic rules about what you do in the garden.

Soil. A steady base, with good drainage and room to grow as far as you need. (This could be a sticky wicket.) Not all plants need dirt, but a steady place to put their roots. Plants need good soil, you cannot grow an orchid from the dirt you've been pouring your old motor oil in. It is important to keep your soil free on contaminates and watch the amount of negative content gets in.

Food. Not exactly fertilizer, this is the other stuff that your plants eat, at a much smaller level. There is nitrogen and hydrogen and oxygen, and carbons and lots of other lovely things. Well, they are lovely if you are a daisy. Sometimes, these things such as worm poop, or even a nematodes corpse, could be as delicate as a crisp salad with flower petals or as sturdy as a peppercorn rubbed steak. Nourishment needn't come with a big extravagant meal, just a small  snack can sometimes provide all you need.

Water. About this time every year, my skin has been just a little bit drier than it was last year. My skin is amazingly dry. One of the reasons is because I go out and stick my hands in the dirt a few times a week. Just to make sure there is enough moisture out there. Living in any environment you live in you must absolutely give enough water to the plants. I lived in Oregon for years, I had a lovely cactus garden that sat in my dining room. I never watered it, it was able to get what it needed from the air surrounding them. This is not the case when I tried to keep a few "Air Plants" alive. Balance is very important.

Weeds. Let's face it, there are things that grow out of the ground that have pointy things in them like like to poke you in the feet and ruin your favorite sweater. But if Man had pulled every single thing that had points on it, we would never have the patience to watch a rose bloom. Or anything as tasty as blackberry cobbler. Perhaps we are too impatient with weeds, there is a reason for them, in the first place. They could just be holding the dirt in place.

Poop. Well, not one of Life's best topics, but lets just hold hands for a minute. Shall we? Poo gives the plants something to chew on while they bide their time getting big and strong and making you a lovely pumpkin for Halloween. Fertile ground is important, gives the mind something to do. Never be afraid to experiment with fertilizer, you may just find the perfect one, by accident.

Light. Every day has a certain amount of lightness and darkness to it. It is the balance of the planet, you cannot fight it. Wake, sleep, play, rest. Okay, you can fight it inside you, but it is as unhealthy as trying to grow moss in the desert. When you are gardening there is little you can do about how long the day is going to light. The plant knows. That's why the crocus and the hyacinth pop their pretty faces out before the last snow melts. That is also why certain things just will not grow if they don't get the direct amount of daylight, or darkness.

Finally, you must, absolutely must, just give up on some of your favorite plants, because they will not come back every year, no matter what hocus-pocus you do. Others, will come back over and over again, no matter how many times you dig them up, burn them or throw them away. Those little determined things, are called 'Family'.

Remember this-that there is a proper dignity and proportion to be observed in the performance of every act of life. ~Aristotle

Resolve- not Dissolve

I wanted to write a really profound article on Resolution, as it is one of the 13 Virtues laid out by 'ole Bennie Franklin. So I did a bit of looking around. To "resolve" to do something is not what I thought it was. Or to put it a bit more familiar to some:


You keep using that word, I do not think it means what you think it means. 


I believe it was intended to be a 'Resolve' to complete a task you have set out to do. So, I resolve to make the bed every morning? Or do I resolve to complete the studies of Mr. F? Or I resolve to be?


So, being an old fashioned researcher, I want the parameters of my topic to remain in clear focus (ha!). I looked up the definition; and was amazed at the results.


1. Obsolete: Dissolve, Melt -- sounds like a reference to baking with chocolate to me... "allow the ingredients to resolve together to form a liquid consistency"


2. To change by disintegration-- Marvin the Martian's misfiring ray gun? "Why haven't you resolved into nothing?"


3. To reduce by analysis--Algebra anyone? "Resolve the problem into it's simplest elements"


4. To deal with successfully-- like the debate on the death penalty?  "to resolve doubts or disputes"


Now, here is the one that I thought we were talking about:


5. Possessing determination and purposefulness/motivated or displaying determination.




So, now that we know so clearly what we are talking about(?), exactly what am I to do with all this information? Do I choose one? Or do I integrate, or resolve, all of these processes into my 'resolute' character?


By the way, I am not so sure I need to possess much more determination than I have now. Good Lord, I am a red head, which by nature causes me be hard-headed as well (as though the copper curls counteract constant cantankerous comportment-curious concept).


As far as reducing by analysis, Quantitative Reasoning for Business counts. And I resolve to find all the resolutions in this class. 


And I think it is about time to locate that chocolate mousse recipe again. I think I shall try that this time.....


In summary, to beguile you with my astounding tale of resolution; let us compile all our genuinely surprising research of the word "Resolve". It is a complex word which composes different aspects of our lives and asks us to conduct ourselves in a truthful, if less than complex character. So take your favorite definition term and incorporate that into you, today. Resolve to resolve your inner conflicts into a more resolute resolution.


Happy Tuesday!

Not forgotten

I am nearby, and studying the numbers we all have to work with, and a few hundred combinations we never need outside a classroom.

I have been contemplating a few things deeply, and shall be back with something soon. Don't go far.

School Starts

I am trying to be optimistic here. I start school on Wednesday. My first class is a 500 level Statistics. It has been over a year since I was a student and nearly two since I dealt with math on a college level. I did College Algebra five times before I passed. Of course, that was over a 20 year period (I'm what ya call a slow learner). So now, to challenge me completely, I return to class, to complete my MBA. While I am dealing with my own mental crap, and, oh yea, do so while completely broke.

Here is the plan, I applied for financial aide, so that should cushion that blow a bit (if they don't deny me, for whatever reason). I complete my final 19 credits and then-poof- I have an MBA. I have absolutely no clue whatsoever to do with it. I may have to write a book and go on the lecture circuit. "How to completely ruin your life, while saving others". Or, how is this; "EMS, hands on". The one I have always wanted to do was a photo-filled folio of sorts, about calls I have heard, or run, filled with pictures of what we, in EMS always see, food wrappers, on the dashboard, going down Anonymous Road, racks filled with O2 tanks, 'ambulance parking---->" signs, and hands. I have pictures lots of pictures.

What do you do with 18 years experience, and an MBA. I need the recipe for the lemonade there. Perhaps it will come to me at night, in my dreams.

I realize I said "here is the plan..." and got side tracked. Not exactly acrobatics for me these days. I plan to go to school on Wednesday. That is the plan. I have final blood draws to make sure I have no residual issue with my blood borne pathogens exposure (all have been negative so far, not worried about this last one-much). Then the next week I go see the shrink, who is referring me to a doc that is supposed to get me thru to therapy and group sessions. Really? Group Sessions? (why do I hear in my head that 'Bob, has bitch tits'?)

I must find an intelligent, and financially lucrative way to make my life experiences, and my education come to a fruitful and cleansing middle ground.

Life's Little Frustrations

I am broke. There are reasons for this and its sort of my topic:

I am classified as 'injured' at work. Makes since, the thought of actually stepping on an ambulance only makes me nauseated now. I don't really go into rages, or crying fits that last the day. Nightmares aren't preventing sleep-- well, more than once a week.

My life has gone through LOTS of changes in the last 12 months. Personally, in terms of the way my house runs, and professionally. Most of that is due to the simple fact that once your earned income exceeds a certain dollar amount, apparently they have what is a 'top' number of how much they pay you. Ya- my income was two thirds more than what I receive. My home is a third world country right this second. Robbing Peter to pay Paul at least half of what we owe him. And Susie, well, I ain't payin' her right now, because it's that or eat.... TFB Susie.

And--why is it that the best jobs are on websites that wont take consistent user names and passwords? Seriously, if you want to go back to USAJOBS.gov, you have to remember a fairly complex user name, and what was it? I was so annoyed, I couldn't remember.

There are people in my house trying to find jobs. It has been a fruitless search, so far. It has been very frustrating to forget these passwords, take the time to have them emailed, and the go back to the website, and sign in, only to see there is nothing available, in either your location, or your job requirements.  And why can't you reach an HR employee to save your life? Isn't 'PERSONNEL' part of her job requirement?? I am not saying I returned every phone call, but I did return the phone of someone who called twice in two days.

I have money coming, from different locations. It just never seems to be enough. I spend my day on the computer, because this is my office, that and a corner in the garage. There needs of the many outweighing the resources of the one. I am pedaling as fast as I can. No more money problems. I am giving them 30 days to resolve themselves. Or I am going to started eating my housemates..... I have the soft and tender one. The lean and juice one. Or there are two other choices, old and rangey or young and losing weight, so I am thinking she will be last.

I want to work, but there are resounding "No's" from multiple locations. Mostly those who sign the documentation. But the encouraging part is there are 'Resources' for folks in my shoes. How much documentation to you need to get wheels under this Resource, cause it just lays there like my old dog right now. Well, what about school? I am 19 credits away from an MBA.
That's what? 9 months, a year? Then I don't need those smelly old boots again. They will be bronzed.

Right now I couldn't bronze an old coin. I am so broke. And this frustrates me to no end.

Dreams

I have haunted dreams. They are haunted by my dead. The ones I have pronounced dead. My dead. They belong to me. There is something intimate about being present with the dead. It is personal, someone called 9-1-1 and now, standing in the bedroom, I have worked the Paramedic magic, and their body has failed.


But I take each one with me, like a badge or an albatross, I don't know which. To be present at the moment of death is a remarkable event. There was once, that I was working on what going badly, no matter what I did. At the end, I was the one doing CPR and I was directing the rest of the folks that were there to do as I asked. There were four of us in the back of the ambulance, sweating and breathing hard. Two working at each place on this man, to reverse, or postpone, what we all knew would happen, me doing my part, and the patient failing. Trying to get him into an ER where there were more resources and more folks. Suddenly, the lights got very bright in the back of the ambulance. This was my beloved 2676 that had a good solid pattern in its misbehavior. The lights were a new problem, could be the electrical system, or the distributor, the power conversion system. I looked toward the ceiling, to see if things were as bad as all that. The light wasn't coming from the interior lights. It was around me. Bright. Very Bright, and very warm. I suddenly felt very calm, and a question popped into my mind "Why are you working so hard?" It wasn't my voice. It was male and he was ever so peaceful. Then the lights went back to normal. He was pronounced dead shortly after we arrived at the hospital. The other folks in the back of the ambulance with me, saw light, thought it was the truck lights too, but it 'looked funny'. And they were too busy to check all that, afraid I would yell at them for not doing as I instructed.


My dreams are haunted by these people. Those I worked on, I became part of the breathing system, or I could try to control their heart beat. There are also those I couldn't do anything for, and they are here too. They don't seem to be trying to hurt me, but their sudden presence is frightening, sometimes. Like a horror flick, the world is turning on it's axis, all is right and "BLAM" someone gets run over by a bus. All their wounds and my perspective a replay of reality.


I have been reading about dreams and their meanings. I know, magic, psycho-poo-poo. But I find them useful tools. It helps sometimes to learn that 'if you are bound in your dream it symbolizes the need to be free'. Sounds simplistic enough, and often they are easy once I take them apart and look them over.


"To see something burning in your dream, indicates that you are experiencing some intense emotions and/or passionate sexual feelings. There is some situation or issue that you can no longer avoid and ignore.  Alternatively, it may suggest that you need to take time off for yourself and relax. Perhaps you are you feeling "burned out" or "burned up". " Huh- burned up, you say? Hard to imagine. Or, "Babies symbolize something in your own inner nature that is pure, vulnerable, helpless and/or uncorrupted." Sometimes you have to take elements apart, to see them clearly; a bird with a  beard, singing in a flowering bush:  there is the bird singing (aspirations and hope); he has a beard (old age and insight); and the flowering bush (personal growth). All together it is a hope that you would be wise in your old age, and will (or are) growing in that direction. Sometimes a cake is just a cake, and means nothing. Getting side tracked is easy, but what rings true is what should be addressed, no matter how painful.


Sometimes my dreams are senseless garbage, something my brain decided was recreational as opposed to important. Like an Alice in Wonderland fantasy. Nothing rational or real, just a smile without a cat, or a top hat too large for any real person to wear. A mouse working the metal of a sword to perfect sharpness. 


No matter the terrors of the night. The dead have left me each with something, like the coins given to the Ferryman. I must create the value of it to me. Be weak where I must be fragile and delicate. Be strong when that is called for. Ultimately tearing down the facade that I have created over so many years and be what I AM.

Perfect Moments

As busy as my days can be, I try very hard to find the 'perfect moment' in the day. That moment when everything is in order, and no needs are made on you for the next 60 seconds.

Sometimes it is a natural thing, Sunrise painting the clouds. That moment at twilight when the very first star peeks through. Moonrise is one that I really like, the moon all fat and yellow peeking up, usually over some mountain. The sun in a loved one hair, painting it in light. An owl that swoops in during a dark hour of the night a peers down at me haughtily, as though I had no right to gaze up at him in wonder. That first smell when you step into the flower shop. A herd of any animal you can name, sides turned toward the morning light, their healthy hides glistening. Siting a whale spout. Painted mountains standing tall and proud in the day. The first thunder cloud of the season rising tall and ominous, and the smell it makes when it finally reaches the dry desert ground. A rose bush in full bloom. That sound a dog makes when he found that perfect zone take a nap.

Sometimes it is a man-made thing. My first sip of coffee in the morning (Coffee-Goood). The smell when you walk into a good bakery. Running my hand down a fine piece of fabric. That place in a book, where everything has culminated, but the book isn't quite over (I know the tale, but am not yet faced with the need to choose another book). Music, no particular kind, but it must be the perfect tune for the moment: Bob Seeger on a sunny day driving down the road, windows down; Norah Jones with a freshly opened bottle of wine; Mike Oldfield when the whisky pours freely; Shakira in the garden; Gordon Lightfoot on cleaning day. The Queen of the Night Aria, from Mozart's Magic Flute, when the mood is deep.

Sometimes it is just a movement. Having the strength I needed to lift what had to be hefted. Catching something that was suddenly tossed at you. Dodging the car that just made a bad move. The perfect stretch in the morning. Being able to put a large vehicle in a place that someone else said it wouldn't fit, and getting it successfully out again.

These moments, to me, aren't the places in between. These moments are Life. They are religious, cleansing, healing moments. The rest is in between, waiting for that perfect moment to remind you where you are.

Organize What- Exactly?

Cleanliness and order are not matters of instinct; they are matters of education, and like most great things, you must cultivate a taste for them. ~Benjamin Disraeli  

About a million years ago I couldn't organize my thoughts, let alone my home. My house keeping skills were on par with bag ladies and those that live in clutter piles. Problem was, I hated it, and didn't know how to not live that way.

Somewhere along my path I was given a book called The Messies Manual. It suggested that you start at your front door and clean the first thing you come to, not just dust it, but empty it out and put those thing where you want them to be: Trash, Kitchen cupboard, garage sale, etc.

Honestly? It took me years to finish. I kept finding reasons to not do the work. It was too hard, I was too busy, and oh, yes, the ever popular, why am I doing this.

But my brain needs order, I am the person that takes lint of the person in front of them in a line. Whether they notice or not, I don't mind. I can't stand that off-color fuzz distracting me. So, I cleaned, I filed, I organized. I found that once it was done (years later, mind you), it didn't take long to do much. Wipe, scrub, a load of laundry, and a few dishes.

Of course having the space for everything you want to keep becomes an art form in itself. I cannot stand fiberboard furniture, so I had to address that. I don't remember when this happened in my life, but I do recall a piece of loved furniture that got saturated, and filled with water, and the veneer popping off showing me the swollen and foul fibers inside the cheap piece. No fiber board. Right this minute I have a antique pedal-style Singer sewing machine showing off a collection of dragons, and a trunk in my living room the size of a small car that houses my linens.

Okay, my closet: Here is the thing 2 rules, no wire hangers, and color coded. okay, laugh





Are you done? This happened at a time in my life when I had absolutely no control over anything whatsoever. My whole life was uncertain. The only sanctuary I had was brushing my hair and keeping my closet looking like a photographer was about to do a photo shoot for Martha Stewart. It gave me a sense of calm in the storm. Clean is, afterall, free.  It's much less perfect than that now, still it's color coded. Still, no wire hangers.

Nowadays, the dishes get left overnight, every now and then. The laundry piles up until I want my favorite jeans. And the floor gets mopped twice a week or so. If something smells it must be tracked down and disinfected. Windows, however.... still just not into cleaning those.

I learned a great deal from this process. What really was necessary, what was just sentimental and taking up space, but serving no purpose whatsoever. What was sentimental and I loved could be used to hold pens, or a pile of hair bands. Or placed on a shelf for appreciation. I learned that giving to Good Will is actually very cleansing. And if I am not getting back to that particular craft project, then I need to disassemble it. Oh, and one other thing--lemon juice and water cleans most everything and smells very good.