The Bucket List…..

I want to be the girl in this video….travelling across the world, uninhibited, throwing caution to the wind.  Chances are, the likelihood of this happening is akin to a camel poking its head through a needle, and then realizing he still has to get his body through it.

I love, love, love to travel.  It’s just that we have no extra moolah, and what we do have goes to silly things like food, vet visits and electric bills.  I don’t have a bucket list in all actuality, but here is a sampling of things I would like to do before I leave this planet:

I would love to go to Ireland, in search of my ancestors.  If I do go to Ireland, I will be tempted to drink an ale with the kin folk-you know, raise up a glass to the country that turned us out-I hear they’re very folksy and welcoming, but let’s face the facts, I would want to live there, or perhaps petrify in one place, sitting at the pub, drinking Guiness, and singing the songs of my people.

Big Sur was a big draw, until I read about Bohemian Grove.  With our luck, we would find the wrong place at the wrong time, and I apologize, but becoming a blood sacrifice for the elite in this world?  Let’s just say I have no time for the big, wooden statue of Baphomet, and I don’t like people telling me what to do.

Hawaii was big on my “list” at one point, and now I see the error of my ways.  The fat faced dictator from HELL has threatened their peace, and I don’t want to spend my whole vacation in an underground bunker.

And lastly, there was Sea World.  Yes, I wanted to ride the dolphins with abandon, you know, be that girl: the one who never stops talking about her relationship with a fifty year old she met out in California, and then you come to find out it was a sea mammal.  No thanks.

So for now?  I’ll stay in this sleepy little town of horse and buggies, biting flies the size of Texas, and more cow manure than you can shake a stick at.

Love Is Wild……

What is love, really? And how do you know if you’re on the right track, if you are loving someone enough, or …in a way that tells them they are loved?

Love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love does not anger,
nor does it boast.

This is what we find in our bibles, and make no mistake-God meant what he said, but how many of us can rise to that place? For me? Love is compassion. Love is validation. Love may take it up a notch or two-as lovers are passionate, and the frenzy can make us crazy. My husband and I still rant and rave, but at the end of the day? Love, somehow prevails. I remember not so long ago the days of begging him to love me, and now the tables have turned-love doesn’t hold anything over your head, and if you wax and wane poetic, but have no understanding or compassion, what does it amount to? Dust. Dust in the wind.

True love allows the other person breathing space. It listens, nods its’ head in sorrow, puts you in the shoes of the lovee.

Don’t you speak over my words. My reality is hard won, and I won’t trade my newfound jewels for stones-not today, not ever~

Pistols At Dawn

 

No, this is not a docudrama on the perils of standing on stage props, poor Marilyn Manson.  I loathe everything that man stands for, but I have to admit-the poor CD sales, his broken ankle on the first night of his Heaven Upside Down tour; then the attempt to climb a stage prop of two guns pointed in different directions which resulted in the whole works crushing him-well, that’s a shame, as Jerry Seinfeld would say.  I must admit I did chuckle at first, not that I am gloating, but man o’ day-what do you expect when Satan is the god you serve? It is my prayer that as he recuperates, he has a change of heart-but that’s another story and I am sidetracked.

We were up in the jaw dropping beauty of the Adirondack mountains, on lake Algonquin.  Prior to the trip, I was an anxious and traumatized mess: fake news of the September 23 Armageddon, the flea situation, the hurricanes, the fear of flying high and actually enjoying life for a change-all of this led to a reoccurrence of my PTSD symptoms.  In 25 years my husband and I had not had a “real” vacation together, and as we hit the state of New York, my nerves began to mellow, I was beginning to exhale and I cannot praise God enough for His part in getting us there.

Prior to leaving, we had ripped out carpet, vacuumed every crevice, and at 5:30 in the morning I sprayed the last of the flea killer, and closed up shop.  My “best friend” of twenty-five years was taking care of my only indoor cat, Maya Angelou.  She was to feed her in the evening-I had no problems trusting a grown woman, RN and administrator of a local veteran’s hospital-I left food and instructions on the table.  My in laws were right across the street.  What could possibly go wrong?  As it turned out?  Plenty.

On our third evening there, I turned on my cell phone.  I had planned to stay away from my phone, social media, news venues and the like.  I needed to heal, and I wanted to spare my husband the constant freak outs about the world in which we live.  For whatever reason, I felt a nudge to check to see if all was well in the state of Pennsylvania.  I was relaxed, happy and hadn’t self-harmed in days.  My body was repairing itself, and I looked forward to the next leg of our journey.  We were to spread dad’s ashes on Lake Pleasant, hike Auger Falls, dine in a lovely five star restaurant, and I hadn’t seen Dwain so happy in ages.

The text read-‘Hi sweetheart.  Just wanted you to know that I was over to feed Maya this morning (what?  My father in law was assigned the mornings, why was she even there on a Sunday morning?) and I was wearing white pants.  I was covered in fleas.   Is there anything you would like me to do?’

Holy mother Mary, mother of Jesus, and Joseph!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  She went on to say that the only room she had been in was the kitchen.  I text her back immediately, telling her to please turn on the air conditioner, asking if she wouldn’t mind setting off a bomb or two DOWNSTAIRS, as Maya the cat stays in the bedroom.  The very reason we hadn’t set off anything upstairs.  I phoned her and left a message, telling her where the vacuum cleaner was, and also reassuring her that I would make this up to her.

In less than the five minutes it took me to do this, my blood pressure sky high, my mellow harshed-I became hysterical-worried about the cat, my friend, the house………it was like being shot from a cannon, and I immediately regressed and began tearing at my skin, bawling like a child, inconsolable.  My husband was livid.  Why?  Why would she text me this news?  How could she be so cruel?  Was she not capable of figuring this out on her own.  And then it hit me.  THERE WERE NO FLEAS IN THE KITCHEN.  I KNOW THIS BECAUSE IT WAS ONE OF THE ONLY ROOMS THAT THE DOG AND CAT WERE COMFORTABLE IN.   There was nary a flea in my abode when we left for New York. My husband took me in his arms, shush honey, it’s okay, I’ll call my father, we will get through this, shhhush baby…….he was in touch with his dad immediately, and Tom was to set off a bomb in the kitchen.  Relief warmed my muscles, the blood returned to my face.

I phoned my brother and told him I would call him when we returned.  I wanted him to know that I was turning said phone off and would not even look at it until our return.  When we were unpacking, the phone must have fallen out of my purse, and there it remained for three days.  I had bought my “friend” a lovely gift for tending to my feline.  I flicked on my phone to call her to see if she was home, but was immediately stopped dead in my tracks.  She had left three voicemails and a text.  She had called each night of our stay, and then left another text:

“If you EVER get around to checking your messages, there are still a number of fleas in the kitchen.  THANK YOU.”

Appalled, I thought back to the many times I had given her the benefit of the doubt when she belittled me.  Because of low self esteem I had clung to her advice, and many times I felt her to be intentionally cruel and callous.  One Summer I had given her a pair of earrings.  I took great care in picking them out, lovely avocado halves, expensive but worth it.  Days went by and I finally called her to ask if she liked the gift:

“Please give them to one of your nieces.  I will put them on the porch.”

Many, many times I had asked myself if it were possible that she was a narcissist.  That is not a term I use lightly, and I pushed the thoughts out of my head immediately.  I thought back to the day I called her, the day my sister sent me the email that would end our relationship.  I had told my sister my feelings, for the first time in, well, ever.  I was hysterical, crushed at the idea of losing my blood, my world upside down, I cried out to her.

“You fucked up Michele.  You fucked up.”  The harder I cried in protest, the louder and meaner her words.

Jesus has taken the scales off of my peepers.  I have learned that highly sensitive and empathetic, albeit broken people are subject to being surrounded by the Jezebel Spirit.  But I am stronger and wiser now.  She is a part of my past, and there will be no confrontation, because at the end of the day, that is exactly what she wants.

In the Dark I Have No Name….. October, 2018

After I wrote my positive outlook on life blog yesterday, things changed and quick.  I  had been referred to a specialist for Lyme, however, she wouldn’t take me unless I faxed all 4.6 billion pages of my family practitioner’s files-a feat so great, so daunting, that I crossed her off the list.

So, now I am on the phone with practice after practice, looking for some enlightenment, and receptionist after receptionist gives me a hard time.  Why, one of them was so rude I hung up on her-because she was about to get a fresh can of WHOOP ASS, and I have offended God enough in one week, thank you very much!  

The thing is, I have never been diagnosed with Lyme.  They did bloodwork twice, and both times told me that I had an autoimmune disorder.  Do you have any idea how many immunity disorders there are?  However, I had the tick bites and bullseye to go with my other symptoms.  Now I need REAL answers from a REAL Specialist.  I finally found a woman in Lancaster, an internist.  I have to wait a few weeks, but do have to tell Peter about it, my physician for all other things Michele.  That should go over well, NOT.

So, with Lyme you have so many symptoms of depression, mood swings and outbursts-and now I can’t tell if I’m truly depressed, or is it the Lyme spirochete?  So, I am on the verge of a full out meltdown.  I’m not going to lie, I thought about taking a drink.  Unfortunately, or should I say FORTUNATELY every bartender within a fifty mile radius of my home knows I’m in recovery.  Seriously floundering, I began yelling at God.  I do this very, very rarely-only when I am distraught.  The mere thought of hurting Jesus is enough to make me faint-I wasn’t so much angry as frustrated, and frightened.  And that just isn’t me.

I decided on a joint and a sit by the lake, and drove away from my house like a bat out of hell.  Actually, I didn’t know my little jeep had it in her, but I was doing 75 when I saw her.  Laying in the road, blood everywhere, surrounded by three elderly women.

I jumped out of the jeep, horrified, and tried to contain the situation (I am a highly trained EMT) when the news hit me that no one had called 911.  I didn’t have my cell, so I drove back up to the house and called.  This is what I abhor about phoning 911-the idiotic questions.  You are sitting by a woman who is bleeding out, right there in front of you, and this jerk wants to know if she’s alive.  WHAT THE HARRY BELLAFONTE??????  I told him three, count ’em THREE times I was an EMT.  Finally snapped and just told him to send the flippin’ ambulance.  Not before he said this to me:  “don’t touch her.”

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, why can’t people do their jobs?

So, the ambulance comes, to see Nora.  She is a kindly and mentally challenged Amish woman who lived down our street.  She has diabetes, and her sugar crashed-she took a face plant into the concrete, with her glasses on.  The blood was everywhere, and, as always-a woman on the scene who thought she knew everything.

The bus (ambulance) arrives.  I am busy directing what little traffic there is, and I (seemed like slow motion) turned to see the paramedics lifting her by her arm pits on to a gurney.  No concern whatsoever for her back or spine.  I have never, ever seen such malpractice in my life.  She should have been C-spined, and put in the gurney with padded protectors to keep her spine straight, but she wasn’t.

I left the scene when all was over, the know it all blubbering (she was as upset as I was, to see their lack of skills) and various neighbors talking amongst themselves on the pavement.  I turned towards home, and I let out a holy cry-God knew what it would take to get me out of the house yesterday.  I never leave the house after noon unless I have plans-I am too busy cleaning and cooking and baking and…………………He knew, and he used me even though I was the biggest, whiniest brat on the planet.  He used me to help save a woman’s life.

Cast your burdens upon the Lord and He will sustain you: He will never allow the righteous to be shaken.

-Psalm 55:22

Into His Arms…

 

I have to start out by telling you I have consumed my happy juice and am a bit crosseyed at this time.  But praise Jesus, for he has given us every herb, plant and fruit bearing tree so that we will live healthy, peaceful lives.  Medicinal.  Used for my CPTSD, it can take me from despair to joy, and that my friends is worth its weight in gold.

I’ve been thinking about what is happening in this world, and obviously, it all but freaks me out.  After watching a video I shouldn’t have, I was overwhelmed-feeling as if the entire three ring circus was on my back.  First sad.  Then frantic.  Then Jesus.

I tell him, Jesus! I am clinging to your robes today, I need you badly!

These are the times when I run, full throttle, all engines on to God.  I picture myself running in to his amazing hug, and hear him say There, there child.

I can’t do this Jesus.

I know too much, why do I know so much and when did you make the decision to take a scaredy cat like this girl, and lead her in the direction of Doom.  Real news.  Investigative reporting.  I have felt the Holy Spirit driving me in this direction, and some days?  Down with the ship I go.

He never pushes, never demands.

I come to the realization that He alone is my Lord and Savior.  He will not leave me nor forsake me.  He is in control.  

I take a long hot shower.  I plug in my tiny white lights strategically placed all over my home, to give comfort.  Put some cinnamon on the stove.  And then He takes me back to who I was before I got clean.  I am profoundly grateful.

I fall into His arms.

 

I Don’t Really Got It Like That……

For as long as I can remember? I have struggled with making money. While among those in the work force, I never made more than $250 a week. My Income Tax Return was almost always $250. Early on I surmised that God did not think it necessary for me to be a CEO, stock market analyst or-heaven forbid-a successful comedian. He knew that I was so grateful for the basics-food, a roof over my head, a loving husband and loyal dog. That’s pretty much it. Anything I made went to groceries, and when I had a chunk of moolah saved? It always went to something necessary-like buying my man a vehicle to get from here to there. They were always used Chevy pick-ups, and we held our breath each year at inspection time.

No, I have never been a material girl. From a very young age I fought hard to exist, so caught up in the struggle to survive-little things have always, always meant the world to me…and it is true to this very day. God provides for our needs, no matter how simple or complicated they are. I thought I needed my family to be happy, and realizing that the need for Jesus trumps the need to be loved? Life affirming.

Now the tears start rolling. I spent my first Christmas without any interaction (with the exception of my brother) with family. I actually went shopping for my nieces, to Kohl’s. It was there that I cried in the dressing room as I realized they were no longer mine to buy for-it hit me hard, the isolation.

So, for now, in this moment? I will cherish what I do have. My self esteem. My sense of humor. My handsome husband and a dog so loyal it hurts my heart to imagine a life without him. These days my husband drives a brand new Chevy truck, and we don’t worry about the bills or groceries because our income is sufficient. It’s time to start paying it forward.

I will treasure the memories of harder times, as it was then that the miracle of His amazing grace was ever present~

Hells Bells

Well,hey there, ho there!!! Haven’t been around for a day or two, and that’s because my concussion caused some pretty unpleasant side effects, such as- migraine, dizziness and extreme nausea. Not complaining, as I firmly believe that at the end of every valley is a rainbow so stunning, us puny humans can’t grasp the real significance. And so it was that I awoke this morning: stronger, less nauseous-a better person all around. 🙂

Today is my first New Music Thursday! I will be sharing music which is new to me, so, if you’re thought bubble reads-

This music isn’t new, I’m not smelling what she’s stepping in! Well, say something once, why say it again?

I love their haunting melodies. When it comes to the lyrics, I don’t relate as much as I usually like to: before I commit to the tune, I have to hear the words. In most cases, but not all-The Talking Heads, B52-s, St. Vincent? There music moves me so much that I could care less what they’re talking about.

Then we have Joni Mitchell, Patty Smith, Bob Dylan, Adele-those lyrics hit you where it hurts-and that’s precisely why you listen-it’s all a matter of mood, whether you want to cry in your beer, or dance until you hurt. I’m not telling you anything new.

It occurs to me that music has helped me heal in a myriad of ways: it gets me going in the morning-I seriously can’t wake up until I listen to something uplifting, or intense. Stop Making Sense comes to mind, or anything Depeche Mode, The Smiths. Joni Mitchell got me through my one week marriage, sobriety, and to this day? The occasional crying jag.

I take my depression and anxiety much more seriously as of late. I know when I’m in despair, and this past week has been a roller coaster of emotion. From this moment on, I intend to enjoy every moment of the holidays. I will throw back my noggin and laugh-even in the face of danger. 🙂