An Invincible Summer - A Woman's Journey

The United States of America Attorney General, Jeff Sessions, is chanting “lock her up.” Does anyone else see a YUGE problem with this? This just boggles the mind but if there were truly a reason to LOCK HER THE FUCK UP, shouldn’t he be the one doing it? Sycophantic little troll.

 I am so relieved at how much better my vertigo is today. It is still there, but nothing like before. If it stayed like this, I could live with it. There would be things I could never do again, such as ride a roller coaster, go running or spin a child around, but I could drive, exercise, probably golf and basically engage in life’s more sedate activities. I’m at a greater risk for falling so I’m being pretty careful. The thing is, at this point I could manage and that makes it not quite as scary as it was 4 days ago. I’d love it if I woke up tomorrow and it was gone completely but it’s not gonna change my happiness. That’s mine to choose and so I do. Hope your day is going great. 

So today is the 4 year anniversary of starting over; a fresh beginning. I didnt see it that way then but we hardly ever do as we walk through darkness. We rarely look up from our pain and say “Wow, isn’t this great”? Wouldn’t it be great if we could be so trusting and in the moment that we could have the faith the everything will be as it should. That’s not how it played out then but I did do the best I could. And now that I am in a better place, I’d like to think that I’d handle it all differently. Who knows? I’d like to never go through anything like it again but maybe I will be tested. And if so, I will still do the best I can at that point in time. That’s all any of us have....our best. Not perfect, not pretty, but dirty and messy and OURS. I wish you your very best today.

 Day eight… Remaining positive, keeping a stiff upper lip, looking on the bright side. Trying hard not to get discouraged. There has been improvement which is something to be grateful for.  Vertigo is not my friend but I may end up having to learn to live with it a little bit longer… I’ll do the best I can.

“The greatest happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved; loved for ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of ourselves.” — Victor Hugo I think we have to know how to give that to ourselves before we can offer it to someone else.  In addition to that, the receiver needs to know themselves. Unless they do, they have nothing to give but an act, like a role in a play. And that person, the real them, that they tried to shove down, to hide behind the scenes, eventually seeks a way out.   But if both are working towards the same goal.....what a beautiful idea....unconditional love. 

Day three of fairly severe vertigo. It’s disheartening and scary but I have wonderful and patient help so I am very lucky.  Mean while I’m grateful when the room slows down to a slow trot so I can read for a few minutes walk instead of crawl to the toilet. Tomorrow will be a better day.

I’m at Lowe’s today, starting another little project. I’ll post a picture when I’m done. I think I mentioned before that there is something about Lowe’s that brings on a feeling of melancholy. I’m happy in my life now, things are better than they’ve ever been before. But today, as I walk around, that feeling lingers. That slight sense of sadness. Ive got all the stuff I need and am starting towards the register when I see him…..an addict. Walking through Lowe’s as if everything is normal but all the signs are there. He looks to be between 35 and 40, but could possibly be 30 as that life style takes its toll. He’s tall or maybe not as tall as I think because he is so bloody thin.  Jerky movements and the nervous behavior are a few of the tell tell signs. And, of course, the face sores. I have to admit there was a time, in my younger days, when I would probably be a little judgemental  and wary. I am still wary but there’s a big piece of me that thinks about my kids father and their

I was bored and had an overall feeling of discontentment. I am still learning how to fill my alone hours now that the Boy Scout is gainfully employed. He is using his talents in a unique way. His love of people, talking, telling stories and knowledge of alcohol makes him pretty much the perfect, and very popular, bartender. But, as you can imagine, this means off hours. Luckily, I can work whenever I want but I still find myself alone a lot.  I am not much of a TV watcher and, truthfully, have a hard time sitting still to read a book (which is why I love audio). I took on this project and had some fun: An old bench that was looking pretty shabby AND was unsafe to sit on due to splinters and spiders. Truthfully, I like the weathered look but the bench was damaged from the weather and needed some TLC. I had fun getting out the power tools and figuring my way out through memory and with the help of YouTube.

We've been reading A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway the past couple of weeks. The Boy Scout has a beautiful reading voice and is a natural. A couple of days ago he read a chapter that imparted some insight on the relationship between F. Scott Fitzgerald and Hemingway. Complex and impetuous, I found his version of Fitzgerald to remind me very much of the mentally ill people in my life, overly dramatic, self absorbed and leaving one feeling off balanced. All that being said, the words Hemingway penned about Fitzgerald are just so beautiful, and probably more well known than I am aware, that I felt the need to share them. “His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust of a butterfly’s wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred. Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned to think and could not fly any more because the love of flight was

Every once in a while I wonder as somebody will actually say to me, “How lucky you are to not have to hear this or that.”  I think, only to myself, is your imagination so small that when you think of hearing loss you can only think of a benefit.  How gloriously ridiculous. Do you say to the man with the wheelchair, “How lucky you are to be pushed around.”? And, do you say to the woman missing her left arm, “Isn’t it great you only need to have half a manicure?” I am in the process of losing my hearing.  It is still here, albeit defective, but only barely without the hearing aids. Only louder, indiscernible sounds enter into the outer canal and get turned into something the brain perceives as recognizable. With the hearing aids, I am doing ok. Most the time I don’t complain as it does no good.  Once in awhile, In certain circumstances, it becomes clear to me that I’m missing out. On those occasions, depending on what they are, I can either speak up and ask for the group at large to spe

Warning....this could be a repeat...but I am getting old so my friends will tolerate it. When I was a very small girl I had a rather large "freckle" in a spot that stayed mostly hidden from the world. I must have been quite proud of it because, as the story goes, my non-driving mother, who frequented the RTD of Los Angeles, was extremely embarrassed one day when I decided that our bus driver needed a peek of it. I asked him if he wanted to see my big freckle and down went the drawers. I can remember what I was wearing but I cannot, for the life of me, remember what happened after that. The pride in that "freckle" waned as I was about to enter middle school, and as the threat of PE and getting naked in locker rooms neared, we had the family doc remove it. It was bad enough I had expose myself him but the young teen girl population of Sunland-Tujunga was simply not going to happen. One day, on our way to do some shopping, Mom and I hopped on the local bus when,

Do you always remember that you love your partner when you are in conflict? I often forget my love for the Boy Scout when we are arguing. Something seizes my being, my gut, my throat, my heart and I become more primitive. Survival, fear, abandonment, loss of love. My ears ring (my hearing goes way down), my heart races....fight or flight kicks in. I am working on it but it is not easy. If I remind myself that I will be ok before it gets out of hand, I do alright. I remember that even though we are arguing, it doesn’t mean he is leaving. And I am doing better and better but when I forget...UGH! Who taught you how to fight? Did they do a good job?

Al-Anon and Adult Children of Alcoholics. Have you ever been to a meeting? It is an interesting place. You hear stories, hard stories of pain, love, abuse and neglect. But most, not all, are there for healing. For some, it is just too early for that. Some people come and just want to be heard. Healing isn't on their radar. And for a few, they are just too damaged, they only come to list every hurt, every snub....they come for the pity. Hopefully, they will figure it out. That is not what ACA is about. Not PITY. ACA is about self love, setting boundaries, caring for your inner child (who can get in the way of a happy life). It's about not relying on others to make you whole. We share our experience, strength and hope in order to heal and, while doing so, give someone else the hope that they too have a chance for a better, more peaceful life.. Not all meetings are healthy. It is said that you should try out 6 different meetings before deciding on one that fits you. I sta

I was in my car driving to the golf course through our thriving downtown today. The main strip is bustling especially on this warm summer afternoon. Moving very slowly, I noticed a gal on the back of a parked Harley. She was a beautiful, full bodied Hispanic female with with long black hair. Her riding partner got on after her with somber face. Both of them were wearing their little half helmets and both were dressed fully in black. I watched, thinking to myself they didn’t look like they were having much fun, when all of a sudden she broke out in a gigantic beautiful smile, wrapped her arms around his big ole’ belly and jiggled his Jell-O vigorously. For a second he sat there with his stone face until, lo and behold, a gigantic grin crossed his face, he shifted most of his weight to the right side of his bike, twisted his ample body completely around and kissed her full on the lips with both hands holding her cheeks. What a sweet moment of tenderness, what a beautiful part of life wh

Did you hear about Luis Soto?  He is a Peruvian sports announcer that’s broadcasts to native speakers of Quechua. According to the New York Times June 21st article:  Quechua is an oral tradition that is written in Spanish transliteration and varies in different parts of the country and the continent. Soto, like most Quechua speakers, learned the language at home, not in a formal school setting. His soccer dictionary reflects only his experience and regional interpretation. Language experts from other parts of Peru, for example, say the words “ruyruku” and “haytana” have also been used to refer to a soccer ball. Soto has compiled a “soccer dictionary” of about 500 words since there are no words for the game of soccer. Instead of the typical metaphors and current day phrases used to describe plays, Soto uses terminology appropriate for his listening crowd. The article goes on : Soto captures the action on the field with references closer to his home in Cusco, Peru. When a midfield