Family · Health · Memory · Personal · relationships

Stuck in the Past

Once married, I moved away from home. For nearly twenty years, I lived too far away for easy family visits or too much family drama. When I moved home, that quickly changed.

Unfortunately, some family members were stuck in the past, insisting on analyzing the actions and relationships from that era rather than establishing adult ones.

Analyzing present events and interactions based on the past, leaves little room for building relationships. Slights are easily found if you are looking for them. No accommodation or concession is enough when measured against the past.

I’ve found that living through the same events does not mean you have the same experiences. When those events are memories, motivation becomes subject to the human need for patterns and storytelling.

For example, I hid my hearing loss all through grade school. Why? My sister lectures me about being responsible for the degree of loss because I didn’t tell anyone while it was happening. I believe NOW that I was trying to fit in. I didn’t want another thing that made me different. I doubt I’d have explained it that way when I was twelve.

My sister believes that I got all the attention from our parents and grandparents because of my early health issues and I can’t deny the truth of that in the early years. However, as we got older, I was independent and often solitary. Those adults had time for her, but she had to forge those relationships … find those activities … and interpret them in positive ways.

Scarcity sees attention given to others as diminishing the attention given to you. Inclusion means the quality of the attention diminishes. You are lesser. Standing up for yourself means others accepting your interpretation or else. Sadly, “or else” is often the outcome that ends relationships.

I put an end to analyzing the past (and not just for me). I put a moratorium on guilt. I also refuse to worry about how every action or inaction will be interpreted. I don’t have an “or else,” but I do have “I’m done with that.”

Memory · mythology · Nature · Personal · Pets · religion · Story · Uncategorized

Epiphany – A Story Interlude #2

I’m not sure how many vital epiphanies happen in an individual life, but I remember my first.

I was twelve years old and stepping out of the shower in the middle of the day. I remember the floor plan of the bathroom and my dad applying carpet squares over it’s linoleum. I discovered my younger sister sleepwalking there one night when I got up to pee and she wandered in to move towels from cupboard to counter and then return to bed.

I had candles burning and the lights off (there was also a small window). I pulled back the shower curtain, picked up a towel and stepped out. I stopped moving because I realized that, not only did things like butterflies, frogs and pets die, so would I.

I thought about having open heart surgery. I’m sure of only two memories from that time. I’m told I liked to climb out of my crib and escape outside. What I remember is running through grass, sliding underneath flowing shrubs and wanting to live there. And I remember holding the hand of a white lady while walking down a white hallway with bright lights.

All of this began a journey. I was shocked, but not aghast. I had questions. I corresponded (with parental supervision) with a Wiccan coven in Texas. I read more mythology and discovered Joseph Campbell. I studied the philosophies of multiple religions. I read about Native Americans.

I thought about starting my period and wishing I hadn’t. Despite being really girly and loving color, clothes, eyeshadow, nail polish and perfume, I hated messes and bodily fluids. I thought about Mom taking the stray Mama kitty and kittens to the vet and the vet euthanizing then because of an infection passed to the babies while nursing. I follow the wheel of the year, equinox/solstice, moon cycles, and nature. I tried attending Unitarian Universalist church and joining two different pagan groups. I studied reiki and shamanic journeying.

Many years later, I am pagan with beliefs leaning Native American, shamanic and Wiccan. I maintain altars and the smell of incense centers me. I’m not afraid of death, but the process still scares me. And, I still rail against loss. Who doesn’t?

Family · Health · Memory · Nature · Personal · reading · School

Broken Hearted in Grade School

Reading very quickly became my favorite thing.  By sixth grade, I was reading at twelfth grade level.  I often spent recess or other free time in the school library.  I was reading from one side to the other of the shelves in our small library.  When I got through fiction, I read biography and history.  Best of all, I found mythology.

Once I found mythology, I looked for stories everywhere.  Meanwhile, I experienced all the common childhood illnesses, including measles, mumps and chicken pox. I usually had bronchitis at least once each winter. I had walking pneumonia and a couple concussions. I didn’t break any bones, but I stepped on bees, sprained ankles and tumbled off bikes. Reading saved me during all the down time. I loved ordering Scholastic books at school and visiting the library.

After my open heart surgery at age three, I was followed pretty closely until released at age six. Because of the heart issues, my baby teeth needed dental work. My body was not my friend. I didn’t like failing and I didn’t like sports. I was competitive and felt that I couldn’t compete. Instead, I found solitary activities. I collected frogs from the garden and released them again. I rode my bike up and down hills in nearby grassy lots. I took books and snacks to make nests in tall summer grass. I liked badminton, swings and climbing trees.

I especially liked reading books and having them turn into movies in my head and feeling like I was living them. I had adventures and experiences. I was competitive intellectually and academically. I could plot and I could plan. All this was so good in so many ways, but helped set up the disconnect between ME and my body which was always disappointing or failing me.

Ethics · Personal · Pets

Being a Cat Person

I’ve shared my life with a variety of animals and loved them all. But, in the end, I am a lover of cats.

Katie, Keith, Toby, Toejoe, Patches, Gidget, Enie, Sammy, Charlie (& Morris), Jesse James, Dusty, Merlin, Christmas, Grace, Molly, Murphy, Mouse, Bernie

Things I’ve Learned

  • Food should be wet, air dried, or kibble
  • Food should be high protein, no grain, minimal peas/lentils/potatoes.
  • Food needs to be composed of human quality ingredients, whole parts rather than meal.
  • Vaccinations increase the chances of cancers. If you have an indoor cat with little or no exposure, do not vaccinate.
  • Do not get all your vaccines at the same time. Do not get them in the same location.
  • Most vaccines, especially rabies and rabies combos, are effective up to 5 years. 3 years is a good compromise.
  • Never declaw (unless you want to inflict trauma equivalent to cutting off your own fingers and toes to the first joint). Arthritis, joint deterioration, pain and balance problems result.
  • Rescue when possible. Adopt specific breed rescues. Purchase ONLY from vetted and ethical breeders. (I had my heart set on a Scottish Fold.)
  • Spay or neuter after 5 pounds … or as soon as feasible. Doing so, decreases the chances of many health issues.
  • Don’t breed your pets. Too many pets still need homes.
  • Commit to your pets. They are not disposable for any reason, especially inconvenience.

Finally, cats are individuals. You should understand their individual personalities, learn their histories, and honor their boundaries. My Scottish Fold Bernie is a joy, but I wish he was more of a cuddler. He isn’t, but he is companionable and affectionate. Most of all, nobody has mistreated or been mean to him EVER. I raised him from a kitten after having rescues for 30 years. I loved those rescues, but I’m sad for who they might have been under better circumstances. And, I’m amazed at how loving and lovable they remained.

History & Mission · Memory · Personal

Memory – The Facts

What is memory really? Is it a recording and recounting of events? I don’t think so. Personal history is rewritten every day.  It is the story we tell ourselves to make sense of our lives.  Memory, like our personal history is fluid.

I had my midlife crisis at 25, bought my first house at 30, got my first tattoo at 35, divorced and got a nose piercing at 40. I spent the next three years adjusting, socializing and dating. I had a heart attack, which was diagnosed as acute pericarditis, at 45. I had a hole in my heart patched at 50 and broke my arm at 55.  My life is defined by crisis and remembered by location.  I grew up in Kelso, Washington, graduating from Kelso Senior High School in 1980 and attending Washington State University as a freshman. I moved into a condo with my mother when my parents separated and then divorced.

I married at 21 and had that midlife crisis while living in Fairbanks, Alaska.  At 30, I lived in Sierra Vista, Arizona. At 35, in Augusta, Georgia.  At 40, in Spanaway, Washington. I spent the next 21 years working as an IT Specialist at Stone Education Center on Joint Base Lewis-McChord. When the COVID-19 lockdown hit, I moved in with my mom in Longview, Washington. I teleworked and later spent the occassional work day back onsite. Rather than returning fulltime to JBLM, I retired.

Those are the facts. They are not the story.

Drugs · Family · Health · Pain Management

Get Over It (the Opioid Crisis) Already

My mom will turn 81 years old this July. She has been struggling without effective pain medication for over a year. Her OTC options are very limited because she is in Stage 4 kidney failure. She’s managed to stave off actual dialysis for nearly five years. She’s had one shoulder and one hip replaced and should probably have the remaining two replaced. But really at 81 years old?! She also has osteoarthritis, fibromyalgia, sciatica and spinal disk issues.

And she isn’t able to truly manage her pain … because the backlash from addiction to opiods has meant that the people who really need them often can’t get them. We resorted to buying edible cannibas (high CBD/low THC). She sleeps more to escape the pain and her energy is depleted from the stress of dealing with continuous chronic pain. She loved taking her Yorkie for a daily walk. She enjoyed going out to shop and eat, visiting the ocean etc. COVID limited that for such a long time that we were really looking forward to doing them again. And she just can’t cope without effective pain relief.

We figured something had happened to change policies at her PeaceHealth medical provider and recently had confirmed via an article in a local newspaper that one of the senior doctors (who just happened to be her doctor) was both over prescribing and prescribing for himself.

In the interim, her doctor recommended a drug that interfered with her muscle control and led to falls, shots directly into her joints and back, physical therapy and, of course, more surgery. Again, she is 80 years old. Quality of life is clearly more inportant than quantity at this point. She’d been taking Hydrocodone without overuse or addiction off and on for years. Getting addicted seems highly unlikely and, even if she did, why would it really matter?

She had a wellness exam with her doctor and I went into it armed for grizzly bears. We were not leaving without a plan that included a medication to manage her pain. Viola! The prescription had to be reviewed by a “team,” but we will be picking it up from the pharmacy tomorrow.

In conclusion, punishing people with a real need for pain management via opioids is WRONG. If some of those people no longer need the drug and/or get addictd, they need real treatment that is a viable alternative (maybe methodone), not to simply be cut off. Individuals become heroin addicts because heroin is cheaper then pills on the black market. And the need to get any of those things illegally, leads to crime annd broken lives. Treating the social issues that lead to addiction might also be a “good” idea.