Building Castles

It is so uncommon now-a-days for anyone to find a perfect mate. Sure, there are those who are attracted to one another sexually, have a few things in common that they can chat about, and there are the few who share the same goals and ambitions. But, how often are two people in tune, wanting the same things from life, and lucky enough to find someone who understands them like no other? Someone who can read you like a book - and loves the story that unfolds. A person who desires what you wish to give, and who wants to give what you desire. Someone who finds their happiness in your own, and you find your happiness through theirs. A joining with someone who defines the words -Destiny. Fate. Kismet. Divine will.

I have spent my life dreaming one day to find the man who would help me build my Castle in the Sky. Many are the times I have fallen from on high, used tears to wet the mortar, worked alone and seen slow progress, been told the foundation can never hold... Thank God, I never became hopeless, that despair never won out, and that pessimism always took a back seat.

I thank you, sweetheart, for understanding what lies in my heart. For bringing out the best in me, and accepting me, despite my flaws. I am a better woman, because you are my man. I am a better human being, because you inspire me to be so. My life has value, because you are in it.

Take my hand, my love, and walk with me among the clouds.
I give you the key.
Open the door. 
Let us enter our Castle in the Sky, together.

What a day!!

My car has a bad brake switch. A $7.99 part. Pop in, pop out, job done.

Nope. Uh uh. Since Friday, 11 people have diddled with this stupid thing, and I am sitting here now whining because it still isn't fixed.

I've burdened at least 3 people for over 4 days. The car has been jumped off no less than 10 times. At one point there were 5 men under the hood or dash scratching their heads. Wiring issues were discovered - fixed. Bulbs were blowing out - fixed. But the brake switch is still bad. Went to 6 different auto parts stores. The part was the wrong one at every store, but we did discover a "country boy" solution. Meh - Jerry-rigging was part of the reason the thing is screwed up - do I really want to add more? A trip to WalMart for gorilla tape and super glue (no, this didn't fix anything either).

I finally called the shop this morning and explained the issues we'd been having and was immediately told "Well, that's what you get for dealing with commercial auto parts dealers." Ok, so I was trying to avoid spending $75-100, shoot me! He says he can get the part, even if he has to go directly to Nissan to get it. But he can't get to it today - he can look at it in the morning. So again, I have to rely on someone else to even get home. Ugh.

But, back to my day. The guy that came over to help me, was a guy I went to school with over 30 years ago! I was talking to him on Facebook and mentioned the car issue. He offered to come over and see what he could do. This was the start of a very l-o-n-g day. I'll skip all the boring, standing around in the heat, "I have no idea what you are talking about," "What next?" stuff.

A few interesting things did happen. One being I was getting depressed. Here are these strangers going out of their way to help me. Everyone is thinking this is a 10-15 minute job, and hours are passing. We're hot, thirsty and hungry...and all because of me. I was feeling bad over everyone going to so much trouble, frustrated at the numerous problems we kept running into, and I was missing my man! I made the mistake of getting in the car and putting my face in my hands, and after a few seconds I heard a "What are you doing?" I looked up and saw Mr.X looking at me. "I just feel so bad. I'm putting everyone out." He smiled and said "Do you hear anyone complaining?" I thought a second, and said "Just me, huh?" and smiled back. These were good people. They were doing what they could to help someone and doing it willingly. I should have felt gratitude and not guilt. Attitude re-adjusted.

I did what I could to make things a bit easier. Getting bottled water, grabbing old t-shirts for dirty hands, holding tools, keeping up with multiple sunglasses and eye-glasses, attempting small talk (I know, sounds petty, but, hey - a mechanic I am not). We did take a break and go to dinner. Chinese buffet. Had a few laughs and a great meal.

One thing that really had me laughing - Mr.X is a good ol' boy. Classic country bumpkin with a heart of gold. Factory worker (same place I used to sweat 12 hour days), and has to rely on ingenuity and quick thinking to get by sometimes. He was in a beat up Ford pick-up (over 30+ years old - reminded me of my Dad's old Chevy truck). When he first raised the hood, I noticed he had a logging chain on it! Huh? He takes a key out of his pocket and unlocks a big Masterlock. He sees me grinning "My anti-theft device." All-righty then. LOL

We took a ride to WalMart. It was getting late so he turned the headlights on, and I see Xmas lights come on, on the dash right below all the gauges and meters. Wth? "Pretty, huh?" Uh, ... "Had a short that needed to be fixed back around Christmas time - saw these on the bushes and it hit me - hey, those'll work." I want to laugh, but I've been there-done that, and they worked! Even changed from red to green when he hit the brakes (I woulda changed that part lol).

The hours ran on. I was wanting the day to end. Not because the company was bad, not because I still felt guilt over everyone going to so much fret and worry, but because it had seen it's end. There was nothing left to be done. All that could be done had been done. I was eager to get back to my man and tell him all the weird and silly things that had happened, and to settle down. The car may not have been fixed, I still had the same worry to face today, but I made new friends. I realized I am not as shy as I used to be. No one asked for a dime (other than the commercial parts stores and GodzirraMart), offers were made to help me out with this overgrown lawn and random other 'issues' around the dump.

I was part of something that is far too rare these days - people helping people because it's the right thing to do. I'll have to make sure I do my part in making this something that isn't so rare. Dunno how, but I'm sure there will be an opportunity arise. I'll be looking.
____________________________________________________________________

Update:

Seems all that trouble yesterday was for nuttin'! Turns out to be a horse of an entirely different color. The brake switch was fine. The switch that was removed was for the cruise control. It's the electrical system. Meaning the steering column has to be removed, wires traced all along the side of the car (under the carpet, of course) and back to the rear of the car (back seat coming out). They said labor alone could run 5-6 hours @ $80 per. Parts another $100-200.

I was heart broken. Tried to hold it in, but started tearing up right there in the room. The poor guy didn't know how to handle it. I told him to put the car back together so I could drive it off a cliff. He walked out to the shop area and talked to the mechanic. He came back and asked if we could make a deal. He wouldn't charge me over $300, if I'd stop crying and smile again.

What choice do I have? I left the car there and he brought me home. They're going to start on it first thing in the morning. Lord, please let this be an honest man. I hate it when they have your vehicle and you have no control over what they do. If it's over $300, I may still drive it off a cliff, but I will be taking him with me.

Cross your fingers for me. :)

__________________________________________________________________

Fixed! They found the bad wire beside the driver's seat. Didn't have to tear the whole car apart.

Damage: $193

I'm happy. :)

Captain Morgan commercials

What a world

I had to go to the clinic today. I cut my toe on a piece of glass a few nights back, and it just didn't seem to be healing properly - red and still a bit painful when I walked. I didn't have an appointment, which at the clinic means your name goes on a list. And when all who had an appointment are seen, they start going down the list. I got lucky today. The place wasn't too crowded, and they also had 2 extra doctors who had volunteered. I was seen around 11, after having signed in a little after 8. It was good news - the redness and difficulty healing is because of where the cut is located. And I've lost another 11 pounds. As for the cut - patience.

What made the trip less boring, was the conversation that was being had by 4 people in the waiting room. Mind you, this is a free clinic. No one has insurance, and their income is limited - poor folks. The conversation was about clothing. It seems one of the people in this conversation believes that no matter how limited ones income, there is always a way, and a need, to dress to the 9's. And he was! He wore a designer button-down dress shirt, dress slacks (with a crease you could cut yourself on) and shoes that you could see yourself in. He showed everyone his designer socks (Millano, if I recall correctly) and told us he was wearing Hillfiger underwear.

The 3 others in the conversation found the situation laughable. And I have to say, even tho I was not part of the conversation and hadn't been staring at the man, when he started showing off his socks I had to lower my head to hide a grin. He said he not only cut back on his food and drink, but also his entertainment and untilities. All to afford to buy fancy clothes. When asked where he wears his clothes if he can't afford to go out - he responded that he goes for walks. Where does he walk? Malls, grocery stores, public parks, etc. Just to show off his clothes.

When he said this, I was taken aback. I had to take a closer look at the man. I first noticed that his hair had not been washed, he hadn't shaved anytime recently, and his fingernails were fairly long and dirty. The skin on his face and arms had that dull, dust-covered look. It didn't make sense. And as Judge Judy says - if it doesn't make sense, it's not true. I took an even closer look.

The collar of his shirt was worn thin and darkened around his neck. The reason the shirt was unbuttoned and worn in a 70's style, wasn't because he wanted it that way, a button was missing. The slacks had a sheen down the upper half, a sign of long wear. And the heels of his shiny shoes were visibly frayed and worn down. It hit me.

This was a man ashamed of his own poverty. So much so, that he would go to great extremes to present himself publicly as something he was not. I suddenly felt such saddness for this man. I wanted so badly to say something to him that could make him feel whole. But I bit my tongue, knowing if I said anything it could shatter this illusion he had created for himself. And for all I knew, this illusion kept him sane. I also didn't want to intrude on a conversation I was not party to - and that at times was too heated.

The conversation continued - the three laughing and pointing out his ridiculous ideas and he defending his decisions with great vigor. My mind wandered to a place where I myself had felt shame at being poor - in a yahoo pool chat lobby. Someone had remarked that I was probably poor and on welfare.
I denied on was on welfare (I'm not), but couldn't bring the truth to the surface and admit I was poor. I lied. I said I wasn't. The second the words had left my finger tips - I felt it. I too had fallen into the pit that has been created in our society. The pit where the poor, the mentally ill, the over-weight, the unattractive and the old have been banished. To suffer quietly in humiliation and to feel of no worth.

As I thought about it. I realized that I have to make a change. I need to step back and see myself for who I am, what I desire to be, and what I can give to others. To look at myself and not be critical, but embrace the good things about myself. I've been told to do that by people who know and care for me, but I have refused to do it. I think I will now.

My hope is that what I have tried to give to others will now flow even more freely. Accepting myself for who I am will break down a wall I have built to protect myself. The light that I know has always been there, will shine on me as well.

I am beautiful. I do have worth. I can be loved.

A blast from the past!

To the Edge and Back Again

A long, long time ago...
I can still remember...How that music used to make me smile. ~ Don McLean

Around the end of 1992, I started having pains in my lower stomach. After a few weeks of self-diagnosis, and numerous over-the-counter medicines, I decided to go to a doctor.
It started out rather simple. A few pokes and prods, blood and urine tests. Then it moved to Ultrasounds, full-body MRIs, a Hysterosalpingogram (look it up)  and CT scans.
They found a tumor the size of a grapefruit on my left ovary.

My first thought shouldn't come as a surprise - my God I have cancer I'm going to die soon. I was expecting the doctors to tell me I needed immediate surgery, and that they would then ask me if I wanted chemo or to go the holistic route. Instead, they gave me some drugs and told me to go home and wait. Wait?!! For what? Til it got bigger? Went beyond hope of recovery?

Turns out, the drugs were to 'dry out' the tumor. Shrink it.
They worked. The day they asked me if I wanted to have it removed (no doc, let's leave it there and see if it blooms), it was down to the size of a large apple. Surgery was scheduled for 2 days later.

In early January, I was admitted for (what was suppose to be) surgery and a 3 day hospital stay. The night before I had burned diaries, called friends and family, and written letters to various people - just in case. My mom and husband were there. I wanted to say so much to them before I went in, but could see on their faces that any negative comment would bring out tears (they felt my fear). I told my mom to have fried green tomatoes and pinto beans ready for me when I came out. I told my husband he needed to make sure the dogs were fed for the day. They gave me a 'happy shot', and within a few minutes I had 'fallen in love' and made dinner plans with my anesthesiologist (a very handsome man) and was encouraging the nurses to sing Rocky Top with me.

When I woke up in the recovery room, there was a young girl sitting next to my bed crying. I tried to ask her if she were OK, and realized when I tried to speak nothing was coming out but guttural sounds. My throat felt like I had swallowed battery acid. I reached over and tapped her on the leg and pointed to a glass sitting on the table beside the bed and then my mouth. She poured me some water, and after drinking a few sips, I tried to speak again. Still nothing but grunts...and pain. The young girl, now blowing her nose and wiping tears off her face, said "Don't try to talk, it's just going to hurt." What? I didn't have surgery on my throat! They said it might be a little sore for a few hours, but...
I just started shaking my head back and forth and grunted some more. Thus it began...

Apparently, during intubation my throat was scratched. Enough so, that it was going to be more than the simple sore throat I expected. As I become more aware of everything, I started to notice a weird feeling in my left hand. It was like there was a tennis ball under my skin that was trying to move on it's own. I lifted the sheets and saw that my hand was swelling like a balloon! I 'grunted' out "my hand" and lifted it for the girl to see. "Oh my," was the response. Saline was leaking under my skin and my body couldn't absorb it fast enough. Ugh.

The early half of day one went well (ignoring the recovery room discoveries). No one had yet bothered to tell me if the tumor were benign, and at the time I didn't care. By afternoon I was in a private room, and was on a morphine drip and taking antibiotics orally (pills) and through  IV. Right after lunch I noticed a rash on my chest. Figured maybe something had been stuck on my chest during surgery for monitoring heart rate or something, so I ignored it. Awhile later, in between 'dozing' and wondering where I was on 'waking', I started to feel sick to my stomach and had a funny taste in my mouth. I buzzed a nurse and began to scribble to her (they gave me pad and pencil because...well) my issues. As I was writing, she had leaned over and pulled the sheets down from my chest and lowered the neck of my gown. Before I could even hand her my note, she turned and left the room. In a few minutes, 3 nurses came back into the room: "Check her chart." "Penicillin" "Medical gibberish allergy" Yay!!

That night, around 7ish (I'm guessing here) a nurse came in and said "we" needed to try to stand up. It took all I had in me just to raise myself up onto my elbows. The nurse was holding my arm and we eventually managed to get me sitting up and my legs off the side of the bed. The pain was so bad I felt I was going to pass out. I looked at her and grunted "Please, don't make me do this." The response was simple. "We have to." It was horrible. By the time I was standing, my entire body was shaking. I felt like I was standing in a freezer and was wanting to scream out loud. I finally had enough and told the nurse "This isn't right," and sat back down on the bed. She looked very unhappy.

The next morning, right after breakfast, they came in and removed the catheter. They gave me a small cup of weird looking, seed-like things and told me this would help my bowels to move. It seems after surgery, farting and a bowel movement are a big deal. I was told I couldn't go home until I had a bm.
They came in again right before lunch and removed my morphine drip. I almost begged them not to take it away from me. Tylenol 3 was going to be it's replacement. That wasn't gonna cut it. I was still in a lot of pain. They checked the site, charted oozing and swelling, and left.

Just before dinner it hit. I needed to go to the bathroom. I buzzed the nurse. I have no idea how long it actually took for me to get to the bathroom - maybe 10 minutes - but it felt like forever to me. Every step was like a knife being stuck in my stomach. I was sweating and shaking. Biting my lip to keep from yelling out. But...success.

During dinner, which I had no desire to even look at, the doc came in. The tumor was benign. I breathed a sigh of relief. No cancer. He looked at the site, mumbled a few words, and left. I slept fairly well through the night. Waking only a few times looking for the button to feed me my now absent morphine.

Early the next morning, the doc came in, looked at my chart and said "Are you ready to go home?" I asked if he meant today, and he smiled and asked if I wasn't happy about that. What? I didn't get it. I can barely walk, the pain is excruciating, this oozing won't go away and they're sending me home? I ask about the oozing. He tells me they may be able to do something about that. Oh really? Well isn't that nice. Would you like to tell me what's causing it?! At this point I decide it may be best if I do get out of here. A nurse comes in and gives me papers to sign for the check-out process. Another comes in and tells me they will be coming in soon to place a small tube in the site that will make it more convenient to take care of the oozing. Hmm, no one ever mentioned any of this being needed before I had surgery.

After lunch, a couple of nurses came in and put a small tube into the site, a painful and very odd-feeling adventure. I was given instructions as to what I was to look for - color changes, any additional pain (oh lawd, no, please) etc. Mom and the hubby showed up, and we started the waiting process.

I was home by 11 PM. I was exhausted. The moving from hospital bed, to wheelchair, to car, from car, to house, to bed...a journey through Hell. They had given me a prescription for a stronger pain pill, the name which escapes me at the moment, but only enough for 3 days as it is highly addictive. For the next 2-3 days I was flying high. In and out of sleep and into a fog when awake. No sense of time, but aware of my Mom bringing me food and drink. Walks through fire to go to the bathroom and wondering when it would start to get better.

The 5th day home, I was to go to my doctor and have the site checked. The pain still had not eased up, and the swelling was so bad the staples weren't even visible. While checking the site, the doc found a boil, then another, and another. In all there were 6 boils spread over my lower stomach and groin area - lucky me, staph. More pills, more pain. They removed the tube, gave me instructions on caring for the boils, and said to return in another 6 days.

Eventually I was able to walk without help. The swelling went down. The pain eased. The boils did what healing boils do. I left Mom's and went home.

I had the staples removed 6 days later. Another harrowing experience, as some had become so embedded in my skin as to require cutting them out. It would have been nice if I had been given some type of topical to ease the pain, but I had become so eager to have the ordeal over with, I didn't complain...much.

All in all, it was a nightmare. One that to this day makes me cringe to remember, and take hours to write about. But with all that happened, I would do it all again if the need arose. I have never asked what may have happened to me had I not had the tumor removed. I can only imagine it would have been a worse fate than what I was given.

For my man. I love you, baby.

Happiness

A recent discussion on a Facebook thread about friends and happiness, got me to thinkin'.
I've had a rough go of it. My life has had so many ups and downs from the beginning, that saying it has been a roller coaster ride doesn't cut it. But, I think maybe that may be why I feel the way I do about things.

I'm happy. Most of the time. There have been many a times I was very unhappy. The thing is, I always found something to be happy about during those times. Maybe it was a subconscious act, a way of getting through the moment. Maybe it was just my stubborn personality refusing to allow it. In any case, and whatever the cause, my worst of times always had a silver lining - somewhere in my head.

Someone said they thought that people who choose to see the good things in life, rather than the bad, were weak and unwilling to face the truth. I think this is utter nonsense. I think it takes great strength to refuse to bow down and fall into misery because things are not so good. It takes a stout heart and clear mind to stand up to some of the things life can throw at us. I don't ignore the unhappy things that pass through my life. If I did, I wouldn't have been able to hone my ability to find the good in it!

I've been told I am lucky to have balance in my life. What an understatement! I am blessed to have balance! I'm not exactly sure how I came to have it, and I am in no way a philosopher or Zen Guru, but I have a few clues:

#1 I live in the moment. When I am happy I revel in it. I take in all the beauty around me (you see a lot more of that when in the right frame of mind). I try to share my happiness with anyone around me.
#2 I am grateful. I appreciate the simple things around me. A yard full of overgrown weeds disappear if a vine of wild morning glorys have made their home there. This doesn't mean I don't want the yard mowed, just that until it is I can experience what beauty it has to offer.
#3 I keep it simple. What I mean by this is not lessening material items or limmiting time or space. I mean I don't over-think things. I let things flow, and take in the info I need to make choices. I set aside my time to think things over, weigh the good against the bad, and usually come to the same conclusion - it will be what it will be, and my attitude will be adjusted so as to benefit from the outcome in a positive manner. I can pretty much get over any hump in an hour or two - the mountains take more time.
#4 I'm patient. I tolerate a lot more than most people. But as long as I don't let any negativity rub off on me (which sometimes happens) I can sit back and watch things pass with no huge desire to speed things along. And in the process I may be able to say or do something to make someone reach a peaceful state or happy frame of mind. Some people think this is a flaw in my character...I can wait for them to change their minds. :)

I think all in all, what everyone needs to do to find happiness in their lives is to concentrate on one major change - their attitude.
There was a poem written by Rocky Dennis, the young man with a horrible skull deformity, whose life was depicted in the movie "Mask". I think of it often when I struggle to see the good in some things or people.

These things are good:
ice cream and cake,
a ride on a harley,
seeing monkeys in the trees,
the rain on my tongue,
and the sun shining on my face.

These things are a drag:
dust in my hair,
holes in my shoes,
no money in my pocket,
and the sun shining on my face.

Be happy. Be grateful. Keep it simple. Have patience.
...and let the sun shine on your face.

Ours is not to wonder why

There are snakes in the grass. I know this. But one can't stop walking through the grass because of what may be there. And for someone who loves to walk barefoot in the grass, I can oft times put myself in a bad spot. But, feeling the cool and softness of the blades under my feet seem too wonderful to give up...

The most beautiful works of art, if studied long enough, will be found to have flaws. That's why I have always tried to look quickly and remember only the beauty. Thing is, I tend to do the same with people. I want to never see, or at least ignore, the flaws in people. What flaws I may see I try to forgive and/or forget. Isn't that better than taking something beautiful and searching for flaws? Would there ever be anything beautiful left if we did?

There are so many things we are unable to control in our lives. I think if we really sat and concentrated on just how many there are, we'd probably throw our hands up and call it a day. What takes me aback, is how some people are unwilling to take control of the things they can. All these things in the world that can take us out, put us behind, toss us to the heap or bring us to our knees, and still we allow more to weigh us down. Will we ever learn to cast off the shackles? Should we?

It is not necessary to change. Survival is not mandatory. ~W. Edwards Deming

I was thinking... (always a scary thing)

I haven't watched a lot of TV in the past few months. As a matter of fact, I went for nearly 5 weeks that the set was never even turned on. Highly unusual for me, as I have been an avid movie fan for many years. Plus, I had favorite programs I watched on a weekly basis. Last night I decided to have some noise in the background to help drown out some strange sounds I kept hearing under the house (cats, coons, opossum, aliens?). I didn't want to hear the random prattle of some rerun, so I put a movie in the player. It was "The Ring".

If you haven't seen this movie, and you like scary movies, watch this one! The first time I watched it, there were a couple of jump-out-of-your-seat moments. No gore, just "Whoa! wth?" The real impact of the movie didn't hit me until the next day. Images from the movie would pop into my head (there are a lot of times in the movie that bizarre images are thrown in seemingly at random), and I would shiver. So many other movies have since used the pop-action imaging that it's not that surprising any more. But weee doggy...when I saw it in this movie it gave me goose-bumps!

Anyway, what got to me was I was not watching, but hearing the movie. I know many hours go into producing just the right sound, adding the perfect music, cutting out unnecessary background noises, etc. But, sometimes there's one little sound, one little tinkle of a bell or a few random notes, and you just know something bad is gonna happen! This movie has them in spades! It made me start thinking of other movies where music or sounds were added to give you a warning. Set you up for the big scream. Or burn into your memory the entire movie.

Friday the 13th. Everyone knows this one! That chi chi chi  cha cha cha sound (it's really ki ki ki ma ma ma). You started to squint when it started and by the time it was so loud it was hurting your ears, someone had a machete in the face.
Halloween. That keyboard tapping out the light, high octave notes and then this dark ominous low tone floating in....creepy.
Jaws. No need to say anything. Well, I could add that this movie had me afraid to even take a bath for a few days (I used the shower). lol
The Exorcist. Tubular Bells by Mike Oldfield. Such a lovely tune now destined to bring chills to anyone who has seen the movie.

Just for fun, when you don't need 100% concentration while using the Inet, stick a movie in your player and just listen. You may be surprised what you have missed.