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Sixty and feeling it

I haven’t written for months.  I am trying to visit my brother’s blog site and can’t seem to access it anymore.  What a drag.

I’m still jobless and starting to feel useless.  I get interviews but no job offers.  For every 20 jobs I apply for I get one or two interviews.  I truly don’t know what will happen if something doesn’t turn up soon.  I have no money and no prospects.  The longer I’ve gone without working the less picky I’ve become.  I just want a decent job.  I can’t do just anything, but I’ve been applying mostly for receptionist jobs and even though I’m overqualified for them, I can’t seem to snag one.  Not that I’ve given up–no, I won’t do that.  Something will come along sooner or later.  In the meantime I can keep trying to get temp jobs at ACT.  Although nothing going on there until the 26th of April. 

My grandchildren continue to be the biggest joy in my life.  I truly think that is what keeps me from just going into a deep depression.  I am depressed, but when they are around I am happy and I interact with them as much as possible.  It is such a joy watching them grow and learn.

My grandson has a wonderful imagination and is very creative.  He likes to draw and make things with his Legos.  He also loves music and sings a lot. I love to hear him, he sounds so sweet.  He is very ornery and 100% boy, and I couldn’t love him more.  He owns a big part of my heart.

My granddaughter is entering into her terrible twos.  She was so loving to me and now she isn’t so much.  Oh, she’ll hug me once in awhile, but not like she used to and she doesn’t give out the kisses so much anymore.  She is learning new words and of course it is very fun to hear her vocalize her thoughts.   She lights up the room and her smile is so pretty.  She is getting very tall and slimming down somewhat.  I couldn’t love her more if I’d have given birth to her myself.  She gets all the love and devotion I would have given a daughter.

Well, my thoughts are pretty much down to nil.  Oh, I did finally finish, “The Lost Symbol.”  It was good, but “Angels and Demons” is still my favorite Dan Brown book.

Until next time . . . . .

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“Episode”

Today is Christmas but yesterday is when we celebrated.  Today Chris and I just hung out at home.    We  had thought to go to a movie but due to the weather thought it best to stay home.

Wednesday night I had a diabetic “episode.”  It was worse than the one I had a couple of years ago.  I have no idea why it happened, but it was awful.  We  had eaten a fast food dinner and Richard was busy getting the kids to bed.  Chris was up in his room and I was in the living room.  I started yawning and then I got that wave of perspiration that goes over me and started to feel very weak.  I stumbled over to the bottom of the stairs and called up to Chris that I needed him.  He came down almost immediately but by that time I was very confused and kind of “out of it.”  He brought me orange juice and waited 15 minutes and if anything I was worse, not better.  

Since I wasn’t getting better I thought maybe I had made a mistake and my blood sugar was too high, not too low.  I thought that injesting all this stuff is why I was worse, because if it was low I should have started feeling better by now.  The boys kept assuring me, “No Mom, it is only 52, it is too low.”  I told them I was confused.

Chris  had called Richard upstairs even though the children weren’t asleep yet.  By then, too, I was so hot I thought I was melting and I stripped off my jeans and unbuttoned my shirt.   I didn’t  like the idea of my boys seeing me like that but I was so miserable I didn’t let it stop me.  They brought me more orange juice and applesauce.  I didn’t want to eat the applesauce and Richard kept insisting I eat it.  By this time the commotion had brought Demetri upstairs and he was crying, ” Please eat it Nana, eat the applesauce.”   After that I forced it down because Demetri had seemed so upset.”  After orange juice it tasted awful.  Richard took my blood sugar and it was 52.  By this time I’d already had two glasses of orange juice and t he applesauce and my bs was still only at 52.   They gave me regular Mountain Dew, still no help.

Richard called 911.  Paramedics and two cops came.  They took my blood sugar again, it was still too low.  They gave me a couple of tubes of glucose and asked Richard to bring me a sandwich of some sort so I requested peanut butter and jelly.  I took a couple of  bites and then I was really quite full.  And after mixing it with orange juice, applesauce and Mountain Dew I was getting nauseous.  The cops left but the paramedics stayed.  They asked me if I wanted them to take me to the hospital but I told them no–more than once.  They finally checked my blood sugar again and it was up to 95–out of the danger zone.   They gave some instructions to Richard and Chris and left.  By  then I was freezing cold; go figure. 

It scares me.  While this was all going on I kept trying to go to sleep and didn’t want to be bothered.  If my sons hadn’t been here I’d have probably slipped into a coma and someone would have eventually found my body.  Very scary.

So,  this Christmas I am especially grateful for my life, my children, my grandchildren, and another chance to live and watch them grow.  They are all so precious to me.

I hope everyone has a blessed Christmas and a happy and prosperous new year.

Looking back over the years I realize I was a depressed little girl.  I think that may have had something to do with why I was so ornery and mouthy.  Inside I was miserable.  I used to fantasize that I’d somehow been adopted because I just knew I didn’t belong where I was.  I’d think my real parents were out there somewhere and they loved me and wanted me back.  I thought up all kinds of scenarios about being reunited with my wonderful and rich parents.  Sometimes I would carry the idea for a day or two just connecting with the life I was living enough to not arouse suspicion. 

 I even asked my mother more than once, “I’m adopted aren’t I?  She would say, “No, you’re mine.”  And I would think, “Liar.”  I don’t remember when I gave up this fantasy, but I know I no longer thought I was adopted by the time I reached adolescence.

Every time someone at school would say something about their dads whether it was a trip to the park or going shopping or any of the things dads do with their children I would feel a stab of pain.  I would ask God when I got by myself, crying, “Why do all these other kids get to have their dads and I can’t have mine?”  I was jealous of them, jealous of their seemingly normal lives when mine was such chaos and my father was unavailable to me.  It is a hurt that never goes away.  Oh, I learned to live with it years ago, but it still hurts.  I didn’t get to have a relationship with my father when I was growing up and so many times I felt the need for him and he wasn’t there.  Much of the time I didn’t even know where he was.

My mother remarried a man who wasn’t mean to us, but he didn’t show any interest in us either.  I needed a father badly  and I half-way hoped he’d take the place of my dad, but it wasn’t to be.  During this marriage my mother had another daughter.

One time when I was six my dad arranged to take me for a few hours.  I remember very little except that it was evening and he had his girlfriend with him.  I do remember sitting in the front seat between them and at one point the girlfriend leaned over and kissed my dad.  I immediately burst out, “I’m telling Mom!”  She wasn’t too pleased to hear me say that and I do believe that got me off on the wrong foot with her.  She never did like me, but then I was also a mouthy brat, so that may have been the reason.  I remember staying with them a couple of times.  Once, when my brother was still a baby and before my mom married my stepdad.  I think we (my brother and I) stayed for two or three days, but I don’t remember why we were there.  Not just to visit, something that was going on with my mom.  Then that one evening I was with them and then again when they lived in another  town I stayed a few days.  My dad never married this woman, but they lived together and she used his last name.  They also had a daughter together so when they parted Iowa law said they had to get a divorce.  The last time I stayed with them their baby was several months old.  I think I was there  about three days, maybe four.  I do know there was some upset and I (I was seven at the time) remember I told her she wasn’t my boss and I didn’t have to do what she said.  When Dad got home from work that evening they had a huge fight because she wanted him to take me home and he refused.  I mean it was huge.  I went outside and I could hear them screaming at each other.  I also remember being kind of pleased that they were fighting.  It may have been because my dad was taking my side, and that made me extremely happy.

(Part 3 still to come.)

My Father’s Daughter

I spent the first five years of my life as “daddy’s darling.”  I adored him.  At home I would follow  him around as he did outside chores and I never grew tired of being with him as he spoiled me and gave me lots of attention. 

He spoiled me, yes, but not in a good way.  I didn’t have to listen or mind anyone but him.  If my mother reprimanded me for misbehavior, he would say, “Come sit by me, Cynthie, you don’t have to do what she says.”  (Yes, he called me Cynthie, that’s not a typo.)  I was totally a five-year-old monster.  I felt like the queen bee and  that everyone should succumb to my wishes.  What a rude awakening I was in for.

I was a smart little five-year-old.  When I was four (due to my older sister’s tutoring) I knew my ABC’s could write them, knew my and our household’s birthdays and I could write all of our names.  I could write and spell things like,  car, bus, hat, etc.   My older sister was from a previous marriage of my mother’s and I was Dad’s first child. 

My dad was movie-star handsome.  He really was too good looking for  his own good.  Women threw themselves at him not caring that he was married and he didn’t seem to care either.  He had many liasons in the six years he was married to my mother.  To say he treated her and my older sister  badly would be a gross understatement.  He was abusive to them.  However, being only five I was pretty much oblivious as to what was going on around me and I continued to think he was the most wonderful thing on earth.

I’m not going to go into the things he did to hurt my family although I may touch on one or two.  He was my dad, I loved him, and if he did awful things to people, I was unaware–mostly.  He was my hero.  I have a couple of very vague memories about incidents that involved the police being called, but I don’t really remember details.

Not being able to take the abuse anymore my mother left  him.  Of course she took me with her although I didn’t really want to go.  We moved about four hours away to Omaha, Nebraska, where my mom’s brother lived.  Mom actually felt she had to leave the area to be safe from my father.

 I don’t remember how long we lived there, but although I attended kindergarten there, I didn’t finish out the year so I believe it was only a few months.  I missed my father terribly.  I was an unhappy little girl without my dad.  I do  not know why my mother thought it was safe to come back here, but we did and my dad accepted the divorce.  I think by this time  he had met his second wife, but I am getting ahead of myself here and I’m not sure this was the case.

My mother’s family hated my dad.  Whenever he was mentioned terrible things were said about him.  I believe people were unaware of what this was doing to me.  First of all, I hated them for saying those things about my dad, and second of all I was old enough to make the connection, especially since I kept hearing it over the years.  My dad was a “no-good S.O.B” and since I was the “no-good S.O.B.’s” daughter, what did that make me?  Not to mention I would visit my dad’s parents in the country at times and I remember asking my grandfather once, “Will my daddy be here too?”  Sometimes Dad would come stay a day or two with his parents while I was there and that may be the only time I would see him for a year or two..  Well after asking that question my grandfather said, “We don’t want him around here.”  I remember being very confused after hearing that.  It wasn’t until years later I discovered what was going on.  I continued to have this constant hurt because my dad was no longer around.  Being a little girl I didn’t really understand and I didn’t know why most kids had their dads living with them and mine didn’t live with me.  Especially since I loved him so much.

A few months prior to leaving my mom had my younger brother.   I’m told when the door opened when Mom came home from the hospital and I saw her standing there  holding my brother I ran off crying.  Later, when my dad was holding my brother, I tried to hit the poor baby.  Of course I didn’t succeed, Dad, who was always on my side was unhappy with me and I knew I had been displaced.  Of course I grew to love my brother  until he got old enough to be a pain and then for several years I thought I hated him.

(To be continued)

I watched the game

Everyone that knows me knows I am not a sports fan.  Not at all.  I live in Iowa City, Iowa, which has the college football team the Iowa Hawkeyes, part of the big 10.  I never watch games but today I did.  My son had it on the TV and when he left for work I didn’t change the channel like I normally would.  (Someone check to see if Hell has frozen over.)  We won over Minnesota, 12 – 0–go Hawks!

I need to run some errands but I’m waiting for the football traffic to thin out before I chance going out.  Getting stuck in football traffic is no fun.

My grandchildren went back to their mother yesterday but last night we found out my grandson and his mother are both sick.  So we unexpectedly kept my granddaughter for a few hours this morning.  Such a treat.  She’s so darn sweet.  She gave lots of hugs and kisses.

Nothing else in my life has changed, time keeps marching on.

Talking to my brother

Now that I have free long distance I try to call my brother in Canada once a week.  In ways that’s not so great because now hearing from me isn’t a treat and when we only talked a couple of times a year it was.  But still, I love talking to him and I always hang up feeling good.

I’ve been in a funk since I haven’t been working since March 31st.  I keep thinking something is coming my way, I even get some interviews, all to no avail.  My grandchildren keep me focused on the things I need to do and bring me joy in my life, but my brother inspires me.  Once the good feelings from the talk wear off I have to admit I revert back into my funk, but when I’m talking to him I actually even get enthusiastic about things we discuss.  It’s a good thing.  He probably knows and understands me bettter than just about anyone else, and he accepts me as I am, flaws and all.  He’s a good brother always encouraging and making me feel that he believes in me. 

Thank you, Brother.  I love you.

This old heart

This old heart of mine has been through many transitions.  It has been bruised, broken, stepped on, torn and has many scars.  I’ve been through heartache of many kinds.  I dearly love my children and my grandson has a big hold on my heart.  However, I want to speak of my granddaughter.  I don’t know how to describe how much she means to me.  To say I love her seems so trivial.  She and her brother both light up my life, but there is something special about her.  Not that I love her more, that isn’t it, but she is so responsive and loving towards me.  More than her brother has ever been.  She takes my love and gives it back to me and my heart soars.  Her precious little baby face with her beautiful smile warms my heart.  She will run to me holding out her arms for me to pick her up.  She likes to crawl up on my lap and sleep there.  I will pick her up and hug her and she hugs me back as tight as she can and sometimes pats my back with her little hands. 

She will come to me to have me do something for her and although she can’t tell me what she wants, she gets her message across.  We will play and giggle and she will throw herself at me and give me a big hug.  Her little kisses are like little treasures every one.  When she smiles her dimples show and her big blue eyes light up.  I feel the tugs on my heart with each smile.  She loves this old grandma of hers and I feel so fortunate to have her and her brother in my life.  I guess one of the reasons she is so special is because I had two boys even though I desperately wanted to have a girl.  Then I had a grandson and my whole world became brighter, no doubt, but now I have a girl.  Of course, I don’t, but she is my granddaughter and the closest I will ever get to having one.

I am so grateful God sent her to be in my life.