Friendship and Blood Pressure

The whole 1.5 years I lived in the North Georgia Mountains I had high blood pressure. Since I’d never had high blood pressure previously, and because Georgia’s medical assistance is nonexistent, I chalked it up to the elevation. High altitude works mysteriously on a number of things, including bread making, but that’s another blog post – maybe.  

I’ve begun again to see a doctor regularly and have all those necessary exams such as mammogram and colonoscopy (that lovely cancer is a trend on the maternal side), working with Froedtert University Hospital here in Wisconsin. The first visit on December 31^st was 146/92 – so much for the altitude theory – so my doctor scheduled blood work and another visit to recheck on January 3^{rd which} read at 130/84. Additionally, in those three days I lost three pounds.

So what happened in those three days to change things? On New Year’s Eve I spent the night lying around with the grandkids eating lots of processed junk food. On New Year’s Day, the whole family went to Golden Corral and ate a LOT of food. Then we played board games all day and had ribs and Italian beef for dinner. If anything, this should have raised both the blood pressure and the weight.

On January 2^nd I drove my daughter and grandson home to Chicago and stopped to visit my friend Donna who I’d not seen in quite a while. We hugged and talked, and oo’ed and ah’ed over Mello and Apache playing, and hugged and talked some more.

The next day, I was in much better health. Friendship is good medicine.

Smiling

On the first day of 2013 I talked about continuing the things that have worked in 2012. So, on the first day of 2013, Mae decided to continue what worked for her in 2012 and gave her a two month rest – she overheated; and she chose to do so on what has so far been the coldest day of the year. Of course she did it when the eighteen year old was behind the wheel, and the sun had set for several hours, making that coldest day of the year even more frigid. Moreover, she does it when there are doctor appointments looming and Christmas in January trips to execute.

We had just completed a 60 mile jaunt the day before and she was perky and peppy. Was it the anticipated trip to the overpopulated Chicago roads that set her off? Or was it the 40 degree anti-freeze sloshing in the radiator when the temperature hit 8 yesterday morning? Whatever it was, or is, she is tempting my “to do more of” list for 2013. More smiles?

http://www.bestquotes4you.com/

Well, here’s the thing: smiling worked for me in 2012 so it was noted to continue in 2013, and I damn well will, even if it’s through gritted teeth. Smile, even if it hurts. Smile, even if they think you’re crazy. Smile, and the whole world smiles with you. A smile is a curve that sets everything straight. And the one I like the most: The bat is gone, but the smile remains.  

People Who Need People

Anyone who knows me will tell you I’m just not a people person. Oh, I like to say that when applying for a job, or in attempting to explain why I love facilitating writing workshops, but the truth is I really don’t like people very much. That is easily recognizable, I think, by my demeanor when I’m in a crowd of folks, which is usually silence. I despise small talk. I’m not very good at it and I don’t even try. This probably accounts for why I have a very tiny circle of friends, all of whom know this about me and accept it, whether they like it or not. I just don’t have much of a personality. Oh, when I was young, I tried by outside help to acquire a personality, and if I have a few drinks even now, I can be downright amenable. But, straight, singular me is not the one people generally think is going to be the life of the party. I’d much rather spend hours of my life in the pages of a book, toiling in a garden, creating things with my hands, or watching classic black and white movies with a plate of brownies for company. It’s the god’s honest truth.

I’ve been back to the Chicagoland area from Georgia over a month now. I’ve gone to one social event, - Neighborhood Writing Alliances's "Open Gate" Release Reading to see those people who know who I am. I meant to get to another - "Photo Requests from Solitary" - and I really tried, but when the time came around, the thought of mingling, networking, and schmoozing just made me ill. So, I didn’t go. Instead, I helped my 7-year-old grandson with his homework and cooked dinner. Here’s the thing though, I could’ve went and I would’ve been known and welcomed. This is just one of the things I’ve learned about myself in the last year: I need people when I need people.

I miss my chickens and Foghorn crowing at dawn. I miss the mountain mist hanging low in the trees reminding me so of an English moor out of a Bronte novel. I miss the rushing, white water Toccoa River. I miss towering mountains, lush woods, and the “silence” of nature surrounding me. Although there is beauty in Kenosha, primarily the eyes, the arms, and the boundless energy of my grandsons, as well as the exasperating lifestyles of my adult children, I dream of a way to have it all. 











Because I need them, and I need those few folks on earth who truly know Donna. I need to be able to say, “Come look at what I built, baked, cooked, come look I what I did,” and to have them share my joy, my hard work, my frustrations, my dreams. And, I need to celebrate or suffer theirs - on my terms, with those who accept and cherish my terms, knowing that I accept and cherish theirs when I’m able, and we’re all perfectly fine with that.

So, yeah, I’m not a people person but I am a person who needs people, and so, I am one of the luckiest people in the world. 

Another Day Has Begun

Another day has begun here on ______ . What’s your name suggestion for the homestead? Keep in mind that next year it will be in a different location within the North Georgia Mountains. I’d love to call it dk’s Green Acres, but that’s too easy.

Last year in March, I wrote 2011 Rambling Decisions. Unbeknownst at the time, the third scenario of moving to the mountains would be the decision. Here I am and the days roll on, getting busier and hotter, with more disasters and greater blessings daily.

Mae, the big 350, V8 (named after Mae West: “You only liveonce, but if you do it right, once is enough”) I bought for my journey from Chicago to here, sits on the gravel drive with a blown rod thanks to a mechanic with a shiny traveling shop but little knowledge. He replaced my leaking radiator with one fit for a Tonka truck. Thankfully, I found the excellent mechanic I’d met in June 2011 on that Pictureless on a Brakeless Day. He will tow Mae thirty miles, replace the engine with a used GM Goodwrench that has 33K miles, replace the radiator with one designed for a V8, and replace all the fluids for $1150, which makes his labor charge about $250. Huge blessing.

Out of ten hens and one rooster (Foghorn), I’ve only lost one. She’s in the freezer awaiting garden planting time where she will return to the earth and fertilize my veggies. Thanks to new friends, the chicken coop is just about done. It’s taken three weeks, but you can’t complain about free labor and even financial donations to the cause. The remainder belongs to me – sides, chicken wire, door, and fenced yard. I can do that. Probably though, not all on one day since the weather resembles mid-August instead of the first week of April. I cut the ½ acre lawn yesterday afternoon and reclined with a beer the rest of the day.

Sunday, the outside water faucet sprung a leak. I removed the knob to turn it off by the bolt. Unfortunately, the piping was all so very old, it broke off completely, spouting 3-4 gallons per minute of water into the temporary chicken yard, and the driveway. My neighbors and I tried to turn of the main line to the house, but not only was it sunk 3’ into the yard, it was surround by mud and slush. We managed to clear away enough to get to the line, but the valve broke off in our hands. There was nothing to do but shut off the well water to the whole top of the mountain. Finally, since my V8 was going nowhere, the owner came with a cap for the faucet. Yesterday, my front yard was a construction zone as the water main was replaced with new pipes, handle, and sleeve. It’s still 3’ underground, but attainable.

The moth caterpillars have hatched in the millions, figuratively. The Georgia gnats have never gone away, and while this picture may send shivers down some spines, it shows my constant battle, which at the moment, I seem to be winning. That could change. Cutting the grass loosed another million flying insects. Additional chore added to the list: making it snow in the mountains again – soon.

So given all that, the beauty, the strangeness, and the fact that this ‘spot’ is temporary, what say you to the name? Yes, it’s another day here on _______ .

The Last Hurrah

While I mentioned previously that nothing went right when I was in Chicago, I did have some good times, with some terrific people. I got to ride the Metra and CTA again, which is always an experience. One of the experiences that is bittersweet. Long lines and long waits to board late, often dirty transports with hundreds of people will not be missed. Boarding transports of multi-ethnicities to arrive within mere steps of your destination anywhere in the metro area for pennies in comparison to gallons of gas, will be sorely missed.

Vanessa, the daughter I stayed with, lives in Kenosha, WI. just over the northern state line from Illinois. My son lives there as well, but he’s not much for pictures. Oftentimes, the state of my memory saddens me. I’d wanted to get pics of him and my two grandsons, Andre and Lenny, loading the truck, but the memory was napping during the work. The snapshots are in my brain though and hopefully I won’t lose them in some dusty back room of old age. They were a riot.  Together, they played an excellent game of Tetris packing the trailer. One of my unloading helpers said, “Tell your son there may have been a bit of room to spray in some insulation, but nothing more.” It was a perfect score!

My oldest daughter, Kim lives in Chicago proper, in the Logan Square neighborhood. Us girls planned a day together with all the cousins in the city. We meant to take the Metra in, but there was no easy stop to disembark and purchase CTA passes, so we drove in and parked in a Dominick’s parking lot for the day, which is illegal, but if you don’t tell, I won’t tell. We caught the Clark St. bus, which is one of those streets that go from one end of Chicago to the other. We met up with Kim, her cousin, Ulisa at Lincoln Park Zoo. Her son Andre is 16 and far too old for the zoo with his 'little' cousins.

                                                                           The kids had a blast running around, picnicking, and finding pictures of monkeys with Nana’s name. The sisters enjoyed being together and I was grins from ear to ear with the whole family, except my son. Even as adults, it’s always one or the other of the three who are not talking. This summer it’s Vanessa and Lenny. Last summer it was Kim and everyone. Before that, it was Kim and Vanessa. Hopefully, as they get older, they’ll come together—or get further apart. but, for this one day, I had mostly all.  

 

After the zoo, we all got back on the bus and headed downtown to Chicago’s Millennium Park, a gorgeous area between the lake and Michigan Avenue. The attraction for the kids is Crown Fountain Waterfall. Water pours from gigantic transparent brick towers on either end of a reflecting pool. Digital video photography is displayed on each tower and every five minutes, the person videoed puckers his lips and the water spouts, then returns to a flowing waterfall. I’ve been taking the grandsons since it opened and they always have cool summertime fun in the hot city. We sat beside one waterfall and got a constant cool mist on the sunny, 90 degree day.

My next excursion was to the Printers’ Ball at Columbia College Chicago. This is an absolutely must do for book lovers, writers, and creative folks of all types. The theme this year was “It’s Alive!” There were zombies, face paintings, Ouija boards, beer, wine, food, and of course books, books and more books. All FREE!! My first year I left with a shopping cart full. I’m a bit more discerning now because you can definitely give yourself a hernia hauling away books. I saw friends from school since Columbia is my alma mater, and friends from the Neighborhood Writing Alliance who are also published writers in NWA’s Journal of Ordinary Thought, and friends from Chicago’s extensive poetry and literary scene. In three weeks, this was the only time I was inspired to write. I sat across the street in a little park and jotted a few lines: My Last Dance With Chaos. I think that says it all. 

And then, of course, there was the great ice cream eating expedition to Scoops in Kenosha. I had a craving for a banana split for weeks and the one I got in Blue Ridge was more of a sundae. This, as you can see, was the real deal. Something else I'll miss, but not enough to stay. All in all, it was a good farewell.

 

2011 Rambling Decisions

So I’ve decided to go public with the paralyzing fear (excuses) of the next step in my life. At 53, I’ve lived in the Midwest, primarily Chicago, IL all of my life. My kids are grown with lives of their own, so I decided (or am trying to anyway) to travel abroad or to move abroad, or to go or do something (with time and space to write). 

One of the biggest issues is finances. Over the years of raising kids, helping with grandchildren, losing jobs and making poor decisions (that again), my credit is terrible and no savings to speak of. OK, so yes, this is embarrassing to admit at my age, but so it is.

The next issue is that I am single—divorced and widowed. I’ve never really been afraid of doing or going by myself—until now that I must. 

One of the plans to address the financial issue was to get TEFL certified so I could teach English abroad and get paid to travel. In a round-about way, it also addressed the alone issue since most schools overseas have a community of English teachers from America. Still, the traveling and settling and beginning would all be done alone. Not to mention that once I get wherever I’m going, I will be the oldest within that community of teachers—alone again.

Then, there are restrictions, both personal and business, that need considering. Certain countries, such as Japan, won’t take me at my age and others would prefer younger. By preferring, meaning I won’t get the job in those countries either. Additionally, there is the global economic crisis which has caused some countries to pull inward. In Europe, the schools require an EU passport and most want an EU work visa before even offering the position. 

My personal restriction is on climate—I cannot (at this time in my life, it might change as I get even older) deal with heat and humidity. That leaves out most of the South American countries as well as some Asian. Moreover, some of the countries where things ‘might’ be acceptable all around are in turmoil and not safe (or as safe as a typical American would like).

OK, so getting a job teaching abroad is not going well. Switch rails. Retiring to another country is happening a lot lately and there are expat communities in most any country you can think of—Italy, Germany, Serbia, France, and South America. Once again, Europe is tough with visa’s, especially if you don’t have thousands or millions of dollars to contribute to their economy. Panama and Costa Rica are by far the best choices to retire. They will give you a pensionista visa as long as you have a monthly income of $1000. Cost of living in both of these areas is extremely low, and within the expat communities there is talk of rentals at $200 per month in the less touristy, rural towns. 

That became the new focus and I made some contacts in Costa Rica where I could stay while I looked for a home. Think of retiring in paradise. Sunshine and blue waters and a slow, slow pace with fairly decent health care. Alone. I would travel, meet these contacts, set up a home and make contacts to tutor English, and live alone. 

So there you have the traveling scenario. Let’s move on to the state side scenarios. 

I’ve been staying in my daughter’s basement for the last 8 months to save $$ for all these scenarios. Occasionally, I travel into Chicago for an event or two and stay on a friends' sofa, or a roommates' bed. Sometimes, I friend will be going out of town and I stay in their place. Next week, I will be house and dig sitting for two pit bulls. While 53 is not old, I can tell you that this nomad existence has been draining. When I was younger I thought it would be wonderful to retire to a camper and travel the states. I have a friend whose parents are doing it and they love it—the key word being ‘they’. I went ahead and applied for some volunteer positions with the Dept. of the Interior in national parks and have not received any replies (probably because of that credit history mentioned before). Additionally, I’m really not feeling the sleeping in a camper bed—not after sleeping in a different bed almost every night for 8 months. 

The last scenario and the picture I’ve had of retirement for the past 20 years, is to buy a truck, head to western NC or eastern TN, find a small place on a lake or river by the mountains and just relax. Plant a garden, have a cow and a few chickens, do some hunting and fishing, and write. Bring the grandchildren for summers and maybe get a horse or two along the way. This feels like the best fit. This doesn’t excite me but the idea makes me happy and contented. The only thing wrong with this scenario (in my mind) is that it isn’t big and bold enough. There’s no “Look at what I did,” no, “Wow, I envy you,” no “That’s my mom (or my Nana).” 

So there you have it, whatever it is. There is still no decision. I go round and round and hope that sooner or later a decision will slap my in the face.

Social Justice Issue Overload

Ya know, to write about all the tragic and outrageous events that continue to occur by the minute it seems, is a full time job.

On January 21st, I meant to write about the injustice of Jon Burge’s sentencing, how it was nothing in comparison to the 50+ years (collectively) of the men he and his “brothers” tortured into confessions. I wanted to write about how his cell for the next four years would be nothing like losing years in solitary confinement on death row. However, it was a tiny victory was, and Alice Kim in Dancing the Dialectic explains that far better than I.

Less than a week later, injustice boiled over when Chicago’s “police pension board narrowly ruled that the former commander's conviction – for lying about the torture of dozens of men – was not related to his job as a police officer.” Chicago taxpayers will continue to pay Burge $3000 monthly for the rest of his life for being an unapologetic torturer. Additionally, we pay his legal fees (and he certainly didn’t have a public defender), and his medical expenses. While Chicago residents are hungry and unemployed without sufficient health care coverage, we pay for a violent criminal to live a comfortable life. I wanted to write about how many Americans complain about the cost of prisons, and the “soft” life of inmates. Obviously, they have no real knowledge of prison life; however, even the most ignorant can’t possibly believe that inmates are receiving the “Burge” treatment. Where is their outrage here?

I wanted to write about how this blindness relates to the same indignation over abuse of animals while every 9 seconds a woman is abused by her husband. A commenter on the article about Michael Vick wanting a dog stated that he should never have another dog as long as he lives. Maybe, if we held that same standard for abusers of women, the statistics would decline. If a man knew that he could never have another female companion as long as he lived, he MIGHT think twice. Maybe.

I wanted to write about all of this then, comes the story of the Tampa, FL mother who killed her two children because they were “mouthy”. This is a yet another heartbreaking situation. No one wants to hear about children being hurt. However, like the Virginia Tech shooter, the Arizona shooter, and so many others, there were warning signs, and no one wanted to get involved. Our society refuses to admit that our neighbors’ issues are our own until the neighbors’ issues slap them in the face, and then—HANG THEM.

This morning came another story of bullying. In PA, six boys chased and repeatedly beat, then hung a fellow student on an iron-spiked fence, all video-taped by one of the bully’s. Heartbreaking, especially since this happened on a public street in an urban area. No one heard this boys’ screams and cries for help? Come on!

So many tragedies, and so many injustices—it’s overwhelming to gather thoughts sensibly and convey them concisely. That’s why you have it all jumbled together—it’s how my mind and emotions are every day.

The Universal Kick-in-the-Butt Jumpstart, December 15, 2010, Day 167-Nomad Existence

As noted in previous entries, I am purposely homeless to assist forward movement, which was to teach abroad. In 167 days, I purchased my passport, completed TEFL certification, vacationed, and researched teaching abroad job boards. I’ve been stuck, until the universe decided on the kick-in-the-butt-jumpstart.

It’s said, when making dramatic lifestyle changes, for example, quitting smoking, you should tell people for support. I’m not sure the benefit is support. I think it’s accountability. The more people you tell, the more hold you accountable. The actual benefit to accomplishment of your goal is vanity and embarrassment. This only works if many people are involved. As a smoker, I’ve told a few, repeatedly, that I was quitting. When I started again, it was simply an “oh well” when confronted.

I’ve not read The Secret. I don’t believe that merely thinking of something will manifest it in my life. Every season I change my computers wallpaper to a Western North Carolina scene, where I hope to retire (soon), establishing a constant visual reminder of my dream. I’m not any closer to the reality. Action is the key, coupled with a large amount of accountability (read: vanity).

Since June 2010, I’ve told everyone “I will be somewhere” by January. I’m still homeless in Kenosha. Activity has flourished in the past two weeks. I’ve applied for jobs in Taiwan, Costa Rica, Italy, and Germany; housesitting positions in the Smoky Mountains, Wyoming and Australia; installed Skype so I can tutor online. I’m writing daily, and have even submitted. What happened? Vanity!

In July, I relinquished one of my workshop leader positions with the Neighborhood Writing Alliance (NWA), and this month, I relinquished the other. I’ve been with them eight years, starting as a writer. I acquired the first workshop when our facilitator retired, the other after campaigning for an offenders or ex-offenders group, resulting in a unique one at St. Leonard’s House. Additionally, I perform most of NWA’s tech stuff: website maintenance, the monthly newsletter, weekly update to workshop leaders, and most recently, development of Every Person Is a Philosopher Blog. I am fairly well known around the organization. So, when they dedicated the annual holiday party to me on December 15th, day 167 of my nomad existence, sending me off with poems, reminisces, warm wishes and hugs from people all over the city of Chicago, I felt the drop-back-and-punt-type kick in the butt from the universe.

Hence, the flurry of activity to make the future actually happen. When asked what I’d done with all the well wishes from that tearful send off, what will I say? Nothing? I’ve done nothing? I’ve done nothing with several opportunities, but my vanity won’t allow me to be that embarrassed.

Whether I teach abroad, volunteer and live in a National Forest, visit writer’s retreats, or do that North Carolina retirement thing, I’m moving forward thanks to that reliable universal-kick-in-the-butt jumpstart. Thank you!