Vengeance Is Mine

"Vengeance is mine...saith the Lord."  Romans 12:19

I don't get all religious and stuff here, and I'm not about to with this post.  However, the quote brings me right to the the heart of what I want to say.

One of The Mother's aunts was possibly my favorite aunt of all time.  The woman was the oldest of all of her siblings and her daughter was older than The Mother by 10 years or more.  The Aunt was quite a rebel in her day:  She was a flapper in the 20s and was the first (?) in the family to ever be divorced.  She married a second time and outlived him by so many years, that I don't ever remember meeting the man.  She lived most of her life in Detroit and 'came home' after she retired.  She lived with her bachelor brother in the family home and stayed there after he died.  With failing health, she wound up back in Detroit with her daughter for her last days.  I loved the woman like a grandmother.

The biggest thing I remember about my aunt was her coming to The Family home on Social Security payday.  She would stay the night and go and do all of her banking business the following day.  She always stayed with me in my bedroom, which had a small bed/cot for her to sleep in.  School days were very hard for me when she spent the night, as the woman snored like a truck driver.  I don't know if I ever got more than a couple of hours of sleep whenever she stayed the night.  I'm not sure I ever had been as angry in my young life as I would be whenever she came down to the kitchen in the morning and complained about 'not sleeping a wink all night.'  Whenever she said that, I was as close to decking her--or any of my aunts/uncles--as ever.  I'm sure I slept through most of the school day in these situations.  Fun memories.  ;)

My aunt had one big 'flaw'--she was an alcoholic.  While living with her daughter in Detroit--both before and after her retirement--I believe she was dry, or mostly, anyway.  Her being drunk would NOT have gone well with her daughter and her husband--they were EXTREMELY religious and wouldn't have stood for it.  However, when she moved in with her brother--who also was an alcoholic--the booze was back in her life big time.  She drank a lot before her health turned and she moved back downstate.  It was a big disappointment to me and it saddened me to no end--but you can't stop drinking FOR someone else, they have to do it on their own.  She just wanted to live her life in an alcoholic fog as her days came to their close.  Very sad.

Visiting with my aunt was a great deal of fun.  (NOT counting the times she was drunk, of course.)  She had led a fascinating life which was awesome AND funny.  We always had a good time talking about the things that happened in the family over the years--and we usually wound up laughing until we cried.  She had done some unbelievably ridiculous things in her day and they always brought us to our knees, clutching our stomachs while laughing, whenever she regaled us with her stories.  I still miss her today--some 30 years after she died.

Okay, I didn't mean for this post to be so rambling or so serious.  My entire point was to show how I am an example of our Lord's 'vengeance.'  One thing that my aunt did was complain about her knees--ALL. OF. THE. TIME.  They ALWAYS hurt her and she groaned and moaned about them constantly.  She NEVER went to see a doctor about them, of course, so we (read that as The Mother and me), never QUITE believed her.  We would talk about how she couldn't possibly be as bad off as she 'pretended' and we would scoff at her, a lot.  We ALWAYS would say that we'd probably pay for our laughing at her some day, but then we would laugh THAT off, too.  Boy, have I learned my lesson.  I find myself having bad knees that get worse every year.  Of course, I try to ignore the problem and say it all is age or weight related--and I, too, have not said a word to any of my doctors.  I know it won't make much of a difference, as I am just getting pay-back for the way I used to view my aunt.  :D


***I know I will have to address my knees one of these days--and I very much may need replacement surgery sometime down the road.  Right now, I'm determined to 'help' myself by losing weight first and seeing how I do.  Also, I'm not too sure that part of my problem isn't arthritis--having psoriasis, I am at risk for having psoriatic arthritis and THAT I will discuss with my dermatologist when I see her next week.  But, I'm pretty much sure it is my destiny to have 'bad knees.'  :)

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What A Difference A Day Makes

The other day I suddenly realized something:  I'm not depressed!  This wasn't the first time this had occurred to me, but I think this WAS the first time I actually embraced the thought.  I. AM. NOT. DEPRESSED!  What a wonderful feeling--even though it didn't REALLY happen overnight.  ;)

I haven't been shy about sharing my emotional problems--I have had several bouts of depression in the past and have dealt with it in different ways.  I have been on medications for depression and have been in therapy--both of which helped to some extent.  However, I believe the biggest factor in my 'recovery' came from the 'work' I did on my own.

As far as depression goes, I have had two bouts of post-partum depression and have suffered because of problems we had with our girls.  (While the 'problems' we had are not as severe as other people might have experienced, 'problems' are whatever someone can handle.  'Problems' are a very subjective matter.)  I think a good part of my last, severe depression came after the collapse--once again--of any support from The Family.  It was hard enough dealing with incorrigible kids, but when you have no family support system to fall back on, it is easy to just fall apart.  And fall apart I did.  One day, about ten years ago, found me lying in the middle of the kitchen floor, in a fetal position, sobbing and moaning like a wounded animal.  I honestly believe I had a small breakdown that day.  How I got up from the floor and into bed after however many hours, I'll never know, but after some sleep, I believe I resolved to take charge of my life once and for all.  And that is when my recovery began.

I don't know how my thought process worked in terms of getting me 'better.'  I DO know that things changed drastically for me when I decided to get rid of 'toxic people' from my life.  The day I decided to break ties with my parents and brother and his family, was the day I started to get emotionally healthy again.  I consciously made up my mind to ignore The Family's blaming me for everything that 'went wrong' with my kids.  Today, any guilt I might feel about whatever happened, is guilt I have placed on myself, by myself.  I have never denied any culpability in the problems our family had, but I also will never take all of the blame--it was a two-way street, for sure.  And in the middle of it all, was The Family doing a great job of acting like cops at the scene of an accident--they did a lot of 'traffic control' and were a big part of everything that transpired.  For that, I HAD to get them out of my life--and the fact that they NEVER accepted any responsibility for their part in 'the troubles,' is reason enough for me to stay away from them.  And stay away I have.

The last time I actually spoke words to The Brother was in January 2004.  I saw him during the month of May 2008 for the last time.  I saw The Father and Mother last year in May--and I last talked to The Mother a few months ago, which happened to be the first time since May.  And in all honesty, I don't miss them.  The Brother and The Mother aren't 'happy' in their lives unless they have big-time drama going on, and that is something I don't now, or ever, need in my life.  The Mother is extremely manipulative and controlling--but she is so subtle that only people who know her as well as I do can see it--and The Brother has some serious mental-stability problems that I never think he will address.  I'm happy to be rid of them.

So, do I ever miss The Family?  Of course I do.  The Mother was my best friend--I talked to her almost every day and we were 'on the same page' most of the time.  Getting together with The Family could be the most fun I had in weeks--we had some great laughs while telling the family stories, etc.  There ARE some good memories that I have to suppress, but they do come to the surface at times.  Holidays and special occasions are sad for me sometimes--until I REALLY remember how they used to be. 

Getting together with The Family was never as easy as it seemed.  With The Brother's lack of control, you never knew if something said would make him have a 'temper tantrum,' start to scream and holler, and slam his way out of The Parent's house. (This he did on more than one occasion--usually because someone didn't agree with his views on a subject.  And he is EXTREMELY frightening when he gets like this.)  The Mother would work her subtle digs at me far too often--as in, "Gee, Jane has lost SO much weight!  She looks WONDERFUL."  as a way of telling me that I needed to lose weight.  Also, her favoritism when it came to certain grandchildren was extremely apparent far too often--and The Youngest always came out wanting for the approval and attention that the others got.  I don't need to put myself through this--as well as everything else I faced through the years.

To sum it all up, I'm feeling MUCH better now!  If it wasn't for The Husband and some closer-than-sister friends who were then--and still are--in my corner, I don't know what would have happened to me.  I am more grateful for them than words can ever say.  The doctors and therapists that I saw--even the lousy ones--were part of my recovery,  as well.  Also, I never could have gotten through all that I have without my faith and God's help.  This is something that I have always relied on and always could depend on.  However, what works for one person doesn't necessarily work for another.  If anyone would find themselves in the situation I was, my recommendation is this:  See a doctor first, get on meds if you can, and find support of some sort.  And trust your instincts--you might not like what your heart is telling you to do, but it might be for the best.  (As long as it isn't destructive, of course.)

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Un-Freaking-Believable

I just found out that The Brother and his wife have a foreign exchange student living with them.  The two people who didn't even raise their own kids have taken someone else's into their home.  I am just speechless.  The only thing I can think is that their youngest--our godchild--wanted this to happen.  And from what it seems, whatever she wants, she gets.

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Being Content

I am not ashamed to admit that I don't leave my house that often.  And I don't find reasons TO leave the house.  Oh, I go shopping when the need is there and I go to appointments.  I also enjoy our road trips and vacations, but I am very content to stay in my own home.  Basically, pretty much everything I want or need is here in my house--and with the interwebs, it is so very easy to not have to leave the house.  I have my music, TV, books, craft supplies, and computer:  What more could I want?

Growing up, The Mother had a friend who spent ENORMOUS amounts of time in The Parent's home.  (As I don't have much contact with The Mother these days, I don't know if the woman still goes there as often.)  She would show up before noon and wouldn't leave until it was time for her to go home and make dinner--usually less than an hour before she had to serve it.  (I never understood how she managed to make meals so quickly.)  She very much gave the impression that she couldn't stand her house--a house that I would've seriously considered giving my eye teeth up for.  I don't know how she ever got her housework done, with the amount of time she spent away from home.  Her and her husband raised three children and she was a stay-at-home--well, a woman who did not work outside of the home, at least.  It still amazes me that the household was kept together all of those years.

So, does my not wanting to leave my house and The Woman's not wanting to stay home point towards how content you are with your situation?  My house isn't anything to write home about--believe me when I say there are probably more things WRONG with this place, than there are right--but it is home and it is where I want to be.  I've never understood people who want to be away from their homes--but then, I was raised in a bit of a different era, by a VERY different sort of mother.  I am content and will make no apologies for that.

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You DO Have A Mirror, Right?

One of my great aunts had gained quite a bit of weight over the years.  When she finally decided that she needed to lose the poundage, she did a very good job of it.  The only problem, The Aunt didn't change her wardrobe during the 'losing weight' phase.  Finally, someone convinced her to get new clothes that fit, and they were off to do some shopping.

The Aunt looked through all of the clothing racks and came up with a couple of dresses--in size 20.  Which was the size she wore before her weight loss.  No amount of cajoling by her shopping companion would make her go any smaller, so off to the changing room she went.  Of course, the dresses were much, much, MUCH too big--and she agreed to try on a size 18.  This, too, proved to be a bigger size than she needed, so she tried a size 16.  She continued to go down one size at a time till the proper one finally made its way to the room.  The size she wound up with?  A size 12.  There's nothing like not actually SEEING yourself when you look in a mirror.

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Finished A Project

I'm trying to get some of my projects done and manged to get one more out of my house.  For Mother's Day, I had planned on making a knitting needle holder for The Mother, but I never got around to it.  The other day I decided I had to get it done and here it is:

This is the outside.

Here is what it looks like on the inside.  The striped piece at the top is a guard which will keep the needles from falling out.  The red patterned material is an 8" deep pocket for long knitting needles.  The blue patterned fabric is a short pocket for crochet hooks, scissors, rulers, and other paraphernalia.  A lot of stuff can be stored in this thing.

And here is what it looks like all rolled up.

The Mother called today--she got it in the mail--and was quite pleased.  What more can I ask for, right?

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I'll Be Back

Right now I'm in a very deep stage of depression.  The Wings lost tonight and they are down 3-0 in a best of seven series.  So, that means only one more loss and the season is done.  By this time next week, I will be done with hockey--more likely than not for the rest of the playoffs.  I won't--and can't--get into what has happened.  Just suffice it to say that I am not in the best of moods.

And this had to happen today of all days:  I have to go and see The Mother tomorrow for my once-a-year visit.  What more can I say?  I will be back--maybe not tomorrow, but it should be soon.  Wish me luck.

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Not Even A Lump Of Coal?

I'm deep in my holiday depression, so I might as well continue with very depressing posts. Today is no exception.

I LOVE getting presents. I have no guilt admitting this. While I like giving things to everyone I love, I almost think I enjoy receiving more. I'm like a little kid when it comes to getting things. Just the thought that someone made the effort to get me something that I would like, is heartwarming. I realize a lot of this comes from not getting exactly what I wanted when I was a child--The Family didn't have all that much money--and I wait to see if the present I open is something I really, really like. Much of the time, I am pleasantly pleased with what I find. Almost as many times, I am not very happy. There are far too few people--read that as 'family'--who don't put much thought into what I might want. (My friends read me very well and very, very few times am I disappointed in what they get me.)

This year there will be no presents under the tree for me--other than the possibility of something from The Youngest and her husband. Nothing comes from The Oldest and her family. I realize that they are on an extremely tight budget, with eight in the family and only part time jobs, but still. She talks about the kids making homemade gifts and she tells me about the name exchange they participate in with The Family, but nothing comes into our house from them. While I have insisted on backing off to an extent, we provide an awful lot of money and articles cost-free to their household. It is our decision to buy things for them, but I'm beginning to feel very much taken for granted these days. I am pretty positive that The Mother and The Father don't go without gifts from my kids and grandkids--ever. And I am just as sure that they don't provide hardly anything to The Oldest and her family. But still, they are treated more like her parents than we are. It hurts--deeply.

So, where does The Husband come into the picture? There will be nothing from him this year, either. At the beginning of the month, he suggested we buy a computer as our Christmas gift to ourselves--and I agreed. However, I changed that to TWO computers, as I would NOT be happy with our laptop if I have a new desktop to use. And it is hard enough for the two of us to share the desktop we have, so we really need separate computers to keep a happy home. (The laptop we have was a mistake for us to buy. We spent too much and didn't get anything more than someplace to play basic games. Live and learn.) While I knew I could get two computers for what he wanted to spend, upon further research, I KNEW we couldn't live with anything that basic. I am so over getting 'the biggest, fastest, most powerful' computer, but I won't get the bottom of the barrel, either. So, because of less than $500, I haven't ordered the computers. We can't come to an agreement on how much to spend. (Really, all he has to do is go up on what to spend and I can come down a bit--it could work.) And there will be no gift for me this Christmas. This year will suck eggs, big time.

And, what does this mean for The Husband, in terms of what is under the tree? Well, I won't be going all out as I usually do, but I WILL be putting gifts under the tree for him. I can't stand to think of anyone going without having gifts to open on Christmas Eve--and I won't allow it to happen. Maybe I should get myself something to open, just so I won't feel left out? :|

Part of the problem I have with not getting presents is the fact that The Husband and I are very much ignored throughout the year. IF we get cards--only from The Youngest, I might add--that is the extent of how we are acknowledged at special times through the year. This includes birthdays, anniversary, and Mother's and Father's Day. Thing is, I KNOW in-laws and The Parents are NOT ignored on their special days, because I have seen the presents purchased for them. It is so hard to not show how bitter I feel at times. It is so, so hard to not feel appreciated by your own kids. It is like a dagger through the heart--literally.

Now, I didn't post this so that people will feel sorry for me. My blog is a place for me to vent, that is all. I'm a big girl and will survive this year, just as I have survived all of the rest of them. Mid-January, the latest, I will be fine. Until then, I will wallow in self-pity. We all need to wallow at times--mine just happens at this time of the year.


(I realize I will feel like an absolute ass on Friday if things turn out to be different than this scenario. And I WILL admit my mistake, right here, with face red as Santa's suit. But I don't believe I will have to swallow my pride and admit my mistake. I've lived with these people way too long to not know how they are. Such is life. :|)

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How Things Have Changed

With all of the talk about health care and reform, my thoughts will go to health practices of the past more and more. And, of course, my family has been in the middle of some of the weirdest.

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My great-grandmother never learned to speak English. I really don't remember how much she understood, but I usually communicated with her in my limited Finnish, so I'm sure she understood as little as she spoke. As is very common in my family, my GGM had blood pressure issues, so she had to see a doctor on a regular basis. And because none of the local doctors spoke Finn, The Mother had to go with her to her appointments. During one of her physicals, the doctor noticed that GGM didn't have any tonsils. Considering she was born at the end of the 19th century, it was a bit unusual, so the doctor asked when and where did she have the surgery. The Mother translated back that she said she was given turpentine to drink and that she swallowed them because of it. Of course, the doc asked The Mother to ask again, as he was quite aghast at the answer and was sure she didn't understand the question. Upon further questioning, my GGM insisted that she swallowed her tonsils after drinking turpentine. The doctor told The Mother to 'let her believe what she wants.' Actually, turpentine WAS used as a folk remedy for several things--one of which was for sore throats. :)

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Back in the 1950's, one of the secrets many housewives had was their addiction to speed. But then, it wasn't a secret from anyone but the menfolk. The Mother, along with her aunts, cousins, and friends, were all using 'diet pills' on a regular basis. Each of them would go to the nearest Dr Feelgood, get a prescription for amphetamines, and then distribute the pills among the rest of the group. When everyone had gone to one doctor--and it was too soon for them to get another prescription--they would find out through the grapevine who the next liberal doctor was and make their appointments accordingly. This went on for quite some time. The Mother was so wired, that she would be up at 3:00 AM, cleaning the UNDERSIDE of the kitchen table with a toothbrush. One day, The Father had enough and took her pills and flushed them down the toilet. Other than her having a major meltdown, she somehow managed to get through the withdrawal on her own.

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Smoking, of course, is the biggest bug-a-boo to continue to haunt some people. (As an ex-smoker, I would beg everyone NOT to start. However, I feel everyone has a right to smoke if they want and I'm sick and tired of the witch hunt against smokers.) This hatred for smoking hasn't always been the case. After The Mother gave birth to The Brother, her obstetrician pulled out his cigarettes, lit one for himself and one for The Mother, and they shared a quiet moment together. This was in the recovery room of the hospital! Talk about different times. Actually, when I gave birth to The Oldest, smoking was still allowed in our hospital. While I wasn't allowed to smoke in my room, I was able to go to the father's 'waiting room' and smoke to my heart's content.

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When I was in 9th grade, I had plantar warts. I'm not talking one--the entire ball of my foot was covered in them. It was so bad that I was limping. And because we weren't allowed in the school swimming pool if we had plantar warts, I wound up in the doctor's office to have them removed. (I was pleased to not have to swim, but as swimming was a requirement for my phys ed credit, I needed to get back in the pool.) As my infestation was so bad, the doctor could do nothing in his office. At the time--and probably still to this day--the standard way of handling plantar warts was cutting them out. The doctor said to remove the warts from my foot would require surgery and THAT would require removing a good part of the ball of my foot. (Was this true? Who knows.) So, the recommendation was x-ray therapy. (This wasn't such a far-fetched idea. At the time, acne was also taken care of with x-ray therapy.) I went in once a week for a month and got my warts zapped with x-rays. It worked. After a couple of months, the warts just peeled off of my foot--and I suffered no amount of pain because of it. However, I wonder how much damage has been done to my body over the years because of x-rays. Between the chest x-rays I had as a child, the x-ray therapy, my working in a dentist office (where I took x-rays), and all the rest, I'm sure I have been exposed to more than what I should have.

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Nothing In Moderation

My dear friend Meleah put up a post the other day about her unfortunate and inappropriate use of some ingredients and the consequences. Go here to read the very funny story. This lead me to a story of my own.

Since starting on Enbrel, I have found myself with a cupboard full of creams that I no longer use. One of the medications is called Tazorac. Tazorac is not only used for psoriasis but also for acne, fine lines and wrinkles, and to help skin tone and texture. Considering I am a woman-of-a-certain-age, I figured it would do me good to begin using this regularly. At least it couldn't hurt. So, for the past few months I have been using it on a fairly regular basis until I got the flu, when everything went by the wayside. A few nights ago I decided it was time to get back on schedule with the stuff, so I applied it before going to sleep. The way Tazorac works is almost like a mild chemical peel--and this means that the skin on your face will peel like after a sunburn. Of course, this presents a whole new problem: how to rid your face of the peeling skin. I figured I had the solution when I used an exfoliating sponge to scrub the peeling skin off. WRONG!!! I found that scrubbing at new, tender skin is not a good thing. I managed to scrub right through the top layer of skin--in places--and was left with areas that oozed. AND my face was the color of my Red Wings jersey: stop sign red. I probably would have been better off having a flaky face.

Now, while thinking of this story--and berating myself for being so damn stupid--I realized that I come by my stupidity honestly. My family has the tendency to do nothing in moderation. I think the family motto is "Kill or Cure." And I have stories to back this up.

The Mother has always been one who does nothing in moderation. One day she woke with the beginnings of a cold. By the afternoon, she barely was able to stand, so she needed to do something. While I'm not sure what the reason was, she called our neighbor and explained her situation. Our neighbor told her that he had some homemade wine and if she heated it up and drank it, she could take a nap and feel better in a few hours. She sent The Brother to pick up the more than half-full pint-sized Mason jar of homemade wine. Once she got this jar, she proceeded to pour the ENTIRE amount of wine into a saucepan, heated it, and drank it ALL down in one long gulp. The Mother is a teetotaler and the wine hit her quite hard. She literally CRAWLED the ten feet from the kitchen stove to the living room couch, where she passed out for about four hours. And she felt fine when she woke up. Of course, she could have KILLED herself, but the end justified the means, so all was okay in her mind.

My great-grandfather also believed in kill or cure. Just before he went into the medical care facility, he was pretty much confined to his upstairs bedroom because of rheumatoid arthritis. The Mother went to the house almost daily to help out my great-grandmother in taking care of him and the household. One day he was suffering from a chest cold and had asked The Mother to get him some Troutman's Cough Syrup. I'm not sure how much alcohol was in this stuff, but as a child, I thought it was pretty vile tasting. The Mother brought the bottle of Troutman's--the BIG one, so she wouldn't have to get him another bottle too soon--and a spoon and left it with him. When she was halfway down the stairs, he called for her to come back. When she got to his room, he handed her the spoon and the empty bottle. He had drank it all. He, too, was a teetotaler. He, too, slept it off.

And then we get to my great-aunt. Where do I begin and which story do I tell? How about the time she almost caused her nose to become frostbitten because she kept rubbing it with ice cubes. She did this to 'shrink' the pores. Or the time she caused her feet, up to her ankles bones, to turn brown by soaking in hot water with way too much bleach poured in. THIS she did in order to soften the calluses on her feet. I guess the best example of kill or cure is when she had a chest cold. (Are we seeing a pattern here?) She was feeling poorly and had quite a tightness in her chest, so she figured the best thing to do was to make a mustard plaster, place it on her chest, and lie down for a half hour. Everything worked out well except for the fact that she fell asleep--for several hours. When she finally woke up, her chest was covered in first- and second-degree burns--along with very large blisters all over her breasts. For a week afterward, she couldn't wear a bra and had to pin soft cotton handkerchiefs to the inside of her dress, just so she could continue to do what she needed to. Of course, she didn't see a doctor, but with all of the self-medicating my family did, is this a surprise?

So, as I said, I come by my stupidity honestly. I have had great role models.

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Another Reason Why I Am The Way I Am

The Father has a younger cousin who, along with her husband, were very close friends of The Parents during my early years. Somewhere around my middle-school days, The Cousin and her husband moved downstate. (We're talking about 8 hours away.) The only time The Parents got together with them, was when they came 'back home' on vacation--which would have been about once a year. As The Parents NEVER went on vacation, ANYWHERE, they always relied on people coming to them to visit.

As it would happen, when someone came back to my hometown area, a 'get together' would usually be planned so that all the family could gather in one place and visit with whoever was on vacation. Most of the time, if it was The Father's family member, his younger sister would be the one having the party. This ALWAYS was a source of irritation for The Mother, as this woman wasn't/isn't one of her favorites. (But then, who DOES The Mother actually like, I ask you?) This would cause The Mother to whine and piss and moan and say how much she didn't want to attend--but she WOULD go for The Father's sake. (This happened ALL. OF. THE. TIME. whenever his family was involved.) And, just as inevitably, The Father would make the pronouncement that he WAS NOT GOING. BUT, The Father would say, The Mother would have to come up with the excuse and make the phone call declining the invitation. And I would have to listen to them argue back and forth for days about this--her saying she was not going to make the call and him saying he was not going to call, but they would not attend no matter what, etc, etc. And I heard this from a very young age. It was quite unnerving, to say the least--and it is most likely one of the biggest reasons why I don't care for family.

Another big reason why The Parents wouldn't attend these shindigs was The Father's way of thinking. He decided that, since whoever was around and was on vacation, THEY should be the ones going from house to house visiting and paying homage to those who lived in the area. After all, THEY were on vacation and had the time to do the visiting, not those who still had to work. And it didn't matter if the vacationers were around for two days or two weeks--The Father figured their time wasn't nearly as valuable as his. The fact that he came from a big family and most of them lived in the area, didn't seem to matter to him. Somehow, the vacationers were supposed to find the time to visit in each of the 8+ family homes for a substantial period of time during their 4 day vacation. And, not surprisingly, many, many times when the vacationers left the area, The Parents were one of the few family members who didn't get to see them during their stay. And The Parents were always pissed.

Back to The Cousins-who-were-good-friends. One summer, The Cousins came to the area to visit, as they did almost every year. Now, not only did The Cousin have family in the area, but her husband had a decent sized family, also--and HE was a 'local' as well. So, they didn't get to everyone's house during their vacations, as most people wouldn't. Again, this particular year, there was a gathering where everyone could visit with the vacationers and The Parents didn't attend, as was their MO. This had happened year after year, and I assume The Cousins got pissed at The Parents. So, one afternoon, a car drove passed The Parents' house, beeping its horn. The Parents looked out to see The Cousins driving by, waving. And they continued on and never stopped. That was their 'visit' to The Parents.

Okay, I can see why The Parents were not happy by this situation, but I also can see why The Cousins did this. Year after year, The Parents not going to see The Cousins was a slap in the face, so The Cousins decided to 'slap' back. This was a way to do it. And this caused The Parents to refuse to talk to The Cousins for a couple of decades.

Finally, The Cousins moved back to the area after retirement. They spent most of their time with The Father's youngest sister--one gossip (The Cousin) joining another gossip (younger sister), as The Mother said it--and they became 'thick as thieves.' Of course, this was a source of irritation for The Parents--and I heard about it often. Not long after this, I severed my close ties with The Family, so I didn't hear what happened next.

A couple of years ago, lo and behold, The Parents and The Cousins became close, once again. I don't know what happened, I don't know when it happened, and I don't want to know. The only thing I DO know is that neither couple can leave a shit without the other couple knowing about it, so I give this relationship five more years at the most. SOMETHING The Cousin or her husband will do WILL piss off The Father or The Mother and that will be the end of The Great Friendship, once again.

And people wonder why I am the way I am? With a family like I have, it's a wonder I'm not even MORE screwed up!

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And I Get Shut Out Again

I posted how our goddaughter got confirmed without us being informed and last week we were shut out again.

The high school where K and I graduated from has an all-school reunion every year around the fourth of July holiday. While we have never attended, we DID go to our class reunions when they were held. I was never close to members of my class--I keep in touch with the two I care about: my husband and my oldest friend--but I have never said I won't attend reunions. However, this year I probably would have gone to the all-school reunion for one reason: it was the 100 year anniversary of the school. And I didn't know a thing about it until the festivities were all over with. I'm sure if we would have known ahead of time, we would have attended. And our Wisconsin friends probably would have come, also--she is the other member of our class that I actually like. ;) But, we didn't have the opportunity to decide whether or not we would be there, cause no one told us about it.

The high school anniversary is one thing--I could really take it or leave it. The other anniversary I knew nothing about is the one that really hurts. I know I have mentioned this before, but my great-grandfather was a lay preacher. He and my great-grandmother had a very great faith and were instrumental in establishing a church in the town they lived. K and I were married in that church. And the festivities for the 100 year anniversary of the church were also held last week. And I wasn't told a thing about it. THAT hurts.

I spoke with The Mother earlier this week--after all of the celebrations were done--and she mentioned them. I can't believe she was so matter-of-fact about the whole thing. She is so passively-aggressive in the way she 'punishes' me for all the 'wrongs' I have done. I wish I knew a way of handling this, but I guess my best bet is to stay far, far away from her. Still.

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Road Trip

We went up north today to deliver several items that we had here: a birthday gift, a Father's Day gift, a confirmation gift, and various other things. It went okay.

I got to give the confirmation gift to our goddaughter personally. I DID say that I was sorry to be late, but not knowing she was being confirmed made it difficult to get it to her on time. I believe I made my point. She seemed to be pleased with the necklace, which I was happy about.

We visited with The Parents for a time, then went to K's sister's house and had dinner with her. Finally, we saw the grandchildren and gave them what was theirs. A quick trip, but a good one nonetheless.

In the 100 miles we drove to get home, the temperature went from 88 degrees, down to 60, back up to 88, and settled at 74 at our house. It is always an adventure here in the UP.

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Hurting Or Just Pissed?

I found out, via Facebook, that my one and only goddaughter got confirmed today. Obviously, if I found out by reading FB, I was not informed personally. Our goddaughter posted the message as her status update, so it wasn't even aimed toward me. This is The Brother's youngest. Wow. This just goes to show exactly how much The Brother and his Wife hate me and K. But, I think what hurts me the most is that I am sure my Oldest lied to me. I called and mentioned the confirmation and she said she knew nothing about it till SHE read it on FB. She lives about ten miles from The Parents and The Brother. The Mother tells everyone every little bit of minutiae there is to tell, so there is NO WAY this was not passed on to C.

I have a very special necklace that I am going to give to our goddaughter--it was given to me on MY confirmation day. I'm not sure HOW I will present it, but I need to think of some way to let The Family know how pissed off I am. Any suggestions would be welcome.

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A Little Of This, A Little Of That

Last night brought the first of the final episodes of Prison Break. While I think it is time for it to end--actually, it could have ended a season or two ago--I think I will miss it. Hopefully it will go out in a real big way.

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Yesterday the temp was about 72 degrees. Today it was no more than 44. Tomorrow night we just may be getting 'significant accumulations of wet snow.' Welcome to my world.

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I'm really tired of people implying--subtly, of course--that because I don't have a job and don't bring home a paycheck, I don't need to voice my opinion on taxes, unions, or the economy. Pardon me, but just because YOU have a job doesn't mean YOU are any smarter than I am.

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It took me a bit, but I finally figured out why I have been on such a horrid eating binge: it is April. What does April have to do with anything? Well, the month of May means I have to see The Mother because of her birthday and Mother's Day. My stress level goes up EVERY time it gets to this time of year--and it ISN'T only because it is playoff time.

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And that brings me to the playoffs. So far--and it IS only two games--the Wings have been doing very well. They have been 'putting on a clinic' and Columbus has seemed to be quite out of it. Again, it HAS been only two games and the next one is in Columbus, so things can change fast. This is why I can never let my guard down and feel good for more than hours at a time--the end of the next game could see me crying in my beer!

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While I never quite embraced Twitter, I enjoyed it as much as I could with the limited time I was on it. Since the 'contest' between Ashton Kutcher and CNN and the fact that Oprah is now 'tweeting,' I just may need to delete my account. I think Twitter is over with. Thank you Oprah for screwing up something else for me. :/

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Coming Out Of The Fog

It has now been about three weeks since I got sick and FINALLY I believe I have turned the corner and am getting better. My hearing is almost normal, my throat doesn't hurt nearly as much, and the cough isn't keeping me awake at night. I think I am still battling the conjunctivitis and WILL call the ophthalmologist on Monday if all isn't clear by then. Of course, the head being plugged up to a certain extent is just a part of living here, so I don't expect THAT to change too much. All in all, I'm able to do most everything I want--just at a slower pace and over the course of DAYS rather than HOURS. Needless to say, I DON'T make a good sick person.

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We have been having strange weather. Of course we have a LOT of snow--so far, 113.6 inches have fallen at the local NWS station. The 'normal' snowfall to this point in the season is 64.7 inches. Yep, almost double what we should have. However, it doesn't really look like we have a horrendous amount of snow because of the 'heat' waves and rain that has fallen during them. Our last rain was right after Christmas and we got our own private ice rink in the back yard as a result. Too bad so much snow fell afterward or I could have been skating daily. (Outdoor ice rinks are WAY too hard to maintain--too labor intensive!) Today the skies are clear, the sun is shining, and the temp is sitting at 18--but more snow is coming tomorrow.

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Tomorrow is the Winter Classic game and I can't wait! With all of the hype, it should be great--as long as the Wings win. :) Last night they shut out the 'Hawks 4-0, so tomorrow will be interesting. I wanted to have a Winter Classic party, but K said he doesn't want me to overexert myself and I think he was right. So, I will just be on the couch at 1:00 PM, wearing my Winter Classic T-shirt, waiting for the puck to drop. GO WINGS!!!

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Despite not feeling like myself, we were able to have a fairly normal Christmas celebration. We went to spend Christmas Eve with friends--a tradition that has been going on for many years--and had a quiet Christmas Day with only A and her husband here.

While this year was not a big one for gifts--K and I still are getting furniture--I DID receive one very memorable one. A and her husband 'rescued' the sewing maching from The Parents' house that I taught myself to sew on. It was in their basement and had been for many years. Despite the abuse it took, it is in quite good shape and the restoration process shouldn't be too difficult. I could still use it if it was cleaned a bit more and a new belt was put on. The cabinet has some damage, but a friend said it shouldn't be hard to fix the problem areas. And here is a picture of the machine:


Yes, it is a Singer treadle machine and is almost 100 years old. This was The Mother's aunt-in-law's machine that was willed to her when the aunt died and now it is officially mine. I really can't wait to get started on the restoration--however, I have NO idea where I will put it afterwards! Decisions, decisions.

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As long as I don't have another relapse, I should be doing regular posts from now on. I want to wish everyone a wonderful and blessed new year. Hopefully, this one will be better than the last.

glitter-graphics.com

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One Of The Last Straws

I'll continue on with another medical post--this one is about one of the final acts that made me say 'screw you' to The Family.

About eight years or so ago--the youngest was still in high school--I needed to get away from home for a few days. A and I were going through some bad times and I couldn't take it anymore. Actually, K and I weren't getting along either because of the problems with A, but that is another story. Anyway, I needed to get away and went to spend some time with The Mother and Father. (We were getting along fine at the time.)

When I got to The Parent's, The Mother wasn't feeling well. She said it was a stomach bug or something bad she had eaten. I didn't think much about it, as she always seems to have SOMETHING wrong with her all of the time. I figured whatever was wrong would pass quickly. Over the course of the next day or two, I realized that she really WAS sick and wasn't getting any better. Finally, we convinced her to go to be checked out--I believe she went straight to the emergency room. Believe me when I say she was not doing well. Not only was she spending an awful lot of time in the bathroom, but she was weak and really looked sick. She was admitted into the hospital immediately--mainly because she was very dehydrated.

The next few days were really bad. The doctor could not figure out what was wrong despite doing many tests. The Mother wasn't getting any better and actually was going downhill fast. At one point, we were in the room and watched her blood pressure drop so far down that there was almost NO pressure--and no one on the hospital staff seemed to think there was anything to be concerned about. The doctor and I had an instant dislike for each other--I don't think she liked me because I questioned her too much and I didn't like her because she couldn't admit she had no clue what was going. Nothing was going well and then the doctor decided to do a colonoscopy to see what was what.

After the colonoscopy, the doctor diagnosed The Mother with diverticulitis. She also took samples and sent them out of town for analysis because the lab there couldn't perform the tests needed. So, with a diagnosis in hand, The Mother began treatments for diverticulitis. A couple of days later, the test results came back saying The Mother was suffering from a superbug, c. difficile. This superbug is a definite killer and the only way to take care of it was with a very expensive, potent, uncommon antibiotic. The local pharmacy didn't even carry the medication and had to special order it--that is how uncommon it was. After a few days, The Mother was sent home to recuperate. All this while, I was at the house taking care of things and then continued after she got home.

Now, I'm going to back up a little here. I was not at the hospital when the doctor gave the diagnosis of c. difficile. I have no way of knowing whether the diagnosis of diverticulitis was ever taken away. Needless to say--and this probably is very wrong of me--The Mother has held on to the diverticulitis diagnosis like a dog holds on to its favorite bone. She finally has something wrong with her that can 'flare' whenever it is to her advantage and no one can ever say she is faking. And it isn't as if this is something that can actually kill her, it just is something that she needs to 'manage' and have people feel sorry for her about. I KNOW this is awful of me to say, but it seems to be the truth--The Mother is a drama queen and needs something in her arsenal for whenever some drama is needed in her life. These are just the facts.

So, a week or two after I got home from nursing The Mother back to health, I had an appointment with my PCP. While I was there, I mentioned to him that The Mother had been sick and what the problem had been. My doctor's face went white and he said--in NO uncertain terms--how extremely lucky she was to still be alive. (This was just when c. difficile was beginning to be diagnosed as a superbug.) He had a patient who recently went through the same thing and barely escaped with HIS life. My doctor also mentioned the cause of the superbug: OVER PRESCRIBING AND TAKING OF ANTIBIOTICS. This was about the time he let me know that I would have to be close to death and have more than one test confirm a strep throat infection before he would prescribe antibiotics for me again. He was so adamant about the overuse of certain drugs, that I knew it was a big problem. When I got home that day, I let The Mother know what he said. I figured she needed to hear this because she ran to the doctor's/emergency room frequently for antibiotics because she was 'coming down with _______' (You can fill in the blank.) This is why what happened next is so unbelievable for me.

Several weeks later--it would have been about a month after she ended her course of the very expensive, potent, uncommon antibiotic--The Mother called and said she was sick. She said that she had bronchitis and was on an antibiotic to take care of things. EXCUSE ME!!!!! WHAT the shit was she talking about? She just almost died and now she is taking MORE of what contributed to her almost death?!?!?!? So, I asked for the story. She had gone to see her PCP because she 'knew' she was getting bronchitis. Her doctor disagreed and sent her home to take care of herself--I'm sure it was 'rest, drink plenty of fluids, ...' and to call back the next week if she wasn't feeling better. This, I believe was on a Friday. She didn't like what the doctor told her, because she knew better than he did. On Saturday, she decided to go where she KNEW she could get her drugs and that was to the emergency room. Sure enough, she left with a prescription and was, once again, on antibiotics. If the ER doctor had KNOWN she had just been hospitalized, I don't believe he would have prescribed for her, but I'm sure she neglected to give him that little piece of information--OR she told him she had been hospitalized for diverticulitis, not for the real reason. To say I was upset, is putting it mildly.

When I got off of the phone with The Mother, I immediately called her cousin--the only person sensible enough to discuss this matter with rationally. We both were beyond concerned with what was gojng on and discussed what could be done. At one point, the dark humor came out and we started talking about doing an 'intervention' to get The Mother off of antibiotics for good. Needless to say, we decided The Mother needed to be talked to and reasoned with. But, the opportunity never presented itself.

As I said, the youngest and I were having some problems at the time, so she took my conversation with The Cousin as her opportunity to do some big time damage to me. (She overheard PART of the conversation.) She called The Mother and told her that The Cousin and I were planning an intervention. That didn't go over very well. The Mother called The Cousin and told her to stay the hell out of her life and not be concerned about her ever again--that it was NONE of The Cousin's business HOW she lived her life. Of course, the next phone call I got was from The Cousin, hysterical over the way The Mother had screamed at her. Then, The Mother called all hot and bothered over The Cousin and 'how dare she' and how The Cousin had the nerve to yell at her when she was told to mind her own business and on and on and on... Funny thing is, The Mother didn't seem to be too very mad at me--which I still don't understand. She DID say that I shouldn't worry about the antibiotics, etc, but wasn't too mad at me. But that didn't take away from the fact that she was putting her life in jeopardy and she wouldn't even try to see it. I decided at that point that I couldn't be a part of her medical drama anymore and I took myself WAY out of the mix. While I didn't completely turn my back on The Family at that point, it was the first BIG step toward doing so. I could put myself through the emotional wringer any longer--it wasn't good for my own health, so I stepped away.

Even though I am estranged from my family, the decision to walk away has been one of the best ones of my life. I no longer have to worry every time the phone rings as to what crisis is brewing, who everyone is supposed to be mad at, and how upset everyone is. I live an extremely uneventful life--for the most part--and really enjoy my quiet existense.

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Party Update

Well, the invites aren't going to be as bad I thought. It looks like I will only have to make about 55 and the majority of them will be hand delivered by someone else. That means I won't have to put out too much in terms of postage! Yay! Seems as if A LOT of the people being invited will get a phone call instead of a written invitation. Also, the party IS going to be a joint one for BOTH of the twins--thank goodness. I only need to do 6 combined invites--the rest of The Aunt's invitees will be called on the phone. Frankly, I think sending invites is the proper and classy way to go, but I'm not complaining--it cuts down on how much I have to do and how much money I have to pay out. Works for me!!

The Mother called me and dictated the guest list to me tonight. yippee. I'm not sure WHY she did it--and I don't think C knows why, either. Oh, well, it was her choice. And somewhere along the line she had it in her mind that I was helping to plan this thing. EXCUSE ME!?!?!?!? I let her know in no uncertain terms that ALL I was doing is the invitations--AND that I just may not be able to make it to the party, either. Just from her tone of voice I could tell THAT tied her panties into knots. Sorry lady--DEAL. So, all in all, I'm feeling a bit better about things. What a difference a day makes. (make sure and SING that last sentence when you read it. :))

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CRAP!!!!!

I am going to apologize to my readers right away. I am so sorry that this post is going to be a rant, but I am in SUCH a crappy mood right now, I need to vent.

Sometime in the last one to two months, I got an email from the oldest. It was pointing out the fact that The Father's 75th birthday is coming up and they were planning a surprise party for him. And it asked for everyone to offer some help. Knowing I couldn't get out of it, I offered to do the invites and pay for the postage. This way, if I decided I 'couldn't' make it to the party, I would have done my part.

A few weeks ago, a thought hit me like a ton of bricks: The Father has a twin sister who WILL be at the party. How can you have a party and ignore the other person who's birthday it is? Especially when the other person is the twin of the...well, you get the drift. (The party was to be held on the actual BIRTH DAY.) So, I called C and relayed my revelation--asking her WHAT are we to do about The Aunt. Of course, this was something she never thought of. She had to call The Mother and get HER reaction and then I wound up waiting for days (weeks?) for any news. FINALLY, C and I got to talk about things last week and I pretty much convinced her that it would be best to just have a much smaller party at The Parent's home and forget about the rest of the bullshit. (According to The Mother, The Father's sister/s were being their usual bitches about things.) And I have been living a great life for about two days. Until this afternoon.

I answered the phone today and C let me know that everything was worked out and that the party is on again. And that she will try to get to The Mother's and get the guest list worked out so that she could get it to me ASAP. Unfortunately, this better be done VERY quickly because I have to use next week to get ready to leave town for five days at the end of the month, so I only have this week to work on these invites. Nothing like not giving me the time I want to get something done--everything is going to be a rush job, as usual. To top it all off, C said that the guest list will be horrendously huge--at least 50 names from their CHURCH alone! I'm developing a headache just thinking about it. I am so pissed off I can't think.

I was really looking forward to our trip and the Eagles concert--but this has put a damper on things. And yes, I know it is ME that is allowing it. But leave it to my Family--if they can screw up my life in any way, they will do it. I am trying to convince K to do an overtime shift on the day of the party--then we won't have to go. But, overtime isn't even offered until the week before, so I still have a month and a half to think about having to be at this shindig. I am beside myself and don't know what to do. I just have to try and stop myself from going on an eating and shopping binge. It will be hard.

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{sigh}

When we went up north for my family reunion, it was the first time I had been there since I had LASIK done. After sitting at The Mother's kitchen table for about a half hour, K came in and asked her, "Did you notice that C isn't wearing glasses?" She looked at me and asked, "Did you have THAT surgery?" "Yes, I did." Well, I'll tell you what I told your brother after he had his done: You look MUCH better WITH glasses than without."

There is a T-shirt I plan on getting. It says: "If you met my family, you'd understand."

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