A MOTHER'S DIARY by Dede Ranahan: JULY 15, 2013 - JULY 31, 2013

Gratitude * Pat's Phone * Finances * Giving Blood * Life in the Fast Lane * Hawaii * Mental Health Meeting * "Today's the Day" * One Day * Hope and Despair * Miscalculation * One Wise Old Woman * Leaving Home * The Journey * Daily Challenges * Food and Hunger * Losing It * Diversion

To read "A Mother's Diary" from the beginning, click on the June 2017 archives in the right hand column and read "Before: Scenes from the Trenches."

 

JULY 15, 2013: GRATITUDE

I need to laugh. I'm thankful for Maxine, John Wagner's old lady cartoon character because she makes me laugh, sometimes out loud.

"I believe that everything happens for a reason. Usually, the reason is that somebody screwed up."
"Most stress is caused by three things — money, family, and family with no money."
"There should be support groups for women who can't put their dishes in the dishwasher dirty."
And my favorite — "Let me know if you suddenly become interesting."

Email from Pat:
"Dear Mom, I had an EEG last week and the results just came in. Normal. No brain tumor!" Love, Patrick
"Pat, I'm so glad for your results!" Love, Mom
"Mom, thanks Mom!" Pat

PATRICKS FACEBOOK POST: Thank God I'm in the United States of America and not Korea. Thank God I'm in a house and not a homeless shelter. Thank God I have beer to drink and not just water. Thank God I have music to listen to and not just silence. There's so much more to thank God for, suffice it to say, "Thank God!"

 

JULY 16, 2013: PAT'S PHONE

Email from Pat:
"Mom, okay, more bad news. Kerry bought me a phone battery and it arrived today but when I plugged it in, nothing happened. The phone itself is dead and the deductible for it is $100 that they will add to my next bill. Problem is, I can't even call to order a new phone. Help!!!" Pat

"Pat, okay, I'm done with this overpriced cell phone server. I'll call them. I want to know when your contract is up and what the penalty is to end it early. I don't see any reason to pay for a new phone with them when I'm hoping to switch cell phone servers anyway." Mom

"Mom, yeah, screw them. I don't know who I can get a phone with though." Pat

"Mom, to tell you the truth, I'd be just as happy with a landline. I've already got a phone I can hookup." Pat

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: Been without a phone for a week. Thought it was a dead battery, new battery arrived today, no signal, nothing. Computer used to make phone calls but now it won't. Total communication breakdown except for email and Facebook.

 

JULY 17, 2013: FINANCES

Email from Pat:
"Hi, Mom. Can I come over and do laundry this morning?" Pat

"Pat, I'm leaving in about twenty minutes to give blood. I expect to be back around one o'clock." Mom

"Mom, okay. See you then." Pat

"Pat, reviewing finances. Expenses I've already covered of you this year total $5,474. I budgeted $6,000 for the entire year. Another six months at $600 per month will be $9,074. I'm over my budget $3,074 for the year.

"This year your income from SSDI, food stamps, your job, and me will be $23,814. If I subtract the $9,074 I'm giving to you, my income will be less than yours. To cover my own bills, I'm using my savings which I may need for another twenty years.

"This is a watershed year, getting you into GG's house. In December, I'll have to reevaluate what I can do in 2014." Mom

"Mom, does this mean if I do get approved for the housing voucher, you're planning to take all the money?" Pat

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: "Peace is something we can bring about if we can actually learn to wake up a bit more as individuals and a lot more as a species; if we can learn to be fully what we actually already are, to reside in the inherent potential of what is possible for us, being human. As the adage goes, 'There is no way to peace; peace is the way.' It is so for the outer landscape of the world. It is so for the inner landscape of the heart. And these are, in a profound way, not really two."  Jon Kabat-Zinn, Coming to Our Senses

 

JULY 18, 2013: GIVING BLOOD

I'm giving blood this morning. There's no upper age limit. I can give blood when I'm 101 or 110. You better not try to give blood, though, if you've recently been with a prostitute. That's one of the screening questions.

The technician says, "The most common reason women are eliminated as donors is because they have a low iron count."

My iron count is 14.3. The required minimum count is 12.4. Yay! My blood pressure is 112/72. Yay again!

The blood I donate will be used locally. In an emergency, it might be shared. Local blood donations were sent to victims of the Boston Marathon bombing.

People can give blood every eight weeks. That's a contribution I can make. I'm putting the blood mobile on my calendar.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: Life lesson learned on the beach in Hawaii. Sign read: "When in doubt, don't go out."
Shawn: I've always shortened that saying to "When in doubt, don't."
Patrick: We could make it even shorter, "When in, doubt."

 

JULY 19, 2013: LIFE IN THE FAST LANE

GG

GG

I'm helping Mom with some paperwork this morning so she invites me to lunch in her dining room. A woman, pushed in a wheelchair by an attendant, stops by our table.

"Hello. I'm Joy. I want you to know how much I love your mother. I wouldn't have survived here without her. She's greatly loved around here. When we're offered dessert, I tell people to say what your mother says, 'What cha got?'"

Joy's wheeled away. I ask, "What did you do for her?"

"What?"

"What did you do for her? She says she wouldn't have survived without you."

"I don't know. I helped her when she first moved in. I told her about the rules and where things are. I didn't think I did much. See that couple over there? They're a romantic item. Lots of rumors buzzing around."

"Do they sleep together?"

"He wants to but her family is adamant. They've told him and the entire staff that he  is not to spend the night in her apartment."

"What does she want?"

"She doesn't want him in her apartment at night, either. But during the day, he goes in and out of her room constantly."

I want to ask, "And how do you know this?" but I let it pass. I start a new topic.

"Are you sitting on pins and needles waiting for the royal baby?"

"I'm not sitting on pins and needles, but I bet she is."

Mom changes the subject. "I found out the brand of ice cream they serve here. It's Blue Bunny."

I google Blue Bunny on my iPhone. In this area it's sold at Walmart. That's too bad. I won't shop at Walmart - not until they improve wages and benefits for their employees.

Lunch comes to an abrupt end. "Have to go," Mom announces. "Time for my Friday bridge game. See ya later."

I walk to my car, then turn around. I want to take a peek at the bridge room. Mom's the declarer. She waves her cards at me. I see a flash of black spades and red and black honors.

"Mind if I watch a minute?"

"Absolutely not. Sit down beside me. I bid a small slam. I won't make it but I had to bid it."

Trick by trick, Mom build her game. She pulls trump. She wins finesses. She end-plays the opponents. She makes her slam — proud vanquisher and queen for the day.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: I'm making such a low budget movie there aren't even any cameras.

 

JULY 20, 2013: HAWAII

Email from Pat:
"Mom, you keep asking me, 'Why did you go to Hawaii?' And yesterday you said, 'There's no excuse for what you did when you went to Hawaii.'

"All I can say is, 'I'm sorry I went to Hawaii.' I also need to say that I'd been  under a lot of stress, recovering from a near-death brain surgery experience, and hadn't had a vacation in over six years. I needed to do something. I needed a break. It's not like I burned my apartment down or something.

"Please forgive me. I'm sorry that it cost you so much money to bring me back, but you were adamant that I come home and you insisted, melodramatically, that you loved me.

"I feel like you're going to punish me forever for this. Did you bring me home just to rub this error in my face for the rest of my life?

"I'm sorry . You're right, it was an impulsive, irresponsible thing to do, but we have to move on.

"If it's any consolation, I didn't have a very good time there. I was living in a run down, ghetto hostel, and there were crazy people sharing my room, doing heroin in the bathroom, and scaring me half to death. One night, I had to call 911 because there was a madman outside the building banging on everyone's door, demanding a gun, and threatening to kill everyone. He was throwing stones at cars in the parking lot. Ten police and two paramedics were required to subdue him. I was honestly scared for my life. My experience there was punishment enough for taking off at your expense.

"In your eyes, I can't do anything right, and I'm a horrible person. This is how I feel when we talk. What can I do to remedy this? Will you please forgive me?" Pat

"Pat, I'm off to an all-day meeting in Sacramento. I'll digest this email later.  Meanwhile, I'm taking some deep breaths and hope you do the same." Mom

 

JULY 20, 2013: MENTAL HEALTH MEETING

This morning, I'm attending a mental health meeting in Sacramento. Sacramento is one of the first ten cities to join a national conversation on mental health, an initiative President Obama called for in June.

In my opinion, this initiative process is being erroneously modeled on California's Prop 63, The Mental Health Services Act (MHSA), which was passed in 2004. The MHSA has defects in its design and implementation.

This evening, I've written the letter below to the event funders, to Vice President Biden, and an abridged version to the Sacramento Bee's editorial page.

To Whom It May Concern:

I was so disappointed in the meeting today.

I retired in 2010 as the MHSA Policy Director for NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness), California. I worked through the early implementation phases of Prop 63 and left the professional mental health community discouraged about our broken mental health system and its impenetrable bureaucratic barriers. I saw waste, cronyism, self-promotion, and political in-fighting.

Today felt like the original MHSA meetings I attended all over again. Too many political appearances, repetitive thank-you's, and personal/professional agendas in play.

The meeting could have been condensed into a morning session. Seven hundred free lunches — many for salaried staff of mental health related nonprofits and provider organizations — wouldn't have been necessary. That money could have been used for critically needed direct services.

There must be a means to deconstruct the multi-layered mental health bureaucracy and the interlinked government bureaucracy. This is the only way more funding will get to the mentally ill who cannot find clinics, beds, or counselors and end up in emergency rooms, jails, or on the street. And that's before we can address needs such as housing and employment.

I don't want our mental health system to be broken. I want it to work. However, productions such as today's variety show, are not the way to fix it. When we stop spending mental health funds on fluff, that will be a step in the right direction.

I'd love to be part of an implementation team that can cut through the hoop-la, a team with the courage to point out the "emperor's new clothes."

Sincerely,
Dede Ranahan

Family Member
Former MHSA Policy Director
NAMI, California

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: "Another Saturday morning and I ain't got nobody, I got no money cause I never get paid. Oh how I wish I had someone to talk to, I'm in an awful way." With apologies to Cat Stevens.

 

JULY 21, 2013: "TODAY'S THE DAY"

Yesterday, my friend, Joan, posted a message on Caring Bridge saying she and Beryl welcome visitors. I sent her an email asking her to let me know a good time to visit. She emailed back that today, Monday, would be a good day.

This morning she calls. "The time for visiting has passed. Beryl says, 'Today's the day I'm going to die.' He wants to see family only."

I don't know what to say. I say I don't know what to say.

"Don't worry about what to say. Your friendship is what matters."

Beryl was diagnosed with esophageal cancer on July 5. I've waited too long before. In the future, I'll remember not to assume that there's plenty of time. Upon learning of a serious diagnosis, I'll reach out immediately. Especially with cancer. It's an unpredictable adversary.

Beryl, may your passing, surrounded by loved ones, be peaceful. Joan, may love and peace surround you as you say goodbye to Beryl.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: I love to play guitar but I'm without one so I have to go to Guitar Center to get my fix. There I compete with the voices on the intercom, the surf punk frat boys playing death metal, and the wandering shoppers as I play my Lilliputian roar.

 

JULY 22, 2013: ONE DAY

Mom calls. "I need three refills — amlodipine, omeprazole, and atenolol. Will you order them online? By the way, you made quite an impression the other day. The ladies in the dining room told me I have lovely, beautiful daughter."

"Really? Did you agree?"

"Yes, and I said that you're smart, too. Joy, especially, went on and on about you. Did you order my prescriptions?"

"You mean as we've been talking?"

"Yes."

"No."

"I thought maybe you did. Bye."

Pat's here this morning to do his laundry. Neither of us has mentioned our recent email exchange. Pest control is spraying his house tomorrow. The hot weather is sending armies of ants inside

Megan's local TV news in Washington, Utah is featuring her house on its daily broadcast. Due to flash flooding, her backyard and front yard are underwater. Today, Megan, Britt, and their neighbors stacked sandbags around their property. More rain is forecast.

Megan's lived in her home eight years without flooding problems. She muses out loud, "I'm wondering if recent highway construction on the cliff above has shifted the earth and drainage systems?"

Marisa's hit a bump in the road. She and Keith were set to close on a house in Seattle in a few days. They learned today that their loan agent never submitted their loan application to a lender. They're scrambling to find a lender and a loan at the last minute. A higher interest rate will cost them $130,000 over the life of their mortgage.

Marisa says, "This #$*()# loan agent should lose his license."

Kerry's in San Francisco with Regan and Ayla riding a boat on the Bay.

One ninety-five-year-old mother
Four children.
One day.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: Today I promise to live a little. Today I promise to die a little.

 

JULY 23, 2013: HOPE AND DESPAIR

England has a new heir to the throne. I stayed up all night to witness the wedding of Charles and Diana on TV in 1981. I remember exactly where I was — in an RV park in Santa Cruz - when I heard the news of Diana's death. I watched the wedding of William and Kate two years ago. And today, I tuned in to catch a glimpse of the new royal, Prince George.

What's this fascination with English royalty? Someone on TV said, "It's a fairytale." Someone else said, "It's hundreds of years of history." And for me, one person nailed it. "With all the sobering, frightening news in the world, royal baby news offers a moment of joy, of normalcy, and hope."

This infant could be the first English monarch of the twenty-second century, or not. History doesn't unfold in straight lines. I won't be around to see what happens but, while I'm here, I wish the little prince and his mom and dad well.

Today, the Sacramento Bee published my mental health letter to the editor.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: I got me a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon and it's time to tie one on. Walked twenty years of bad news and it's time to tie one on. Nothing ever comes in the mail except for coupons and ads, and it's time to tie one on. Just signed up for Christian Mingle, and there's no frequent drinkers but it's time to tie one on. Identity stolen, Hollywood making bank, and it's time to tie one on. Been captive and hostage most of my days and it's time to tie one on. Cheers!

 

JULY 24, 2013; MISCALCULATION

Beryl didn't pass on July 21 as he thought he would. Joan sent this email today.

"Dede, forgive me if I've already emailed you about visiting, but I can't remember shit! Beryl has limited his visitors to immediate family and a few close male friends...part of the withdrawing process.

"Thank you for your offer of a hug for each of us, but I'd like a rain check for me. After he does pass I'll be on my own for the first time in thirty-five years. I'll need lots of hugs. Thank you for your caring concern." Luv and hugs, Joan

"Joan, I'll be here for you. Love and hugs back." Dede

 

JULY 25, 2013: ONE WISE OLD WOMAN

I'm at lunch with a friend. She's a little younger than I am and starts a new job on Monday, mostly for health benefits. We exchange stories of friends who've deserted us. Seems we're never too old to experience friendship pain.

I no longer believe that growing older necessarily makes us wiser. I no longer believe in wise, old women. I'll focus on finding one wise, old woman.

My credit card fraud department calls this evening. Seems someone used my credit card number a few hours ago in Burnaby, Canada. I'll get a new number but I have to update all the accounts where I use this card. What a pain. 

The customer service associate says, "Have a wonderful night."

Hope the perpetrator of this credit card theft isn't a crafty old grandmother. That's not the kind of wise, old woman I'm looking for.

 

JULY 26, 2013: LEAVING HOME

One day, in the month of July, 2000, I left home. I was fifty-six years old.

I loaded clothes, papers, photos of my kids, books, make-up, a hair dryer, and other personal items into my dark blue Infiniti G20 sedan. I paused and inhaled the image of my rustic, ridge-top house nestled among black oaks and bay laurels. Then I drove down the long, winding driveway to go to work.

At work, I parked my "moving van" in the university parking lot and rode the elevator to my ninth floor office. For the next eight hours, life appeared to go on as usual. At 5 P.M., however, I didn't go home. I drove to Marisa's and pulled a blouse and skirt out of the trunk of my car to wear to work the next day.

During the week, on my lunch hours, I scouted for a house to rent. I found one a few miles from the university. With a place to stay, I went back home to pick up my aging Rottweiler. Schatze had hip dysplasia. She was losing the ability to use her rear legs. I pushed and pulled and got her into the front seat of my car. With my best friend on board, I drove down my winding driveway one last time, thirteen years ago this month.

A psychologist I went to for counseling told me her rule of thumb. "In my experience," she said, "it takes a woman approximately half the length of her marriage to fully emotionally recover from a divorce."

By the time my divorce was final, I'd been married for thirty-four years.

If that therapist's correct, it will take me seventeen years to get back to being myself. According to her calculus, I have four more years to go. I wonder how I'm doing?

 

JULY 27, 2013: THE JOURNEY

Mary Oliver is one of my favorite poets.  Her poem, "The Journey," is one of my favorite poems.

I carried a copy of Mary's poem in my wallet when I was leaving home, and took it out and read it whenever I felt like I was waffling in my decision to leave. Her words described what I was experiencing and gave me courage.

Mary's poem begins, "One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began..."

To read Mary's poem, click on the link below.

The Journey by Mary Oliver

 

JULY 28, 2013: DAILY CHALLENGES

Saw Marisa, Keith, Elise, and Sam yesterday. They drove from Carlsbad to Roseville, spent the night at Kerry's, and left early this morning for Seattle. I hope they'll arrive in Seattle safe and sound, and close on their house without another glitch.

Meanwhile, Megan and Britt have checked out the terrain above their property. Lo and behold. A drainage pipe under the new freeway is aimed right at their house. The trench behind is flooding again. So far, the sandbags they placed around their yard are holding the water back. They've contacted the homeowner's association and engineers are supposed to examine the drain pipe.

The message on Caring Bridge today about Beryl: "Friday night and Saturday he was out of it, today he's with it! I know it's an emotional roller coaster for those around him and he says it's confusing for him too. He says he's never died before and doesn't know what to expect. We'll go enjoy spending the day with an alert person and will post again tonight. Thank you for sharing this up and down difficult journey with us."

Beryl says, "I've never died before and I don't know what to expect." What a brave, honest thing to say.

Daily challenges — some for the living, some for the dying. Seems they continue right up to the moment of passing.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: Peace through music.

 

JULY 29, 2013: FOOD AND HUNGER

I receive an email request this morning from Placer County Food Bank:

"This summer has been extremely hard on Placer Food Bank as rising hunger and decreased donations have left children and families in desperate need. Your quick action will mean so much to our hungry neighbors at this critical time. Children are out of school, without the benefit of school meals. Seniors are struggling to put food on the table. And our area's weakened economy is still putting a heavy burden on everyone."

Pat's here to do his laundry. He shops in my refrigerator and makes himself a quesadilla.

I'm reading an article on the internet about McDonald's McDouble one-dollar cheeseburger. It provides many with a whopping dose of protein and calcium along with 19 grams of fat. According to this article, junk food costs $1.76 per 1,000 calories, compared with $18.16 per 1,000 calories for nutritious fruits and vegetables (2007 University of Washington study).

No wonder hunger and obesity problems exist in our country. For many, healthy foods are luxury items. I'd donate to Placer County Food Bank, but right now, all my food donations go to my son. If each of us feeds one hungry person standing right in front of us, our entire village will be better fed.

 

JULY 30, 2013: LOSING IT

I'm losing it. I ask Pat the status of the document he needs in order to receive housing assistance. He's been on a waiting list for 10 years. He was so close to getting help. Close as melted butter on toast. Then a psychiatrist, who's known Pat for one hour, decides he's not disabled and refuses to sign the housing papers. This same psychiatrist is not monitoring Pat as he reduces his medications. He says, "Call me if you need something."

In the past, Pat's been reactive to med changes. More than once, he's been 5150'd within twenty-four hours of a med increase of decrease.

Pat says, "Rejoice with me. Don't worry. Be happy for my health. Don't stress about money. I should sue every hospital that ever hospitalized me and ruined my life."

Pat's managed care provider has a multi-million dollar fine levied against it. They're charged with denying reasonable access for mental health services and for discharging mental health patients too soon.

I want to write a letter to Membership Services, but Pat doesn't want me to. "I didn't write a letter to your doctor when you were psychotic," he says. "And, by the way, you've made a lucrative career out of my misfortune."

Trying to stand by this adult child and intuit proper parental action is not always easy or clear. Meanwhile, a morning email from a local mental health organization asks, "Can we print your letter that appeared in the Sacramento Bee in our upcoming newsletter?"

 

JULY 31, 2013: DIVERSION

A good day at duplicate bridge. My partner and I came in second.

Bridge provided thee-and-a-half hours of diversion. I focused on bidding, play of the hand, and defensive leads. No time to think about housing vouchers, flooding yards or screwed up real estate transactions.

Thank goodness for weak two's, strong two-club openings, Stayman, no-trump transfers, new minor forcing, cue bid raises, Roman Keycard, reverses, negative doubles, takeout doubles, and other bridge conventions. When I use them or, more accurately, try to use them, they demand my full attention. They keep me from ruminating about circumstances beyond my control.

 

Please share my blog/book with "other wayfarers who might catch a resonating echo while wandering in my woods." Thanks.

COMING UP THURSDAY, JULY 27, 2017: AUGUST 3, 2013 - AUGUST 16, 2013

Dilemma * Gotta Love 'Em * First Law of Awesome * Planning Ahead * A Post on Caring Bridge * The Mean One * For A Reason * Seattle * Morning Coffee * As the World Turns * Goodbye Seattle * 

To subscribe and receive email notices of new book posts every other week, enter your email address in the box on the right at the top of the page, and hit the Sign Up button. If you have any trouble subscribing, send me an email and I'll sign you up from my end :-)

dede@soonerthantomorrow.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FEEDBACK FOR A MOTHER'S DIARY by Dede Ranahan

Beautiful words with an undertone that has caught me…carrying me up and down. Such a good writer that I am grateful to be with you.  I can borrow some courage here.  Janet

I just put it on the list for my book club sometime in the next year.  Candace

I'm reading now.  I live in they Bay Area. Looking forward to more connection. I'm heartbroken you lost Pat. Truly heartbroken.  Renee

Dede: Your writing is captivating! I find that I'm waiting for the next post, like when you finish a good novel and can't wait for the sequel. You and Pat have such a wonderful gift for using words in prose and poetry....thanks for writing this. I can't imagine what you've been dealing with. Carry on...you're making a difference!  Joan

Thank you again and again Dede. I came away with the same good feeling about your stories, how you tell them and the information contained, but I also came away with the wish that I would have had the opportunity to meet Patrick. His demeanor, his sense of humor. I am falling in love with him. Just such an amazing young man. You are so lucky to have him as your Son. Tama

Thank you for your feedback. You give me courage to continue.  Dede

COMING UP THURSDAY JULY 13, 2017: JULY 15, 2013 - JULY 31, 2013

Gratitude * Pat's Phone * Finances * Giving Blood * Life in the Fast Lane * Hawaii * Mental Health Meeting * "Today's the Day" * One Day * Hope and Despair * Miscalculation * One Wise Old Woman * Leaving Home * The Journey * Daily Challenges * Food and Hunger * Losing It * Diversion

 

 

A MOTHER'S DIARY by Dede Ranahan: JULY 2, 2013 - JULY 14, 2013

Just Like You * Duplicate Bridge * Independence Day * Marketing * Aidan's Poem * Cracking Hearts * Mystery * %$^***@#!)% * Email Exchange With Pat * Support Group Meeting * Breathing * Morning Hassle * Evening Stroll

To read "A Mother's Diary" from the beginning, click on the June 2017 archives in the right hand column and read "Before: Scenes from the Trenches."

 

JULY 2, 2013: JUST LIKE YOU

I'm eating lunch with Mom, affectionately known as GG, at her assisted living residence. I feel like a kid when I visit her. I push her in her wheelchair. I hoist it in and out of the trunk of my car when I drive us somewhere.

At her annual physical, the doctor looked at her and asked, "You're not really this old are you?"

None of us were there when she was born so we  have to take her word for it.

Her hearing is failing. Her legs are weak — a residual effect of childhood polio. However, her blood pressure, cholesterol levels, sodium levels, blood sugar — everything tests in the middle of normal range. Seems all systems are go.

In between bites of an egg salad sandwich, Mom chitchats. I listen.

"See that woman who just walked by? She's one-hundred-and-three. Her boyfriend comes to visit sometimes. He's eighty-eight. She's a sparkly little thing. Says she likes 'em young.

"I bid and made a small slam at bridge yesterday.

"Wasn't that a tragedy about the firefighters who died in Arizona?

"Did you read Obama visited the prison cell where Nelson Mandela spent seventeen of his twenty-seven years in prison?

"Do you want to come to the fireworks show tomorrow night? You shouldn't miss it.

"They have such good ice cream here. I don't know what brand it is. Coffee flavor with chocolate sauce. That's the best. Let's have some of that for dessert."

I'll have whatever you're having, Mom. Maybe it will get me to ninety-five. Just like you.

 

JULY 3, 2013: DUPLICATE BRIDGE

My partner and I came in fifth at duplicate bridge today. How is it that this game brings out the good, the bad, and the ugly?

So many egos. So many insecurities. So many agendas.

Must keep it all in perspective. Compete against myself. Try to become more proficient at the game. Make friends in the process. Use bridge to exercise my brain and ward off memory loss. And keep signing up for one more, humble-making round.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: A while back, I received two postcards from Victoria's Secret for free panties. I went and picked them up (two black pairs) in the hopes that one day there would be a lady in my life to give them to. But alas, it seems I am doomed to be perpetually single, so they're up for grabs. Comment here with why you want them and I'll send them to a lucky winner. They're brand new, tags and everything.
Daniel: If I were a cross dresser, I'd be up for them bro ;)
Patrick: Actually Daniel, I was hoping to send them to a woman, and I swear I've never tried them on :)
Gayle: I love black panties and I will even send you a picture of me wearing them ;-) how's that!
Patrick: Looks like we have a winner!
Gayle: Oh Patrick, I love your sense of humor ;-)

 

JULY 4, 2013: INDEPENDENCE DAY

On July 4, 1845, Henry David Thoreau moved to his house on Walden Pond. He wrote, "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."

I'm not tripping off to Walden Pond, However, I'm trying, through these notes, to catch life lessons I might otherwise miss, and to make each of my days a conscious exercise.

Most of the time, I don't realize what I'm thinking until I write it down. Today, I'm thinking about my country. I'm heedful of its shortcomings and imperfections. I'm appreciative of its benefits and promise. I'm grateful that it's where I was born and it's where I abide.

Long may America struggle and summon the political will to be the best it can be. Happy Fourth of July!

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: Support Art Troops!

 

JULY 5, 2013: MARKETING

Things, as we know, are not always what they seem. Note the ads for life insurance, reverse mortgages, and financial advisers. They spotlight happy couples relishing life in retirement.

Check out the Sun City website. It pictures couples smiling, golfing, swimming, hiking, bicycling, playing baseball and pickle ball, dining in the lodge, gathering for happy hour in the sports bar, doing the rumba and the zumba.

Seniors leap over tall buildings in a single bound.

Some of this messaging is accurate. Some is euphemism. Some is denial. Under the gloss, life can get real, real fast. My neighbor phones. Her husband was diagnosed today with esophageal cancer that has metastasized to his back and hip bones.

Besides my family mental illness support group, Sun City Lincoln Hills has support groups for bereavement, low vision, glaucoma, cancer survivors, treat cancer, Parkinson's Disease, Alzheimer's, dementia, and pet loss.

I'm thankful I live in a community that provides all kinds of activities and resources — those that help us enjoy engaging moments and those that help us face inevitable challenges.

Sales departments, it seems, don't want to or don't know how to market the latter.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: "Let the day evolve without a plan." I stole this quote from Don DeLillo in his book, White Noise.

 

JULY  6, 2013: AIDAN'S POEM

Aidan is our family's eleven-year-old poet laureate. His poem, "Speak to Me," won first prize in the Zion Canyon Arts and Humanities Council - Elementary Poetry Category for 2013.

SPEAK TO ME

As I walk through the canyon, I speak to my father in a soft tone,
"Did you hear that?"
Suddenly I hear my own voice echo back at me,
"Did you hear that?"
I then begin to listen closer;
I hear the river whisper to me,
"Come closer."
"Come closer."
As I take a few more steps, the wind picks up, and the grass begins to whistle.
Small rocks in the river shift as they crackle and snap,
Crackle and snap.
I can't help but wonder, is the canyon trying to speak to me?
Speak to me!

PATICK'S FACEBOOK POST: "I don't know where I'm going but I'm on my way."  Carl Sagan

 

JULY 8, 2013: CRACKING HEARTS

Today's a not-so-good day. My son's sad and that makes me sad. When you're the mother of a child or an adult child who has a serious disability, you walk around with a crack in your heart. Even on good days, a heaviness lingers.

Christians revere Mary as the mother of Jesus. They reflect on her sorrow at the foot of the cross. That agony lasted three hours. Sometimes it feels like my son's agony and my agony never end.

If God were to come down and say to me, "Let's make a deal. Your son will be well and lead a fulfilled and happy existence. In exchange you must give up your life," I'd barter a bit.

I'd say, "Thanks for the offer, God. Here's my counter offer. Let me hang around until  my next birthday so I can say thoughtful goodbyes to my loved ones and tie up loose ends."

But God hasn't come down. That's why I've started a support group for people with mental illness in their families. While we attempt to help our loved ones, we need help ourselves.

Some say we have cracks in our hearts so light can get in. But I see no light. The crack is widening and my heart feels like it's splitting in two.

 

JULY 9, 2013: MYSTERY

There's a spongy, little red ball that lives in this house with Jazzy and me. Sometimes it's in the living room. Sometimes it's in the kitchen. Sometimes it's in the den or the bathroom.

I've noticed it prefers to move under cover of darkness. Mornings are when I'm most likely to find it in a new location. When I stare at it, however, it plays possum. It doesn't twitch. It doesn't move a muscle. It just sits there waiting for me to go away.

A few weeks ago, the little red ball disappeared. This afternoon, I found it hiding under the living room sofa.

Rarely, but once in a while, I actually see it move. It rolls around the corner from another room and stops at my feet. When I look around the corner, however, no one is there.

Sometimes Jazzy picks it up and hold it between her teeth. She moans as if she's caught a live animal. Eventually, she gets bored and drops it back on the floor. Then we both watch and wait for it to move again.

And now, I have reason to believe the little red ball is reproducing. Yesterday, I saw a little green ball, bearing a spongy resemblance, sitting by the front door.

 

Jazz and the spongey, little red ball

Jazz and the spongey, little red ball

 

JULY 10, 2013: %$^***@#!)%

Megan and Britt and Aidan and Ashton are visiting from Utah. We're gathered at Kerry's house to go bowling. We're waiting for Pat because he has an appointment with a new psychiatrist.

Pat walks in the door. "Things have changed a lot today," he says.

The new psychiatrist, according to Pat, has pronounced that his bipolar disorder was an incorrect diagnosis, and his brain tumor was the problem. The doctor's reducing medications and doesn't need to see Pat again unless Pat calls him.

This doctor would not sign the approval form for housing assistance we've been trying to get for ten years because, "There is no disability."

I'm in shock. Total shock. Twenty years of Pat's medical history, 5150s, jail time, psychiatric hospitalizations, homelessness, financial dependence, family trauma and heartbreak are all discounted. Discounted by a doctor who's known my son for one hour.

I don't know who this Kaiser doctor is. My son's an adult and I have no legal right to know. It appears my only right is the right to wait for the next crisis.

My son's pleased. He says, "I feel like I've been released from prison."

I understand. A professional's telling him he's fine. We all want him to be fine. We all want to be fine. At the moment, I know I'm not. I feel nauseous, kicked in the stomach, beaten up, spat upon.

This turn of events is sabotaging my visit with my daughter and her family. I don't know what I should do.

 

JULY 11, 2013: EMAIL EXCHANGE WITH PAT

"Hi, Mom. My phone died last night so I won't be able to call you after my EEG appointment today. Please email back and let me know if it's okay to come over and do laundry today after my appointment." Pat

"Hi, Pat. Yes, It's fine. When are you coming?" Mom

"Hi, Mom. I just checked my gas gauge and I don't think I have enough gas to get there and back, and then to work on Sunday so I don't think I can do my laundry today." Pat

"Hi, Pat. Okay. In the meantime, can you make an appointment with your oncologist to get the housing voucher signed?" Mom

"Hi, Mom. I sent an email to my primary care physician asking if he would be willing to sign it. I haven't heard back from him yet. Will you do me a favor and call my cell phone company and tell them that my phone is dead, that it's my only phone, and that I need a new battery or a new phone as soon as possible? The phone i insured so this shouldn't cost us anything." Pat

"Hi, Mom. Went online. There's a deductible on the phone. The phone company says it will be $99.99 to replace the phone or battery." Pat

"Hi, Mom. I check with Radio Shack. They have the battery for $49.99." Pat

"Hi, Mom. I found the battery online at Best Buy for $19.99." Pat

"Hi, Pat. I'm feeling overwhelmed with the amount of financial assistance I'm giving you. I have to check my bank account and think about this before I agree to pay for the phone." Mom

"Hi Mom. While we're on the subject of freeing you from the financial assistance you've been extending, I'm going to begin looking for a housemate. I should be able to rent the extra room for $600 a month, paid to me, and then I'll take over some of the bills you've been  paying." Pat

"Hi, Pat. We have to discuss this first and include GG to see if she wants another renter in  her house. If it's okay with her, then we have to decide the qualifications required in a potential roommate, will it be a month-to-month arrangement or other, and how the rent will be assigned." Mom

"Hi, Mom. I think the rent to GG should stay the same and I should take over some of the bills you're paying and keep the rest to supplement my income." Pat

"Hi, Pat. We really have to go over and sit down with GG and see 1) If she want someone else in the house and 2) The specifics. GG could be renting the house for twice the amount she is charging you and she still needs income." Mom

"Hi, Mom. Well then, let's go sit down and discuss it with her. While I realize that GG could be getting more for this house than she's getting from me, I'm the one who would have to open my home to a stranger and deal with all the responsibilities that entails. Of, course, I'd like you to be free and clear of all my bills but we have to be realistic about the economy, what people can afford, and what I can afford to take over. If we decide that you and GG want all the money a new housemate would provide, then it's not worth it to me to deal with the hassle of it all." Pat

"Hi, Pat. You don't own the house. You're not paying the taxes, homeowner's dues, homeowner's insurance, maintenance, etc. You should be grateful that GG is willing to rent to you at half price. She didn't want to keep the house. She didn't want to deal with renters. She did it to help you. A homeowner is entitled to rent to whom they want and how they want." Mom

"Hi, Mom. If GG doesn't want to keep the house then I'll look elsewhere. You stated to the Roseville housing division that you were paying $600 a month for my bills. I don't want you to pay my bills any longer than necessary but I don't think I can afford, even with a renter, to pay you $600 a month." Pat

"Hi, Pat. I think this email conversation is not healthy or productive so let's end it." Mom

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: Mental health treatment is fundamentally flawed. I had a doctor tell me yesterday that he didn't consider doctors and patients to be equals, as if he felt superior somehow to the human beings he was treating. And the building I was seen in had different bathrooms for doctors and patients. Sounds similar to the whites-only drinking fountains of days gone by. He then proceeded to tell me that I had convinced him that I didn't suffer from a mental illness and that I no longer had to take the medicines I've been required to take for twenty-plus years. I'm just supposed to roll over and eat twenty years of my life being shuffled from doctor to doctor and hospital to hospital? Can anyone say misdiagnosis and malpractice?

 

JULY 12, 2013: SUPPORT GROUP MEETING

Random comments at the Family Mental Illness Support Group Meeting today:

"My child says she's fine. She won't see a doctor. She's forty-five. I can't make her go. We're running out of money to help her."

"If we turn him out, he'll be on the street. I can''t live with that."

"My sister has no boundaries. She'll tell anyone anything. She'll tell her social security number if they ask."

"I've lost my other children. They don't want to be around the chaos."

"I have one child. I don't have the experience of a well child."

"My ill son is living with us. It's very difficult. I've just been through surgery and chemo for ovarian cancer. My husband is developing dementia. I have no support."

"My daughter got a traffic ticket for reckless driving. They find her and sentenced her to eighty hours of community service. She doesn't have the capacity to follow through and find an organization that will let her volunteer for them."

"I read something that resonated with me. 'A mother is a happy as her unhappiest child.'"

"My daughter's illness is fracturing the entire family."

"It seems like this illness is very self-centered. Everything is about 'me.'"

"I can't talk about these things anywhere else. People don't understand."

 

JULY 13: BREATHING

I'm on overload. I'm facing dilemmas God couldn't figure out. My house phone's ringing. I know it's Pat. He's found a way to call me through his computer. At this moment, I can't deal with his stuff. I'm letting it ring.

Now, my cell phone's ringing. I know it's Pat. I know it's my son and I want off the planet. I'm going to go for a walk. I'm going to put one foot down in front of the other. I'm going to take deep breaths, gaze at the sky, and watch for cottontails.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: It's Saturday morning and I should be at my favorite restaurant eating breakfast. But my car is out of gas and I have to make it to the church on time tomorrow. Money is scarce to nothing. I'm thinking of my last lady who could satisfy me by baring her ankles and gazing into my eyes. Still I'm hungry but coffee will have to do. Listening to Mother Hips on Spotify, I'll imagine eggs Benedict and country potatoes, but settle for cereal or toast.

She had a way about her. I find it hard to describe, but she could cock her head in one direction and without saying a word, convey a million thoughts.

When she did speak, she used an economy of language, a thrifty tongue, and she never went on too long.

Grace in her movements, sculpture in her face, she had a way.

I didn't get to spend very much time with her, definitely not the eternity I longed for, but her image and nonchalance is etched in my mind and soul forever.

Man, she had a way about her. I don't know if I'll ever find another who measures up.

 

JULY 14, 2013: MORNING HASSLE

Email exchange with Pat:

"Mom, my computer isn't working to make calls and obviously you aren't answering my calls anyway. Will you please get back to me and let me know if you've decided if I can buy a phone battery?" Pat

"Pat, I'm attaching the record I keep of your bills. Do you see why I'm stressing? Use the $25 you got today from your job at the church and buy the battery. I have to start saying no." Mom

"Mom. For Christ's sake, I make $25 a week! That's all the money I have to live on. This is complete and utter bullshit!" Pat

"Mom, by the way, did you ever arrange for the exterminator to come out and spray? The ants were back this morning." Pat

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: My dog is still hacking  up pizza from three days ago. I had the brilliant idea of getting a family-size Cowboy pizza from Papa Murphy's and leaving it on the counter while the oven preheated. Damn dog ate the whole pie.

 

JULY 14, 2013: EVENING STROLL

On my walk this evening, the killdeer nest is empty. It's camouflaged, inches from the sidewalk. Brown Mama Bird and her brown speckled eggs blended perfectly with the brown and gray rocks. Mama Bird chose property in a front yard she deemed to be good real estate.

The first time I passed by, not suspecting a nest, Mama Bird charged at me with her tail feathers fanned high.

"Look how big and fierce I am, " she said.

The next time I walked by, she led me down the street, dragging her left wing (a killdeer trick) as if she were injured.

"I'm easy prey. I'm easy prey. Follow me. Follow me."

When she saw that I was moving on, she did the killdeer run back to her nest.

I didn't want to disturb her further, so I started walking on the opposite side of the street. Sometimes, I drove by to see how she was. Cars were not scary to her. Not like two-footed monsters without wings or feathers. Monsters who do not fly.

For twenty-eight days in one-hundred-plus degrees, this little bird sat on her nest without sunscreen and without shade. She did what she had to do. She may have had some help. A few times, a second killdeer screeched at me from the garage roof.

Tonight, I walk up the driveway and ring the doorbell. A man holding a small, white Maltese answers.

"I'm your neighbor one street over. I've been watching the killdeer nest in your yard. Do you know what happened to the bird and her babies?"

My neighbor explains, "There were four eggs. Two disappeared. One was cracked open in the street. The fourth one hatched and left with Mom."

One out of four. Nature works hard. Hope that baby bird grows up and enjoys a long life. Hope that mom and dad take a well-deserved vacation.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: I swear to God, two guys who looked like George Zimmerman and Trayvon Martin just delivered some furniture to my house. It was kind of nice to see them working together, carrying a couch upstairs.

Please share my blog/book with "other wayfarers who might catch a resonating echo while wandering in my woods." Thanks.

COMING UP THURSDAY, JULY 13, 2017: JULY 15, 2013 - JULY 31, 2013

Gratitude * Pat's Phone * Finances * Giving Blood * Life in the Fast Lane * Hawaii * Mental Health Meeting * "Today's the Day" * One Day * Hope and Despair * Miscalculation * One Wise Old Woman * Leaving Home * The Journey * Daily Challenges * Food and Hunger * Losing It * Diversion 

To subscribe and receive email notices of new blog book posts, enter your email address in the box on the right at the top of the page,  and hit the Sign Up button.

 

SOONER THAN TOMORROW - A MOTHER'S DIARY by Dede Ranahan

COMING UP THURSDAY, JUNE 29, 2017: JULY 2, 2013 - JULY 14, 2013

Just Like You * Duplicate Bridge * Independence Day * Marketing * Aidan's Poem * Cracking Hearts * Mystery * %$^***@#!)% * Email Exchange With Pat * Support Group Meeting * Breathing * Morning Hassle * Evening Stroll

Hope you have a good week everybody!

A MOTHER'S DIARY by Dede Ranahan: SUMMER - JUNE 15, 2013 - JUNE 29, 2013

To read "A Mother's Diary" from the beginning, click on the June 2017 archives in the right hand column and read "Before: Scenes from the Trenches."

SUMMER 2013

Time dissolves in summer anyway: days are long, weekends longer. Hours get all thin and watery when you are lost in the book you'd never otherwise have time to read. Senses are sharper — something about the moist air and bright light and fruit in season — and so memories stir and startle.   Nancy Gibbs                                                                

THAT AFTERNOON
That afternoon,
When we had the hot sand
beneath us,
when we conjured
a bottle of Cabernet
from a paper bag,
When sea-life
and sky-life
did their respective dances,
that afternoon
when we looked infinity
right in the eye,
when we saw one another
and felt possession,
when words
were unnecessary excess,
that afternoon
still burns hot in my mind,
just like the circle of blue sky
that broke the fog
that fine afternoon.

Patrick Ranahan

 

JUNE 15, 2013 - JUNE 29, 2013

Beginning * What Will Show Up? * Mom * Pat * I Want To Quit Already * Help In the Mail * Inspiration * Change * Magical Thinking * Rain * A Question * Another Question * Happy Birthday, Megan Kathleen * Old Stuff 

 

JUNE 15, 2013: BEGINNING

Right foot. Left foot.
Right foot. Left foot.
Footstep after footstep I configure my life.
Right foot. Left foot.
Right foot. Last foot.
Footsteps and life end so soon.

In May 2014, I'll turn 70. I propose to keep a written record of my milestone year. Am I entering a dark, isolating thicket, an evergreen, renewable forest, a gentle but boring shady glen, or something else?

I intend this recounting as a gift for myself, my descendants, and other wayfarers who catch a resonating echo while wandering in my woods.

It's later than I'd like but sooner than tomorrow.

Frances Mays said, "Unthinkably good things can happen, even late in the game."

Let's see.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: "Blessed are they who see beautiful things in humble places where other people see nothing."  Camille Pissarro

 

JUNE 16, 2013: WHAT WILL SHOW UP?

Sitting in a swivel chair at a humongous, grey metal desk in Pop's real estate office, I was supposed to be reading. Pop was talking on the phone. "John, it's a new listing. Looks really good. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, ranch style, in the San Jose neighborhood you're interested in. It's offered at sixteen thousand five hundred."

As a nine-year-old, I wanted to be somewhere else — like outside in the sunshine. My mind began to wander. Staring at a scratch pad with "Moon Realty" printed at the top, I wondered what would show up if I began scribbling one word after another.

I folded my legs into the chair, put pencil to paper, and this poem took shape:

There I sat by the bay one day
I could hear the water far away
I heard the trees humming a song
And I felt the wind rushing along.
I watched the fields across the bay
Where the farmers work hard all day
And I saw the beauty of the land.
I picked a flower growing near a tree
And threw it off into the sea
It floated away like a drifting cloud
And a seagull bird trilled very loud.
There I sat by the bay one day
And that's where I wanted to stay.

I wish I'd kept  writing — every single day.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: "Sometimes the strongest people are the ones who love beyond all faults, cry behind closed doors, and fight battles that nobody knows about."  Author Unknown

 

JUNE 17, 2013: MOM

A photograph arrives in my afternoon mail. The inscription on the back reads "1919, Kansas City, Missouri." It looks like a picnic on a summer day, blurry faces, all but one now gone.

In the photo my infant mother, Evelyn, frowns from her mother's lap. Her big sisters, Ruth, Helen, and Margaret — pretty children I remember as old women — sit facing straight into the camera. One is grinning. One is laughing. One, the eldest, holds a stern demeanor as does her mother, my grandmother, Josephine. All are attired in complicated dresses — high necks, ruffles, long sleeves — difficult to iron. My grandfather, wearing a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, sits cross-legged, offering a tight smile through pursed lips.

I never met Grandpa Chance or Grandmother Jo. (I have only her recipe for rosy pickled eggs.) Both died before I was born. I recognize them from previous family photos. I imagine the family still at the picnic, somewhere in time, posing together on the unmown grass.

Tomorrow, when I see her, I must show the photo to my mother. I must send my cousin a note to thank her for sending it.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: "I've reached the age where my brain went from 'you probably shouldn't say that' to 'what the hell, let's see what happens.'"  Author Unknown.

 

JUNE 18, 2013: PAT

Pat calls and leaves a message on my answering machine:

"Mom, I saw the neurologist today. He wants to do an EEG to test for epilepsy. My psychiatrist is reducing the Depakote I take for my bipolar. She thinks it's the cause of my low white blood count. I've lost eight pounds in the last ten days since she lowered the medication. She also wants me to have a MRI every six months for my brain tumor.

"Oh, and another thing. Lexi needs a water bottle for her dog crate. She knocks over the water dish when I leave it inside the crate with her. The bottle is eight dollars. Can you buy it this week? I have one dollar left until Sunday.

"Lexi peed on the carpet a little while ago. Guess I didn't pay enough attention to her signals. She's being pretty good, otherwise.

"Talk to you later. Bye, Mom."

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: He's one of the greatest minds in history, and he says nuclear weapons were a mistake. "I made one great mistake in my life when I signed the letter to President Roosevelt recommending that atom bombs be made."  Albert Einstein.

 

JUNE 19, 2013: I WANT TO QUIT ALREADY

What about days like today? I'm only five entries into this writing project and I want to quit already. What if my stomach, due to circumstances beyond my control, is in knots? How am I supposed to write sensible sentences when I'm distraught.

My forty-four-year-old son has challenges that would bring Goliath to his knees. He calls to say the water bottle he needs for Lexi is fifteen dollars, not eight.

He asks, "Is this okay?"

There's a saying, "When Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy."

My corollary to that is, "When her child ain't happy, Mama ain't happy."

My heart hurts. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to hurl porcelain dishes through plate glass windows.

I won't, though. Pat needs me not to. He needs me to be strong. Especially on days like today.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: "Sometimes someone says something really small and it just fits right into this empty place in your heart."  (Love, Sex, Intelligence)

 

JUNE 20, 2013: HELP IN THE MAIL

FIRST LIGHT
Tomorrow a different, darker wing
will brush me, and again
I will tremble with longing and self-pity,
but in this early hour,
with the sun risen coolly
behind mists of morning
and small birds calling
one to another, branch to branch,
I am a mad woman of peace,
gliding through day's bloody tides
as though they were the clearest water.

Published in Potpourri, Fall 2003, Vol. 15, No. 3
Used with permission by poet Judith Werner

My cousin sent this poem to me in today's mail. Somehow she knew I needed it.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: "The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive." John Green, Looking for Alaska (Love, Sex, Intelligence)

 

My Daylily

My Daylily

JUNE 21, 2013: INSPIRATION

I'm driving this morning with my friend, Grace, to the Amador Flower Farm  in Plymouth. The farm grows thirteen hundred varieties of daylilies. Everyday, in season, more than a million flowers bloom in the farm's growing fields.

We wander on freshly mowed grass through rows and rows of one gallon plants. I read down my prospect list — lilies I've selected off the farm's website — then crumple it up. It's much better to choose from the colors and shapes right before me, giving preference to any lily that seems to bob as I approach.

I choose evergreens with curly, outlined edges - Montage, Hostess, Eloquent Silence, Full Moon Rising, and Call Me Irresistible.

Daylilies come in every hue except true blue and pure white. Some experts say dallies are edible and have as much protein as spinach, more vitamin A than string beans, and the same amount of vitamin C as orange juice.

Three red and yellow lilies I purchased last year grow in a rear corner of my backyard obscured by denser foliage. I had no idea when I planted them — small green shrubs with spiky leaves — what treasure I was hiding. Now they're blooming. In the morning and evening, I walk out to admire them. I stoop close to inhale their soft, sweet scent.

Daylilies  are so named because each flower lasts one day. When one dies, another opens. Each new lily unfolds with fervor — bright face to the sky — whether witnessed or not.

I find inspiration here.

 

JUNE 22, 2013: CHANGE

This is the year of the big migration. Marisa is moving from a big house in Carlsbad to a little house in Seattle. Kerry is moving from her small house in Roseville to a larger house across the freeway. Her in-laws are downsizing houses, moving from Nevada City to Grass Valley. Pat is moving from his tiny apartment in Roseville to Kerry's old, smaller house.

New jobs, new schools, new homes, new neighborhoods, new routines. Address changes on legal documents. Eleven lives rearranging.

In one year's time, what surprises might appear? What challenges might arise? Everyone is in motion. Change is the constant.

 

JUNE 23, 2013: MAGICAL THINKING

The sky's been promising rain since morning. I've been waiting, anticipating those first drops of water. But it's early evening and it's still dry. If I take a walk, maybe that will make it rain.

I plop on a baseball cap and head out the door. Dark clouds hover above me. Light clouds hang in the West. A slight breeze feathers my face and trees and shrubs nod to me as I pass by.

What's that? A drop? Another? This is working. A few splatters land on my bare arms.

A woman walking toward me pauses. "It's raining pretty hard over on Snapdragon," she says. "It may stop by the time you get there. Funny, it's hardly sprinkling here."

I walk faster, getting my hopes up. Snapdragon is three blocks up and to the left. I round the corner. No droplets shimmer on leaves. There are no sprinkles. There is no rain. Did I imagine that other woman in the street?

Back home I take off my cap. I turn on the weather report. Enough with magical thinking. At least for today.

 

JUNE 24, 2013: RAIN

What a marvelous, overcast, wet, summer day. It's such a relief from the ninety-degree weather. Leaves are glistening outside my windows. A gentle rain pitter pats.

Jazzy's curled up in a ball. We snuggle together under a soft blanket on my bedroom chaise. I'm reading a cooking magazine that came in the afternoon mail and marking recipes for broccoli cheese, tangy tomato, sweet onion, asparagus, and zucchini vegetable pies.

The article says, "This is savory and unexpected comfort food, to serve warm or at room temperature, and perfect for both cool and hot days."

More rain is expected tomorrow and then, on Wednesday, the summer weather returns.

If I had a fireplace, I'd start a fire. If I had a marshmallow, I'd roast a marshmallow. Instead, I'll light a few candles, listen to the rain, and wait for evening to cross the patio and slip in through the sliding screen door.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: When we realize that we're all under surveillance, we can behave like Shakespeare's characters who knew "all the world's a stage, and we are merely players."

 

JUNE 26, 2013: A QUESTION

I receive an unexpected email from our community administration:
    "There's not enough interest in a family mental illness support group for us to
     announce it in our monthly magazine."

Not enough interest according to whom? Twenty-two people attended the first support group meeting at my house. They squished together on my red sofa and chairs.

Now group emails are flying back and forth. Group emails are WMD (weapons of mass destruction). They target heavily populated areas. Open a group email at your own risk — they can fry your computer. People send out-of-sync statements and responses. Tempers flare. Defenses surface.

I send an email to request a cease-fire.
     "Can we please have an in-person meeting to resolve any issues?"

I have to ask twice. There's resistance. How does trying to do something constructive get so freaking complicated? That is the question.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: Summertime and the living is easy.

 

JUNE 27, 2013: ANOTHER QUESTION

I'm at Kilaga Cafe having lunch with a new acquaintance. She's a widow. She thinks, when you're a widow, people treat you differently. Differently than being divorced?

"Yes, some think you're more needy."

She gives me an example. "A week after my husband passed, I went to a birthday party. I sat down at a round table in the one empty chair. I chatted with the men on each side of me. You know. Small talk. I thought we were having a good time. Then we all got up to go to the buffet. When I returned to the table, the men were gone. Their wives, one on each side of me, now guarded their turf. This seemed so funny, I couldn't help myself. I started laughing and no one knew why."

I tell my new friend I have to leave to go meet with the community powers that be about my mental illness support group. She gives me some parting advice.

"If you have something worthwhile to do and you run into resistance, don't argue. And for heaven sakes, don't get angry and hung up on the principle of the thing. Figure out a way to bypass the obstacle and go around it."

After all the email brouhaha about lack of interest in establishing a support group, the in-person exchange with the administration staff member is friendly, or appears to be.

"Your meeting announcement will be published for three months in the bulletin section of our community magazine. That's standard procedure. Have a good day."

I leave the meeting perplexed. Another question teases. What was the problem in the first place?

 

JUNE 28, 2013: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MEGAN KATHLEEN

Today is my eldest daughter's birthday. I'm thinking about the day she was born. The weather in Rochester, Minnesota was typical midwestern weather - hot and muggy.

In the recovery room, I untied my hospital gown and placed my new daughter face down on my stomach. She clung to me the same way a baby chimp clings to its mother.

The two of us rested, bare skin on bare skin. One tired from giving birth. One tired from being born. The nurses let us doze for about an hour. I wanted to hold my baby like that, all mine and all safe, forever. I wanted the clock to stop ticking, but Father Time wouldn't cooperate.

Those birthing moments are memories. Now Megan is forty-three.

 

JUNE 29, 2013: OLD STUFF

What's this restlessness I'm feeling? I moved into this house six-and-a-half years ago. I must be entering my itchy period. Every once in a while, this over-55 neighborhood gets on my nerves.

Too many couples with lots of money and, at times, insensitive to the fact that not all bank accounts are created equal. Too many singles — including myself — widowed or divorced and wondering how our lives ended up this way. Too many grappling with the distinction between loneliness and solitude. Too many oblivious to the difference. Too many old people talking old people talk.

"She's unhappy because she doesn't have a husband."
"He passed away four days after he was diagnosed."
"The affair's still hot and heavy."
"All my joints are creaking."
"I need a hip replacement."
"I need a knee replacement."
"Where did I put my car keys?"
"I couldn't find my car."
"I couldn't find my driveway."

I'm going to go to bed now. If I can remember where it is...

 

COMING UP THURSDAY, JUNE 29, 2017: JULY 2, 2013 - JULY 14, 2013

Just Like You * Duplicate Bridge * Independence Day * Marketing * Aidan's Poem * Cracking Hearts * Mystery * %$^***@#!)% * Email Exchange With Pat * Support Group Meeting * Breathing * Morning Hassle * Evening Stroll