Last year about this time, I was looking at my 12-month wall calendar with equal parts dread and fear. It wasn't going to be a pretty year, that was for certain. Little did I know, though, how really bad it would be.
I write this just so I will have something to look back on in 2011 when times are good. A lot of this rambling will be in code that only I and certain others will understand. The names will not be changed to protect the innocent or the guilty, and the facts presented will be just vague enough not to implicate anyone.
The year started well enough, with a bit of traveling to exotic lands like Washington, D.C. (my favorite city!), Philadelphia, and Lubbock (my second-favorite city, and I'm serious). Traveling usually is an adventure for me, but by the time I was home for good, I was ready to never stay in another hotel again. Some health problems plagued me, and they were just bad enough that nobody really understood WHY I kept saying I didn't feel well and kept bowing out of fun stuff in order to grab some rest. It was both immensely embarrassing and frightening for me, all at the same time.
In late April, I fetched my mother from her home of 65 years and dragged her (the way she tells it) all the way to Satan's armpit (aka Lewisville) to purchase a new home against her will. Dragging her back was a pleasure. A month later, we plucked her from her safe haven and unceremoniously locked her in a stark, unfamiliar lot of four walls with half her funiture and not a single feral cat to keep her company. To this day, I haven't heard the end of it.
That began a series of new and unending errands to add to my to-do list. Grocery store every week (How one woman eats all that food every single week really dumbfounded me until I realized she's stocking up!), pharmacy, doctor ... She won't drive, so guess who takes her? I will admit that I don't usually mind doing it, but she could at least mention a couple of days before her pills run out instead of making it a do-it-now crisis. The best part was (and she would KILL me if she knew I was writing this) her hair. My mother, who for all my life has had very short hair, has not been to a salon in almost two years. She started looking VERY OLD. We tried to go to the hair place, and they made her wait too long and she tired out, so we left (also an ordeal). And so a week later, after multiple attempts to persuade her back into the barber's chair, *I* cut her hair. Not bad, I might add.
During the latter part of July, I headed back to Washington, D.C., this time to board a charter bus that would take me to Fort A.P. Hill, Virginia, for the 2010 National Scout Jamboree. I would be there, living in an unair-conditioned army barracks with 100 of my not-so-closest friends sharing six of the not-so-cleanest showers, for three solid weeks. It was certainly an experience, and I tried to make the most of it by starting a Facebook page. That in itself was fun, and I enjoyed the tiny bit of celebrity I attained, even if anonymously. I will say that the jamboree experience was an important one for me, but it was not the Waldorf Astoria.
Here's where things will get a little more cryptic, but apparently while I was at jamboree something a little more sinister was brewing at home. I'll say only this about it: I needed two different flavors of medication to keep from contemplating drastic measures of many kinds. I went without sleep. I went without regarding any type of healthy diet. I went without trusting ANYONE, and I mean not even my husband, for several months, and I can't say I have fully recovered ... or ever will. I learned a little about human nature, and I learned who my real friends are. I will forever be grateful to two people in particular who coached and comforted me through this time, and for several others whose empathy was truly appreciated. You know who you are. I have vowed never to let this happen to me again. I will be better. I will know better. I will do better.
And that particular "instance" brought us all the way through the end of the year. The whole year was frought with financial strains at home, but God's grace helped us make ends meet one way or another. Our geriatric central heat and air broke down at least three times, each time over a weekend or holiday: once during February in the 20-degree temps, once in September (Labor Day Weekend) in the 100-degree temps, and again in December (Christmas weekend) over the few days that it did get cold. Scott's car broke down (WAY down--it's still sitting in front of our house, where the tow-truck guy dropped it off... Half a payment left and it's all ours!) two days before I went to jamboree. He drove my car (which really worried me!) for a week and then went to Texarkana to fetch my mom's car to drive. It needed two new tires before it could make it back. Fortunately, she paid for that. If she hadn't, I guess Scott would have gone hungry.
(By the way, a little sidebar here. Say what you want about Barack Obama, and I might be really misinformed here, but it seems that the consumer credit reform his administration has enacted would have been welcome at Texas Tech University in the early 1990s. Do you know that I am STILL paying off debt that I incurred, both for school and for immature fun, starting with the line of credit that was extended to me without any form of income? Do you know that if I could just get that stuff paid off that I would be SET? It's one of the most horrible struggles of my life.)
Anyway ... Throughout the rest of 2010, I did a little more traveling, mainly back and forth to Texarkana every other weekend to bring Mother more stuff she "forgot to pack," including one instance with my bestie in which we DID NOT HAVE THE KEY TO THE HOUSE. We made do by geocaching. What the hell else is there to do in T-Town? I also spent a weekend in San Antonio, a great little place I haven't visited since my first marriage. I hated it when I went then (summer = HOT), but I really loved it the first weekend in November, and I think Scott and I might make plans to go back.
Thanksgiving came and went, and Christmas has now been packed away until next year. It was a low-key event, and that is fine with me. I have spent the day today, New Year's Eve, at work, shoveling out the old and preparing for the new. I received a nice compliment from a good (and true) friend today: I have inspired her. Do you know that is quite possibly the best compliment you can give to someone? If someone inspires you ... tell them. It will make their day.
Anyway, that was what was on the calendar for 2010. I was pleased to replace that old one with a fresh, bright blue one with bigger blocks to write in. I've already pencilled in some tentative vacation time (to be taken in blocks so as to ensure REST, rather than in single days) and nothing really scary stares back at me. We've got a week in T-Town to finish packing the house in January, another Report to the Nation in February (and my 40th birthday!), Altrusa Conference in April (here in Dallas!), my first cruise--to Jamaica, we think--in May, Altrusa Convention (not the same as Conference) in South Dakota in July--but finances might not permit that, and nothing else for the rest of the year. I'll be focusing on being a better person and balancing my work vs. my real life.
I'm looking at a fresh wall calendar, in my organized and clean office, and I have to say that, if nothing else, 2011 at least *looks* more promising than the brand-new 2010 did.
Wish me luck!
Friday, December 31, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
My Favorite Things
"The Sound of Music" was on the other night. All the songs are wonderful, but the "Do, Re, Mi" song and, of course, "My Favorite Things" are probably the ones I remember right away when I think about the musical.
So, I decided to combine the two into some weird bastardization of my own favorite things. This installment will be "My Favorite Things People Who Think They Are Writers Have Screwed Up." It's going to be fun!
DO. "A misspelling, an easily overlooked misspelling." Spell-check might not catch the difference between "do" and "doe," the (female) deer, but it sure should have caught the very public "city ordinace" posted in an elevator in the building where I used to work.
RE. "A drop of golden sun!" Ahhh, the descriptiveness. One professional, on more than one occasion, sent me some finely crafted prose that confused the noun "tenet" with "tenant." The part that frustrated me the most was when the offender effectively brushed me off when I called her attention to the error. "Nobody would have caught that but you," Ms. Vocabulary said. Touche, dummy.
MI. "A name, I call myself." I might pull my hair out if I see another extraneous comma. Whose bright idea was it to teach kids to put a comma wherever they wanted a pause in their prose? I assure you, it, was, not, mine.
FA. "A long, long way to run!" I especially despise run-on sentences. Conjunctions and semicolons and commas, oh my! (Sorry; now apparently I am not only mixing songs within a musical, I am also mixing musicals!) I spent a great deal of time today untangling a single-sentence paragraph that was (no exaggeration) 14 lines long. Here's a bit of advice for the "professional writer": Just because you put a lot of words together doesn't mean they actually make sense.
SO. "A needle-pulling threat!" Good gracious, that might hurt! You know how people just make up lyrics to songs in order to just sing along? I've run across many a Word document in which folks just skip over obvious boo-boos. Read slowly when you proofread, people. (And, by the way, proofreading is NOT the same thing as copyediting.)
LA. "A note to follow SO!" At least the song is honest. There was no clever play on words here, so they just told it like it was. On the other hand, I am SICK AND TIRED of overplayed cliches. Be original, or just be honest ... your writing sucks.
TI. "A drink with jam and bread!" What kind of drink? I find myself missing my pal Jose Cuervo when I have to search high and low for the subject of a sentence. Don't bury it. Sentences that begin with the phrase "there is" usually could be recast to more powerful ends.
DO. "That will bring us back to DO!" What have we learned here? Probably nothing, because once a person thinks she's a writer, nothing can be done to dissuade her of the self-appointed title. But if you could take away one thing from this little post, I would like it to be this: GET YOUR STUFF COPYEDITED BY A REAL COPY EDITOR. You'll probably end up thanking them for making you look good. And just think, if the copy editor screws it up and someone notices, you have an easy scapegoat. And then you won't feeeeeeeel soooooooo baaaaaaadddd!
So, I decided to combine the two into some weird bastardization of my own favorite things. This installment will be "My Favorite Things People Who Think They Are Writers Have Screwed Up." It's going to be fun!
DO. "A misspelling, an easily overlooked misspelling." Spell-check might not catch the difference between "do" and "doe," the (female) deer, but it sure should have caught the very public "city ordinace" posted in an elevator in the building where I used to work.
RE. "A drop of golden sun!" Ahhh, the descriptiveness. One professional, on more than one occasion, sent me some finely crafted prose that confused the noun "tenet" with "tenant." The part that frustrated me the most was when the offender effectively brushed me off when I called her attention to the error. "Nobody would have caught that but you," Ms. Vocabulary said. Touche, dummy.
MI. "A name, I call myself." I might pull my hair out if I see another extraneous comma. Whose bright idea was it to teach kids to put a comma wherever they wanted a pause in their prose? I assure you, it, was, not, mine.
FA. "A long, long way to run!" I especially despise run-on sentences. Conjunctions and semicolons and commas, oh my! (Sorry; now apparently I am not only mixing songs within a musical, I am also mixing musicals!) I spent a great deal of time today untangling a single-sentence paragraph that was (no exaggeration) 14 lines long. Here's a bit of advice for the "professional writer": Just because you put a lot of words together doesn't mean they actually make sense.
SO. "A needle-pulling threat!" Good gracious, that might hurt! You know how people just make up lyrics to songs in order to just sing along? I've run across many a Word document in which folks just skip over obvious boo-boos. Read slowly when you proofread, people. (And, by the way, proofreading is NOT the same thing as copyediting.)
LA. "A note to follow SO!" At least the song is honest. There was no clever play on words here, so they just told it like it was. On the other hand, I am SICK AND TIRED of overplayed cliches. Be original, or just be honest ... your writing sucks.
TI. "A drink with jam and bread!" What kind of drink? I find myself missing my pal Jose Cuervo when I have to search high and low for the subject of a sentence. Don't bury it. Sentences that begin with the phrase "there is" usually could be recast to more powerful ends.
DO. "That will bring us back to DO!" What have we learned here? Probably nothing, because once a person thinks she's a writer, nothing can be done to dissuade her of the self-appointed title. But if you could take away one thing from this little post, I would like it to be this: GET YOUR STUFF COPYEDITED BY A REAL COPY EDITOR. You'll probably end up thanking them for making you look good. And just think, if the copy editor screws it up and someone notices, you have an easy scapegoat. And then you won't feeeeeeeel soooooooo baaaaaaadddd!
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Current Ailments
I thought it might be prudent to list my current ailments, just so I could go back later and remind myself how crappy it is to NOT be healthy and to prove to myself that feeling great all depends on how hard you work at it.
So, in no particular order, broad and specific:
So, in no particular order, broad and specific:
- Tingling in my hands, and (a recent and VERY uncomfortable development) my arms fall asleep at night. It hurts so much I can't sleep. I have to get up and walk around to get the circulation going again.
- Clothes that fit improperly, uncomfortably, or not at all ... and there's no point in looking for anything new, so I just wear the same raggedy stuff all the time
- Sleep apnea and a BiPAP machine that I have to lug all over creation. No machine, no breathing while I sleep!
- High blood pressure (VERY high blood pressure) and about 5 different medications to control it
- Thyroid disease (which won't go away, no matter what)
- Stiff joints
- Hard time walking, especially in the morning or after I've been still for a while
- Need help sleeping (antidepressants)
- High "bad" cholesterol
- Low "good" cholesterol
- Extreme fatigue and ZERO energy
- Edema, and a dieuretic to control it
- Hard time climbing stairs
- Can't get down on the floor (couldn't get back up! Same thing for bathtubs.)
- Can't walk very far, and can't exercise at all except for bowling
- Get winded walking in from the parking lot
- Fat rolls over the pants!
- Wedding rings are tight
And a couple of other things I will just have to remember in my head. Mainly, I just look like a different person ... someone who's unhappy, angry, tired ... You name it. The person I know inside is not the person who stares back at me in the mirror. The person I know inside exists somewhere in 1988, or even 1998. By 2008, she was gone. I will find her again. She was a lot more fun than this grouchy old woman.
Did She Really Croak?
No. Well, not really. But December 26, 2011, was the last day of lying to myself. It was the last day of telling myself that what I put into my mouth didn't make a difference. It was the last day of rationalizing my behavior, good and bad, and using that rationalization to my own benefit.
The way I was going was leading to an early grave and an obituary I wasn't going to be particularly proud of. Sure, St. Peter will let me in the Pearly Gates regardless (I'm sure a future post will cover this topic.), but when I stand before my Maker, what will I tell Him I have done to glorify Him by using the gifts He has so generously given me? And really, I long to see Daddy and Granddaddy and Gigi and my other relatives and friends who've gone before me, but I think I can wait a few decades when all of eternity is my reward.
So, instead of continuing to kill myself daily with a horrible diet and a stressful, sedentary lifestyle, I am making changes. No need to wait for New Year's Day. What difference is five days going to make? I started by writing my own obituary (something I have wanted to do, and have been scared to do, since I saw Serendipity). This obit reflects the difference that will be made between the old me and the new me. The new me has a renewed outlook on life and a renewed sense of potential. I can do all those things: I can write children's books that help increase their self-esteem and awareness of how nutrition and exercise really is important. I can get my financial affairs in order so I can retire and live the rest of my days on a ranch in Colorado where every stray animal can find a forever home if no one else wants it. And I can raise kids who will love me for who I am, even if I'm not really their mother.
Who knows if that's really the path I will follow. Those are just a few dreams I am dreaming on this, the first day of the rest of my life.
The way I was going was leading to an early grave and an obituary I wasn't going to be particularly proud of. Sure, St. Peter will let me in the Pearly Gates regardless (I'm sure a future post will cover this topic.), but when I stand before my Maker, what will I tell Him I have done to glorify Him by using the gifts He has so generously given me? And really, I long to see Daddy and Granddaddy and Gigi and my other relatives and friends who've gone before me, but I think I can wait a few decades when all of eternity is my reward.
So, instead of continuing to kill myself daily with a horrible diet and a stressful, sedentary lifestyle, I am making changes. No need to wait for New Year's Day. What difference is five days going to make? I started by writing my own obituary (something I have wanted to do, and have been scared to do, since I saw Serendipity). This obit reflects the difference that will be made between the old me and the new me. The new me has a renewed outlook on life and a renewed sense of potential. I can do all those things: I can write children's books that help increase their self-esteem and awareness of how nutrition and exercise really is important. I can get my financial affairs in order so I can retire and live the rest of my days on a ranch in Colorado where every stray animal can find a forever home if no one else wants it. And I can raise kids who will love me for who I am, even if I'm not really their mother.
Who knows if that's really the path I will follow. Those are just a few dreams I am dreaming on this, the first day of the rest of my life.
Beth Blair (1971-2064)
DENVER (December 26, 2064)--Beth Blair, author of beloved children's titles and touted worldwide as a tireless child advocate, died peacefully at her home this week. She was 93.
Once saddled with responsibilities surrounding the daily grind, Blair's famous choice to change her life in 2011 gave her a fresh perspective and renewed inspiration, and ultimately became a life-altering and lifesaving decision. Rather than spending a few more years a slave to her appetite and her commitments, Blair spent another half-century living to make a difference for herself and for causes she championed. Throughout "the rest of her life," as she referred to the years after 2011, Blair steadfastly declined to comment on the catalyst for the change, saying only that "What has shaped me is mine; now it's time for my experiences to be worth something. God gave me the gift of words, and shortly before my 40th birthday I discovered that He intended me to use them. That's what I did."
Blair's first children's story was published in 2013, and while not immediately noticed by critics, the story--and later, others in the 60-title series--was published and distributed in thousands of holiday gift packages for underprivileged children across the United States. The titles delicately dealt with current issues for children, with special emphasis on cultivating self-esteem and understanding nutrition and health. With profits from the series, Blair launched the Believe Foundation, whose mission is to instill self-esteem and inspiration in young people to equip them to make a difference in their world.
Blair moved to Colorado in 2020 and settled on 40 acres of farmland at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. She dubbed the land "Rescue Ranch" and took in any animal that couldn't find a home. Officials at Rescue Ranch estimate that more than 10,000 animals have found a warm bed and nourishing food over the past 40 years.
Generally preferring to maintain a quiet lifestyle, Blair was not one to mince words over subjects for which she held a passion. While not traveling to deliver one of her much-coveted humorous and inspirational addresses to schoolteachers and service organizations, Blair spent her precious quiet time painting in her pottery studio or working on her next story. She is survived by her children, Sarah and Michael, whom she adopted in 2015, and her Rescue Ranch animals.
"My mother was a great leader, a great artist, and a great-hearted person. She loved her Lord and she loved her family, both those family by blood and by bond," Sarah Blair said in a statement released by the Believe Foundation. "She always said she didn't want to be remembered by name, but rather by legacy."
Once saddled with responsibilities surrounding the daily grind, Blair's famous choice to change her life in 2011 gave her a fresh perspective and renewed inspiration, and ultimately became a life-altering and lifesaving decision. Rather than spending a few more years a slave to her appetite and her commitments, Blair spent another half-century living to make a difference for herself and for causes she championed. Throughout "the rest of her life," as she referred to the years after 2011, Blair steadfastly declined to comment on the catalyst for the change, saying only that "What has shaped me is mine; now it's time for my experiences to be worth something. God gave me the gift of words, and shortly before my 40th birthday I discovered that He intended me to use them. That's what I did."
Blair's first children's story was published in 2013, and while not immediately noticed by critics, the story--and later, others in the 60-title series--was published and distributed in thousands of holiday gift packages for underprivileged children across the United States. The titles delicately dealt with current issues for children, with special emphasis on cultivating self-esteem and understanding nutrition and health. With profits from the series, Blair launched the Believe Foundation, whose mission is to instill self-esteem and inspiration in young people to equip them to make a difference in their world.
Blair moved to Colorado in 2020 and settled on 40 acres of farmland at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. She dubbed the land "Rescue Ranch" and took in any animal that couldn't find a home. Officials at Rescue Ranch estimate that more than 10,000 animals have found a warm bed and nourishing food over the past 40 years.
Generally preferring to maintain a quiet lifestyle, Blair was not one to mince words over subjects for which she held a passion. While not traveling to deliver one of her much-coveted humorous and inspirational addresses to schoolteachers and service organizations, Blair spent her precious quiet time painting in her pottery studio or working on her next story. She is survived by her children, Sarah and Michael, whom she adopted in 2015, and her Rescue Ranch animals.
"My mother was a great leader, a great artist, and a great-hearted person. She loved her Lord and she loved her family, both those family by blood and by bond," Sarah Blair said in a statement released by the Believe Foundation. "She always said she didn't want to be remembered by name, but rather by legacy."
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