After Midnight

 We are still covered in snow. I have a glacier in my yard but managed to clear about 5 feet to get the car into the garage without sliding into the yard. It still slips but not as bad.

Side roads are just a mess. I haven't been out except for physical therapy. The back and leg problems persist. I had a steroid shot in my left hip on Tuesday. It's sore, but gradually getting better. They also reduced my Cymbalta back down from 60 mg to 30 mg. Side effects as usual. Now I'm having other side effects with the drop. Can't win.

I finished the first draft of the Dream Stealer Series: Book 1: Where Dreams Begin (working title) and began Book 2: Eye of the God (also working title). Feel so strange to say that. 

I'm exhausted tonight. It was a horrible day, and the night doesn't look good either. I'm struggling with some things. Can't go into it here. I don't want to go into it in my head either. I haven't been blogging because I've been writing for hours a day, every day. I stop to go to appointments and church, but with the hip and leg pain it's difficult to go much other than that. Around the house it takes longer to do the things that need doing, if I can do them. So, I've been doing them when I felt like it. Laundry in a basket on the couch for three weeks. All sheets and towels. Finally, put the towels away, but it's time to wash again. 

Truth is, I'm tired, y'all. Tired of everything. I said I wanted to get in my car and drive until the road ends. Maybe at the end, I can sit and not think or feel or do anything. 

Yeah, sounds like death. 

No, sounds like peace. But I don't really want to leave yet. Not sure how to handle it when both staying and leaving are unattractive. Kind of stuck in the middle. So, I had to make a decision that worked for me to just keep moving forward to an expected end. That's from Jeremiah 29:11. 

“I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.” 

I've taken some hits in the faith department in the last seven months. No idea what is expected, and I certainly have no more expectations of anything. I've gone on autopilot and someone else can fly this bucket. I wasn't joking when I said I was tired. I'm beyond tired. And I don't want to think. I've thought too much since October. 

What I want is my brain quiet unless it's important or related to the story. Rehashing my life choices isn't important. I can't change them. Making plans was never my strong suit, and I am not doing that. I can get a travel agent. 

I think that's why I've been writing like an insane person to the point I've flared that damaged nerve in my left hand. Burns like mad. And yet, here I am, writing after midnight. Writing helps divert thoughts that would pour out like lava after I get into bed. They leave me in an ash heap. By morning I'm dealing with the fallout. 

Don't say stop thinking. If it were that simple, I wouldn't be exhausted and awake. I've tried scripture mantras, prayer, medicine, and teas. And yet, here I am, writing after midnight. 

The good news is that I've written 11,232 in six days. Insane. I'm taking more breaks, though. Eight-hour shifts of writing have nearly crippled me. So I'm trying to get up more often and walk around the house. Too dangerous to get out with ice everywhere.

The weekend is right there. Try to have a good one. Stay warm. Stay upright. Stay safe. 

Rundown of the Weekend

 The leg is better. Have I told you about the leg? 

My lower back (SI joint) has flared up. I overdid it at the gym one week and walked the next week. Felt good at the time, but I did too much. Results were an inflamed SI joint and bursitis in my left leg, flaring all the way to my knee.

They started PT last Friday. It helped a great deal. For a couple of days, the pain was so much better. It came back, but not as bad. Today I'm wearing my diclofenac patch. That actually seems to help the most, but I have trouble keeping it on my back. It isn't glue but a kind of foamy, sticky substance that thins over 12 hours. Hits the pain hard, and I feel good if it stays where I put it. But it slides around. 

I will have PT twice a week for about six weeks. They used a TENS unit, and that was amazing. 

Writing has kind of stopped with this latest pain but I think tonight I'll start back up. Or tomorrow if I am too tired. 

I'm not sleeping well most nights. Either too worried, too upset, or too excited. My brain just doesn't shut off. One night I spent all night writing in my sleep! It wasn't a deep sleep, and I kept waking up. I considered getting up and writing. But I was so tired. 

I think I am going to plan a trip home. I need to go. And it would get me out of my head for a bit. Mike goes to Indy for an appointment with the neurosurgeon to get his brain disease checked for treatment. We know there's only one treatment at this point. But we need to know his status. Maybe when I get back, I can head home. 

Planning on getting rid of at least one cat. I simply can't cope with three anymore. Also, I may get rid of the second one. I love her, but again, I'm at my limit. And I want to get away more. Of course, Jet is not going anywhere. I think he's too attached and wouldn't do well if he were re-homed. Besides, I talk to him a lot. I actually talk to them all. And they try to answer back. 

Reading four books at the moment. I haven't done that in a while. Mostly because I had been reading a book a day since November. Once I began writing, I couldn't read a book a day. It took three days. So, I finished one yesterday and began two today. There are two others I was already reading. And yes, I can keep up with them. 

For now, I'm headed to the shower. 

Life in My Own World

 What do you do when your world constricts to a period? 

Yesterday, I realized that is what my world has done. While working on my novel, I realized I don't live in the real world anymore. I'm in the Matrix. I didn't even watch those movies. I've seen bits and pieces but never the whole movie. I'm living there! 

My family is for the most part all dead. Well, I am 69. Parents, grandparents, and a sibling dead. Siblings left are either in jail or far away. My sons have their own lives, and my only grandchild remembers me about twice a month and either texts or calls for a few minutes. I go to church, have items delivered, get my reading online, and talk to my cats. Doesn't that sound like a place you want to live?

The only world I experience now is fictional, and I created it. I meet good and evil people. The evil people are worse than any I ever met in the real world, but I can kill them off. The good people are also no reflection of the real world. There is no real affection, but there isn't much in the real world either. 

I made a comment after Jerry died that 6 weeks after the funeral everyone forgets you're alive. No one has proven that wrong. He's been dead 17 years and I've sat right here, buried. It has taken me this long to realize what happened. Well, I was kind of traumatized watching someone die that way. But yeah.

Yesterday I decided that I'm going to live in this fictional world. I'm tired of trying to fit in the real world or find kindred spirits or a new life. But there is a dark, empty depth you can sink where there is no way out.

I'm too tired to mess with it.

So, it's less stress and less work to sit down and open a portal to a fictional world where everyone knows you. They rely on you for their existence. If I must be a spectator, I might as well make myself comfortable in a place I like. The alternative is much darker and emptier. 

Happy Endings

Another holiday finished for a year. What a month it was, too. If you've read this blog long, you know that November through February is a difficult time. In the last few years, it hasn't been terrible, but this year, that mess just blew up in my face.

Starting November 12th, 2025, I began working on a new novel. That wasn't the plan. I have a story I've been working on for a long time and suddenly wanted to write the backstory of those characters to see if it would help me. What happened is confusing and surprising to me.  

As of today, I'm at 35,991 words. That's 2249 words a day, and there were a couple of days I didn't write at all. For non-writers, that's a lot of words.

What was confusing was the emotional turmoil I experienced for the first five days. I cried every day. Every time I wrote and after stopping for any reason. I was just wrecked. It took five days to figure out why. 

My husband died 17 yrs ago this coming January 29th. It was the greatest trauma I've ever experienced. While writing the new story, around the third day, I realized that many of the character traits of the main character reminded me of my husband when we first married. The way he treated the female love interest, the attitudes, and his actions were all my husband. Even the initial meeting of the characters was a reflection of meeting my husband. With that realization, any control I had disappeared. And from that point on, there were moments I had to stop writing at all. I even fell apart in front of my son. 

I don't actually know what would have happened if I had continued without talking to a friend. They gave me the freedom to talk and to let me cry. I felt like a fool and was embarrassed, but it gave me a way to find some control, albeit shaky at best. 

Now, sixteen days in, the story is still flowing like water. I don't know whether anyone will ever read it. I don't care. Though the experience was and is traumatic, the beautiful memory of being loved and cherished is mine to keep. Jerry was the only person who ever wanted me. Maybe we find that only once. I would not like to believe that, but I do. I don't know what he saw in me. I doubt there are many men who can see that deep. 

I still have to get through finishing this story. Then I have to do an edit or two. Every time I go back to check something or read a passage, it breaks me again. How do you survive that?

I don't care. Just this once, I'll finish the story. There will be a happy ending. Something I never got. And maybe that's why this story came to me. Everyone deserves that much.

Stumbling Along

 Life throws things at you randomly to keep you on your toes. I started back working on my book, The Dream Stealer, on November 12th. It may get a new title. For the next nine days, I wrote day and night. By the ninth day, I had around 30K words. My mind was blown. I wasn't sleeping; I lost 10 lbs because I wasn't eating. I could be slimmer if I wrote day and night. I forgot to eat. 

On the second day, I cried and cried nearly every day I wrote. You write what you know and what was going into the story; I knew. And it was painful, beautiful and painful. I went into an immediate depression. I denied it, of course. I couldn't explain what was happening in my head. Until about the 4h or 5th day. 

That's when I realized that the way my character thought and behaved was very familiar to me. I had experienced them in another life. 

Who knew that could happen?

The ages of my characters were very close to ours when I married my husband. The relationship between them was so reminiscent of my marriage in those days, I couldn't stand it. A word, a look — all were like knives. I stopped watching a clock and just wrote. Hours at a time. And I cried between chapters and during breaks. 

You may ask why I didn't stop. Because I couldn't sleep. The story was like a dam break. It kept pouring in and there was no outlet unless I wrote it. So.... I'm close to 35K now. With each scene, I also get a little more insight as to why I have been so impacted.

If you could relive a moment with someone you love, even on paper, what would you do? The thing had a hold on me, and it felt as if I wrote it. Or it was meant to kill me. 

I didn't die, but I can't say I came out of the flow unscathed. I won't know until I finish it. 

I'm still working on it. Over the last four days, I've spent more time talking to friends or family. I know I have to sleep more. And I have to put the past to bed, while still keeping the memories without pain. Because the actual truth is, I'm stuck. 

Mike is waiting for an appointment with a neurologist in Indy. They have his request and are waiting for his medical records.

David is working, and I think he finally found a job he really enjoys. However, he's the strong, silent type and never says. 

Tonight, I'm out of words. Truly. It hit me suddenly in the middle of a conversation that my ability to say something had simply ended. So, I'll end this post and say good night. 

Lost in the Chaos

Mid-December and I still have no idea where I am! 

What a year! I've been unwell about 1/3 of the year, maybe a bit more. My RA has rampantly misbehaved and forced me onto steroids for a month. I had a horrible stomach virus that sent me to the ER. When have they not? 

I wrote a lot but finished nothing. I crocheted a lot and finished most of my projects, but I still have a major project to complete this week. 

David moved back home, got a job, and will move into his own apartment in January. He's doing well. Mike started working with a roadside service and is doing well, despite having some severe stomach problems that we can't identify yet. He's due for tests in January. Sarah came home in January 2024, but left in December. Her mom moved back after having a stroke that left her in a wheelchair and is paralysed on her right side. She's in therapy and I've helped by giving her rides to the doctor's office. Sarah will live with her, I think. 

I know other things happened, but those are the high points. Other chaos was probably minor.

I've been reading my Bible more. Studying it a bit more in depth. I began writing a Christian based project. We'll see. The RA flared, and I stalled out on it. I got past that, had a short section that just lit me up, wrote it down and a week later realized it stunk. Par for the course. I'll be working on that. 

I've moved things around a bit because David needed a closet, storage of his personal items, and items he bought for his apartment. This cramped us quite a bit. Once he moves out, I'll be painting the spare room and making it a sewing room - again. I plan to buy a simple roll-away bed for any company I may have and eliminate the twin I have in there. 

That will open up the den/dining room again. I feel I'm running a hostel, but you know, God answers in strange ways. I had financial problems at the end of last year, and two people moved in. It has helped immensely. I'm never going to be back on a sound footing. I can't work and retirement doesn't pay well. 

This could be the last post for 2024. The next couple of weeks will be hectic. So, I'm going to close this post with many thanks for anyone who has followed along, stopped by because you wanted to or by accident. I love writing the blogs. They are an outlet and blogs found me several friends in the early days. These days, few people comment, and the Google platform doesn't tell me who most visitors are. But thank you whoever you are and wherever you are. I'm in several places, so check the icons at the top and visit me. Let me know you came from here. 

Merry Christmas everyone. Christmas Day is one that Christians reclaimed to symbolically celebrate the day of our Savior's birth. He wasn't born on December 25th, and frankly, we have no definitive date. But we chose to celebrate Jesus coming to earth on the 25th. As for me, I celebrate Jesus every day of the year because every single day belongs to God.

April Came Smiling In

April arrived with much nicer weather, although she's a little fickle about it. Still, it is nice to have sunshine and warmer air. Today was almost too warm but I'll take it as it is. 
 

I haven’t got back to the gym. I planned to go back by May 1, but I want to go now. After the pain problems with my legs, I afraid to go too soon. Today, a walk around the yard to clean up trash from aliens, I struggled to do it. I dragged a trash bag around. It wasn’t heavy, but you’d have thought I was trudging uphill with a 50 pound pack. I couldn’t hardly walk the yard. It really is scary for me. I’m unsure what to do, and I don’t know what I’m going to do!

Sarah hasn’t been since her last dental appointment. I miss her so much, but I’m pretty sure she won’t visit unless she is at her Mom’s. It’s about choices. She calls once in a while, when she can be on her phone. And a text here and there. No photos, though. 

It’s been over a year since I saw my family in Georgia. As soon as I can, I’m going down for a visit. If that goes well, I’m going to Florida to see my family there. Don’t know where I’ll stay, but I have a tent and am not above borrowing a yard somewhere. 

Writing hasn’t been happening. I did eek out a bit here and there, but it feels as if my brain has just gone on holiday some place drab and boring. When I searched for some files on my computer a few weeks ago, I found that I have 5 unfinished novels about the same town and a family of sisters! I’ve spent some time since trying to put them in order time wise and writing here and there to finish them. Five! That’s just ridiculous. The trouble with NaNoWriMo is that you don’t finish one before it is time for the next one. I was in charge locally for nearly 10 years. This is the result. 

I can only hope I can finish them, but with my mind and body subject to this blinding fatigue, I have little hope. 

Oh, I went to church for the last two weeks! So exciting! I so missed it, and I can’t tell you how great it was to go back. 

I’m going to close out this post and see about food. I’m not sure what I want, but I need to eat something. I hope you’re all doing well. 

#prowritingaid

#april

#lifeontheledge

Strange Start to My Week

 

A gloomy rainy day greeted me this morning, and I am happy with it. I love rain and when I can wake to it with no pain; it is a good day. 

I'd like to understand how I can be in so much pain one day and none the next, but I suspect those are mysteries not meant for me to know. I am sad I couldn't go to church. I felt sick all weekend. Had upset stomach Saturday night on top of back/hip pain.

I had to step into the yard to get a photo for the blog today. David's tree on the left is so tall now I can't get it all in the photos. Sarah's trees, on the right, are growing well. They are over 7 feet now. I should have cut one down as it is right against the fence post. The bushy tree in the center is a fig that has never done well. And the scraggly thing center right is a maple that came up in the fire pit area. I let it grow since my yard is so large and has so few trees. I may never see them at their full potential, but I hope to enjoy some shade from them. 

I love trees and a yard full is just so wonderful. We tried several species, but they didn't do well. We had several mimosas for years and a blight struck them and killed all of them. I was so disappointed. I love mimosa, despite their messiness. The largest shaded the patio. I had to have them removed. I discovered this blight is something that will stay in the soil and new trees would be at risk. We've never had anymore come up, but the neighboring yard has some along the fence. 

I'm about to get busy putting away laundry, I think. I need to vacuum, but I'm  nervous. I have no pain in my back or legs today, and vacuuming or sweeping could change that. I swept the kitchen, but I used extreme caution to do so. 

I shall end and wish you a happy Monday. I don't think I've written a blog without a lot of whining in a while. Perhaps I can set a trend!

A Cold, Wet, Dark Street

Cold, wet, and dark, well, except for the security light above my head. As I pulled my collar up around my neck, I realized I should have brought a heavier jacket.

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the dark, rattling the door behind me, and the rain increased. A sudden gust pushed the drops horizontal, slapping me in the face, and I swiped at it with the back of my hand.  

The street beyond the wide sidewalk was void of traffic and I watched debris rush along the gutter, carried on swift currents, toward the drain somewhere in the dark. The waiting vortex would suck it down, into a cold spiral to a subterranean pool and from there to wherever useless things go. I suppose the ocean eventually. Someplace exotic? A fish's belly? A subduction zone, crushed and roiled into a mix of molten rock? 

Thunder exploded with a blinding flash that blew out the sensor on the light and cast me in to utter darkness. The rain became a deluge. I stepped back toward the doorway, trying to shelter against the building. The light struggled back to life after a few moments. Once restored, the glaring light made it nearly impossible to see beyond its circle. I felt trapped by it, like some bug in a glass. 

Yeah, that's what it felt like. Someone had dropped me in a glass and put a light over it. Where it was warm and dry and light reigned. They were probably sitting in a chair with a cup of coffee, feet on the desk, watching me in my damp, dark test tube. 

I sighed. Too much imagination. 

We measure our life by our success, and if we do not perceive any, we deem ourselves a failure. But perception can be flawed. Only we won't realize that until, well, until we're standing in a cold rain on a dark street, drowning. 

I'd sort of considered myself a failure at many things, but not the things that mattered. A job well done, a happy family. They were marks of success, right? I didn't have any plaques. Just a lot of photos that showed smiling success. But photos are an imperfect view of success. They're what you see at the moment. And sometimes the smiles aren't real.

The wedding photos, filled with lots of laughing, smiling people, were a prime example. Everyone there had a secret pain. A failure. Or would have before the day was out, before the week was out, before the month... you get it. 

Why is disappointment a requirement to everything? Do we really expect so much of ourselves that even a slight bump of it totally derails us? Or is it that we expect so much from our successes, more than they can deliver? And when they don't, we blame ourselves.

A streak of lightening flashed across the sky, turning the street an inky black moments later. I closed my eyes. It felt safer than that dark street. I blew out a deep sigh and opened them. The light over my head flashed and came back on. I wonder why closing my eyes felt safer. 

I sighed. Too much imagination. 

Stepping away from the wall, I stuck my collapsed umbrella out and popped up the canopy and raised the cover of bright cherry blossoms over my head, cutting off the downpour. The street seemed to lighten as the umbrella dimmed the glare from the security light. I turned and started my walk back to the real world at the end of the street. I could see the lights, cars dashing back and forth, people crossing the end of the street, not turning down this long dark one. The sounds of horns were faint but grew louder as I approached the intersection. 

Didn't seem to matter much now if I was a success or failure. I was the only one who knew the truth. Others might surmise but smiles hide many things. If you looked happy, people believed you were. If you looked successful, people believed you were. You had to walk down cold, wet, dark streets to know for sure. Most people never make that trip. They don't want to know. I was a rebel, I suppose. My laughter echoed against the buildings, a laughing audience mocking me. Well, them's the breaks. 

I stepped from the dark alley, onto the brighly lit sidewalk of the boulevard, the lights reflecting around me from the rain like a pagent catwalk, as if someone wanted to make me feel special. Maybe I was. I smiled.

What in the World?

I'm still alive, barely, but still kicking. As you can tell, I've been off this blog for a while. In fact, I haven't really blogged much in either of the other two blogs. Mainly because with Covid-19 has put a wrench in everything.

My granddaughter moved back here on March 13, and the Lockdown happened. The stepmother, they we all thought loved her and wanted her there, kicked her out and told my son to go with her. He brought her home and had to go back because he has a job in another city there. The divorce is final, and he is moving to Ohio for another job. So she'll be here for a little while.

She's dealing with some depression. There was some verbal abuse and the step grandmother was physically abusive. But we've not been able to get insurance so we can get her to a doctor for her ADD meds for school and some other health issues. Covid has slowed things down.

I have been going to Planet Fitness since last summer. I lost 17 lbs. Covid shut that down and I've gained it back. The early part of the year, I began having severe low back problems. Severe pain, unable to turn over at night, or get up without excruciating pain shooting down my legs. Some days I can hardly walk other, I am just in pain so bad I don't want to walk. I got my first lumbar injection yesterday, and I didn't wake up in agony and I could walk this morning. 

I'm homeschooling Sarah during this disaster in the making. At the moment, we're on hiatus from it, so we both get a break. She's got some academic issues but she's don't pretty good despite that. She does need her meds though, and that is a problem. 

Another thing I've been doing is editing a book for a friend. I'm really enjoying that part of writing. Although, I always feel terrible when I slash people's work apart. He's a good writer, and the story has potential with the right changes. My word isn't law. I learned, while editing for friends in college, to say that upfront. People will do what they are comfortable with and if it differs from my opinion, that's fine. I am only offering advice. And I could be wrong. I don't think I usually am. I know good writing and I know when something doesn't work. I am not editing for a lot of grammar and usage so much as what doesn't work, poor or awkward constructions, redundancy, and poor flow. It is a lot of fun but my fatigue is always giving me trouble. 

There has been little of my own writing going on, but the editing triggers me. I have done more that I was doing. I feel so good when I write, but when you can't stay awake, it is difficult to form logical sequences.

My RA seems to be stable, mostly. I am having problems with my hands though. Might be the increase in inflammation in my back triggering that. Or the weather. There's been a lot of weather systems blowing around.

Also been clearing out stuff and putting up shelving. Mike has helped a lot with that. I have shelves in the laundry room. After 30 years! I love it. Now I need to patch holes and paint it. If I can get the back working and pain free, I think I can do it. I have a new shelf in the living room for the tv to stand on, like a mantle without a fireplace. I love that and it will give me more floor space. I'm going to put up some small shelves behind the living room door for my knick-knacks and photos. There's just enough room for 4 inch shelves, and that's just the right size. This wall is the longest unbroken wall in the room and will be a focal point with photos and special items. I love the idea.

Once this is done, my smallest bedroom will be clear of stuff, and I'm converting it to a sewing room... again. LOL. I have my desk and a table I want in there. There is a single bed and so it will be close but doable, I think. I'm hoping to get some sewing done soon. I always loved it.

Another issue has been my ADD like symptoms. I can't be sure what is fibro, stress, and RA related. I'm exhausted most of the time. Not the good tired you get from doing jobs. A mind numbing fatigue that feels as if you simply can't stand up on your feet. Every muscle, every nerve, every mental process feels as if you're being dragged down by weights and you're drowning in fatigue. I hate it because it causes depressive episodes when you realize how much time you've lost.

So, in a nutshell, that's what in the world has been happening. I think I've managed to catch up a bit. I hope so. I don't even know who reads this. If you do, please give me a wave in the comments. It does matter. I share things to educate and maybe tell someone they're not alone in their despair or grief. Crazy life happens to everyone. And let's face it, I like talking. I miss that more than anything. Talk to your family, your spouse! When they're gone, you can't get that back. 

Take care. Stay safe. Be strong. God loves you. So do I.

End of the Line

It has been a long and strange journey on this blog. I seem to have lost the impetus to keep it going and I'm a bit sorry about it. I used to enjoy posting about the people and events in my life. I do post on my writing blog and sometimes on Rendered Praise but even that one has languished a bit and both are different. I'm not sure anymore what I want to do... or say.

My world has never recovered since Jerry died, not really. I mean, I've gone on with my life, such as it is. I'm still here. No, I haven't met someone. You actually have to see people for that to happen. I've stayed here in my home, raising my granddaughter. I retired, as you'll remember if you've read along. I thought I'd be able to write more. I got sick, and sicker, and sicker until I despaired of even living at times. How do you function when you're in so much pain all the time and you feel like you're on the wrong train?

You just keep going.

The truth is, I've never been able to right the upside-down world I was thrown into. There was just nothing normal about my life anymore. Nothing made any sense at all. More and more I found myself not wanting to write. Not wanting to do the things I used to do. I don't want to cook but I have an 11 yr old who has to eat. You'd think I'd lose weight but no, I gain it! I'm too tired or too sick to go out and exercise. Or it is so freaking cold or wet that it is impossible. Even the back surgery I had to repair the ruptured disk, although it made some things tremendously better, has not really made much difference in what I do.

I feel like a door is closing and maybe it is. This is probably the last post here I'll do. Maybe it is because I've just been sick for months with colds and I'm still sick with one, milder though it is. I really don't know. My immune system is very low now.

I just know that I don't have anything left to say. The interesting things, at least to me, have declined to the point that there is nothing I really enjoy doing. There are no family stories to relate because there is no family left. There are no work tales to tell because I can't work anymore. There are no exciting people or places or things to tell you about. There are plenty of annoyances, frustrations, and sadnesses but who wants to share that? And who wants to read it.

You'll say this is depression. Maybe it is a mild one. I don't even want to try and figure it out.  What I do want to say is thank you. If you've been with me on this convoluted journey, lived thru the nightmare of death, and laughed at my kids, thank you. I don't know why you did it. But I'm glad you did. You remained silent but if you stuck with me, thanks.

As of now, the blog will remain open. I get comments in my email, not that anyone ever does other than one or two here and there. But if you stop by, shoot me a comment to let me know. Will I come back? I don't know. I'm giving myself permission to give up several things this year. I have too many chains weighing me down and the need to shake them off won't leave me alone. I may if there is something good to say. Today, I can't think of one thing.

So I pray you are blessed and I hope I've given you enjoyment with my crazy Life on the Ledge.

Be happy. Be kind. In the end, that's what will count.

Surprise!

Yep, I'm back. Been a while, hasn't it? Over a month, in fact. I wish I could say I'd been doing something constructive but I haven't. I did go on vacation to Branson, MO two weeks ago with my aunt, uncle, and sister. We had a great time. I only had a couple of days where pain was a problem. Fortunately, the resort had a hot tub I could use for a bit and it helped. I also remembered to bring medicine to help with the pain. So, my trip was not bad at all.

Once I got home, of course, things took a turn. I worked a couple of days and my pain escalated. Had four days of lower back pain and sciatica. I think the sitting for hours aggravated it.  And because it hurt so bad, I had to sit even more. There were a lot of storm fronts moving around but despite that, only the back gave me real trouble.

This week has been better but I go back to work on Wednesday and I'm going to be there for half a day. I'm concerned that I'll have another flare up with my back. We'll see. Sitting is hard on your back.

Tomorrow I will start painting my bedroom. Mike came and helped me move the furniture out on Saturday and I've spent the last two days deciding on the color. I'm not totally happy with my choice but I'm going to live with it. I will start painting in the morning. I've got the windows taped and may do that first as they are the most tedious. I have to sand the wall where I've patched 20 years of holes. I must have moved pictures around a lot. I couldn't believe the number of holes. I still have a few to patch but I simply was too tired to bother with those high up. The downside is it takes hours for the spackle to dry. It may interfere with my painting.

Writing has not been happening. The back was so bad I couldn't even read. I simply sat in the recliner, not good for bad backs either, by the way, and watched Peyton Place on YouTube. I couldn't believe I found that! And it was actually pretty good. I've gotten bored with it this week but it sure took me back to my childhood. I watched it with my Mama. I wasn't even 10 yrs old when it went off the air. I felt like I was with old friends. Since I have very few friends, it was a nice feeling.

My youngest sister is in the hospital this week. She's going through some bad times right now. If you pray, please say a prayer for her. It looks like they're going to keep her for more than a week.

That's it I think. I wanted to write for a bit to see if I still could. This blog seems to be gradually fading away. I seem to be here less and less. Although I don't have a ton of readers anyway, it has been a great form of therapy for me. I'd be in a loony bin after Jerry died if I couldn't have written down what I was going through. Maybe I did. I still wonder sometimes. My life was turned upside down and poured out into some great black hole and I've never really escaped. Maybe, in reality, I'm in an asylum and all that has happened since is in my head.

Did I mention I've been a bit depressed? I think it is just because after my trip I had to come back here, to this empty house. Sarah is away for the summer with her Dad. She's having a blast. I can see in the photos she is enjoying herself. I'm happy for her.

And that's enough of that.

Tomorrow comes early. Of course, it will take me two hours to catch up.

Miscellany

What an odd start to the week. I'm totally zoned out for some reason. I called in sick. I've got some kind of stomach bug. Grumpy stomach all day and frequent potty breaks. Not a lot of fun but it hasn't been too terrible. I've done a lot of reading of blogs and articles. Finally decided I should post something on my own blog but found my mind is just mush for some reason. I feel like someone cut the mooring line and I'm adrift on an isolated sea waiting for someone to come along and tow me back to shore.

Tomorrow begins the July 2014 Camp NanoWriMo. I'm rather excited but this mush brain is not a good sign. I am hoping that the Mibbit online write-ins are going to be well attended and helpful. They were last November.

My son and his wife came on over the weekend to pick up Sarah for the summer. Although I enjoyed seeing them and getting to hear him preach for the first time on Saturday night, it was also a sad time as I will not see my Sarah for five weeks. I'm sure I'll be fine but already, my day is dimmer and the summer seems a bit less interesting. By the time she returns, school will be starting and I'll only see her as time permits.

I've been doing laundry today as well. I didn't do any over the weekend becasue of company. At this way I'll have all bedding and towels washed before the writing starts and I won't have to worry about it.

I'm still worried about the looming retirement. Things are going to get very tight. But I'm hoping it won't be as bad as my imagination. Things seldom are but it is those outside of seldom that has me worried.

Posts about Camp activity will be on Writing My Life Away so I can keep things straight. Ofen have to remind myself "personal journal", "writing blog", "praise blog" so I can keep it straight. I'd just as soon lump it all together but for some reason, it doesn't work well. Just as well. But this blog thing is out of control. At least I'm writing all manner of stuff.

Going now. I'm going to check on some other forms of employment for September. Don't want to go back to work anywhere until mid September. That gives me time to relax, recover, and recoup.

Be careful outside. It is 92 here and that's just the temp, not the heat index.

Question of the Day -- #2

How did I spend last evening?

Funny you should ask. I spent it looking at an old group site I used to belong to about Marie Antoinette. I was in the group for about 2 years and only because I had an invite from the moderator, who adored MA and thought my writing my views would lend interest to the group. I, of course, could care less about her. As I read my old posts, I had to laugh. I brought more than interest. It was sheer controversy and chaos. I was roasted more than once, one fan actually threatened me, called me lots of really nasty names, made aspersions about my intelligence (and lack of), and sent me emails. I actually filed a complaint about the latter. He hated me. However, there were several who actually liked what I was doing and played along. They didn't agree with me but they had a blast arguing their points. Nasty boy's behavior actually got me more interest. And most members were respectful. I was very disrespectful to their Queen, who I felt was more or less unimportant to history. They, of course, felt she was the be all and end all of Queens. As for the moderator who invited me, it was the best two years of his life in that group. He raved about it.

It was actually fun to read over that stuff. It dealt with the history of the French Revolution, and the life and death of MA, and her impact on society. I read over all of it and some of it was amusing. I was deliberately controversial and it showed. I swear it was nearly a cult but there were some really wonderful folks I connected with and I had such fun doing it.

One lovely thing that happened to me while I read was that I realized that I'm a really good writer. I know! I was a bit surprised at it, too.  But there was some truly great post I produced during that period. And these were done on the fly in a forum. No time for editing and research. I did do research but usually when I wasn't on the boards and really, the group was quite knowledgeable. They lived and breathed the French Revolution and MA. I knew next to nothing. So, it was quite nice to see I am better than I generally think I am. Maybe I should go and copy those posts and save them? 

Tracking down my own posts was not easy. I wasted hours on that pursuit. I looked at the stats for the board. During my time on that board the post shot up to over 700 in one month. Generally, for the whole two years, it fluctuated from about 150-400. Before and since I left they average around 25 and this year, less than 20. It just proves that when you challenge people's thinking, they actually start to think... they may never agree but at least they think and respond. 

So, that's how I spent my evening. And I enjoyed it. I left the forum smiling, thinking about rejoining, deciding that the time has passed, and wondering what happened to the group I interacted with. Their names do not appear much after I left and in the last several years of posting, not at all. When I look at all those posts and realized I probably generated the activity, it is kind of ... well, I feel pretty good about it. That was cool.

Out of the Ashes

Nearly every mother faces an identity crisis when our children grow up. And believe me, it is every bit as profound as that faced by our children when they cross the threshold to maturity. I'm not sure it isn't worse.

My friend, Chris D. made a poignant post in her blog, A Parent Spectrum Disorder, today. She still has adolescents at home but the day is fast approaching when she will have an empty nest. As I wrote my comment to her, I realized it was not just meant for Chris. There was something in it that tickled my ear and I was forced to think about it.

"It is the tragedy of motherhood that we sacrifice ourselves on that altar. We make ourselves literal burnt offerings. They grow up, leave, and we lie in the ashes, forgotten. We have to resurrect ourselves. And when your spouse dies, it is even worse because there is no one to help lend a hand if you need it. Grab your husband and make your life what it was before children. You can. You must. It ends too soon to waste time."

Resurrection. I'm not God. I have no real idea of how to do that. My children left home years ago. They've come back a couple of times since but that was different. I was dealing with adults who didn't want anything but a place to sleep, eat, and no rules. Once on their feet, they were gone again. At first it was hard to deal with adult children but after a few months things balanced out, rules were established in spite of them, and we were fine. It helps if your kids like you a little but that's another post. It is nice to know mine actually like me a lot.

I think even when they come back you fall back into the Mom role. You aren't yourself. You're the person you became when you heard that first cry. You're the healer, comforter, protector, accountant, landlord, chief cook and bottle washer. When they're born your world became this tiny place initially filled with dirty diapers and regular feedings. It expanded to regular bedtime battles and legos in the dark. From there it expanded to managing multiple schedules and shuttle duty, with binding up the bloodless wounds of teenagers. Then, rather sooner than you were prepared for, it was over. The house was empty, the laundry manageable, and you have no idea what to eat or how to cook for two. And when you looked, you didn't recognize yourself in the mirror.

My husband died and we had never really figured it out. How could we go back 30 years and be the fun loving duo who looked for exciting things to keep us interested in one another. We were looking but ill health and death interrupted us and before we truly got a chance to find that place again, he was gone, forever altering my perception and my world. 

Resurrection is no different for me than for any other mother. If anything, it is harder. Not only do we mold our personality around children, before them, if you were fortunate enough to have a spouse, we molded it around a spouse. The "two become one" is no joke. In a good relationship, you do become a single unit. Children further cement this and your identity shifts farther away from who you were single. 

So here we are, sans children. And we look in that mirror and we see lines that weren't there, shoulders that used to be straighter, necks that were once slender, too many chins, bags under eyes that once sparkled in laughter and now... well, sometimes they glitter in anger. We look...and a total stranger stares back.

I thought, once past the worst of the grief, I'd find ways to put the past behind me. I just knew... was positive... if I survived it, I'd be me again. I didn't realize that it would be impossible. Today, when I read my own comment to Chris the truth dawned on me. That girl, the one who laughed so easily, found excitement in everything she did, and was so creative... she was long gone. I am suddenly faced with the realization that I have to recreate myself. I have to become someone else. 

Who am I? What am I supposed to do now? For five years I've tried to figure this out. At first I thought I knew but with half of me missing, nothing fit. I no longer had an identity. The stranger in my mirror is truly someone I do not know. 

I forced myself to find ways to become involved in things I loved. I started crocheting again. I started sewing but neck problems put a crimp in that. I became a local Municipal Liaison for National Novel Writing Month and I started a local writing group and I connected with dozens of people online who loved writing. I began to write more. There was a sense that I was moving toward something. I had no idea what.

The last three years I've been too sick to care much who I am. Each day has been pretty much a struggle to get up, put in 8 hours and come home. The sense of forward motion stopped dead. There is still this woman who stares back at me from the mirror. Her eyes still glitter. I realize she's fairly angry that life is throwing painful things at her. She still lies in ashes.

So, although I can't prevent the slings and arrows of life, I must keep trying to find who I am. Stopping now is unacceptable because ... well, in truth, that is who I am. And maybe, one day, I'll wake up and look in that mirror find that, like the Phoenix, I have emerge from the ashes a completely new person.

The Nasty Word

I love words, nearly all of them. They're so useful and sometimes they just convey exactly the right thing. In Psalm 19:14 it says, "Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength, and my redeemer." I find that so confirming that words are tangible things that have tremendous power. So much power, in fact, that David believed they can actually displease God. Wow.

I read something today and the word nasty came to mind and kind of stopped me in my tracks. It was just so fitting in that instance. "That's just nasty." I looked it up and was surprised by the enormous range of the word. It covers just about everything you can imagine. Yes, yes, yes, I know adjectives are nasty creatures and writers are supposed to avoid them like the plague. But this word is just awesome.

nas·ty adjective \ˈnas-tē\
: very unpleasant to see, smell, taste, etc.
: indecent and offensive
: unpleasant and unkind
nas·ti·ernas·ti·est

Full Definition of NASTY

1    a:  disgustingly filthy, b :  physically repugnant
2      :  indecent, obscene
3      :  mean, tawdry
4    a:  extremely hazardous or harmful
     b:  causing severe pain or suffering
     c:  sharply unpleasant :  disagreeable
5   a:  difficult to understand or deal with
     b:  psychologically unsettling :  trying
6     :  lacking in courtesy or sportsmanship
     (From Merrium-Webster - Online)

Think about it. It has a zillion uses! 

Dirty underwear: nasty. Dirty socks that have lain in a locker for two weeks: nasty. The neighbor's cat brought you a rodent: nasty. The customers who shop with the working girl on Maple and Vine: nasty. The leak at Chernobyl: nasty. The burn I got taking a heated pad out of the microwave: nasty. The leftover lasagna you forgot to put away last night: nasty. The day old oatmeal you left in the bowl when you rushed off to work: nasty. The fresh oatmeal in your bowl: nasty. The way the ground looks from the roof: nasty. The rude woman in the billing office when I pointed out her mistake: nasty.

So, nasty is a very cool word that covers a plethora of emotions and opinions. I think it rolls off the tongue rather satisfactorily, too. It takes your whole face to say it. I mean, you crinkle your nose, your brows draw together, and you raise your upper lip just slightly and utter the perfect word. "That's nasty."

Day 26: Reaching the Summit

November has only days to live and NaNoWriMo is winding down for another year. We're at day 26 and if all goes well, I will finish tonight, the earliest that I've ever finished a NaNo. At least I think so. I don't have that great a story but there are bits and pieces in the debris that I can see have potential in something else. In writing, nothing is wasted. You learn from the junk and you gloat over the gems.

This year's WriMo group has been a lively one and that's made it a lot more interesting. I'm feeling a bit down knowing that in just days it will all be over and everyone will go back to their daily lives. Part of you is always relieved when NaNo ends but there is this other part that hates to see it stop, to lose your writing buddies for another year, to not feel the exhilaration of trying to meet that daily goal, the excitement of write-ins, and just talking over your story. Even if you win NaNo, you lose something.

We do NaNo for all kinds of reason. You always hope to end up with a great story. Most are probably not so great. The more serious among us will wrestle with that story like Jacob with the Angel of the Lord and they'll throw out more than their hip to accomplish it. For me it has always been a personal challenge.

When I did my first NaNo in 2006 it was all about seeing if I could write 50,000 words of a story. I probably had several times that in boxes of handwritten and typed stories. I really had no idea exactly how many words that was. It's a lot of words. I made it to just over 30K that first year. I was disappointed but when I finished, I knew that the next year, I was going to try again. I won that time. From that point on, every year, I've set myself the goal of writing 50,000 words, with mixed results.

For me, the exhilaration of hitting the flow and the words pouring from your brain through your fingertips and onto the computer screen is about the greatest high you can get. Of course, there are days when you would kill for the next flow fix, when the words are dragged from you like a 19th century dentist pulling bad teeth. It's hard and it hurts. You don't stop, though. You keep going because, after you've done this a few times, you know that the next fix is just a matter of the right word, the right phrase, the right sentence.

There are unexpected side effects to participating in NaNo. You meet some really nice people from all over the world, online and in person. Many writers are pure introverts. We don't mix well with people. In fact, if asked, we'd rather not. I've noticed that once you get them out of the shadows, NaNo has a way of socializing introverts. They become much more talkative and excited about things, if by things you mean stories. They almost become extroverts. Almost.

I think the most radical side effect is what you learn about yourself and your writing. I've become less of an introvert. I'm a lot more confident in my ability as a writer. NaNo has honed my skills to a finer edge and so I write better. No, I'm not published. That has never been a goal for me, a dream maybe, not a real goal.

More than once I've been asked, "Why do NaNoWriMo?" Why do people climb Mt. Everest? I'll let George Mallory tell you.

“People ask me, 'What is the use of climbing Mount Everest?' and my answer must at once be, 'It is of no use.' There is not the slightest prospect of any gain whatsoever. Oh, we may learn a little about the behaviour of the human body at high altitudes, and possibly medical men may turn our observation to some account for the purposes of aviation. But otherwise nothing will come of it. We shall not bring back a single bit of gold or silver, not a gem, nor any coal or iron... If you cannot understand that there is something in man which responds to the challenge of this mountain and goes out to meet it, that the struggle is the struggle of life itself upward and forever upward, then you won't see why we go. What we get from this adventure is just sheer joy. And joy is, after all, the end of life. We do not live to eat and make money. We eat and make money to be able to live. That is what life means and what life is for.” 
― George Mallory, Climbing Everest: The Complete Writings of George Mallory

I guess you could say that NaNoWriMo is my Mt. Everest.

Nano Day 7: The Rocky Road

So, here we are, at day 7. What to say.... I've had a rough couple of NaNo days. From Saturday until last night I was consistently behind 400+ words. That doesn't sound like much but it is about two pages of typed text, so you try it. Without a plan or anyone telling you what to write.

The problem with getting behind in NaNo is that it is cumulative. Today you're 400 hundred behind. Tomorrow you have to do the daily count + the 400 missing words. If you miss the daily count of 1667 by say, 100 words, now you're behind 500 words. You see how this can get out of control very fast. It only takes a couple of days at that rate to be 1000 words behind and that, my friends, is roughly five typed pages. That's a lot and very hard to overcome unless you are prolific.

So, last night, I caught up and passed the daily count by a couple of hundred words. Yay! But joy such as this is short lived. When I woke up this morning I realized this. During NaNo you may go to bed caught up. You will wake up behind, 1667 words behind. And you must catch up by midnight.

Depressing? Well, for a moment. But you know that you'll do it. If you want to win, you'll do it. You'll sit in the chair, turn up the music, get in an online write-in, and you'll do it. That's what I did. I did an online write-in with a couple of my NaNo buddies. I put some music on my media player, and we all did some writing together. In one hour I had my words. You kind of want to do a happy dance. But I was sitting Indian style, wrapped in a cozy, warm blanket. I just did a happy bounce and a shout or two. Today, I'm feeling a bit better about the whole thing.

NaNo tends to suck you dry a good bit of the time. Unless your story is blazing and the muse is screaming at you, you can run out of steam pretty fast. You find yourself at stop lights thinking about a plot twist or what makes the character tick while the character behind you is blowing his horn and flipping you off. You go to bed wondering what you'll come up with the next day since you just used your last idea but you fall asleep from exhaustion before you come up with anything. Or you lie awake from the caffeine buzz from all the coffee you've been drinking to stay awake so you can just catch up.

You brush your teeth and think about the look in your characters eye as he/she demands you do what they tell you but you have other ideas. You're not sure about the ax he has in his hands. You argue with people who are not there and the people who are there look at you strangely and start searching for the number to your shrink. You have one, don't you?

In thirty days, you'll begin to sport bloodshot eyes, a scraggly beard (males... well maybe), hairy legs (women....well maybe), uncombed hair, and you're wearing your pajamas every second you're home. The dishes are stacked on every surface and there's a mouse dead behind the fridge. You think the trap got him but maybe it was food poisoning. If you're over 30, you may gain twenty pounds. If you under 30, you may develop zits from the excessive chocolate.

This is the road to glory. Thirty days of alien lands, rugged terrain, dangerous conflicts, and sneaking, conniving, lying, backstabbing characters all bent on destruction. Thirty days of shining cities, searing heat, freezing cold, and a holocaust. Thirty days of silent, stagnant, boring characters refusing to do a darn thing but stare at you in the bathroom mirror as you brush your teeth.

This is the Rocky Road to NaNoWriMo Victory!

Awesome!

NaNo Day 2

As day two comes to a close, NaNoWriMo is well underway in my region. I've got a lively and involved group this year. Several lurkers have come into the light and we have several first timers. It is always a lot of fun the met these two group. They're eager, excited, and scared to death. It makes them a lot of fun to be around.

I'm on target for the word count but I got to say, the story I thought I had seems to have evaporated as soon as I touched the keyboard. That's not unusual either but it is so frustrating. I had a good grasp of where I wanted to start and when I began to type it simply didn't sound the same. Still, one must just Keep Calm and Keep Typing. 

I'm tired tonight and I've had a rough afternoon for some reason. Well, actually... I know the reasons but it can't be helped and whining about it here won't serve any purpose. Outside of NaNo, I'm fairly isolated and it become very trying at times. I don't always like coming home to a vacant house. My world has shrunk to 1200 square feet and that gets very frightening at times. You begin to wonder exactly what's the point.

Today, I think I just want to go home. Really home. I want to see Mama and I want to see Jerry and I don't want to have to worry about anyone else's problems. I suppose everyone feels that way now and then. I've spent a lot of time lately asking God for a map. He has me on hold.

Moving on. I've been cleaning off my list of contacts in Facebook and G+. Amazing how you can accumulate people that don't actually give a flip about you. How does that happen? I'm sure they're very nice people but there is no relationship. So, poof. 

I have to admit that I'm rather tired of the social network scene. The publishers and agents are saying "You have to have a platform." Yes, a platform. You have to be on Twitter. You have to have a blog and be blogging. You have to have a brand. More social networking, not less. Eek, it is enough to make me  run screaming. I was overwhelmed by the conference. So much information and a lot of it discouraging to a writer who is not yet published. Over 1.5 million books published each year and the average published author sells 500 books. Say what? Yep. 

So, the question becomes "Why would I waste my time?"

Because writing is something I have to do. Published or not.

NaNo Day 1

Only two days until NaNoWriMo begins. I have an idea and I'm going to run with it but I have several characters who have suddenly decided they want to be heard. So, I'm swamped with all these voices in my head yelling, "Pick me! Pick me!"

Look it's only figuratively. I know they aren't real. That's what it's like when I am eager to write. So many stories and characters that spend an inordinate amount of time trying to distract me.