Sometimes I wonder If People think.

My Grandmother is 96 years old. Last Wednesday night she fell, drug herself to her phone and called my mom. My mother and I went over to lift her up off the floor and set her a chair. She was very weak and could not help at all. We sat and talked for awhile and checked for injury's. Fortunately other then some bad bruises she was fine, but still to weak to stand or walk on her own. So we stayed got her to the bathroom, helped her into her pajamas, and put her in her recliner where she spends her nights (I should mention that she is legally blind and lives alone).
My grandma is also very religious. She hates to miss church for any reason short of death. By Friday she still could not support her own weight(84 Lbs.) for more then a few steps and their was no way she was able to get in the car without being lifted. My mom can't lift her. So she was very upset that she would have to stay home from church that week. This is where I opened my big mouth. I told her I would take her to church so she didn't need to worry about it. I can get her in and out of the car and do all she needed to get there. My grandma was very thankful for that.
Sunday came and we were of to church, I would need to stay for all three meetings(she/we are LDS) and I was not looking forward to it, but I knew my grandma was. I have some anxiety about going to church because of personal reasons.
So there we are sitting in her first class and one women felt she needed to share about a neighborhood Christmas party that they served alcohol at. She kept saying what a wonderful party it was. She knew some of the people who were there were also "Mormon" not active and drinking. Her tone and the rest of her story was very judgmental toward "those type of people". I was hurt by her words, it made me feel unclean, and not want to be there at all.
That class ended, I helped my grandmother do what she needed, and her next class started. I sat through it too. Thinking of the first class most of the time. Did the women in the first class know anything about the people she seemed to be judging? Did she know she could be hurting several of the women in that room with her words? Does she understand what forgiveness is? I wasn't mad at her.... OK I WAS mad at first. But my thoughts went straight to "typical Mormon, judging everyone that isn't as perfect as they are". However as I sat there I thought about the Mormons in my life that have not judged me, the ones that relies we all do things that we regret. We all have our own choices to make, and they may not agree with yours, but that is OK and you might still be worth knowing and maybe even liking.
So let think before we react!

Think before you stereotype a whole religion by the careless comments of one.
Think before you judge someone else for their actions.
And
Think before you offer to help take your grandma to church :)

Memories

Memories are strange things. Do you remember what you did last week on Tuesday? I don't. I don't remember most peoples names, I can't seem to recall them sometimes even if I know the person quite well. Things my daughter has told me half an hour before, gone. Drives her nuts! Bugs me too sometimes.
So why is it that we can, with seemingly perfect clarity, Remember some things that happen in our childhood, or when there is a catastrophe? Why do smells bring us back to a special moment, or even a mistake that you can't seem to forget(or forgive)? The mind is an interesting and sometimes unkind thing.
Do you remember where you were when The Twin Towers fell? I do, I was going to get my marriage license
How about when the space shuttle exploded when lifting off? YUP, Heading to my brothers to babysit his kids.
What about where you were when President Reagan was shot? I was in My 7th. grade math class.
I know where I was in August of 1981. I know I have never been fond of Georgia (specifically Atlanta) since then, and have never ever wanted to return there.
I remember my sister slugging me at my grandfathers funeral because I was not crying (I was 5 years old). And my Aunt Mary teaching me to do "here is the church" hand game to stop me from crying after being punched.
I remember a young women leader that took a special interest in me.
I remember vague images and people filling in the blanks for me as a teen the day after. And as an adult.

Even though I'm not the brightest crayon in the box, I do know there are scientific reasons for all these lovely things we remember. But I still am constantly amazed, irritated and sometimes angered by my memories. It is incredible to me how a sent can bring back happy thoughts of camping trips or holiday gatherings. Or a touch, maybe even a word or laying down a certain way, will send a flood or memories that are overwhelming.

I have memories that come back at the strangest times. Some pleasant, some not so much, and some horrible.
So why is the human mind so incredibly amassing, yet so unforgivably cruel?
What do you remember? Why do you remember? Sometimes I think some memories are just best left alone. I have tried many ways of leaving some of mine behind, they just come back. I can't leave them or they wont leave me. No matter what, or how, I try they always seem to find me when I lest expect it.
Memories are really very strange to me. I'm happy for most, and tired of hiding from the rest.

God in a Bottle

Tuesday I woke to an anxiety attack. Perfect! My attacks seem to have an A or B to them. A: I really need some hand holding (literally), while the ugly runs through my head and goes away. Or at lest subsides. As much as I know I need that, I am always afraid to ask. The first thing I think is oye! not again, I do not want to ask someone to dill with my drama. And I do not want to cause unneeded to stress for other people. SO, I want A and am scared to ask. Brilliant! So I usually opt for my plan B. I run. Running for me usually involves giving in somewhat to the noise in my head. My head, I have found, should not be unsupervised most of the time. It has lead me to many stupid things for as long as I can remember. Which I can always point out when having my meltdowns and make them worse.
Tuesday I ran. I took a bundle of wood up the canyons and decided I would go for a walk in the snow to think. Then I would build a fire and write or read.
The canyon was very quiet. No people a bit of snow covering the golden fall leaves and the sound of the river running down to the valley below. It was so calm, and I was not. I built my fire.
I cried for awhile, wanted some advise and solace and found neither. I really just wanted a hug, and to talk. But how do you do that when you are trying your best to pretend you are alright?
I know what is causing most of the problem. ME. I know what a shock! I am so unable to find me that I am falling farther down the rabbit hole until I my never get out
So here is the deal.

1. I don't know/like who I am. My solution is to drink. which for the most part I have been pretty well at hiding again

2. I don't know God or what my relationship is with him. This makes me anxious, and I take lots of medication trying to deal with that anxiety. Or I drink.

3. I am scared of what I might find if I start looking. Once again my solution is to drink or take my pills(sometimes I do both)

Even writing this and thinking about it is making me want a drink to just make it all go away for awhile. I am afraid of what I will find. But I do know If God is not in my bottle.Maybe I shouldn't be

Happy Fathers Day Dad

Today is the day to honor the fathers in our lives. I know some wonderful Father/Husbands out there and to you HAPPY FATHERS DAY! My Father is not here anymore to celebrate with. He died on March 14,2008. I still miss him very much so on this fathers day I am thinking of him. I am also thinking of my children, two of whom loved him very much and one who never got the chance to meet him.
When I think of him I am often very sad for them. My oldest son  never got to have his grandpa see him be a lead in his high school play, or watch him walk on graduation day. They were going to go to the Oprah together the year he died. They shared a love for music and theater. He missed him very much on those occasions. My daughter was grandpa's favorite. He took care of her when she was little and I had to work. He taught her to read. My dad was a volunteer at this is the place state park and she would go with him. She would always tell me when grandpa made her a tuna sandwiched. And they would go for walks together. She loved her grandpa very much. She also had the opportunity to go to her high school graduation this year. In memory of her beloved grandfather she wore a dog tag with a picture of the two of them together. On the back was written "grandpas favorite angel". That is what dad always called his grand kids. They were his little angels, and they all knew it.
Since his death I have given birth to another baby boy. It makes me sad for him to know that he will never get to go camping with grandpa, or listen to him tell "The Three Billy Goats Gruff" while sitting on his lap. I very good Friend of mine who was there at my side for his birth told me that she felt my father would be delivering this baby to me that day. I would like to think that that is true. I hope my father met and held my beautiful baby boy. I think he would like him very much. And it makes me sad to know what he is missing without his grandpa here.
I love my dad, and I miss not having him in my or my children's lives.

Here are some fun facts about my dad.
he was the youngest of two children (that lived to adulthood) both boys.
my dad is one of the best story tellers EVER! we would sit on his lap and listen to all kind of stories, but the favorite and most commonly told was The Three Billy Goat Gruffs.
Every year we would pack up the van and go on vacation to a national park of historic site. I have traveled to 49 states with my father. all of them in a car.(OK Alaska was a cruse. but we drove to Vancouver to catch the boat)
He had a great sense of humor and was always kind to people.
He spoke 3 different languages, usually all at the same time and when giving you directions when driving on vacation.
He loved his children and grandchildren very much.
Every anniversary and on valentines day my mom always got flowers.
My dad loved roller coasters. The year before his death we went to Virginia Beach and bush gardens. My dad road all the coasters with his grand kids
He would always tell us that japan surrendered during WWII because that is the date he received his draft notice and they didn't want him coming over there.
If you knew my dad, you loved my dad. If you never got the opportunity to meet him, you truly did miss out.

Side Walk Chalk

Do you remember side walk chalk?
All the colors. Fun lazy summer days when you and your family or friends would draw all over your driveways. No skill was really needed, it was just a fun mess! We would make flowers, harts with arrows going through them and hopscotch pads to play on.
As my children grow I would go out with them and draw. We would do Easter eggs and baskets, try our best to make bunnies and the usual flowers and hearts. No matter what they made it was a beautiful masterpiece. One of the first places my kids learned to start writing there names was on the side walk. And I have always loved seeing the neighbors kids creativity with their chalk.
Yesterday a friend of mine aloud me the opportunity to stay with her kids for about an hour. They are all beautiful and fun to be around. and they had something I needed. Side walk chalk.
I am struggling lately and Life for me is unappealing. But in all the gloom They gave me one whole hour of joy, friendship, love and
Side Walk Chalk!

I don't want to be here

I am here. I don't want to be. Is that a bad thing? I don't think it is. Is it bad that I am saying it out loud, instead of just leaving it alone and pretending that everything is fine? That is what most people think I am sure. But I have been fighting this for weeks now and it seems to only be getting worse. Each night when I get in bed, I hope to not wake up. I am angry when morning comes and I cry. I was hoping to have never come out of the surgery I had two weeks ago, obviously that went wrong also. I am not looking forward to a future. Do I make plans for the month ahead? Yes. I just don't care if I get there.

I'm not writing this to complain about my life and how horrible it is. In fact my life is better then many peoples. I also don't want anyones pitty. I just don't want to live anymore. I am tired and I am done. I was showering the other day and started to cry because the thought came into my head that I just wanted to go home......... I don't know were home is for me. I was scared and lost and comming to the end seems right.

I think the worst part is the fighting the physical and mental pain that is constant. Even if I am doing something I enjoy I feel out of place and will start to panic. I don't understand any of it. So why can someone who can look at their life and say, for the most part it is good, want it so badly to be over?

I have seen my doctor (not at all an easy thing for me) and have new medications I am taking. I have been told I should feel better in about a week to ten days. I don't know that I have that much fight left in me. Not to mention that I have several people in my life that think I should just be able to snap out of it. That makes it more difficult to look for or get help. If you have a loved one where I am don't judge, you are not helping.

I did not write this post for any reason other then to get it out of my head and into the open. I am fighting to not take my life, but at the same time am hoping for an end soon. I use to wonder how people could feel so hopeless. Now I just wonder how the hell to make it stop. And wish the end would come soon

I think I have learned friendship

I have never had many friends in my life. I am not very smart, never really had (or have) any talents, I'm not good at doing very many things, and because I was "different" (boys were more fun then girls, so that's what I wanted to be) I never quite felt like I fit.
Junior High wasn't anymore comfortable then elementary was. It was important to be liked and I was weird. Different was not good. Not only was I different, but I had a secret. Something I had done that was very stupid and was a constant reminder of my lack of worth. I knew people that I could be friendly with, but no one I could share things with. So I pretended I didn't care about anything, I was just a screw up and a miss fit, and I found "friendship". This meant you had to produce to be accepted, and being accepted would not always last much past the hangover. I pretended well, but still never did fit, so I tried to become invisible. That was painful and lonely. It also made me keenly aware of my lack of value and once again I found myself being the cheap commodity that by now I knew I was. So I hid myself, all of the ugly I had become, and made friends by standing in the shadows. These "friends" are co-workers, church members, stuff like that. I was sure(and some days still am) that if anyone knew who I really was, they would not want me anywhere near.
It was a very long time before a friend found me. She was a "friend" like anyone else. But during a phone call she pried and I told her some things I was struggling with I didn't think I would hear from her again and I certainly didn't want to see her! I was evil and she should stay away. I thought I had lost someone that I did really kinda like. I felt totally alone. She called and asked me to come over. Since that day, I have learned a lot. I still don't understand why she (or anyone else) is my friend, but I am trying. I don't think I even really knew what it meant to have and to be a friend. This friend has told me several times how much I mean to her. Just the other day she told me she loved me............ For the first time I really truly knew in every inch of me that she meant it. No strings attached and with all my flaws she actually cares about me! I have very few people in my life that I would call my friend. But I am very grateful for those few. I think I have a very different view of a true friend now.
A friend is someone that you are concerned about all the time, not just when it is convenient or looks good. It's someone you want happiness for and that you know you can trust. It's someone that you my not know very well, but shows up on your door because a friend knew you were struggling. It's that same person that you never call but think about always and hope she is doing well. It's the guy that is concerned enough for you and your family to make two trips to the hospital in one week. My friends are all of those people. Thank you all for teaching me friendship.

I like rain

My Father told me once that his mother HATED lighting and thunder.
When he was a child and a storm was coming she would gather her two boys up and they would all sit in a closet that was in the center of their home until the storm had passed.
I obviously did not get my love of storms from her.

I like rain.
I like everything about it.
The steal gray of the sky
The sound of the rain hitting the trees and the ground.
And the almost eerie stillness that blankets everything around you.
Thunderstorms a great too.
you have all the same elements going on, with the added bonus of listening to the far off rumblings as the storm moves closer and closer.
Then the loud cracks of lighting and booming thunder as the storm arrives . And back to the far off rumblings as the storm moves away.

When I was growing up we would play in the rain. Jump in all the puddles, and taking twice as long to walking home from school. My brothers, sister and I had this stupid game where we would pretend we were butterfly's that had to fly a certain distance to get out of the rain (from the deck to the old pear tree in our back yard). If you got hit with more then 10 raindrops you(the butterfly) would curl up and die. We would play until we were sufficiently wet and then come inside change cloths and sometimes my mother would build a fire.

As I got older I would go for walks in the rain, or sit out on my deck to write short stories and poetry.
The depressed calm of the storm always seemed like a good time to be alone and in my own space.
For some strange reason it is comfortable.


I don't enjoy rain storms like I use to.
I don't write anymore and I haven't walked in the rain for years,
I still love the storm, but it is in a different way.

It is a dark and cloudy day today, and I am glad that it is.
There is a quiet anticipation of what might come.
I like that.

Why do we have Sundays

Is there a point to Sunday? I mean other then it being a day off for some people and a good excuse for an afternoon nap if your over the age of 5, I think Sunday was invented to make people feel guilty and uncomfortable.
Growing up Sunday was always go to church, having dinner with the family and going to see grandma and grandpa. We would run around my grandparents property, getting in the barn and playing in the trees with all of my cousins. As I got older Sunday was HAVE to go to church and pretend you are spiritual, or righteous or whatever. I just settled for pretending I was not going to burn in hell.
I am now well over 20 something and have at times liked church, even really enjoyed and felt strongly about the lessons taught there. But I have never really felt that I belong. Not that the people are not nice, or I have been gossiped about or anything. I just have always felt like I am going through the motions. I will never be the person I am suppose to be.
AND WHO THE HELL AM I SUPPOSE TO BE? I'm I the good little girl that shows up every week for church, reads her scriptures, prays, gives to charity, and takes food to the homeless? Am I the person who really would like to sit around drinking and smoking and getting high? Can I just be a mom who most of the time loves her kids and would like to hide in the shadows?! Is it even possible to be a little of all of them?
This is way I hate Sundays. It makes me wonder who I am and I don't like that. It is much safer to just not care, no guilt in not caring! But then I feel guilty about my children. Should I be insisting they go? It would be good for them. Am I insuring that they are going to hell by not making them go, or (for now) caring if they go? I tell myself I should go, and set a "good example" for them. Then I am pissed all day because I don't want to go. And more often then not I have taken several pills and am high when I get there just so I don't go crazy while I am there. Or, I get drunk when it is over. SO. I ask again.
WHY WAS SUNDAY INVENTED?

This Could Be Interesting.

I've been thinking of doing this for about a month now and just have never started. Mostly because I am a coward at heart. I am afraid of people and what they might think of me. Not ever really knowing who or what I am, I have always felt that for the most part I play to my audience. Doing what is expected in public, but hiding my flaws and self as best I can. If I can get away with it I choose to remain unseen. Because of my childhood, I am an adult that has never found who I want to be when I grow up. I am not blaming anyone or saying poor me, it is what it is. Growing up talking about anything personal was never an option for me, so I never shared the deepest thoughts, pains, insights(if they exist) or ANYTHING in my head with anyone. I didn't dare.
Now under the cover of darkness (as much anonymity as I could create) I am going to write. My thoughts, my feelings and anything else that runs across my scatered mind. Consider yourself warned!