52 Years Ago Today

The mind is truly an amazing thing. I can't remember what I did yesterday afternoon, but I have vivid memories from 40 and 50 years ago with no problem at all. Think of all the billions of thoughts, memories and feelings our minds contain, and it is a wonder that we can retrieve anything at all.

Today is November 22, 2015 - 52 years after President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Texas. And yet, I remember it like it happened yesterday. I was 8 years old, in third grade at Thomas Edison School in Morton Grove, Illinois.  My teacher was Mrs. Stevens. She had blonde hair and wore it in a bob, which was popular back then. I liked her as a teacher, but she had some interesting ways to discipline us. If we talked to our "neighbors," she would put tape across our lips. If we were chewing gum, she would make us stick it on the tip of our nose. She would spray us with water and smack the tops of our hands with a ruler. There were others, but I only remember these - probably because I was at the receiving end for all of them.

Of course, there were no rules back then as to how the teachers could discipline us, and some of them really did take their liberty. I had one teacher in junior high school, whose name was Mr. Zavada. For some reason, we thought he was really weird and loved to terrorize him which caused him to lose his temper to the extreme. One day, we figured out that if you threw a coin up to the ceiling, it would stick - I don't know what kind of ceiling that was, but it would actually stick up there. So most of us (naughty) kids, threw any change we had up to the ceiling when Mr. Zavada's head was turned as he was teaching at the blackboard. It became so hilarious that we all started giggling louder and louder until he turned around and then up to see what all the laughing was about. He went into a rage and threw a couple of the boys across the room, along with their desks. I think all he could do was leave, because he was too flustered to know how to handle the situation. We all probably got into trouble, but I'm sure we all felt it was worth it, just to see all the coins sticking out of the ceiling.

We were all sitting at our little, blonde desks on November 22, 1963, when over the loudspeaker, the principal announced that President Kennedy had just been shot and died shortly after that. Mrs. Stevens started crying and we sat there silent, not knowing what to do or say. After the announcement, we were all sent home early that afternoon, to watch on our little black and white television sets, the news which kept repeating the same thing over and over. In fact, this whole scenario played out every day and every night on the television in our living room. Everyone was riveted to their televisions or radios, watching and listening to the news. Even as young as I was, I remember the heavy darkness that seemed to engulf the entire country. Everyone in the world, it seemed, was in mourning. The Dallas police quickly found the man responsible, Lee Harvey Oswald, and then, a day or so later, right in our front rooms on live TV, we all witnessed Jack Ruby shoot Oswald dead. I think everyone was just stunned - to watch an actual murder right as it happened. It was surrealistic and people could not believe what was happening. My parents, like everyone else, were very upset by all of this, but it wasn't until I saw the funeral that it really struck me in a personal way.

The president's funeral was a long march down Pennsylvania Avenue in a procession with servicemen on horses and his lone casket being pulled down the middle of the street. Mrs. Kennedy, her children and the president's family walked down the avenue following the casket. This took a very long time, as it seemed to go very slowly. I don't remember where they were standing, but Mrs. Kennedy and her two children were standing on a corner in front of a building and her son, John, stood there saluting as his dad's casket passed by. That brought tears to my eyes. He was probably too young to understand all that was being done that day, but I was old enough to know that he had just lost his father, which made me really sad for him.

The assassination, the capture of Oswald, the killing of Oswald by Ruby and the funeral, all played out on TV day after day like there was no end to it. In fact, there really wasn't, because every year, documentaries, and many conspiracy theories, are televised about this very place in time and you can still feel the exact way you felt 52 years ago, as well as remember where you were when you heard the news that day. That's how much of an impact it had on everyone back then - and still does today.

"Freedom From Bondage"

I joined a ministry in church called "Freedom From Bondage." It's a class/service/ministry for people who have issues with addictions of all sorts and problems in their lives that hinder them from being successful with God and life in general. I'm not an alcoholic, nor am I a drug addict (except for the menagerie of prescription meds I take on a daily basis), but I do have some pretty intense issues of my past that still affect me today, so I decided to try this class out. Micah kept telling me that he thought this would be good for me and I wasn't exactly sure why. So I started going, and the first time I went to the class, I thought, "This is nice. Good for these folks who have addictions or problems or are in "bondage" to whatever, but I really don't think this is for me." I left that night thinking I would give it one more chance just to be generous and after that, if I still felt it wasn't for me, then I would go back to the normal services on Wednesdays and Sunday nights. That was on a Wednesday night.

The following Sunday night, I went and listened to the different speakers and enjoyed it, but didn't really feel anything for or against it. Sis. Butler (who is pictured below) is the head of this ministry  and she is really cool - funny and to the point and an anointed woman of God when she's preaching or teaching. I've already come to really love her - she's been a blessing to me. Someone else preached that night and it was a really good message. At the end of the service, there is always prayer and the preacher asked people to come forward if they needed prayer and many people did. I sat back and prayed in my seat as I felt the need to pray, but didn't know for what. I sat there for awhile like that and then I felt someone's hand on mine. It was Sis. Butler and she was praying for me and then all of a sudden, I started crying uncontrollably and squeezing her hands so tight that my arm hurt the next day. She knelt next to me, and I held on to her for what felt like dear life. I couldn't let go and I couldn't stop crying. This went on for a long time, in fact, most people were leaving and she stayed right where she was, praying for me as I repented and cried and repented and cried over and over again. I've been in the church for 35 years and I have never felt like this before. The only thing I can compare it to is when I realized that abortion was wrong after seeing a filmstrip in the old, old church and I had dry heaves in the bathroom sink, thinking God would never forgive me for doing that not only once, but twice. This was even more intense than that. I can't even describe how this felt. All I knew was that I was holding on to her and I couldn't let go. Sis. Butler kept praying and humbly kneeling beside me. When I finally felt finished, I kept apologizing to her for squeezing her hands so tight and all she would do was smile and tell me that it was no problem at all. She taught me another role, and actually the most important role, that a leader in the church follows, if they are a good leader: humility. She didn't have to pray for me - she could have asked another person to do that; she didn't have to pray with me so long - again, she could have asked someone else to stay so she could leave; and she didn't have to kneel next to me - she could have stood over me in an unspoken body language of superiority - but she knelt next to me in true humility. I will never forget that night, because of what she taught me and because of what God did for me.

It's hard to describe what happens when you've fully repented in prayer and knowing that God has forgiven you. It's a cleansing - a refreshing - a clearing of your mind like nothing else you can ever experience. Absolutely nothing can take its place, and you'll know when it happens because you'll have a peace of mind you've never experienced before. Now I've repented many, many times, however, I have never felt like this before. I think we should repent every day, simply because we sin every day and it just seems safe to me to cover all the bases. But when you experience the level of repentance that I experienced that night, (and I didn't know repentance had levels), its totally in a different spectrum than every-day repentance. (For those of you who aren't sure what repentance is, the bible directs us to ask God to forgive us of all our sins, both known and unknown, and then to turn away from those sins. It's a turning around from one direction to another.) What I experienced was such a desperation of emotion that it left me speechless. I just kept shaking my head in unbelief at what just happened. To top it off, the following week, Sis. Butler came up to me in service and  said, "In prayer, I feel God is taking you to another level. He said He's not done with you yet. He has a new thing to do in your life." Again, I was totally blown away and began to cry, thanking Him for His mercy and grace. How would she have known that I've been in a rut - both spiritually and emotionally? The answer is, of course she wouldn't, unless God revealed it to her. Sometimes we fumble around trying to figure out what God's will is for our lives, and then there are times like these, where He speaks directly to our hearts and makes it plain. I finally realized why I left the security of Madison and came out to California. Yes, it is because I missed Micah so much and because I wanted to spend time with him and Jasmin and of course, get to know my newest grand baby. But now, right before me, God showed me the main purpose for my exodus. Here, He has me all alone with very few distractions, in a new church where no one knows me, my past or my mistakes. Here, He can change my heart and direction and create a new thing in me, as He said. I have purpose once again, when I felt I had none. And I have direction once again, as I was drifting alone in confusion.  

                                                   Sis. Michelle Butler, my friend and mentor.

                                           Our ministry as well as others in church had outreach
                                           in Victory Park in central Stockton.

                                         Outreach at Victory Park in Stockton.
                           

The California Department of Motor Vehicle

I would venture to say that most, if not all, DMV offices are horrible places to have to visit, but I thought going to one in a smaller town would be faster and more efficient.  Not so. Did you ever play "Shoots and Ladders" as a child? They probably don't even make it any longer, but if you did, the similarity of my experience to the game is startling. Those of you who have played that game, will understand what I mean.

To begin with, I made an "appointment" online because the website claims you will be helped quicker with an appointment. Not so. When I arrived, there were two lines - one said "Appointments Only" and the other said "Non-Appointments." I, of course, went into the "Appointments Only" line because I cleverly scheduled an "appointment" ahead of time, on their website. However, I stood there for a good, LONG time, listening to others complaining about having an "appointment" but still having to wait in line like the other folks who did not have an "appointment." Finally, I got to the front of the line and the very young man behind the counter who called me over, had no idea what to do with me. He asked his supervisor, came back and gave me an application, and told me to go "over there," to sit down and fill it out and then bring it back in line. The end of the line, which was now even longer than when I first started. Ok, I can do that.

After standing in the back of the line once again, for what seemed like hours, I finally got to the front and this time another person looked at my application and said I was missing this and that, and I would have to go and sit down again and fill in the information he highlighted, and get back to the end of the line! At this point, my patience was beginning to wear very thin. When I finally got to the head of the line, again, I saw the same person, who looked at the application and he gave me a receipt  and told me to go and sit down "over there" and wait for my number to be called. 

Finally, my number was called and I went up to the counter, and gave the lady who was actually nice to me, "Michelle" and who knew what she was doing, my paperwork. After calculating what I needed, she said it would cost me $1500 to register my car in California, that I bought in Wisconsin. I nearly passed out. In a very loud voice, I said, "WHAT???" You have GOT to be kidding me!?" She explained that it was a California user tax that I had to pay, because I bought the car in another state within 90 days. I looked at her as if she was a Martian talking in a Martian language, but she wouldn't budge. I asked her rhetorically where she thought I was going to get that kind of money, as I just moved here and I'm on a fixed income, blah, blah, blah, knowing full well she wouldn't have the answer. She did apologize and shrugged her shoulders which was a small consolation, I guess. 

She said that I could get the registration now and the plates later when I had the money, so I paid her $288 to get my registration and a temporary sticker that lasts 30 days until I can pay for the remaining $1300. Wow. This was unbelievable. I waited in line THREE times only to find out the cost was astronomical. I had put online what I needed to do at the DMV, which included getting my driver's license. She said I should have told that to the guy I first saw, and I told her that I already put that on the online application, but she said that information is "not passed along to them." Another WOW. Apparently the stuff they ask you online isn't transmitted to the offices where you actually have to GO. I guess they just put it on there for fun - including making an "appointment." She was kind enough to go and get an application for me and told me to go "over there" to fill it out and let her know when I was done, which I did. I was ready to do the eye test and picture thing for my license and she asked for my birth certificate. I said, "Of course I don't have that - how in the world would I have known you would ask me for that?! Now that would have been useful information to put online. I've had a driver's license since I was 16 years old!" She said I had to have an original birth certificate to get my driver's license, so now I have to scour my house to find that. They wouldn't take another state's word that I already have a driver's license. I have to prove I was born here. I left about one and a half hours later, frustrated and exhausted. It was worse than an aerobic workout. At least with that, there's a benefit to it.

Wait. There's more. After I typed this all out but didn't finish it yet, I received a notice in the mail from the California DMV, just yesterday, stating I owed them $3000, not $1500 which was originally told to me. I looked at the letter and heard in my head an explosion about to erupt. I think this is when God intervened, because I started saying out loud, "It's ok. This is gonna work itself out. This will be ok. This will be ok. This will be ok," chanting the last part over and over until I actually believed it. I think this is the first time in my life, that I ever talked myself out of a meltdown. I mean, I'm just being honest here. When I first read the letter, my initial instinct was to have a full-blown conniption fit and hunt down the director of the California Department of Motor Vehicles. I don't know how or why this happened, but I think this will all work out, one way or the other...  So she said, chanting to herself...

Walking on Two Legs Again

It's hard to believe I haven't written in my blog for over a year, but such is the case. SO much has happened this past year, but I won't bore you with all the details. What I'd like to write about is what stands out in my mind the most - that I can remember, anyway.

It's been a year and a half since my bariatric surgery and I've lost 132 pounds so far. I'd like to lose more but it's slowed way down so I'll lose more, but at a much slower rate, which is ok too. I'm just glad I feel better and can do things I haven't done in a long time. That isn't to say I'm not in any pain - I am. And just as much as before I lost the weight. I have arthritis throughout my body that is degenerative, which means, it gets worse, not better. There are some things I can do that help with it, which I'm already starting to do. I started with my knees because I want so very much to walk again. You really can't appreciate that until you're unable to do something like you once did. It's very discouraging and frustrating, but I'm coming up slowly on the backside of that so the goal is in sight.

I had complete knee replacement on my left knee in April of this year. Both of my knees are bad but the surgeon said my left one was worse than the right, so we started with that one first. It was more painful than I imagined. It took awhile for the doctors to get the right amount of pain meds working, as I already take pain meds for all the other things wrong in my body and so I have a higher threshold level in the first place, but they finally did. The doctor did warn me that because of my diagnosis of chronic pain, and the meds I already take, that it may be more difficult for them to control this new pain with my knee. He was right. But eventually they did find the right ones at the right doses. Physical therapy, which starts almost immediately after surgery, brought on the pain even more. Most days, that brought on the worst pain I experienced, but it was needful because I had to bend and straighten my knee as far as I could, so it didn't freeze up on me and I wasn't able to correct that later. It's been 6 months since that surgery, and I can honestly say, I can walk on that leg without the pain in my knee any longer, except for some twitches if I move a certain way, or stand up and sit down. The surgeon assured me that that would correct itself in time too. He said that most patients take about a year to heal to the point where you not only don't feel the pain, you forget it was ever there. That'll be awesome!

On the other hand, my right knee, which WAS my good knee, is very painful now, because of putting all my weight on that one while I was recuperating. So now I have to do surgery on that knee, which to be honest, I'm dragging my feet on (literally, too). I'm a baby when it comes to pain. I prefer a painless life, but of course, that isn't reality, so another knee surgery I must have. Maybe in a few months. In the meantime, I am actually able to walk around more now than I have in several years. It's easier when I'm pushing something, like a grocery cart - but still, it's a most liberating feeling after all this time. When I walk into a store and I see a mobile cart sitting in the corner, I flip my nose up at it and proclaim, "I don't need you any longer, you wretched thing!" I hated backing up in it because it beeped really loud like a garbage truck, so everyone within a mile knew you were riding it. Sometimes, I drove all the way around the aisle, just to avoid backing up. That, and passing little 90-year-old ladies pushing a cart, made me feel very embarrassed using the mobile one. And then there were the "soccer moms" with the spandex, displaying a perfect physique, carrying a tribe of children in her arms, looking like she never had one of those in her belly, and who seemed to scowl at me from on high. Yes, I guess my pride gets the best of me at times, but it also spurred me on to getting the help I needed and finally joining the rest of the mostly "normal" world.

Ah yes, and then there was my birthday, on which I turned 60. Talk about surrealistic. That's a weird feeling that now I'm as old as I remember my mom to be when I thought SHE was old. Of course, now I realize she wasn't old at all - just a little past her prime - whatever prime means in that context. Leah threw a great birthday/going away party for me a week before my birthday, which was really cool, but a bit awkward, as I'm always uncomfortable being the center of attention. It was fun though and I appreciated Leah doing this for me.

So today, as I sit here writing, I'm sitting in the living room of my new apartment in Stockton, California. On September 21st, Micah flew to Chicago to meet me and help me drive back to Stockton where I'm living now. It was a long, but nice road trip, being able to talk, laugh and sometimes yell at my youngest son. He has lived across the country from me for over 10 years, and I decided that it was time for me to move to where he is now, although that was a difficult decision because I have 2 other children and 6 1/2 grandchildren back in Madison. The perfect scenario would be to spend the summers in Madison and the winters in Stockton, but alas, that costs more than I could ever afford, so for now, this is the best solution. Micah and Jasmine have my 7th grandchild, Kennidee Rose, who I call Kenni, and she is a beautiful, spunky 1 year old, who I just adore. You tell her, "No, Kenni, don't touch the tv," and she turns around, looks at you and smiles and touches it anyway, and I have to cover my face while I laugh. Or she throws herself backwards when she wants to do something that she isn't able to do, and that also makes me laugh. Poor Micah. If there is a thing called "payback" for what you put your mother through, it could be with this child. She's a strong-willed and focused little girl, much like her daddy was. But then, look at how her daddy turned out - he's an Associate Pastor at a large church, with much respect from students at the college to older adults and his peers, and I am so proud of him. So you never know - Kenni may be a doctor, a scientist or a missionary - please, anything other than someone in politics.

Kenni hides nuts in her cheeks... ;)

I've attached a few pictures to this rather long blog today, and I apologize for that. I guess I'm just so happy to be writing again, that I got carried away.

When we arrived - first things first!!

She'd be a great captain if she could see over the wheel.

This was taken on a trip they recently went on.

Playing with her toys at her house.

Loves Mickey Mouse...

...but then a little scared when a certain character appears.

My apartment looking out into the courtyard which is lined with beautiful birch trees.

One half of my kitchen before my stuff was moved in.

The other half.

Looking out at my porch and courtyard from the living room.

A little too small yet to push the pedals, but she enjoys riding in it anyway.

Florida, Again

It's like walking into a furnace in the afternoons here. 98 degrees with high humidity.  My glasses fog up and I'm blind trying to see where I'm going, with them on or off. My trip down here was to spend time with my mom who turned 87 last Thursday. The time we've spent hasn't been what I expected, but then life rarely happens the way you expect it to.

She's fallen 4 times in 5 days and my brothers and I have decided that she needs assisted care and not independent living now. She is very depressed, confused and scared. I took her to the doctor yesterday and they are adjusting her medication and ordered a cat scan of her brain, as she hit her head a couple of times when she fell. This is a picture of her in her chair, not a seemingly happy, carefree person any longer. I asked her why she didn't smile and she said she didn't know I was taking her picture, although I told her twice what I was doing:

After the doctor, we went to Panera Bread to eat - I thought a change of scenery would be nice - but it was exhausting getting her in and out of the car. I have to push her in her walker because she can barely walk. She goes so slow that she almost looks like she's going backward. I'm not exaggerating. Walkers aren't meant for you to sit on while someone pushes you - it was very awkward to push and steer a thing like that and it's been this way all week. 

The other day, we went to my father's grave at the Sarasota National Cemetery, and finding his tombstone was a fiasco. We finally did - in the rain - with some help from one of the workers. Here are a couple photos from that:

After the cemetery, we went to the medical supply store and bought a scooter for her so she doesn't have to try and walk. After all week of showing her how to use it, she still doesn't fully understand. I'm hoping an assistant can load her off and on it and all she has to do is pull the lever. She drove it into the Chinese restaurant next to the store, ramming into a table and chairs, while I'm shouting, "Let go of the handle!" A little man came running around the counter and helped me put the furniture back in place. When we finally got back to her room that day, I was exhausted. I took a picture of her on her new scooter - this time she smiled:

Yesterday, we both sat on her small little (hard as a rock) couch, as I showed her pictures and videos on my phone. She fell asleep on my shoulder, talking to herself about what she was seeing in the room that wasn't there. She asked me what I was doing in the basement (the house I was raised in had a basement). I said, "I'm not in the basement, mom," and she quickly gathered her thoughts together and realized where she was. She was hallucinating and falling asleep at the same time. It breaks my heart to see her like this. It was all I could do to keep from crying.

Before I left, I took a picture of us together. When she looked at the photo, she didn't realize the person in it was her. Here it is:

My trip ends today, and I fly out of Tampa in a few hours. I hate leaving her like this, but I really have no choice. At least for now, she's not in a nursing home. 

Watching your loved ones get old, feeble and closer to death, is so incredibly difficult. All you can think of is the past when we were all so young and healthy and strong and of course, we're no longer like that. Now it slams us right in the face how life and age has changed us.

My mom was always quite independent when she was raising us. And because of that, she's having a lot of difficulty accepting the inevitable. I'm having difficulty accepting it as well. I don't want the woman who raised me to leave, just as I didn't want my father to leave. But that's what this circle of life is all about, I guess. It's something I'll never get used to, but seeing I have no choice, I have to deal with it.

And so with a heavy heart, (but anxious to see my kids, grandkids and Bobby), I'm gone as quickly as I arrived. Life goes on and things will keep changing as we age. It's just the way it is. 

If you still have one or both of your parents, hug them and tell them you love them as often as you can. I only wish I had this concept down when I was younger. I was too busy concerned about myself and my children and I've lost many years where things could have been different...

Grade School, Revisited

Last Thursday, I had the opportunity to go to school and spend the day with Ashanti.  Her school is very big, so I took my scooter, knowing I wouldn't be able to walk as far as I needed to.  She attends (and Leah works at) Leopold School in Madison.

The first thing I noticed was the smell.  It brought me back to my grade school, Thomas A. Edison in either Morton Grove or Skokie - I can't remember.  I guess all grade schools have that familiar smell, although what it is, I couldn't say.  Rolling down the hall to Shanti's class was very exciting, as all their artwork was posted on the walls and I loved it.  If I had gone to college, I would have liked to have been an art teacher - my favorite subject and past time.  However, as it was, I hated school and barely graduated high school, so my work life was boring and mediocre and not at all fulfilling.  I was a really foolish young person.  My dad would have put me through the Art Institute of Chicago, one of the most prestigious schools in the country -- but I could't envision my life down the road, much less one day to the next.

We started in Shanti's main class - or homeroom, I would call it.  It was very cute with signs, instructions and lessons pasted all over the walls.  The kids sat two to four at miniature tables on miniature chairs - as well as I - and my behind was pretty sore by the end of the day.  Shanti was so excited I was there, which made me feel very special.  I loved being a small part of her day and was very proud as she introduced me to all her teachers and friends as her Grandma.  Many of her friends in other classrooms kept asking her, "Is that your Grandma?" and she would cheerfully answer, "Yes!"  I imagine they were a bit confused as to why she would have a "white" Grandma and she was "brown."  You gotta love 'em.

Leah warned me in the car that the kids swear, kick, run and act crazy and that I shouldn't lose my temper or try to correct any of them while I was there.  She knows me too well.  I have a short fuse with naughty behavior.  I was actually waiting for one of the kids in Shanti's class to explode, but it never happened.  I think they were trying to figure out who I was and it diverted their behavior for the day.  One little guy had to be escorted out of the room at one point, but came back a short time later.  I was totally amazed how different the classes were than when I was in school.  Most of the time, it seemed like kids were all over the place, walking, talking and doing what they wanted to do, regardless of what their teachers were instructing them to do.  All we had to do was talk or laugh out loud and I had one teacher that would tape our mouths shut or slap our hand with a ruler.  Of course that was a different era, but very few of the kids, if any, ever acted out like kids do today.  We were immediately sent to the principal's office and suspended or expelled, depending on the "violation."  I remember one teacher in junior high, that was particularly volatile.  Somehow we found out that if you throw a coin up to the ceiling that it would stick, so when he was at the blackboard teaching with his back turned, we would throw our coins up to the ceiling, which of course, was hilarious to us.  When he finally realized what we were doing, he threw a couple boys with their desks against the wall, in a rage.  The teachers today seem to have a whole lot less control than when I was in school. I really give them a lot of credit - I would never be able to do what they do.

One thing I thought was so sweet is that the teacher in homeroom had the kids sit in a circle as she explained things and asked questions.  At one point, each child shook the child's hand next to them, and said "Good morning, so and so," and the other child would answer back with the same, as they went all around the circle.  I thought that was very cool.  They're learning manners and politeness in this class and that really impressed me.

I had lunch in the lunchroom with Shanti and her friends and that was interesting.  The lunchroom monitors were like little Nazis, screaming in the microphone to "Stop talking! Zero for noise!" etc., etc., and no one was really paying attention to them, including me. We were eating, for pete's sake.  How do they expect little people to be quiet at their lunch tables?  I asked the little girls, "Is she always that mean?"  They all shook their head "yes."  It was probably a good thing we only had 10 minutes to eat.  I scarfed down my soup and it was time to get out of there and go out for recess.  We had recess twice in the day which was fun getting out in the beautiful weather.  They could run, scream, yell, jump and play to their heart's content for a little while, burning off some of the energy they had.  One thing I did notice, which was no doubt the same when I was their age, was their inability to sit still.  Every one of them, squirmed in their seat, got up, got down, got up, got down to do this and that.  It was pretty funny.  All that energy packed in a tiny body.  Boy, I wish I had that energy today....

Although I was looking forward to the bell ringing at the end of the day, so I could go home and sit in a big-person's chair, I had a lot of fun.  It made me feel great to see Shanti so happy that I was there.  I wish I had the chance to do this when my children were small, but of course I always had to work.  The only times I was at their school during the day, was to discipline them - never to enjoy seeing what they were doing, and because of that, they were never glad to see me either.  If you're a parent or grandparent or even an aunt or uncle, you might want to try to do this sometime with your little person.  The impression it makes is a lasting one, for them and for you.

Goodbye, Insulin!

I finally moved into a normal, one-bedroom apartment in the same building, on May 1st.  The rent is much higher, but I was going crazy in that matchbox of a room they call an efficiency.  I'm still unpacking but taking my time as there really is no rush.  I found some of my mother's stuff in one of the boxes - old pictures of her, my dad, my brothers and I.  I also found a couple letters my dad had written to my mom while he was in the Marine Corps, dated in 1946, before they were married.  I read them and saw my dad in a different light than I had known him my whole life.  He was still sarcastic, as he was telling my mom that she was "stupid for quitting college," (which I didn't know about), but also tender in a way I had never known him.  He was describing basic training to her and the fact that he wouldn't send her a picture because they had shaved his head.  Reading the letters made me cry and I realized how much I miss him.

I also found cards, poems and stories that I had written when I was about 8 or 9 years old, that my mom had saved all these years.  I read them and tried to recollect writing them, but I couldn't.  There were also a few letters/cards from Danny and Richard that were written when they were very young.  I packed all of this in a good box and will be storing it for my kids to find one day.  History fascinates me, especially personal history, and maybe my kids will feel the same when they find this long after I'm gone.

It's been approximately 8 weeks since my surgery and I am feeling much better.  I am eating regular food now except for raw vegetables, which I'll be able to eat in June.  It is odd that I can only eat a very small portion of food, and if I eat too fast or too much, I will throw it up.  It's taking me a bit to figure this all out.  When I get hungry, I think I can eat more than I can, and I pay for it afterward.  To avoid that unpleasantness, I am learning how to eat slowly and in very small portions.  From the time I started cutting out sweets, coffee and pop, sometime in early February, I think, I've lost 65 pounds.  I think it's going rather slow, but I'm not exercising like I should.  My lower back and knees are still very painful and I can only stand or walk just so far, then I have to sit down.  The doctor told me that "the damage has already been done," and will always be there, but it should get better with more weight loss.  As for the diabetes, that is completely gone!  I am no longer taking insulin or Metformin.  My blood sugar has been normal since the surgery, which is a miracle.  My doctor also decreased my blood pressure medicine and removed a few others altogether.  I've already given away half of my clothes and fitting into ones I haven't worn in years.  I've got a long way to go, but I'm on the right track and it is a great feeling.

So if you wonder whether I think the surgery was worth it, my answer is, absolutely yes.  The 2-week liquid diet, the nasty drink before surgery, the pain of the sutures, having to eat baby food, the feelings of nausea and even vomiting is all worth it, if it means gaining my health back.  I know I won't feel or look like I was when I was young, but just to feel better is worth it all.  We really don't appreciate how important our health is until something happens or we just grow old and body parts stop working or not working as well as they once did.  My only regret is not recognizing this so many years ago.