Alice in Wonderland and that Tea Party

I went to a book group last night to see if I wanted to join it. The book under discussion was Lewis Carroll's "Alice and Wonderland" and "Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There"

It is hard to put down the emotions I felt in this group. I was the new member and untested. The leader was missing. There was one man in the group who the self-appointed leader deferred to. It was soon that I felt I was in the tea party of Alice's Wonderland complete with the Mad Hatter and the Red Queen. Since no one introduced themselves I felt free to write this blog characterizing what happened. The discussion had the same mad logic the book had.

Much was made of the annotations in the books many of the readers used. The Mad Hatter wanted to talk about Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung. The Red Queen wanted to praise the Walt Disney version of the book and one lady who was rather sweet and more like the dormouse kept saying she did not understand the book at all and she had a very strong British accent. I liked her the best because of her honesty.

I have joined several book clubs this month but will not be joining this one. At first, I thought it was my personality. It was evident that they did not think well of me, but I think I made them feel uncomfortable. They kept changing the subject as those at the tea party did in the book. I could keep up since I was well acquainted with the subjects they switched to. There was no logic to the subjects they brought up. Still, I kept up. The Mad Hatter kept making pronouncements of things completely off the wall and the only thing the Red Queen did not say was "off with their heads."

It wasn't until I started to write this that I found the whole meeting funny.

Open Window

I slept with the window open last night as it was warm and could smell the scents of the night and now the early morning as the sun endeavors to bring in the new day. Ah, the sounds of the birds as they twitter. There are distant cawing of crows, not close as they were yesterday.

There were suspicious ash on the window still last night as I opened the blinds and sash. I have no idea where they came from. I am new to this area. Is the black particles normal for this area? It wasn't for Redding. Are the smokers who gather on the balcony not far from my window responsible for their presence? I was reminded of the ash of ash Wednesday of Christian churches for I have been thinking of past memories of late. I was thinking of my friend who died many years ago, killed by her new husband while holding their baby. We used to go to her Roman Catholic Church and sing in the choir. She had asked the priest if she should stay with her husband who beat her and he had said yes. It was her duty to reform him, to lead him to God. I was thinking of her as I looked on the ash on the window. Two years after her death he killed his new wife in a traffic accident this time with the baby. My friend's family would spend the rest of their days in deep morning for all of them and in deep hatred of their son-in-law and of the law that gave no justice.

I was reminded of the ash that fell from the death camps on the surrounding towns in Germany in the 20th Century filled with people who did not know what was happening in those places of death. There are no death camps here. Portland is a city of trees and roses, of people who read books and of people who don't. Still, when the streams of people enter the highways they turn on their sadness and pour out their frustrations on each other here as they do everywhere else. I love to drive and see the wonderful trees looming out from the hillsides while some angry drivers jockey for position on the roadways. You don't see many angry riders on trolleys or it doesn't seem as if you do.

At Loaves and Fishes you see some of the seniors with angry bitter looks lining up for food. Some of them look at you as if you are going to take something away from them. There are no death panels in Oregon as they have in Arizona but in all of this beauty something is wrong with those who stand in line. Ashes fall everywhere here but why?

The bushes outside my window lost the wonderful red flowers that appeared one morning but new leaves appeared in their stead. I can see new buds growing and there will be another crop of red flowers very soon. The old petals have yet to drop away from the worn out flowers where new growth have bush through. When it rains, I can see the rain drops glistening on its leaves. It rained last night for I can see from here goblets of water. The crows are now closer. They are cawing louder. I wonder if they know where the ash is coming from, maybe it is from the leftovers of yesterday's day. The sun has just appeared and it is good to see it as it makes few appearances in Portland. If the ash is the bitterness of life, it is good it lies on my window instead on my heart and everyone wakes up feeling better about the goodness of life. I can always get a paper towel and just wipe it clean.

MOVE Program

I started the MOVE Program today at the Veterans Administration. They have an approach that won't work as it is a one size fits all. All participators are of different sexes, races, ages and so on. I decided to go with it as it has a structure that might prove beneficial for me at this time. I asked for an appointment with a dietitian who I hope will understand what celiac disease is. I have found that few do and the ones I met have little inclination to learn. Many of them treat it as a fad. It isn't so I will take the point of view of taking what is useful and leaving what isn't in this program. The follow-up is done by phone. That is the main reason I am staying with the program.

I have a real need to eat a more healthier diet. I don't. I am now at a stage where I need vitamin B shots. I have a very low level in my body. The doctor that I was seeing required that I take folic acid which I do but only ever so often. I can't take regular vitamins except calcium without my body having a reaction. I am really hoping I can get some real tips on how to eat what I can eat without my intestinal track going on overload.

I am far more active than I used to be which presents problems with pain with my arthritis. Still, it is a different matter than having pain because there is damage in my joints. I don't have that. I can take pain reliever that I buy over the counter. I will be starting an exercise class that specializes in arthritic exercises. That is starting in a few weeks. I would like to have some exercises that I can do in the morning when I wake up. I will see what I can do. I can ask my medical provider for an appointment with a physical therapist for some exercises that won't create problems with the injury that I had with my last major surgery.

Losing weight is far more complicated than it appears on the surface. It is far more than just a change in life's habits. I have already been interviewed for some help in the VA's mental health department. I will need that in order to lose weight and to keep it off as well. It is scary for me to change my body image. There are a lot of issues having to do with my weight. Although celiac disease is responsible for my overweight to some degree, it is not the only reason. I have used overweight to give me protection for some fears and issues in my life. I will need some help in resolving that as well. Of course, I will be doing my own work in that area.

I am hopeful that MOVE can help me with some structure in losing the excess weight that I am presently carrying. Not all of the program will be useful and I will just ignore the parts that are not. It is basically a program that was created for men. Men can lose weight much easier than women can. Most men have helpmates who are helping them with the program while women generally have to do it alone. That is why MOVE can help me there, but it can help me without become obtrusive such as the programs such as Weight Watchers and other such programs can be.

I think I can do it. I have dusted off my old food journal and will be doing it starting tomorrow morning. I had sworn I would never do it again, but I will. I will also record as much the MOVE program wants me to record. I will even go back to record the calorie intake which I have not done in years. They gave a sheet in a folder they want the record to be modeled on. Again, I am optimistic I can do it. In Korea, I lost 50 lbs and gained only after I came back to the USA specifically Redding. I have lost weight since coming to Portland. It showed in how much I weighed today.

The trick is not to give power to the food as I once did. I will continue to write in my journal and to keep active. Thank goodness I have other things that I am interested in. I don't want to sit around and just eat. That is no good. Depression does not seem to be a major factor since coming here either and that is a help. I often ate to make myself feel better. I don't need to because I already feel better as I am in a better place now.

A New Reality

Someone who I have known a very long time recently died. I like to say it was unexpectedly, but it was unexpected for no one but me. He was in his 80's. He was 11 years older than me, and I never expected that he would die before me although that is not reasonable anymore than my deep seated belief that somehow the Grim Reaper would keep missing me and go for someone else. We all have that hope. It is unreasonable and it is in vain. We all meet in the cemetery for a laugh when this life is over.

I pictured him on the highway of life as a yellow car with the license tag that said "splat" and driving ahead of me. I remember feeling quite astonished that he would do that, go ahead without me. I am sure some of you reading this, should there be any, would say so what? Well, this friend was a basic part of me, a someone that I admired and looked up to, a plank in my life. He wasn't supposed to go before me. I still remember him as I did the first time I met him as a young man although he definitely wasn't the last time I saw him. I guess I ignore who I see in the mirror when I wash my hands in the bathroom or comb my hair.

I have been thinking of him for a while and processing other memories for the last week. When it rains, it pours. It seems like a wake-up call for me. I have a grown up child who says to me "you always think it is about you." Well, I don't have anyone else in this body. Yes, it is about me when one thinks about death. My friend isn't here to tell me that I should be thinking of him. He isn't him anymore. I don't know who he is except he isn't him anymore. So, I think of me since I am me. My son thinks I am mad and I guess this proves it. Sigh.....

I do miss him. I can't call him anymore. I want to pick up the phone and ask him where he is. Even my Android, which can do almost everything, can't do that. I probably been thinking about him more than I usually do but really about me when you get down to it. Death seems friendlier to me now. I am not wishing for it but it seems more possible now that people I know seem to be disappearing.

When you hear about an accident or war and there are lots of deaths that is sad but when it is someone you know quite well, it is different. I am lucky in that I have never lost a child. There were times in the past in this country where it was expected to lose one. People lose them but not as much. People see them die in other countries still. There is no differences between people in other countries and myself but the luck of being born in one place from being born in another.

I used to know this woman, named Pamela who hated to talk about death. Wouldn't you know she died. At least she didn't have to talk about anymore. She died in a traffic accident and never knew what hit her. It was a drunk driver who died too when he plowed into her car as she stopped for a red light. She thought if she did not discuss death, it would not happen to her. So much for that theory. she was in her 40's which was a shame. The drunk driver was a kid in his teens.

This is not an essay about where my friend went for I have no idea. I just saw him heading down the road without me. Anyone who says where people go after death is just whistling in the dark. I do believe we were all in that place before being born but I don't remember. None of us do with the possible exception of some Zen Masters, I suppose. They aren't saying too much. They're meditating. As for me, a new picture of reality has emerged from all of this as it does for each of us when our friends and relatives die. Then we get up off our duffs and get on with our lives until it is our time to head on down the road towards that mystery ourselves.

Lori Du Val-Uncovering Old Memories II

It is amazing to me how rethinking old memories with today's mind creates new memories. I began to see things in a new light and re-frame what happened so many years ago or to see not what I thought happened but what did happened. I was so sure of what I was seeing with my teenaged eyes that I miss some important clues that I did pick up with my senior eyes. It was not as I thought but different. Everything is still back in those bubbles of time but not the way I thought they were.

I can see now that the professor was far more angry at women than I suspected after the love of his life dumped him. I could also see that he did not include me in the women he went through and that he did throw passes at me but stepped back from going through with them. He did like me but as I suspected I was not the type he wanted to punish His mother also saw me as a threat to her meal ticket. I see that now from all of the statements she made to him that I overheard.

I am working to heal the wound that was inflicted so many years ago. The wound was not as bad as I thought. Again, I went on with my life that was longer than it would have been if he had been a bit of a cad which he was not. He knew I had a crush on him. He could have taken advantage of that but didn't. I saw him looking at me. Things went on the way it was best for me and I can't say the best for him as I have no idea what his life was like after me.

In conversations with other women, we often talk about our first loves. I am not different than many of the friends I have exchanged stories with. I did not grow old with someone that I loved. I envy women who were able to do this. Love stories are rare, so rare that songs and books are written to describe them when they happen in real life. My aunt who lived to be over a hundred lived with a man she loved for over 5o years. It was a wonderful love story. Another aunt had a similar love story with her husband. It happens but did not with me. My mother lived with an horrid man who almost killed her on several occasions and was cruel to his children too. I had a close friend who died during the time I knew the professor. She was killed by her husband who almost killed their child. He used to beat her before that night in Arizona when he finally completed the job.

Life has showed me many things and it has been a mixture. The story of my first real love is typical in many ways as it was full of sad and happy events. Then the participants went on to different things. I found the chapter of this memory and read it again dusting off the incident and looking at it in a new light. It did not change what happened, far from it; but it did give new meaning to something that happened so many years ago and affected me so greatly.

Uncovering Old Memories

For the last few days I have been dealing with some old memories that recently surfaced when I awoke. I felt depressed and since that is a good sign that I need to journal I did. Oh, it was like peeling back a layer of me and finding a wound that had never healed. I just covered it up and tried to forget it although it has been slipping out here and there.

It involves a job that I had when I was a teenager in which I helped take care of a single man's mother while I was going to college. He lived elsewhere. He was a college professor and had an active social life. I was very innocent in those days. For being around and making sure his mother had everything, I got a place to live and a small allowance. It freed me from getting a job that would take hours away from my schoolwork.

It lasted only a year but it affected me in ways I did not want to remember. I never tried an arrangement like that again. My best friend died during that time. I developed deep feelings for the professor that never went away. The mother ended up going back East, but I never forgot that time which seemed magical in many ways. It was the only time that I went to college and did not have to work at a regular job. It seemed wonderful.

That year ended a time of my youth and started one of my adulthood. I think I had a vision of my life having happier endings because I had a dysfunctional childhood. I nestled in a storyline that had at best an adulthood that life would be better when I reached it. It became apparent that it was not to be. That year was an introduction into reality. I fell in love with someone who did not love me back.

What was ironic was the professor had graduated from a university and was posed to take a job teaching at an university and to marry a woman he loved very much but she married someone else. He became very ill and almost died. He lost tremendous amount of weight and almost died. His mother came out to nurse him and then he found out later his mother was losing her sight. He took the job of teaching and then began to take care of her as her only other relative, his brother, refused to do it as he had a large growing family to care for back East.

Maybe, she was not going back East, but he had fired me. I don't know. I was depressed myself after the death of my friend. Maybe, his mother wanted an older woman and not a student. I got a job and continued to go to school and found an apartment. I went on with my life and he continued to teach at the state university until he retired. I saw him only once and he pretended not to see me. That hurt my feelings.

My feelings, as I said, never changed. I still think of him. In my mind, he is still in his early 30's. I looked him up as one can do on the Internet and he lives in Hawaii. He is in his 80's. I can't imagine his being that old. My life went on as everyone does in the same situation. It was nothing odd or strange. I fell in love several times after that but nothing ever was like that first time. It should have not been so important to me, but it was. Maybe, it was the timing of it all and the reality that life was not going to be the wonderful golden time I dreamed it would be. I thought I would find the fairy tale that it was promised by the movies and the stories I had read. It wasn't. He was not a bad man and certainly was not cruel or abusive. That I am very grateful for. I fell in love with abusive men later. It was easy to fall out of love with them. He was a kind and gentle man who almost died from love himself.

It is funny how life turns out the way it does. I remember all of the stories his mother told about her oldest son. I know he did not like children and he insisted that all of his girlfriends know he did not want to marry especially if it meant marrying someone who had kids. Most of his girlfriends were divorced women and he was chased by women all of the time and I know that because when I worked there I was always being asked by women who knew his mother who her son was dating. They were also wondering if he was dating me. He never threw a pass at me. I wasn't his type. I was always going with her to visit women her age who had unmarried daughters who wanted to know this information. He was a very good looking man.

I ended up marrying an abusive man. I had several children by him and those children were well worth having in my mind and of course the grandchildren. In those early years, I was very ill and did not know it. It was the birth of my first child that created conditions that brought out the cancer that would not have been detected had I not been pregnant. In fact, many of the doctors I saw during the pregnancy thought my illness was in my head. Thank goodness, I saw an expert that happened to be at the Veterans Hospital one particular day. I would have died otherwise. I have told my son that his birth saved my life.

I went on and had a great life after the professor. I have no idea what kind of life he had as I never really saw him except that one time he ignored me. I went on and became much happier than I was during that year that I worked for him. I am sure his mother is gone now. I have been writing about the fact that if for some reason he fell in love with me as he had with that woman who left him at the altar I would not be alive today for I would never have had my son who saved my life. I would never have the other child and grandchildren and all of the other experiences I had since then. I would have had other experiences and an early death and a place in some cemetery. Still, I can still see him in my mind's eye as he looked so many years ago. The ache I felt in my heart is still there. He is as old or even older than his mother was then. He was so handsome and I guess he will always be to me as women's prince charmings are.

Staying In

Last night as I went to bed, my whole body hurt, from head to toe. I took several pain relievers (over the counter luckily) and went to bed. I don't have anything to do, so I decided to stay in and read and write. It is sunny outside and I might sit on the patio and drink some iced tea or soup. The Oregonian newspaper said that this spring, is the wettest one that they ever had or close to it. Seeing sun and having it nice and fairly warm is special.

I love to work in the morning. I make myself some coffee with some cream and some toast and it is heavenly. The only window that I have to close in my apartment is my bedroom. The other windows do not catch the sun directly. I sit in bed and listen to Baroque music and have a great time. Then I start to work on my writing although I do have to do some reading.

I need to finish a book by this weekend about a woman who spent some time in the U.S. Navy. She has two issues she brings out in her book. She found the navy very negative towards women in the service and what it was like to serve secretly as a gay American. It is a novel but my impression is that it is based on her experience. It is hard reading as I was in the U.S. Army and although I was not gay I found similarities in the way the army treated the women in the military especially since both of us shared the same years of service although her years of service was far longer and she was an officer.

There is something to be said staying in on certain days. I usually have a class on Wednesday, but it was canceled so I might just go to Value Village to see if there is anything there that I need for the apartment or to Grocery Outlet for my trip to Salem. I need to prepare a potluck dish. I want to fix a vegetarian dish as some of the people in the book club are vegetarians and I want to make sure it is gluten free in case there are no other dishes that I can eat. I now have some cookbooks to go through and of course there is the Internet. Thursday is another drawing class.

Because it is sunny, I want to do a wash and hang it up on the patio. My sheets that I put out there last night are almost dry. I will be doing another wash as soon as they are ready to come in.

Living alone is such a treat since I can do anything I want which is what I am doing today. I am listening to the music I want to hear and eating what I want to eat and when I want to eat. Life is great now. Some people would say that I am being selfish as a woman, but I don't care.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

The long awaited sunshine and heat have not materialized as yet. I have wash hanging out on the patio and they are slowly drying and I mean slowly. I would not have done a wash today, but I need to do another wash soon. I don't use the small laundry mats in the apartment complexes where I live. I would just like to put the wash in and then get back later, but if you are late or worse someone is even more impatient one's wash ends up on a table even before the machine stops. I wash by hand and then I hang them up on a rack I bought at Goodwill. Even the towels don't take that long as my patio has a cover. The only problem I have is the man upstairs smokes and dumps his cigarettes over his railing, and they often end up on my patio. How rude!

Someone told me that it rains often in Portland and I must admit it does. It still is worth moving here though. There is so much to do including my homework for my art classes tomorrow. I need to draw a bowel of eggs and I am glad I have a bowl and some eggs to put in it. I also need to paint a landscape of my choosing although it can't be one that someone else has painted. I will select one from the Google images and paint it today. I am looking at the clock; and I have plenty of time which is a danger as when you think you have plenty, you end up with none.

I was going to get dressed a few hours ago, but I have not done so. I will still need to as I am going to the store. I am going to buy some bread and get some change for Loaves and Fishes tomorrow. That is the location of the art classes and I need to have change for lunch which cost three dollars. The volunteer is not happy with the fact that I am unable to eat gluten and so I want the three dollars exactly. She does not think I have the right to insist on a gluten free lunch. I got one last time but chose an extra dish from one side of the lunch entrees and skipping the other. The main course was a pasta dish and some other gluten meal. I just selected extras from the side dishes. It was no big deal. I guess she expected me to eat gluten which of course I would never do.

The parking is eight dollars a day which hurts me but I can absorb it; and I can use my debit card. Everyone who eats there is on foot or takes the bus. I have too much to carry to do that. It is for seniors which is ironic. The law is on my side. I don't want to go that far. The others there are very nice about it.

In Redding, I could not find a book club to join. In Portland, the area is full of them. I did join two and I am reading as fast as I can to finish the two books I started before the meetings. One is next week and I am only half way through it. I don't particularly like it. The other one is a murder mystery and I love it.

I will end this as I need to go to the store to get some bread and maybe some butter depending on what the cost is. Luckily, although the day is overcast it does not seem to be raining.

A Difficult Friend

I didn't know how I was going to write about this subject. I had breakfast with someone I have known for sometime. He was in town for some meetings regarding a business matter and a short visit with his mother who is in a nursing home here in Portland. I always found it difficult to talk with him, and I have disguised this friend in here so no one will know who he is. I am not writing to criticize him, far from it because a lot of good came from that brief meeting. Maybe, I will see him again someday; and I visit his mother from time to time.

I will call him Joe and he comes from Portland although I met him in San Diego when I was growing up and then we lost touch until I met him again in Lawrence, Kansas where he was a college professor at the University of Kansas. He no longer works there as he lost his job there for some reason as he has lost all of his jobs down through the years. Luckily, he inherited a trust fund from his family, the same one that pays for the nursing home his mother is in.

He gave me a call and since I was finishing an art class I met him at a restaurant near the airport on his way out of Portland. He now lives permanently in New York City at an apartment he inherited from some relative.

I had not seen him for about ten years, but the first words I heard was a severe criticism of the way the West Coast makes coffee. Then the conversation went on to the horrible conditions of the airport here in Portland and then to the airline he was using. He was telling me how he could not find any employment because of all of the complicated paperwork it now takes to get work in New York City. He is trying to get work in other states, and it is the same thing. He feels he is too old now to get a decent job teaching.

When I tried to say anything he got very irritable with me and gave me the impression that he did not think I knew what I was talking about. He tried to collect Social Security but was not old enough yet and his physical problems were not extensive in themselves to get Social Security based on disability although he was 60 years of age. When I mentioned working overseas, he said that he tried that and the paperwork was even more complicated than the paperwork in this country. Finally, he admitted that he did not think he could pass a background check because he got arrested in a demonstration. I told him that those are misdemeanors and not a problem. Many people had them. He then told me he was convicted and instead of serving the sentence of community service he took off. When I told him to see an attorney and get it cleared up, he really got mad at me. It was all the fault of the system against people of his age and education.

He irritated the server by making demands when she was the only one on duty in the section of the restaurant. They were very busy. He was cold towards her and talked down to her. I was getting more and more upset as the breakfast progressed. Finally, I took him to the airport and dropped him off in front so he could catch his plane.

I came home and was very upset about the whole episode. Joe was far more irritable than he used to be since I last saw him. I know he has physical problems and I really did not know why he continued to keep in contact with me as he considered me beneath him in the scheme of things. His mother was like that as well but although she was also born and raised here in Portland she had no one who visited her at the home and I saw her occasionally since moving here. I brought her little presents that she looked down her nose at but what can I do? She liked the soaps I brought when I could find them though. You would think they came from the nobility of France or Spain instead of a insignificant family in New York. Still, they were friendly when I went to school at the University of Kansas and she lived there in Lawrence with her son.

Joe never married and had no children. His father died when Joe was in his late 20's. He was a businessman but his mother and Joe never talked about him. Of course, I saw him briefly when they lived in San Diego. I think he was in the importing business, but I was never sure. They lived down the street from where my parents lived in Chula Vista. He did go to Yale for his degrees which was paid for by his parents. I have no idea which side of the family had the trust fund that was paying his current living expenses.

To be honest, I don't remember Joe being involved with demonstrations but he could have been when he went to Yale. He wasn't very attractive and never did have many girlfriends although he certainly liked them. I was too busy working at the nickel and dime jobs I did to get me through college at the community and state colleges and universities I attended. I served in the military when that road ended when Ronald Reagan was governor in California. I attended the University of Kansas when I met up again with Joe. I never took a class from him which I will be eternally grateful as many people were not happy with them.

I felt so bad the next day after he left, I had to sit down and figure out why. I use writing meditation as the method. I was astonished at the reasons I felt the way I did at that breakfast meeting. It wasn't because of Joe himself. However, there were many issues and subjects undercurrent in that meeting that had nothing to do with Joe. They all had to do with me and my own experiences. As with most things that come up and bother us, the people we meet are just the messengers. It didn't make any sense to get mad at Joe for he was just being Joe although in a more concentrated form. I had to face the fact that Joe, like myself, was getting older.

Joe is irrational and always has been. He can be smiling one moment and then rear back like an angry stallion and kick you metaphorically in the face. My father was like that but far worse than Joe could ever be. I lived my whole life in abject fear of never knowing how he would react in any given situation. I did not have to say anything for him to suddenly take offense at something I said, didn't say or something he imagined I said. No one never knew what was going to happen. I hated coming home if he was home from work. My mother would react in anger to us kids when he wasn't there and be silent and unassuming when he was there. I thought I left all that behind when my father died. I did not appreciate it one bit spending time with Joe, but I said yes when Joe called me. I was also mad at myself for being there.

Growing up, I blamed myself for everything that happened. I did not realize that I did that until I started to journal about my breakfast meeting with Joe. Being a good co-dependent kid, I tried to manage everyone so that my father had fewer outbursts and my mother got mad less. Of course, I could not do that but I thought I could. My mother was always trying to tell us kids to keep quiet as if that did any good. It didn't. My father still had the outbursts, still drank and still beat up on everyone including her. There was no magic formula that would stop his behavior.

I continued these assumptions into my adult life. I believe that I held magical abilities to stop people from over-reacting and when I could not I blamed myself for their bad behavior. I thought it was my bad behavior that created Joe's bad reactions, bad decisions, self-deceptions. I am not to blame. What I am to blame is saying yes to Joe when he calls. I need to stop doing that because I don't enjoy the talks. He sits and blames everyone under the sun for his problems. That is ridiculous. He uses me as a sounding board for his bad decisions. Then he uses me to feel superior to what he sees as an inferior person. I really must stop this.

That is another assumption on my part. I think I can change him. This is something from my earlier life in which I felt I could change the situation from the bad one I was in to a better one. I can't. It is nothing I have any control over. The only person I have any control over is myself. Maybe I am doing the same thing he is and allowing myself to be around him so I can feel superior. I don't know. What I do know is I can't change him in anyway. I need to go somewhere else. Maybe I don't think I have the right to say no. Yes, I think that may be right. Well, I do. I like this bringing things into mindfulness, into the light of consciousness. I have the right to expect better things to do with my time and I don't have to deal with people who are not where I am. There is a whole world out there I can't change and it will continue long after I am gone.

As I said before, the breakfast with Joe was a meal in Hell; but it wasn't all that bad. I learned a lot from the experience. The part of it that was not enjoyable was not Joe's fault for he has not changed through the years. The fault was mine and that means I have the power to change things. I intend to do just that.

Art Classes

This week I started my art classes and I am exhausted. The store that I decided to buy my supplies neglected to put all of my supplies in my bags so I had to go back and get them. Then they had given me oil brushes instead of water color brushes. I went back and exchanged them but the woman who waited on me was very unhappy with me. I will not be going back. Now, that I know more about the art classes, I will go to other places closer to home and find cheaper prices. Someone told me to try some places on the Internet.

Overall, I am happy with the classes but tired. I have enough skill to be able to keep up with the rest of the class as they had taken the classes before. I have been drawing and sketching in my journal for years. I have never worked with pastels and it is a matter of watching the teacher and the others around me. The other students are very nice as the teacher is knowledgeable.

Tomorrow, the drawing and watercolor teacher is having a free session in a garden. I am planning on joining her and other students. You have to bring a lunch. That is going to be the only problem since it is hard to pack a gluten free lunch. It starts around noon.

Letting Go

"Forgiveness is primarily for our own sake, so that we no longer carry the burden of resentment. But to forgive does not mean we will allow injustice again."
-The Buddha

I keep returning back to letting things go because I am an angry person. I found the above quote on Facebook this morning. Ah, such wisdom in one sentence. The Buddha(Gautama) was such a great teacher. I probably knew this but could not put it in one small sound bite, one small sentence. Yes, I knew this but didn't.

I remember years ago wrestling with the ethical question of whether or not to forgive those who hurt me in the past. I was with others who were hurt as I was and some who were abused worse. It was the consensus of that meeting that we did not have to forgive. We thought we were taking the high road. I always felt uncomfortable with that decision, and wish I could go back to that group and explain how wrong it was at least to me. Forgiving isn't for others. It is for the self.

I have seen films and read of abusers who have gone back to their victims and asked for forgiveness and expected their victims to make them feel better. The abusers often felt angry when the victims reacted with anger to them. The bullies were still mired in their egos and still wanted others to take care of them. The victims have no such obligation. The abusers needed to make peace with themselves and do the work and not expect others to do it for them. They still have some miles to travel on that road.

I had a remarkable dream yesterday during a nap. I dreamed that I was with two people who were friends a very long time ago. I was at a place that was a combination of several universities that I had attended and graduated from and also several work sites that I worked in for some years and left. Those places were important to me and felt like I had undergone life changing events.

In the dream, the two friends were leaving, as I was, the job site and I was asking what they had been doing since I last seen them many years ago. I told them that I now lived in Portland, Oregon. I also said that I did not have a writer's block anymore. They told me what they had done. The two left and as I was walking down some stairs, someone walking up said to be careful or I might fall. I thanked her for the advice. I watched as I stepped down the stairs that resembled the ones that are outside this building.

In a way, it seemed as if I was leaving those events behind me. I was finally able to forgive the people that seemed to have done the most hurtful things to me in the past. Those things dropped off of me like a coat. I had reached a point that I had forgiven them. Maybe, I had forgiven my part too. That did not mean I was going to allow the injustices to occur again for I am not. But, I am going to detach from those events and let them go and start my life anew. I am getting on with my life without the anger I had been feeling, the resentment that I have been carrying. I think it is time.

Being Part of a Group

I have never been part of any group. That is why I don't mind not having a following for my blogs. I don't follow anyone else's that much. I often say I am a Buddhist but I am not that much of one to be honest. I don't fall into one particular sect. One person called me a "salad bar Buddhist" in that I take what I want and leave the rest behind. That's true.

There have been times when I have been in groups and there is a mass hysteria going on and I was glad I did not feel it. I just watched it. I usually don't follow fads although the few times I did I understood why people did for it as it does give one a feeling of belonging and inclusion. I did not bond with my family of origin because it was so dysfunctional, I chose inanimate things such as books and fictional characters.

This characteristic has served me well as a journalist and writer. Sometimes, I feel left out of things, but as a whole I like it. I am not trusted by others completely though and again this has its downside. I think as the world changes it is more common for people to live on the outside of society as I do. The Internet with its social engines such as Facebook and Tweet were made for people such as me. I don't require the intimate closeness of people.

There is an element within me that mistrusts intimacy because of the experiences that I had. Don't get me wrong. I am a very happy person for the most part. Being a writer is a good fit for me. I do have friends and some of them are like me. We are happy being solitary and in fact require some time alone to more or less restore the batteries. I knew a married couple who got along very well because they lived in different houses. They had their own interests they pursued although the only intimate relationship is between themselves. There are couples that have other lovers and I am not talking about these couples. I will not pretend to understand that. The first time I was married, I had trouble in that my spouse did not want to be alone. He did not understand that I had other interests and hobbies that did not include him. The biggest problem was he did not have any interests or hobbies, but that is another matter.

No one is responsible for the happiness of another. This is hard for some people to understand. I have all that I can handle taking care of myself; and to be responsible for someone else is just too much. When I was a single parent it was part of my duty to take care of my children. My kids are all grown up now. I don't want a fully functioning adult to care for. Many men feel they need a woman to take care of them. I see it all of the time, and there are plenty of women who are willing to perform this for them. This is not for me.

I noticed long ago that people are afraid of being alone. I am afraid of not being alone. Work places are full of people who are not at work to earn a living as much as to be with others in a group setting. Some people who do not have to work for economical reasons still do. Many senior centers are full of volunteers who need and desire to work for free just to be with others. I don't. I don't mind volunteering if there is a need, but I remember the first time realizing that the competition was as strong as it was for paying jobs. Since I work at home, I decided I could stay at home instead.

If this was the past, I would have been considered a hermit especially if I was male. It is not safe for women to live alone in the mountains so I live alone in the city. There is safety living alone in communities such as in the United States. There are many countries where women living alone would be at great risk. Some men do not like to see women living alone because it seems to be a affront to their manhood that women could do without them. Often women live with other women for this reason especially if some of them have children.

There is a growing trend in the world community right now where banks and other organizations are realizing that if they invest in women, they can get more for that investment as woman are more likely to be successful and make sure their children are fed and educated then men who might invest any money given to them at the nearest pub or other house of pleasure. Women do well in groups of economic units and the trend is expanding not only to other countries but continents as well. Loners are not part of this phenomena. We are the artists, writers, poets and others who might employ others like ourselves. We do better in religious communities.

It takes all kinds of people to make this world. I remember writing in a journal when a man who I knew slightly came up and while looking at a couple with kids told me that if I did not spend so much time writing I could have what that woman had. I was astonished and said that I did not want what she had. I was quite content being where I was writing in my journal. My kids were grown and I enjoyed my grandchildren from time to time; but I did not want to be in that situation at all. He got mad at me. He said I was denying my destiny. Needless to say we did not remain friends.

I am glad I am not part of a group. I am glad I am where I am right now. When some people thought I should be jealous of those in a certain couple situations, I went along with it. I thought they must be right. It has taken me a while to think for myself in all ways. No, I don't want to be with someone all of the time. I do like people who give me the space to be myself. The friends I have give me that space and I hope I give that space to them as well. I also am willing to admit the truth too. I had paid too much attention to others. I am glad I am me and others should be too.

"Move" questionnaire

I go to the Veterans Administration Medical Center and went to my first appointment the other day. Because I am overweight, the nurse practioner(NP) referred me to the "Move" Program. I told the NP that I had tried it in Redding and found it useless as it had a one way fits all approach. I have celiac disease which puts me outside the regular lose weight programs. Also, I have to go to a meeting in which I am usually the only woman in a large room of men. Men and women have different issues in losing weight. In Portland, the NP explained that the "Move" program is individualized and it can be done by phone.

I had to take a 23 questionnaire online and then leave my name and last four numbers of my Social Security number and the Move program facilitators will call me back and set up a way for me to start the program. They will also send me the needed information. I am hopeful that I will be able to do this. As for exercise, In I could not walk from my house in Redding because of the loose dogs in the neighborhood. That is not a problem here in Portland and there are trails to walk across the street and sidewalks everywhere. I will not have to walk on the streets which always scared me. I am willing to give this program a try.

The VA Hospital here in Portland has a Women's Center so I am hopeful that I will be able to get other needs addressed here as well without traveling long distances as I did in Redding. I used to travel to Sacramento and San Francisco. It really wears a car down when you have to travel long distance.

Art Classes

I signed up for some art classes and one exercise session and all start this coming week. I went to an art store and bought the supplies and almost fainted at the expense. I am so glad I signed up for the classes at the senior center which shares the same teachers as the other places but the prices for the classes are far less expensive.

I am taking drawing, watercolor and pastel classes and a special exercise class for those with arthritis. I have never taken art classes before and need to know how to do the basics of art. When I lived in Redding, there were no classes available for seniors and the community college was too full for seniors to take classes. The state of California was talking about limiting the classes even further.

On the way home, I saw some women who were having a car wash and stopped to get my car washed. It really needed it. They were from a women center. I donated some money and talked with them. It was in a section of Portland that I have never been in before. I could identify with the women who were all there because of abusive relationships and were trying to make a new start in their lives. I was in Portland for the same reason; but I had more resources than they had and was glad I could help them out. I know I had help in getting where I was now, so it was good that I could help others.

I also went to the Grocery Outlet to buy some frozen vegetables because I have not been eating healthy for a while When I was in Redding, I did not have access to a kitchen, but I do now. I bought some frozen vegetables. I am going to start buying fruit at a farmer's market soon. I had a medical appointment this last Friday and the doctor asked if I was eating healthy, and I had to admit that I was not. I am determined to change in this regard. Many people eat out in restaurants. At least, this is something I rarely do.

I am looking forward to the art classes and the other things I have planned this month. I was leaving one of the Powell's bookstores the other day and I saw a sign that warned people to be careful of birds who might swoop down and protect their nests which was above. Only in Portland would you see such a sign. Things are coming together here in Portland.

Second-Hand Stores

When I moved to Portland, Oregon from Redding, California I had to move in a hurry in one truck. There was so much I could not take. I have been slowly replacing the things I left behind. The resource that I could not have done without is the second-hand stores especially Goodwill and Value Village.

Yesterday was senior discount day as it is every Wednesday for Goodwill and Value Village. I was going to buy a table at Stables Office Supplies because they have free delivery if you order from their warehouse $70.00 or more. I was going to order a long table that would have been around $80.00. I needed a legal size file cabinet but could not afford both. Then yesterday I found both at the above second-hand stores for $19.00 and $11.00. I bought a hand truck for $24.00 which was on sale at Bi-Mart and with rope got everything home in my Honda. I was so lucky I was not stopped by the police. I was astonished.

Today, I went to Goodwill who has things 50 percent off for certain colors of their tags and got a set of linen off along with a lamp that I needed in my bedroom. I could not find a decent lamp shade but the lamp is great and matches my room for $4.00 and it works great. I found two wonderful pictures for my office 50 percent off for $5.00 for both. These are not cheap pictures, but expensive prints. I bought some dishes of ones I have always wanted but could never afford for well under ten dollars. I also got some cook books that I needed. I bought a lot of other things. Some such as the linen were brand new. I bought something that will hold my art supplies which was not on sale but it was $6.99. I have art classes next week. I spent a total of $52.00. I also have the satisfaction that my purchases go for the employment of lots of people in the Portland area. I even bought a clock for the kitchen.

I don't know what I would have done without the second-hand stores here in the Portland area and the additional discounts of being a senior citizen. I am slowly getting my apartment in great shape. My office is now ready for me to work in. I got here in the first part of May and I have been working in my bed in the morning. Now, I can work in my office. In my room, I now have two lamps so I can clearly see what I am doing now.

The only store I was disappointed in was the Salvation Army Store. Their prices were way too expensive. Goodwill seems to be the best while Value Village is a close second. Their prices are not low, but they have very nice quality items and have frequent sales. As I said above, both stores have senior citizen discounts with 10 percent for Goodwill on Wednesday and 25 percent for Value Village. Everyday, there is a color tag that is 50 percent off. Many of the items I bought today were 50 percent off.

In Redding, there were no Goodwill or Value Village stores. When I was a kid growing up in Chula Vista, the big store was Value Village, but the only money I ever had was what I could make babysitting and it wasn't very much. It was rare that I could afford anything in a second-hand store especially Value Village. Things are much better. Other people who shop there are much like myself. All of us are trying to make ends meet. Gas is cheaper in Oregon than it is in California, but it is still expensive. I don't make much in writing and I am playing catch up these days.

I am listening to a flock of crows outside my window right now. I am enjoying their cawing and see them flying among the leaves and the blue skies behind the trees. It is worth the extra effort it is taking to get my home in shape for I love it here.

I Love My Life

Oh, this is going to sound so repetitive...maybe but here goes: I love my life. I love waking up in the morning. I love sitting here in bed with my laptop and drinking my coffee writing this. I am so damn happy knowing that I am in control of my finances, the apartment I am living in, my life.

All of my life or so it seems I have been working towards this, having my life to do what I please. To decide what to do with my time, to read what I want, to listen to whatever music I want, to spend my money on whatever I feel I need to, to live where I want to live, to take classes on whatever subject I want to only limited on what is available, to write on whatever I want to, to think whatever I want to...This is getting repetitive.

My income is my own. It is not based on someone else's labors but my own. I raised my children and I supported them for the most part. Of course, I live in a country where I can do this. In some countries, such as Saudi Arabia, I could not even drive a car. I realize that I have those elements at my disposal. Still, I remember babysitting as a kid for single women who barely had enough to support their children and themselves because the father of their children decided to take off and not pay child support. In those days, no one could force them. Now, they complain because there are strong laws that make them do it. I remember when there wasn't and women really had to suffer because the men were living well and they barely had enough to feed the children.Men make more money than women do on the job. I remember seeing my children's father living a lot better than I was and I was getting child support most of the time. When he stopped, there was nothing I could do about it. All of my paycheck went towards the support of my children. Now, all of my paycheck goes for the support of myself.

If I need a pair of shoes, I can buy them. I don't have to ask anyone for the money. I did when I lived in Redding. I ended up going to Payless Shoes when I had the money in the bank for the good shoes I needed but could not buy because my son said no. Now, I buy the good shoes I need. I look at the bank balance and decide what I should do. In Redding, I needed slippers and bought them in a second hand store. I had worked without a break since the age of 15 and supported myself and my children as a single parent and I also supported my way through college. I never bought my children second hand shoes. Yes, I often bought them second hand clothes when money got tight, but never bought them second hand shoes. When I got back from Korea, my oldest child would not give back control of my checking and savings account. I wanted to keep everyone happy and went along with it.

Now, I buy books when I need them. My office is still not up and running. I am hoping to have the table I need to do that by today or tomorrow or at least to order it. I have everything else. I will just order things bit by bit as I go along. I have a second hand chair but it will do until I get the chair I need. I bought one file cabinet last month for my personal papers and I will use it also for my writing until I can buy a separate one for my writing.

I bought a small vacuum last month as well from Fred Myers and noticed that there were second hand vacuums at Value Village and Goodwill. The vacuum at Fred Myers was cheaper than the ones at the second hand stores. Now all I have to do is use it.

To get back to what I started to write about, I love my life because I am in charge of it again. I was in charge of it in Korea and loved the freedom of it there and lost it when I came back to the States. Now, I have it back. It's hard to describe and explain what it is to be under the control of one's family or spouse to some who have always had the freedom to do whatever they wanted to do. Some people or at least some of the people I have talked with like having someone take care of them. I don't. There is the disadvantage of being in charge of one's life. If you fall down, you have no one to blame but yourself. If you run out of money, there is no one else you can get money from. I have been paying this price all of my life, so I was astonished that I could not enjoy the spoils, so to speak, in my retirement. Now, I am.

When I was working as a medical social worker, a fellow worker thought I led the most boring life she had ever heard of. Well, she ran off from time to time with men to different cities and left her five children who were old enough to take care of themselves. That was her choice. She fed and took care of them. They had a great house to live in. I did not want to do that. I loved my children and spent time with them and we traveled as a family. I read and went to school and got my graduate degree. I wrote and published my writings. To me, that was exciting. We all choose the lives we live. I don't envy someone's life because if I thought there was a better way, I would do it. To me, this life is great. I love what I am doing. I don't have to wish for something better. I am living the good life now.

The Influence of Friends

Sometimes, it becomes apparent to me how much our friends influence us. Yesterday, I was writing about my friend Ted who writes memoirs that are published. They do very well and have many readers as they tie horrible experiences he had as a kid with a terrific sense of humor. Of course, it helps that Ted is a very good writer. Not only does he earn enough money to run around the country (and world too) which he loves to do; but he gets a sense of relief from the memories of those times. He also helps others deal with their own nightmares.

I start to think about what happened to me as a child. Ted and I have a lot in common. We used our imagination to escape the ordeal we both lived through by living in another world although we still were there for the most part. Mine was terrible, but I have often thought Ted's was worse but who knows. Both of us had parents who were in twisted and ugly worlds and who were so egotistical that they could not even image getting real help so they would not include their own innocent children in their hellholes.

In some ways, I was beaten far more than Ted was and cautioned more to not diverge the secrets that were in my family and to not believe what my eyes and ears were telling me. In both of our worlds, sexual matters were forced on us at a very early age without our consent. It corrupted our view of it. Both of us have trouble with close intimate relationships. Unfortunately, this is not a rare occurrence in the human population. When Sigmund Freud came up with this very issue early in his career, the outrage was so loud and strong that he had to recant or lose his promising start in the treatment of his patients. He had no idea that incest of children was such a widespread problem.

Incest travels in families for generations. I thought it stopped in mine, but five years ago discovered that it did not. I am so sick about it. When anything in people is hidden, denied and circumvented as strong as the sexual instinct, it comes out ugly and thwarted.

The closest parent that I had was my mother and she was so angry at her lot in life. The only ones she felt she could take it out on was her children. Because we were young, she thought she could do it and we would not remember. Of course we did. Because she was molested, she molested others. She did not have the ability to examine her inner motives so she became the conduit for furthering the line of incest. I did not molest, but I did not see the abuse that happened around me. That is part of the incest. Incest is abuse at its worst.

What is ironic is down through the years, I sought help at different places. I could not get it until I moved to Redding. There I found that the mental health field finally caught up with what I needed. I tried so hard to get help, to read all sorts of self-help books which did not help and could have made it worse. I found help with a man who had the exceptional skills of hypnotherapy. He did not have advanced degrees. The others did. They were of no use. Along with my journal, I was able to climb out of the abyss.

I read Ted's books and how he fought towards sanity and against the relatives who ranted and railed against his books. They sued him and lost. They wrote him letters that accused him of lying and he kept writing the truth. People kept buying his books. He wrote more books and he delved deeper and deeper into his childhood. He is not at the bottom of it yet; but he feels he is getting at a point he might be looking at another career in writing. Several times, he let me read some of those letters when they were so black and insidious that he feared for his own black despair coming back. Thank goodness, he kept writing. The black clouds that had gathered on the horizon dissipated.

When I was a child, I would have dreams that would repeat over and over again. One dream would be that I was walking with my brother and sister and we would be trying to catch up with our mother and she would not slow down for us. I can't even estimate how many times I had that dream. Luckily, I made peace with my mother in the last few years of her life. I can now rest easily with the memories.

I have Netscape and watch it from time to time. They have old television series on it. One of them is Pushing up Daisies. In it, the portrayal of memories is very important to the plot and to the different characters in the series. In another television series, Drop Dead Diva, the plot is enriched with the past of the main character. In Pushing up Daisies, it is done on a fairy tale model and it is done very well.

I don't think one can live one's life without dealing with the past. Of course, I have been working on detaching from anger and fear from what happened to me in my childhood and that is what Ted has been doing in his memoirs. He told me that once they are in his book and on the shelf for people to read, they are no longer part of his life as living and breathing emotional baggage but just memories, history of what was and what is no more. He gets letters and email from people all of the time telling him of things in their lives and how his books give them the courage to face those memories so that they can put them in the past and get on with their lives. He feels good that he can do that for others and himself.

Sometimes, a memory will float up from my life and I will write about it in my journal and it helps. Reading Ted's books helps me with the courage to write about it in my journals. When I was getting treatment with the hypnotherapist, I would be so afraid that someone would punish me for telling him what happened to me as a child. I would want to hide behind the chair as I was talking to the therapist. Then I would explain that fear and he would tell me that it was a common reaction to therapy. It is all of us helping the rest of us escape the living nightmares of our lives.

I lost all of the books, Ted signed and gave me in the Purge of last year. There will be more as he always gives me signed books of the new ones coming out. I have often wondered what people thought of the small notes in those books I lost. I don't know where those books went that my ex-husband stole from me. They were personal notes that only I would understand. I read them as soon as I got them and the lessons of those books stayed with me and could not be taken away.

My ex-husband sits in the Veterans Hospital therapists' offices taking a huge amount of drugs and has nightmares at night and no one knows why he can't sleep without screaming. He was not in combat. Sometimes I think he wanted to punish me for divorcing him. He never forgives a grudge. I used to see my life as one long tunnel and remember seeing the light at the end of it for the first time years ago. Lately, I feel as if I finally emerged into the light. Ted says the same. He is walking around the grass, flowers and under the trees; but he also know the cave that he came out of is not far from where he is and must work to continue to walk into the sunshine. I must do the same.

The Seasons

A friend of mine who knows I write about him called me at the crack of dawn to talk to me about a dream he had. He writes memoirs that get published and they do very well. I have given him the name of Ted. Anyhow, he told me that he has a worry that he is going to run out of material which is based on his life. This was the first he had mentioned this to me. Financially, he is fine. He has invested the money he has made and it looks good, but he likes to write and is looking for new fields. He had a wild dream last night he wanted to tell me about.

In his dream, he had a dream about a wizard that lived on a island of magical people who were governed by four queens. Each of the queens represented one of the seasons. The island was shielded from human beings as they did want to interact with them and if any of them washed up on their shores they returned them to their own lands. They kept their population down and if anything had trouble keeping the numbers high enough. They usually did not have crime as they could have anything they wanted and could do anything and none of them ever ventured beyond their borders as they disliked people.

Ted said that I could describe this dream as he was not interested in writing this up as a story but of the philosophy behind it. The wizard he met in his dream had told him a story about how one wizard had fallen in love with the Winter Queen who was without an escort although her three older sisters had escorts. He had tried so hard to win her hand but he also tried to change her so she would fit his needs. Because each of the queens were in their elements during their seasons each of the queens were very different from each other. The Winter Queen was solitary and loved her time alone. She was beautiful but in a cool way, with long white hair and crystal blue eyes, white clear skin and tall and slender. He wanted to be with her all of the time and for her to be warmer instead of the cool touch she had. If it was 40 degrees outside, she wore a light dress and even if it got close to freezing she felt comfortable although he had to wear a thick coat. The Winter Queen knew that it would never work out between them and spurned his attentions. He was heartbroken.

The wizard in the dream said people were drawn to certain seasons or times of the year. Ted said that he and I were drawn to early Autumn and that we were most excited at the beginning of things as we liked the beginning of the school year but like the beginning of the time of solitude of winter. Some people like the dead of winter where they could spend time with others in warm rooms visiting others waiting for the winter months to end while others yearned for the solitude of the long winters. Summers were for picnics, swimming and being with others and spring were for the beginning of life and for being in groups to planting of the fields, for children and the rearing of children. Autumn was for thinking and contemplating what was to come and enjoying the past of summer and spring and of the winter that was to happen.

In that land of wizards, different magical families were attracted to certain queens and served certain ones. The least popular one was the Winter Queen but she was still necessary for the other ones to exist.The one who wanted to be her lover wanted to change her because he thought, she looked like death. He wanted to change her into a season he was happier with. She was happy with herself and would not change.

Ted said we are all necessary and that some would view us as inferior or unattractive and profess love for us even as they are trying to change us to something we are not. It is a great mistake for any of us to change for someone else as we are all necessary for the balance of the world. He told his last 12 step group this philosophy but they did not seem to understand it. I asked him where he was. He said he was in Maine because he met someone who lived there. He was coming to Portland in a few days. He said it did not bother him that the group did not understand him. They told him that he was making his own life more complicated than it needed to be. There were only a few people there including his new friend. Ted explained that they were people of the summer and all they wanted to do was have a good time and thinking about the meaning of life just wasn't it. It was a perfect description of how his philosophy worked. They were not compatible.

He is thinking of writing fiction but under another name. He thinks his dream shows that he might be able to and I agree. He does not think he is ready as he has another book he is working on and it looks good. Still, he is thinking about what he wants to do. The dream shows he has an active imagination and that is all he needs at least as a start. I think his season philosophy shows a lot of promise too.

The Bad Times

There is a book that I am reading, “Read for Your Life”, by Joseph Gold. I reminded me of the time when I first got married. It was a terrible time. I got depressed just being reminded of it. Just before that book, I was reading “My Navy Too” by Beth F. Coye Commander, U.S. Navy (Ret.). That book is a novel but closely modeled on the author’s experiences as an officer in the American Navy. I stopped reading this book which I don’t think is well written, but also because it reminds me of my experiences in the U.S.Army just before I got married. I hated the military and while I was there had become ill and no one would listen to me. The military got everything wrong including my blood type. I never felt so alone and I was sick.

When I am feeling down or depressed, I know there is something that I need to write about, something I left in an old chapter in my life that is unfinished and left unsaid to myself. Heavens knows I was both very happy at the coming birth of my first child but very ill. I would tell the doctor how ill I was and describe the symptoms and the doctors would ignore me and ascribe my fears to my feelings as a woman. I knew different. I knew I was very ill. Then I saw how my in-laws disliked me. They called me names in Spanish and I would explain to them I knew what they meant. They didn’t care and continued to call me names. My husband would not defend me. My husband was becoming very uncommunicative. I had no friends or relatives in Kansas. I was scared. I was desperately unhappy.

My child was born and I became even more ill. Some military nurses in their meanness had me thrown out of the U.S. Air Force hospital. Women in the military are very mean. I thought I might be dying and had no insurance and at that point I gave up. My husband did what his father told him to do and took me to the Veterans Hospital. His father worked there. I met a wonderful doctor who saw me on Thursday and I was in emergency surgery on Tuesday. I had a serious cancer that killed most people in those days, but he saved my life. I didn’t even know I could use the VA Hospital. During surgery, I almost bled to death. Dan was not there for he refused to get off work after I begged him to for six hours. I knew how serious it was. I was alone except for that remarkable doctor.

I had to live for 12 months to see if the cancer came back. It didn’t. My spouse became more and more emotionally distant. He was doing mean and twisted things and then denying that he did them. I was so confused. I wanted to believe in his goodness while seeing the evil in him. I lived in a city that I hated and we were so poor. I could not find employment and when I did the babysitting ate up my check. I decided to go back to school as it included the GI Bill. Then in the middle of it, I found out I qualified for Chapter 31 which was a lot better than the GI Bill which did not pay for college fees and books. I went to the University of Kansas. Things began to look up as far as money was concerned but my husband was getting more and more emotionally abusive. I could feel my mental health falling apart.

The process of those times continued until Dan went to my house and purged it last year. The bad things that happened such as Dan taking me to the VA at the urging of his father saved my life. The purging of my house sent me here. All that helped me find happiness here and a gate to my final leg of my life has been open. But it was a very bad time when I was in the service and when I left the service and married my spouse.

I can still feel the depression of those times as I did when I started to describe it in here. Yes, it worked out and I ended up being the better for it; but the damage of those actions of others were still inside of me just festering. I can’t say I feel anger as much as I feel hurt and pain. I rarely trust people. I had learned to trust him and he was not worthy of my trust. I had two children. I suddenly found myself in the same situation that my mother was in when I was a kid. I did something my mother did not do. I walked out, but I did not sever the connection with him. He continue to emotionally abuse him over the years. I cannot tell you the number of times I would find myself in shock after he did something that seemed so unbelievably cruel. I would then “forget it”.

I know why I left Redding. If I did not leave my house, I would not have survived. I was going back to those dark places I was in when I was discharged from the service. My adult children had learned only too well from their father his behavior patterns. What he did to me, they were doing to me as well. I ended up blaming myself for their treatment of me as I blamed my own husband’s treatment of me. I had to put one foot in front of the other and leave. My bliss in finding myself free of them is proof that I did the right thing. I still feel so bad for allowing an abuser to have so much control over my life and my children back in the early years. All I can do is pray for mental health, forgiveness for me and my sons. I wish I could have woke up earlier. That is what abuse does. It blinds you. At least I am not allowing them to do it anymore. That is a step in the right direction.

I don’t know what else I can do. Maybe taking responsibility for what others do is not the answer. Look at what my behavior has done to my adult children so far. They need to examine their own behavior and take responsibility themselves. My oldest told me not long before I left Redding that it was my fault that my youngest was the way he is now. They are both middle aged. I told him that makes as much sense as my blaming my parents for what I do now. Yes, my parents abused me severely, but what I do with what life now is up to me. I need to let my adult children take that gift of self-responsibility that I took for myself as well and do what I did. Take control of their lives and not blame others. It is better late than never and I am alive to tell them what I should have showed them years ago. I can only do the best I can do now. I protected them too much from themselves. I need to stop doing this. I moved here for my sake but for theirs too.