Taking it easy, really.

• Reading William Faulkner's Light in August, and loving it. Magical sentences.  Old beat-up copy from the bookshelves, not sure whose it was, but obviously a school copy.  But, not mine. Well, it is now.  Mine.  Lovely book, all limp and worn out.
• My main squeeze is wiring up some 7' bamboo poles he cut from the bamboo forest at his shop onto the existing wire fence around the chickens' area---at least part of it.  Our chicken run is getting excessive sun in the afternoons, being that our next door neighbors are a bit too much in love with the chainsaw.   
• Back to books.  Went to the library today, got an Anne Lamott I'd had on hold and just got in---Hard Laughter, but know absolutely nothing about it.  We'll see.  Also got every Ann Patchett they had on the shelves, three in all.  Her book Bel Canto I read last week was such a winner, maybe the others are as well.  It never works out like that, though.  Authors aren't that consistent.
• Life is slow now.  Wayward boys keeping, pretty much, to themselves, which is good from time to time.  I get a break from longing for them.  Pray for them every night, but a physical distance is healing.  Once I see them in person my strength flags.
• Tomorrow holds nothing I don't want it to hold.  My prospective chores include (or not) cleaning out the fridge, getting the mildew off the shower curtains (we have two--one against the wall because our old house has a window in the shower), and sweeping the sidewalk from youngest son's mowing today.  I may do none of it!  I may delegate.  
• Realizing that my days, for awhile at least, are without drama is amazing.  I really can breathe. Read, putter, bake if I want to, not feel guilty, youknowwhatImean.  And, my brainstorm, we're not going to church on Sunday.  Middle daughter was an acolyte for May, and the least one is lined up for June.  I figured a Sunday off would be a good thing.  Probably just rejoice in no have to's.
• Take care all.  

A mid-week quiet

Sometimes I just need me some Nora to cuddle.  She tends to be picked on by gorgeous Madelyn, who is apt to be way too big for her britches.  Beauty queen syndrome, I'm thinking.  But, here's the thing.  I think Madelyn is just jealous, because Milk and Nora get lap-time and Maddy just struts around waiting to peck at Nora when she jumps from my lap.  Like people.  Huh.  The least one came into the chicken yard this morning, picked up Maddy and she settled right down.  As with humans, those who are most prickly, seem to need the most loving, not that we want to.

Having a quiet day today.  Yesterday was supposed to be that, but my mental health went a bit awry. One son needed papers from me in order to apply for a college grant, and unfortunately I'm one of those people who isn't very organized in terms of papers.  It all got settled, but having to hunt when I wanted to chill was a bit frustrating.  He got it figured out, though, without my 'lost' papers.

I'm the person who's always asking where my keys, comb, pen, etc. are.  Terminal, I fear.

Believe we'll take it easy in the house until Monday, which is the first of June.  Then get a schedule of sorts for summer.  Not pressing, but a bit of organization would be a good thing.  Last summer was a wash, and with third son's official wedding on September fourth, I'd like to feel settled in my head.  I figure three months to get there will work. :)  

Okay now then....smoothing skirt. Deep breath.

Opened up the comments again.  ::shivers::  Figured I might as well.  As our oldest son has said before, "Haters gonna hate."  And in her own way of giving advice to me, middle daughter said to limit my stuff here on my blog would be a way of giving in.  She's right.  You stand your ground, or give in to those who disagree.  And golly, I'm up for debates, but play nice.

If all I talked about here was decorating or cooking, this wouldn't be an issue, but I do feel relief in sharing what I'm experiencing as a mom and a believer.  Sometimes raunchy stuff.  I don't willingly go the dark side, but as you know, some of my offspring dwell there.

One son said it well.  As we were going at it last year, we came to a quiet understanding and he mentioned that we're all so passionate in this house.  While we're not into yelling, we do state our opinions forcibly and with enthusiasm.  You have to hold your own.  Not sure where I'd be if I'd married someone who was quiet and reserved.  Coming from my parents' house with verbal shunning, I was in need of someone who would let me speak my mind.  Exhausting, but refreshing at the same time.

So, I'm not a warm and fuzzy person, though I do enjoy cozy security.  And knowing where I stand with folks offers me that.  None of that pouting and polite reserve which only covers up a certain passive-aggressiveness.

Time to sit with the chickens.  

'Unoffendable' by Brant Hansen

The first thing I appreciated about Brant Hansen's book Unoffendable was that his idea of not taking offense really allowed me some freedom.  As soon as I'd read the first couple of chapters, I put into practice not letting insignificant things irritate me---those situations everyday when someone would bug me.  I felt so light.  So, for that I'm thankful.

But when he further goes into the thought process of never being offended.  Never.  Well, that sort of tripped me up.  He says that Jesus was never shocked by the morality of those He encountered.  I understand that, but if I remember that God can see into the person's heart, it shouldn't come as a surprise that Jesus would just overlook certain things.  I don't have that advantage.

I am shocked when I see immorality, blatant or otherwise.  When I hold someone in high esteem and they disappoint me and others.  It sets me back.  And with worldliness, I'm not sure I want to become so vanilla that I'm not concerned and upset by its invasion on decency.

So I'm two ways about the book.  I like being reminded that minor situations need to remain just that---minor.  I don't need to be so touchy that every little thing makes me mad.  But for the bigger issues, I'm a fan of taking offense.  Maybe not always personally, but in the big picture.  I think we need to take offense on God's behalf.  I realize He can manage without me, but sometimes I believe we're to be the foot soldiers working for Him, clearing out the uglies.

(i received this book free to review from booklookbloggers)

Evening

I love the evenings when the day is done, the kids are safe in bed and we're all ready for sleep.  Quiet, with a day finished and survived.  No chores for the following day that take us out of the house.  My mom with her needs met.  Tea to be here in bed the following morning.  A book to read that hates to be put down.   

 Contentment.

That is now, or will begin in about an hour or so.

Headache is gone, groceries in the house for a couple of days.  Puttering to enjoy.  Nothing pressing.  

School finished for another season.  Weeds to be pulled.  Pots to be watered.  A storm to listen to from the open window by my bed tonight.  Chickens to be held tomorrow.

A cloth book cover to be stitched for middle daughter to keep safe a very old copy of fairy tales.  

Rest.

Milk-the head chicken

~napping for a minute

Monday, all quiet

Today was better, so I'll chatter a bit.  Woke up to our new (but haven't moved in yet) neighbor cutting down something with a chainsaw at 7:15am right at our property boundary.  Gary woke up, muttered and went in the backyard.  Stood there, got the attention of the neighbor and reminded him of what time it was.  The guy had the decency to appear embarrassed.  Said he thought it was 8am.  Silly man.  He stopped, but did fire up the chainsaw later on in the morning.  He's cutting down all the bushes and small trees near the house.  Says he can't stand things that close to the house.  The dogwood and a holly bit the dust this morning.  

Gary talked to him and his wife (who I really like) this afternoon, and the guy cut a look at our yard, which is definitely overgrown, not weedy, though we have plenty of clover (Gary's built a beehive he's wanting to find a swarm for), but we have stuff---flowers and lots of greenery.  He eyed our huge Oak in the backyard and Gary says, "Our tree stays!"  

* * *

Tomorrow is a stay-at-home day which we all need.  Mom probably wants her groceries we got tonight, but maybe she can wait a day.  I have to slow down a bit.

Reading Ann Patchett's Bel Canto, which honestly (so far) is one of the most beautifully-written modern day books I've ever read.  I'm only on page 37, so will reserve further comment until I finish it.  Loved Elizabeth von Arnim's The Pastor's Wife as well, which I finished recently.  The longest book (at over 900 pages) I've read this year is Ken Follett's The Pillars of the Earth, which I enjoyed even with the harshness.  Brutality, which fit the time (1100's, I think) with castles, etc., but it was tough to read.  Considering the sequel, but will wait a bit.  Your Spacious Self by Stephanie Bennett Vogt is about uncluttering, but more than that.  About the emotional bondage we subject ourselves to.  She recommends journaling as you read her book.  A powerful book for me, let me tell you.  I got a used (like new) copy online.  Worth having.

Must go.  I need to water my flowers and seedlings and prefer to do it a night when the neighbors are tucked away.  Take care all.  And thanks for your prayers. :)

Sunday

I really am stressed out.  It's a bit thick now.  So, to re-focus, I'm going to post at my other site of gratefulness, as a change of pace for awhile, and to give everyone a break from my personal tragic mindset.  At A Quartet of Things I focus on small things, and maybe that'll resettle my heart a bit.

Read this last night in Colleen Carroll Campbell's book My Sisters the Saints (excellent, by the way).  She's referring to infertility and waiting.  I deal with wayward boys and the waiting for their hearts to change.  Here's what she wrote:

"The waiting is the cross." (her mother told Colleen)

Maybe that was the truth I had overlooked all these years:  that the waiting, the not knowing, even the interior desolation and doubts---that was the suffering that Jesus wanted me to offer up to him.  Maybe the prayer Jesus wants in dark times is not one of petition or inquisition but one of simple surrender to the Father's will, the same prayer that Jesus himself offered from the cross.

I wanted to analyze and dissect my cross, to know how long I would have to carry it and how my carrying it would glorify God.  

Jesus, I realized, wanted none of this.  He did not need my supervision, and he was not asking me to understand my cross.  He was asking me to carry it.  He wanted me to wake up each morning, bend a knee on the cold wooden floor beside my bed, and offer that day's sufferings and joys for whatever purpose he wished to use them.  He wanted me to joyfully embrace my daily duties and leave the big picture to him---to do, in other words, what Mother Teresa (my note:  this chapter talks about her quite a bit) had done when facing much harsher trials than mine.

Like Colleen, I want answers.  I want the suffering to stop.  I want closure, but these situations with our boys might last many years.  Gulp.

I was burdened last night and into this morning with our oldest son.  Prayed last night, and felt worse.   Something wasn't right in his world.  I could feel it.  We've always been close this way, though he's unaware of it.  I got in touch with him today, he said he's fine.  As I told a friend, his idea of fine and mine are two totally different things.  Polar opposites.  We both said we loved one another (all my kids will do this, thankfully), and that was that, at least in his mind.  I told him I'd keep praying.  He knows.

Going out to pray again tonight.  Purge my soul.  Stay out there until I feel the burden lift.

Saturday night

~bedside shelf relieved of piles of stuff

Funny thing.  Ever since our boys came out with the revelations of their living situations, I've drawn away from the ever-present cozy books I've always been attracted to.  Now it's more edgy stuff I tend to read.  Not always, but I seem to trust it more.  Christian books always intrigue me, but not so much nice fiction, but non-fiction.  More real situations.  The ones where folks share the hard realities.  I'm there.

I'm done (for now) cozy and safe, since life isn't that way anymore.  For me, at least.  I just feel smacked around too much.  

More Anne Lamott.  Less Emilie Barnes, not that I've read her in years, but you get my drift.  I think subconsciously I want to see evidence of folks who are knee-deep in sin who come around to the Lord.  I got one book at the library bookshop today written by a self-described atheist lesbian who one day goes to church, receives communion and is changed forever.  Snap of the fingers changed.  Damascus road experience.  I love that, and find hope in it.

And I'm reading Colleen Carroll Campbell's book called My Sisters the Saints and she says, "God does not abandon us in our suffering but uses suffering to draw us closer to him."  And she further quotes from the Book of Wisdom in the Apocrypha saying the "souls of the righteous" who "will shine forth" like "sparks through the rubble" because "God tested them and found them worthy of himself; like gold in the furnace he tried them, and like a sacrificial burnt offering he accepted them."

My tears shed over my children can be for good?  

When I was out with the girls this afternoon, we passed a corner gas station and saw a young pregnant black girl twirling a hula hoop around her round belly.  Dressed in short shorts, and appeared to be either drunk or high.  Not what I was expecting to see.  We pulled in the opposite side of the street to another gas station, where we were headed anyway.  As oldest daughter got her gas, I was able to see an older black woman stop, put on her flashers and go to the girl.  They talked.  Won't ever know what they discussed, but I had the passing thought that this woman might be on a mission.  Maybe she's had a daughter in a similar situation, and while she can't save her own flesh and blood, perhaps she can make a difference to a stranger.  

I pray for those individuals who will be able to reach my boys.  Oldest son will begin his new position at a different store than he's been the past few years.  Advancement placed him in a new location.  I shared with a close cousin who lives near where he'll be, and she shops there all the time, so she told me today.  A touch from a believer.  One who loves him.  A word of affection that doesn't want anything in return.  Being present for Christ.  We're His hands and feet and deliver Grace.

Might sound mystical, but I have a great belief in the physical touch of Him in a life---a silent prayer along with fingers on an arm.  The transference of the Spirit.  That's why I mark our doors, and am drawn toward things that might smack to some folks of oddness.  But you never know.

Sometimes I don't think we engage in the enormity of the task asked of us as believers.  We just don't know what difference we'll make in a life.  Even a silent prayer over one who resists.  Quiet words over a soul.  Could any work be more important?

Tuesday night

Rest.

A busy day taking oldest daughter to the ophthamologist after failed appointments with 3 different optometrists.  Now, she's finally getting the help she needs.  And today one son had all four of his wisdom teeth pulled.  I didn't sleep well, and figure it was anxiety over their busy lives.  This particular son moved out in February, and I miss not being able to fuss over him.  His significant other took him to his doctor's appointment.  And that's all I'll say about that.  He came over on Saturday with a Mother's Day gift for me (he keeps me supplied with Infusium hair conditioner) and visited for two hours.  Wonderful.  I have to weigh his lifestyle choices in such a way that I still show a deep love for him.  And I do.  I love him to bits.  That'll never change.  Gary's having a harder time.  He still adores this son, but he struggles more than I do with the homosexuality.  Why, I have no clue.  Maybe it's a mothering thing.

My goodness.  I cry at the drop of a hat.

Interesting, but fatigue can come over us in ways we don't expect.  Yes, I was concerned over their appointments, but when I stop a moment and think over my boys, the concern expands.  I involuntarily go down that path all the time.  Have to watch myself that I pay proper attention to the ones who I still manage here at home.

So, after this day, we rest tomorrow.  Mom is all fixed up as well.  We did her shopping and deep-cleaned her house in anticipation for one of my brothers to spend Thursday night with one of his sons.

I'll garden tomorrow, putter in the house, read more of the book on my Kindle, an Elizabeth von Arnim called The Pastor's Wife, that I'm enjoying very much.  Probably got it free at Girlebooks.com.  They have an excellent selection of older books to download, some free, and others for a very reasonable price.

Not going to tote any worries tomorrow.  Rest.  Just rest and restoration.

Mother's Day Eve

Listening to Mumford & Sons and Chris August.  Resting after some time gardening out front. I try to time my evening gardening so our across-the-street neighbors are inside.  As it was, one daughter of our neighbor (79 year old woman who I mentioned put me to shame with her digging), came over to her house and within minutes was hollering and going to town in her anger at someone in her mom's house.  What is up with that woman?   Gary worked with me a bit, sweeping and spreading some seeds.  My bodyguard, I guess.  Protects me from the monsters, and obviously we have those here.

Anyway.

We had a wonderful rain last night and into this morning a bit.  A soaking rain.  I'd been waiting for that to happen so I could put out the seeds I'd bought.  I'd rather we were in a situation of coming into full with the moon, but it can't be helped.  If I wait until the moon begins to go full, the weather will be too hot and my seedlings will burn.  Yeah, well.   Also put out a flat of Portulaca at the foot of the walkway (Mother's Day present).  It gets darn hot there, and we'd already pulled up some dwarf Crape Myrtles which had spread a bit too much.  Just trying to tidy up a bit.  My Black-eyed Susans have sort of taken over, so they got thinned as well.  Now to attack the Ground Ivy which is all over the place.  Stuff makes me sneeze.  Wish I liked it, then I'd leave it.  As it is, it's taken over as well.  If I could get my head around seeing it as an appealing ground cover, all would be dandy.  Uh, no.  By the way, one name of the Ivy is Lizzie-Run-Up-the-Hedge, which, yes, it does.  If I call it something charming like that, maybe I'll grow to love it?  'Course I could harvest it and make a tincture.  Seems most things grow agreeable when you stop making such a fuss.  Least it seems to me.  Lessons in gardening, as in the rest of life.

Perspective.

I'd been getting my knickers in a twist for days, wanting rain, thinking I'd be late planting.  Tonight spent about an hour out there, cleared out the spaces for the Portulaca, yanked some of that Ivy, and broadcast Onion, Spinach and Radish seeds.  I'm calling it my salad garden, for obvious reasons.  Not doing rows, but areas.  The gardening book I reviewed recently recommends that method for small plots, and mine is definitely small.  Spread some Marigold and Zinnias too.  The thing is, within a short period of time, I got all I wanted to do accomplished.  That's my way.  Get all worked up, finally do a task and realize it was so simple.  So, what's up with THAT?

Time to go.  Enjoy your weekend. :)

Friday night

A quiet weekend ahead.  Asked Mom if she wanted to go to church with us, and she'll call tomorrow to let me know.  Have to go to the store, buy flowers for the altar, and that's about it.  I told my family that Mother's Day began tonight at sundown, so I already have a foot into the weekend.

Soaked some Morning Glory seeds last night, and hope to put them in the ground tomorrow.  Rain is expected, so that should be in my favor.  I've dragged my feet over gardening, just not having my heart in it.  My 79 year old neighbor puts me to shame, especially since now she's borrowed our shovels and has tilled up ALL BY HERSELF an area about 8 feet square.  There's not a weed to be seen in her garden.  I've got a 4' square spot for vegetables and there it sits, barely tilled and acquiring weeds by the second.  Not very impressive.  Not very square either.  More of a rounded-edge square.  You get the idea.  Clearing out a bed isn't my favorite thing.  My favorite thing is to cut flowers to bring inside for an arrangement.  I need me a gardener.

My strong suit is my perennials.  Put most in about 8 years ago or so, and they continue to make me proud.  Some bare spots need filling in, so maybe this weekend I can do that. My family tends to give me some flowers for Mother's Day, and that'll be what I occupy myself with on Sunday afternoon.  Maybe.  Maybe they'll give me some, and maybe I'll plant them if they do.  Gary?  :)  Sundays tend to be nap-time in the afternoon, so we'll have to see.  If Mom goes with us, the stress level will be tilted to the right a bit, so I figure we'll do stuff as it comes.

Oh, I will say this:  The girls and I got Mom's groceries for the weekend today.  Picked up youngest son, who spends Fridays with her, and cleaned up her house a bit.  My mom and I got on so well.  No tensions and a very sweet visit.  Some days it just works.  Prayer does its work again.  I just have to let it go, avoid dragging up past grievances in my head, and allow my mom to be who she is.  Her poor brain is so damaged, and I need to cut her some slack.  I mean, really.  I can walk around, and do what I want.  She doesn't have that freedom, being locked into a life centered inside her house and not even all the rooms in her house.  Even that's limited.  I need to lay off.

That said, I'm praying for a restful weekend for all of us.  I want her to feel blessed.  It's hard to keep my head in the right place, but here's where baby steps come in.

Happy Mother's Day weekend.

'Praying Over God's Promises' by Thomas R. Yeakley

There are some books on prayer that I dog-ear and plain wear out.  Underlining and pouring over. Praying Over God's Promises by Thomas R. Yeakley is one of those books.

As the US Field Director of the Navigators he shares many stories of God's hand in answers to prayer.  And he challenges us to be bold.

He says, "First, we come with a twofold attitude of both abject humility and courageous expectancy.  We don't dictate to God, even when claiming His promises.  But we do come boldly, reverentially, before His throne."  Further steps refer to asking for forgiveness so our hearts are in the right place to even ask.  Also to ground our prayers in Scripture.  All wonderful advice, and necessary.

Yeakley shares about something he encourages folks to do who come to conferences he leads.  He calls it The Impossible List.  To come to the Lord with requests that, while they seem unanswerable to us, are simple tasks for God.  He recommends starting out with a 'tangible and measurable' request, and then to move into more difficult (in our eyes) needs.  His idea is for us to set a six-month window for God to work, saying that many requests can be answered in that period of time, but that it's not written in stone.  I love that idea.  Putting on paper the things that concern me, and watching God work.  

This book is easy to read, but filled with rich stories and encouragement for a life of prayer.

(i received this book free to review from tyndale)

'Five Years in Heaven' by John Schlimm

John Schlimm's book called Five Years in Heaven is a compilation of stories which take place during a period of time he spent with a nun who lived in St. Joseph's Monastery in Pennsylvania (which has since closed).  And while I appreciate the sentiment of his tales, his writing lacks something to be desired.

"The snow was scalloping the porch's edge in undulating patterns, as if Mother Nature were gentling [sic] wielding a wide brush dipped in ivory paint."  Or this one:  "The snow crunched like toasted bread crumbs under my feet as I hurried toward the long porch leading to the shop."

Snow is snow.  A writer doesn't need to tell us what snow is like in order to draw us into the book.

Now, I don't intend to be cruel, but while the premise of the book is sound---Schlimm's relationship with Sister Augustine and the insights she shared with him about life, the real truths are lost in his effusive writing.  Forget all the descriptions.  Get to the heart of the talks and stop the flowery writing.  He holds the story together well, but with all his endless light-hearted comments about her cat, Blitzen, and overly-descriptive sentences, the urge to throw the book was strong.  

Way too precious for me.  I did appreciate his sincerity, but some strict editing over his dialogue would've made the book more serious reading and less like a schoolboy bragging on his favorite teacher.

(i received this book free to review from waterbook/multnomah)

Dust baths

Midweek things

For some odd reason, this morning I was hit with the idea of reading a blog I used to visit.  The woman who writes there had a stroke suddenly a few years ago.  Healthy, athletic, totally out of the blue for her to get ill in this way.  Well, she's written sporadically since her stroke, and frankly, I'd quit reading her.  No reason, but busyness on my part.  This morning I got updated on her life and was so shocked.  She's now living with her folks, and her husband and their children live in another city.  She's not seen her children in almost a year.  So sad.  I don't know the details, and don't need to know, but it renewed my hatred for strokes.  They're so devastating, and the destruction is all-encompassing.  One of the results of my mom's stoke is her altered personality.  It's often like nobody's at home.  A blankness which makes me sad and angry at the same time, but it's the reality.  To see my mom's puzzled expression infuriates me and that's the hard part.  It's true and not something I can change. I think my anger is directed at the loss.  My mom's physical self is present, but the nugget of her own self is gone for good.

Have to remember this is somebody's else life, both the blogger and my mom.  Mine is full enough.  

Saw secretly married son today.  His birthday was last week, but this is the first time we'd seen him in a few weeks.  He looked great, was tired, but we had a sweet visit.  And talked to freshly gone son, Jacob, and he's having a wonderful time.  Says it's hard to get used to nice folks.  His job at the restaurant here was so stressful, and the language and all was a drain.  Lots of profanity in a restaurant kitchen---the norm for most of them.  A hard work environment.  Well, where he is now, it's the opposite.  Not to say it won't get stressful when the place opens for the summer, but he says it appears that folks care.  A new situation for him.  Plus the inner-city church he went to here was long on need and short on giving to the involved members.  Jacob has a servant's heart, so was taken advantage of continually.  So glad he's left that for this new job.  

Now then.  Tomorrow is a home day.  Today was busy with going to Intercessory Prayer and then Bible Study tonight.  Neat thing---Gary really got into this class (it ended tonight), being one of the main folks who pipes up and comments.  He's getting over his angst with Anglicans and has grown accustomed to the rituals.  He's not keen, but is okay with it.  For that I'm deeply thankful.  In time God has answered that prayer.  I didn't see that coming.

Chickens tomorrow, white bean soup for dinner, maybe some dinner rolls and cornbread.  A quiet day without added things to do.  Sounds amazing.

Today's mutterings

When I got up the second time this morning (after first getting up to let out the chickens at just after six), the phrase "If you don't like something, then change it" came into my head.  I've been so dissatisfied with myself for such a long time.  See, I'm a reactor.  I react to what's put up in front of me, not initiating, but responding to those I live with, or take care of.

When my mom says something upsetting, I react.  When the kids do/say something that goes against the way they were raised, I respond to that situation.  When Gary comes home upset from something that's happened at work, I react to that as well.  Rarely do I make the first move.  I'm the responder.

Do you know how much that becomes a habit?   And does what I'm saying even make any sense?

I was sitting out back late last night with Romeo, our dog who's not a Pug, and was praying.  The thoughts came to me, asking what I really had a passion for.  I've spent years and years taking care of others (a mother's purpose and lament at the same time), and have shoved aside my own desires.  Not anything big, but things that are personal.

And when we got hit with grand rebellion from some of the boys beginning just over two years ago, followed by my mom's stroke, I gave up on myself.  It just felt pointless.  My sons weren't interested in what Gary or I had to teach them, rejecting their upbringing, and my mom became such a burden (sorry, but it's a fact), and there's been little room to breathe.

Yesterday we were at her house, leaving her groceries, making her bed, etc., and she asked me if I'd made her doctor's appointment.  Dang it.  I'd not even thought of it after having Jury Duty, seeing Jacob off and all.  It had totally slipped my mind.  I had paid her bills yesterday, so was glad of that, but it bothered me that I'd forgotten about the doctor.  I told Gary later that I was just a

 suck egg daughter.  He said it wasn't like I didn't have things going on.  Perfect answer.  Yes, absolutely true.  Didn't help long-term, but it did help.  Life is full, even besides caring for my mom, who I have a bad attitude towards, most times.

The truth hurts, but it's a relief to express it.

I read a blog the other day written by a young woman who's had a very challenging year.  She talked about how she used to try to make everyone happy, putting aside her own needs/wants in order to keep the peace.  I so identify.  I've so squished down my own life, that I can hardly see me anymore.  I've disappeared a bit.  

And with my mom being of a narcissistic personality, even after a stroke, I have to stand firm if I don't want her to paralyze me.  She asks things of me she won't ask my brother who lives near.  I've said it before, but she will never ask anything of him that causes him to adjust his plans.  I realize she can't take herself to the doctor, this is just an example, but she'll never ask him.  I have the time, am always available, and my kids are grown to the place I can leave them.  He, on the other hand, lives alone, and is more able to change gears.  See my frustration?  It's the old male/female thing.  Her generation is more apt to lean on the women, mostly because they're used to it.  Men get to do their manly thing, uninterrupted by women's needs.  

Okay, so this is just a small example of my personal exasperation.  As I said in the first paragraph, "If you don't like something, then change it."  I need to love myself enough to lose the excess weight that's been bugging me.  To adjust my eating habits, to care enough, to make the change.  To not run to food when life hurts.  See where I'm going with this?  When I begin to respect myself once again, learn to say no, and stand up to life in general, I think results will follow.

Done with my diatribe.  The trick will be daily.  To not make sweeping changes that I promise myself of for months and months.  Just today.  

Winding down the week...

Heard from Jacob just now.  They're about an hour from the California border, making good time.  Took a dog-leg North off of I-40 and went to the Grand Canyon, which was an excellent idea.  Might as well enjoy the journey.  Jake's said it's been fun to see the terrain change, seeing the land turn into, what he called, Cowboy Country.  Love that he's experiencing these things for the first time, and with someone who's been there, and is experienced on the road.  God answered that prayer in a unique way.

At home, however, we just do chickens and homey things.  :)  Oldest daughter was upset about something earlier today, and I felt for her.  Went out for some Chicken Zen afterwards to chill.  Works every time.  

About our daughter---she has a serious astigmatism in her left eye and it's worsened since her last eye exam.  Has been to two eye doctors to get help.  They sort of dismiss her, not knowing how to correct the problem, and treat her like she's imagining things.  Blurriness is blurriness, no matter how you slice it.  Her next plan is to go to the eyecare school downtown, hoping that the teachers and students can help her.  I've got astigmatisms in both eyes, and have never had her problem.  She's worn contacts for years, and is trying to get a prescription for glasses and contacts.  The 'script doesn't fix it, so back to square one.

Anyway, sitting with my chickens is generally a very restful time.  Highly recommended.  Are we cozy, or what?