Writing

The debate of the year will be using what's already written or starting over. There's been more than enough sent to many to compile volumes already, and this year there are the postcards that are the personal private property of a very special person. Maybe that's another book for another time. I can see it as written for children with illustrations.

How can I be an optimist with all that I've experienced so far and what may be coming? That someone always has it worse has been little consolation. I am an optimist, for those who don't know, cursed or blessed with a face that frowns when there's no feeling at all. Straight faced for us looks like sad, when it really isn't. And smiling is only most helpful with children. At this age, that's with whom it works best.

It's not that I expect or hope to see the good in people. It's the hope and expectation that the world will get better, one small act at a time. That those who harm others will be held accountable and become outnumbered and deincentivized from all that created so many problems. People are not property, or for sale, yet so many have managed to get around it at the expense of others. Of others' innocence, time, health, energy, and resources. It's not why we came here.

We are the third world country of more civilized planets. There is no danger we will be visited by aliens. There's nothing to learn from a planet that obviously even from space appears to be bent on destroying itself. Cruising by in a 'flying saucer' would have them move on to another sphere that creates rather than destroys its own.

Remaining hopes include a home where children can play and feel secure with all upheavals gone, health, energy, and the ability to see through plans long delayed, as well as the happiness and encouragement of one young man, that he will find his calling and be able to see it through for generations that follow.

Postcards

Since sometime in September. Daily. Including while together over the Thanksgiving holiday, for the first time since August. He said he wanted postcards, not letters, though the postage is the same, with the exception of the ones the post office sells. On postcards, there can be no secrets, or interrogations. Even the postman or postpersons can see.

Catching up from seeing him over the holiday, so am continuing to write every day, as he had asked if I would on the days we were together as well, as if written on those days, talking about what happened then. It's all important, we both need to remember.

No time for real conversation with each other, or other family for that matter. Everything was on a schedule. Watching TV together is something many take for granted. For us it was special. Shopping, on the worst such days of the year, with unusual crowds compared to any other time. Only because he asked: definitely not something I would do alone. Not to mention owning multiple pets, that he had to break to me one could not go back with him as he had wanted. His first and only special one that he truly loved. She seemed sad not to be able to stay with him. Lots of effort to get them all packed into a car for a very long trip. It took all day before leaving that evening, to drive through the night.

Pouring rain all through Virginia and North Carolina, in the dark. It wasn't so cold that having the car turned off while napping so as not to fall asleep at the wheel made it uncomfortable without heat, and the rain continuing to fall helped a little. Which wasn't the same for the trip back. Ice was coming down in Delaware and exhaustion created a need for seeking out every other rest area.

Seemed like it was all nerves and adrenaline just to get on the road to begin with, anticipated and planned for weeks; last minute details demanding and tiring as well.

It was all worth it to see him jump out from behind the tropical landscaping to flag down the car, letting me know I'd found the place, followed by his grandmother, my mother, awaiting the arrival. It was almost a 'normal' holiday, for the first time in too long.

Still I write, like breathing, instead of talking, two at a time, sometimes from me, sometimes from the pets: hybrids of their points of view. All from me might be boring after awhile; from a pet can keep it interesting.

When next to know soon; whenever it is, it's still too long, and not right. Will keep the cards going as long as it takes, because he wanted them to keep coming.

Anniversary

Fifteen years ago today, on an unseasonably warm all hallow's eve, it came out that the love of my life was not the person sitting across from me. A couple of days later, I would be given a first clue as to why. However, I would remain unenlightened for some time to come. "How could I be so blind?" For one thing, infatuation has a way of doing that. For another, not unlike many women, whatever flaws I was not consciously aware of were thought of as something that could be 'overcome'. It was an illusion, as much as the individual I was speaking to was as much a figment of my imagination as the stranger they would become. 'Stranger' would be putting it politely. It was perhaps my first lesson that passion when felt is not reciprocated. Nor is the capacity to understand another something others can do. It would be years too late to undo what I wished I had from the reaction: one that has exponentially snowballed to this day, taking with it one human life so far, with at least one attempt to take another before that, or the suggestion was there. One that someone else in the past had acted on, at their request. A life cut short, simply by asking someone as infatuated or more. What really happened I'll never know; I was only given their version. There is no doubt another side to the story. That a life ended by their decision is a part that's true, twice now. One unborn, another cut off from their family, no longer able to breathe, or get to know the next generation they brought joy to.

Politicians

I actually respond to emails from pols, with little response. If you want me to donate money, with a minimum of $3, then respond to an email. What if I actually have something to say in response to the issues you're communicating? The message is clear: either give money or not; we're not interested in your input. We only want your money. I've entered for the trips to meet the president, too. Nothing. But we vote, and speak to the local pols, who humor us with results few and far between. We are to be considered lucky to get an answer. I hate to admit I'm tired and burned out by all of it. Why bother? Because some voice is better than none at all. It's not about me, it's about every other voiceless individual I can only help in limited ways, if then. I have to choose loyalties; there's only one of me.

The Adventures of Snapple S. or SnappleS

Red Bellied Parrot, which is really dark orange with all of the colors of the rainbow where it isn't orange below the breastbone, and expressive amber eyes; handsome. He was named Snapple because when one of the pet store employees would go out for their Snapple iced tea while this one was out on the counter, he would go for it quickly and take a drink.

Snapple had been in the store nine months when a manager who had seen my son and me for supplies and talking about our birds said Snapple 'would be good with us'. Little did I know then Snapple didn't take well with most of the other employees apart from two people, including the sales-adept manager. Another employee was happy to see him go when I finally went in to get him for a reduced price, which still wasn't cheap.

He's a medium parrot, though he can draw blood, I later found out after he became territorial in his new space, though he's compliant when he's in unfamiliar surroundings. He's done more major damage to furnishings than me, and fortunately my son has stayed clear.

Over this holiday weekend, as most mornings, Snapple has been repeating words the pet store manager taught him, mostly when I'm not in the room and can't hear all of them. 'Snapple's a good boy' is one, 'Hey, baby' is another, with chuckles and whistles added in. What I say that I've heard him repeat up to now is "No".

Staying in for a long weekend to get needed housework done, I resorted to using instant tea in a wide rimmed plastic cup (Tervis), to avoid going out for more preferable drinks. Snapple was on my head. I'd seen him on the rim of my coffee cup before when walking back into the kitchen, so I offered up the cup at my head, unable to see.

My son had even purchased tea at Dunkin Donuts in a styrofoam cup. We didn't know the rim surface was a factor. Snapple hadn't gone for it. Yesterday, as the cup was at my forehead, I felt the weight shift from my head onto the cup. I was able to bring the cup down to see what was happening.

Snapple was going for the tea, and doing his bobbing dance he had also learned at the pet store, or that's where it started. After taking a couple of sips, he looked straight at me and said "I love you." for the first time, in the same room. It was only the second thing I'd heard him say that was from me after "No". And it was only a few moments later that he bit me again, leaving welts (not blood, this time) that sent him back to 'his room'.

When my son was born, I exercised the option of giving him his father's last name, who was in the room during the birth (regrettably, I would have rather had a mirror at the other side of my crotch to see what was happening myself, without him). It was my choice, the naming thing, too. It was a courtesy of consideration and acknowledgement, after he'd signed the paternity papers, in the event anything happened to me 'in the short term', for the baby (had I only known...).

Snapple's behavior reminds me of just one reason why we're no longer together. One way in your presence, another with others. Nice one moment, cruel or inconsiderate the next. Breaking or carelessly losing things of value, and using sometimes irreplaceable resources. Since being with my child, omitting my last name from the child's name.

So as of this last 'I love you.' moment to moment episode Snapple has become SnappleS, as in 'Snapple's a good boy'. Well, it depends on whom you ask, and when.

Good night, Love.

I remembered, then forgot, then remembered again. Made it this month, which is more than I can say for other things. Son asleep after a long overnight at camp; he needed the rest. Just happy he's home safe and sleeping comfortably, after a camp night on the floor. Not the best 24 hours he's had, though maybe not the worst, either. Either way, it exhausted him and he actually went to bed early, by saying he wanted to lie down for a little while, then didn't get up: big surprise. Had him move from head at the bottom to under the covers with his head on the pillow, then lights off and nightlight on, precious as ever. Could say more, but won't. Not because I don't want to, it's just that going into the other ails of the world is really no comparison, and meant for another time and place. Once in awhile, less is more.

Overwhelm, again.

Started a week ago or more, and couldn't finish. Way too much going on no single parent should ever have to deal with. The upside is being with son when he isn't in summer camp. He is now officially bigger than I am, yet still a very young teen, with many things unresolved. He loves our home family, and is enjoying the summer so far.

The Fourth was a bit of a bust from the peripherals of Hurricane Arthur, and though the day was not eventful with cancellations and rain after we'd already made the trip, I'm still grateful we were together. The storm affected others more adversely and we were unharmed. This is made a point to the young man as often as possible, to keep things in perspective.

Waiting to win the lottery, or something similar. Just heard on the radio this morning someone went on a crowdsourcing site for $10 to make potato salad and ended up with $35,000. I guess anything is possible.

Mayday, mayday

The cats are out of the bag. In more than one place; I'm almost relieved for one, and nearly indifferent for the other, which is not how I felt before. The fear was greater than the result in these instances, and as Newton's Law says, 'for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction'.

So I now do not have to initiate, only respond, and the template has been created, so the way is paved. Now moving on is a little easier, if only what now feels like by a degree; something is better than nothing.

I'm too mature and far along in my career to buy into brainwashing or popular "knowledge" that is not based in fact. My conscience is clear; I cannot be made a scapegoat, however popular a target I may be. It had to be somebody, and just as well me as anyone else, for now. This just turns on the 'everyperson' mechanism and gets the wheels turning so that whatever happens is not just for me. It's for the others who have been voiceless, until the words got out.

Happy Spring?

It's too cold for too long in this part of the country, though I feel there is no basis in complaining given the extreme devastating weather conditions that have taken lives and homes in the last week alone, with more storms predicted on the horizon. I remain grateful for not being further affected by yet another storm, and sensitive to what others may be going through. As not all family is with me, this is also a source of anxiety, and a reminder that safety can often be an illusion, because no one can escape the wrath of nature.

A main concern is how much of this is man made from climate change and decades of abuse to the environment. What can we do to minimize or offset this? It's too late for some, and too often greed overrides the value of human life. So long as there is no accountability, someone will try to get what they can even knowing it can take someone's life as a result of their potential gain. These were once someone's children (individuals who infringe on others' lives without remorse), who learned from someone else that taking from others is normal and acceptable, with no basis for comparison such as a capacity for compassion or empathy.

Our children belong to everyone, and we are hurting ourselves by looking the other way when we witness children being taught that winning at all costs has consequences that can hurt them and others at some point, if not immediately. Authority has no meaning if who seeks and maintains power has no conscience for the consequences of their actions. It will have to end sooner or later, though how many will suffer and die before the rest of us stop looking the other way and start stepping up. It isn't someone else's job to fix. Anyone not taking action is a helping bystander. It's not a new concept; it's been around for generations, and it would appear every generation has a large population that is not open or exposed to what is natural law. Short term gain only renders long term loss when only in the interest of those who think only for themselves at the expense of others.

State of Overwhelm

The end of the month was a Monday, that should be enough, though it isn't. Anytime the last day of the month is missed on 'Blog Day' there is too much going on for one person. Namely me. My child is the eye of the storm, in a good way, and it has been said the eye of the storm is the calmest place, which is not always true either.

I'm supposed to be wrong in saying a child can be the center of my universe, though if it were not for that child the Universe would not be what it is. Everything I do now is because of having become a parent, with experiences many parents cannot imagine, and that I would not wish on a so-called enemy. Everything that happens is already on top of something else. Some would say a chose this; if there's a parallel universe, the explanation is there. I don't have it at the moment. I have to be thankful no matter what, because someone else always has it worse. If nothing else, that is what the experience has taught me. That is no consolation, however, when what has happened involves one's only child that should not ever happen at all. To date, there has been no accountability, and what help was sought at the most critical time made things much worse, that has now compounded over time and the damages are irreversible. To stay positive or focused during such a years-long real life nightmare and remaining sane is a feat in and of itself. Handling others' similar experiences as a vocation is one way, though the vicarious trauma without anothers' being resolved is often simply too much to handle. Rest will not solve it, though it will allow for thoughts and processing that during other moments can be impossible. In this physical experience, there are limits. And the freedom to think productively can be critical.

Still others have it worse, and no matter how many times it's said, there is no consolation.

Belated Valentine's

Next to my favorite boy, Valentine gifts passed on for the first time this year. Just happy to be in the same place having arrived safely with the most important person in my world.

Asking..."the secret"

...gotten so much more by asking, and taking risks, especially since feeling like life may either end from abuse or cancer, which have both happened at different times. Realizing you have been spared for a reason is powerful, though at the same time we witness things every day that make no sense, like children suffering needlessly so that others can profit, and God help the 'whisteblowers'.

In a nutshell, the journey is far from over, though pride and shame is lost when you've felt so close to death, or you're fighting for the life of a child or children. After such experiences, you're much less afraid to look silly or do things others may criticize. Just find more [who prosper], and do what they do, whenever possible: easier said than done.

...would agree with all of this, with the exception of many trying to come out of poverty or abusive relationships caught in systemic webs that all but completely sabotaged them in their last resort efforts in seeking 'help'.