“For I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited Me in…”Matthew 25:35

There is no question that in order to follow my faith and generally be a decent human being, I should not turn away from people who are struggling. I’ve found that this is much easier to do, however, when I am somewhat removed from the poor.

My choice of neighborhoods often puts me into direct contact with people who are needy. This is the case with the neighborhood where we live now. It’s close to downtown, so you pretty much see everyone who is on foot or bike who is in the area.

Sometimes people come up and knock directly on the door. This can be disconcerting. Often, it is someone wanting to do yard work to earn some money. This was the case a couple of months ago. This 6’4″ barrel-chested black guy with a lazy eye wanted some work. I gave him some money to chop up some wood in the back, and later to rake the yard.

He kept coming back after I lost my writing gig, which was awkward, because I don’t have any work for him. I gave him some dinner one night, though, because when people tell me they are hungry, I feed them, rather than hand out money for whatever. He has definitely marked me as a sucker.

Yesterday, he came by and borrowed our rake. I didn’t have the heart not to lend it to him, because, you know, this guy has been seen sleeping in the park across from our house! This morning, no rake. Bleh.

I’ll be honest — I don’t like dealing with these situations. It’s always a struggle for me to set the boundaries I need while still doing what I feel is right. I wonder what other people would do when desperate people come knocking on their door?

Speaking of door, and to totally and completely change the subject, I am working on removing the weather stripping from around ours.

It is so old that the tacks (nails?) used to hold it in are no longer produced. I suspect that Greg probably thinks that I chose this project this morning because he has a hangover, so after banging on a few of the tacks with a screwdriver to loosen them, I decided to wait until later.

I was inspired by this photo that I found on Pinterest:

This is almost the spitting image of my house if I did the work I am supposed to do. On another note, I’m loving that site because it is sooo escapist! It’s a great way to get out of my head, and as far as I’m concerned, has rendered fashion and decor magazines obsolete. Seriously, just search a term like “red” or “front yard landscaping.”

My mom is doing well. She did mention that she felt really, really angry for no apparent reason. I researched all of the new meds she’s on and found out that one of them can have that side effect. There was even a case where a guy shot a random person in public when he got on it — something we’ve all probably had the impulse to do — who needs a shove in that direction, you know? So she’ll be switching to a different med. I love the Internet.

She was only there a day, and got a stent put in the artery to keep it open. It was all pretty nerve-wracking. She was really positive the whole time, and is now at home resting. I’m making a pot of (heart healthy!) beans to take over later.

Last night was weird. I went to the hospital, and when I got there, found a woman sitting outside alone in the dark, crying inconsolably. I went over to her and put my arm around her, and made sure she didn’t need anything. Her mom had just passed away ten minutes ago! This is going to sound weird, but when I was sitting there, I felt this huge jolt of intense yukky energy just go into my body. After offering what comfort I could, I left to go into the hospital.

I was feeling shaky at this point, but went on up to visit my mom. I didn’t see the guy who gives out visitors badges to the ICU, so I followed someone right in. I walked right into a Code Blue, and they had failed to resuscitate the guy, who had coded twice that day already. All of this was taking place three rooms down from my moms. Of course, she could hear everything that was going on. Needless to say, there were a lot of very sad and stressed people.

I got this big wave of panic, which sucked, because I was there to visit my mom who had just had surgery, not to be a basket case! I pulled myself together, and then there was another Code Blue somewhere else in the hospital. It was all freaking me out, and I felt somewhat depleted from my encounter with the woman who had lost her mom.

My mom wasn’t fazed by it in the least, though. And I’m proud of myself for not downing a gallon of tranquilizers, which used to be my typical response to stress like this.

My mom definitely sets a good example for how to handle these things. Her faith carries her through. She’s not afraid of death, and was a shining light in that hospital ward.

On another note, I just returned from the grocery store, where I bought five pounds of apples for $3.50. The older guy in line in front of me asked me about them, and I told him I was going to make an apple pie. He asked me for lots of details about the pie. When he left, he grabbed his two cans of Spam and said to the cashier, “If you want something that’s really good, just roast this Spam over a fire — it’s delicious!”

He obviously lives alone. I felt bad for him and wished I knew where he lived, because I’d take him an apple pie.

Today, my mom told me that she had some really bad chest pains this morning, and in fact had been having them for a couple of days along with some intense exhaustion. She had went to the doctor and not even told my dad or my brother because she didn’t want either of them to worry.

She told me before her appointment with the cardiologist, which her doctor had scheduled immediately. So I went to the cardiologist with her, and helped interpret medicalese and ask the right questions and so on.

After her stress test, which was inconclusive, they let us know she needed to have a cardiac catherization tomorrow to see if her arteries were blocked. When she found out that she would be immobilized on her back for four hours following the procedure, her face fell. I have never seen my mom immobilized for four hours in my entire life, not counting nighttime, and that is no exaggeration.

So we went back to her house, and she asked me to talk to my dad about it. At the time, I figured she meant explain it, but after we got inside and she made no effort to bring it up, I realized that I needed to initiate the conversation.

It was weird. I felt like I was protecting both of my parents at once. My dad suddenly looked quite vulnerable. I know he worries about his own health as well as something happening to my mom.

My brother still doesn’t know. I know my parents worry that he is too vulnerable, mentally, to cope with stress. I know that one of my responsibilities is going to be taking care of my brother as well as my parents.

My mom has recently let me know that she needs my help cooking and cleaning. She is very independent and would never even hint at this sort of thing unless she felt overwhelmed. I’ve been taking over things a couple times a week, but likely need to do much more.

As we were walking out of the cardiologist’s office earlier, I noticed that my mom’s upper back was curved a little bit and that she walked with a stiff gait, things that were surely there before but that I with a child’s eyes looking at her parent never saw.

My primary writing client’s well ran dry, as have those of many other (written) media outlets. It’s funny, before that happened, I took a break from writing to work on art, simply because I was so very tired of writing nonstop articles.

So there is no more writing work to fall back on, and I’m not inclined to send out queries and so forth because the market is just not great and oh yeah, I’m tired of writing — for other people, anyway.

What a luxury.

Not that we’re rich or anything. I spent an hour or so the other evening making “canned” dog food for Wile E. out of freezer-burnt meat so that I wouldn’t have to buy it at the store. I cashed in my teacher’s retirement (a pittance, since I did most of my teaching at private institutions) and am searching for the next thing.

I don’t plan to discontinue homeschooling. No way. If I have to, I’ll figure out a way to feed my family on $50 a week so that we can live on one salary. Fortunately, Greg is supportive of my continuing to stay home.

The funny thing is, I LIKE being a housewife. I like to bake, economize and generally spoil my family. Often, I even enjoy cleaning. Who knew? When I’m not pressed for time because of writing or an outside job, things just flow.

I keep thinking that if this had happened even a year ago, I would have been freaking out. The thing is, I’m a lot calmer now. I feel pretty good, actually. For this, I thank Jesus, who, once I chose to truly believe, is utterly transforming my life.

And I know that sounds crazy to many folks, and I understand some of the reasons why. There’s some pretty hateful people who call themselves Christians. But at the risk of being lumped in with the meanies and being called irrational, I’ll gratefully tell the world that I am so thankful for God — that He is so great. Because this feeling is just that good.

Meanwhile, I’m enjoying the much-needed break from commercial writing. I’ve been painting, making dolls and jewelry and am working on my own writing projects. I’ll bet that something much more meaningful blooms as a result.

Instead of laying my burdens down by the riverside, I’m going to lay them down on this blog. Actually, it’s been difficult to write here lately, because the things that have been happening are sad and heavy and I keep trying to ignore them. Unsuccessfully. The photo is of a creek, not a river, but I was trying to think of something to name this post — otherwise I am probably going to end up with something that looks like Complaining I, Complaining Part II, Complaining Part III and so forth.

There have been lots of good things happening. The weather is beautiful. Sky is visiting from Oregon. I’ve been walking, Sage and I have been hanging out at the creek and this weekend, Greg and Sage are canoeing the Sabine River and camping on a sandbar.

I get overwhelmed by the bad though.

On Tuesday, once again I had to get a court order to get my brother committed. The meds he was on weren’t working. My parents couldn’t bear to be the ones to have him “taken away” so they asked me to do it. I don’t blame them. My dad broke down sobbing when he saw his son, in the hazy hallucinatory anguish of a psychotic episode, cuffed in the back of the police car. I felt like Judas.

Yesterday, my uncle died. My favorite uncle that I mentioned in my last post. It really sucks because he had just had all this horrible treatment for cancer and the cancer was actually gone. So I can’t tell myself, “Well, he was suffering and it was for the best, blah blah.” It just is what it is. I do take comfort in knowing that he lived a full life, one that impacted people in so many positive ways. My uncle could make you feel like the most important person on earth when he talked to you. Such a gift.

Last night, my mom called me. She was upset. Not only had her only brother died that morning, but my brother’s wife, my pathologically selfish, ignorant SIL (PSISIL?) had called my mom, again, yelling and screaming about my brother not paying his part of the bills this month.

Yes. My brother is in the hospital indefinitely being treated for schizophrenia, my mom’s brother died and she is on the phone screaming at her. Fucking unbelievable. She ended up hanging up on my mom, and yes, she knew of her loss.

The stress that this woman has caused my brother has likely brought on this relapse. She screams at him all the time. I looked up the profile of an abuser and she fits it. She even calls him at the hospital and goes on about bills. Oh, and she’s selling his stuff while he’s gone. She’s already got a for sale sign on his trailer.

She has tens of thousands of dollars in the bank, by the way. My parents also gave her money a couple of weeks ago. No one is starving or on the street.

There are so many inexcusable behaviors that I have witnessed from this woman. Unfortunately, our family has, in fact, made excuses for them, UP TILL NOW. We are having to face the fact that she is simply not a good person. At all.

Yelling at my mom (repeatedly) on the phone completely crosses the line. My mom and dad are physically and emotionally exhausted. They drive to the hospital (more than an hour away) every day to see my brother. She hasn’t visited him at all. They do not need this crap from her. I am frustrated because I really don’t know what to do about it. I can’t have a civil conversation with her because she doesn’t speak to me now. (I called her out on her crap once.) I did convince my mom to put my dad on the phone next time she calls, because she is less likely to yell at him.

There is weirdness. Frankly, my brother has always been the favorite. I don’t worry about this, because after all, I am the one who moved out of town, started my own life and called once or twice a month. My brother stayed in town and visited them practically every day for years. Now my parents are treating me totally differently. They call me every day and want to talk for a long time. This is fine, it is just odd. I’ve always been an outlier in their lives and now I am more central. It makes me feel as though they are more vulnerable, and need me more, and I suppose this is true.

I’m having a hard time putting all of this down. The drama with the SIL is ongoing, and I wish so bad I could help my brother.

I’m thankful for the good things, though. It has been SO nice having Sky here. Another post for another day. I’ll leave you with a picture of Varmint, another one of my good things.

I’ve been having a hard time with my attitude lately. I’ll think I’m not so stressed out about things, and the stress will show up anyway in the form of something physical. Like today. I threw my back out yesterday and can literally not get out of bed. Well, I made it to the bathroom, but I cried. I did not cry during two unmedicated labors. It was BAD. The photo above is the view from my bed. Not too bad, I suppose. I’ve got my kitty, my computer and a good book. I really hope this goes away soon.

My favorite uncle is dying, and my mom is having a really hard time with it. She is in denial, but her body isn’t. She has this really awful rash. My uncle has cancer. They operated and found out it had spread to the lymph nodes. The night before last, his heart stopped, but they resuscitated him. Now there is a “do not resuscitate” order, which I imagine is probably a good thing. He is pretty out of it, and thinks he is in the Florida Keys, fishing, which I’m sure is a much better place than where he is really at.

I’m having a hard time with it too. I’m not close with extended family at all, and he was the only person I had any contact with as an adult, although I can’t say it was all that much. I talked to him a couple of months ago–he called me to respond to a letter I had written that he hadn’t responded to. It’s like I was on his bucket list. He knew things weren’t going to go well. I am worried about how my mom is going to handle it when he passes. They have unresolved issues, and it’s sad, really.

My brother got out of the hospital a couple of days ago. They finally got the paranoia and all that to stop by adding Ativan to the mix. What a weird thing–as you know, Ativan is the devil I have been trying to get off. Speaking of which, I’m down to one milligram from four. Finally.

At any rate, I hate to see my brother on this drug, but whatever works. The status quo was NOT good. He is still not able to work, and I really hope he has a job when he feels more like himself.

I will be putting all of my arty crafty stuff up on Etsy soon. I have to attempt to sell some of it by the end of the year if I’m going to write off my many expensive trips to Hobby Lobby. It won’t be today, though! Sage and Greg were going to go camping, but Sage is going without Greg (Scouts) because Greg had a fibro flare-up. Now Greg gets to stay here and take care of me. Lucky him.

I have got to get out of this funk. I made an effort yesterday–walked the dogs and rode my bike, anyway–but here I am. At least Varmint is keeping me company.

Wile E. was a blur, and not just in the picture.

Salsa was also having a bliss moment.

Sage build a snowman. Later on, the park across the street was full of kids and they build a fort and had a snowball fight.

He was outside ALL day. Greg and I had fun, too.

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I read an awesome book entitled A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller. It’s autobiographical, and is about how he and two other screenwriters write a screenplay of his life. He begins to look at his life as a story, and realizes that he’s not living a very good one. So the whole idea is to live a good story.

There was one thing in particular that was really striking. This guy was having problems with his teenage daughter–drugs, horrible boyfriend, typical stuff. Miller tries to give him advice. He starts talking about the “your life is a story” stuff. He doesn’t think he makes any sense. Later, he gets together with the guy again and asks him how his daughter is doing. It turns out that the guy decided that his family needed to live a different story. They start building an orphanage in Mexico. The daughter gets all into it, and dumps the boyfriend and drugs. He dad says, “No girl who plays the role of a hero dates a guy who uses her.”

This really hit me like a ton of bricks. What story was I living when Sky was being raised? It was a very disjointed one with a plot that essentially went nowhere. Of course, every kid would benefit by growing up in a good story. So I started to think about how I could make my life a better story now, for Sage and Greg. I know I’m headed in the right direction. I’ve quit a job that I don’t think was the best thing for me, and I’m homeschooling Sage and spending a lot of time with him. We go on little adventures.

I want to do more things that create a good story though. One of the quotes from the book that I really liked was, “…if we want a Roomba vacuum cleaner, we are living stupid stories.” So true, so true. Life is so much more than what brand of television you are going to buy next and how you are going to find the money to pay for it.

One of the things about my story is that no one in my story can be addicted to drugs. The day after I finished this book I started cutting down on the Ativan again. This time, my goal is to cut down on my dosage. I’m not going to worry about how long it takes me to quit. When I feel okay at a lower dosage, then I’ll go down a bit more. I’m not going to follow a timetable and fry my nervous system like I did before.

Of course, no one in my story is going to be agoraphobic. It is amazing how much walking and riding my bike have helped me with the agor. I used to be afraid to ride down a three mile dirt road outside of town. (I know, unbelievably irrational and nuts.) Not anymore. I realized that I can walk three miles with no problem. The distance doesn’t seem like a big deal at all. I also don’t find myself dreading trips, and I’m contemplating going camping with my guys. We just need to plan the trip.

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Today, I had lunch with a writer friend. We ate at a “ladies that lunch” kind of place because I had a gift certificate that my in-laws gave me. It was delicious, and of course the conversation was great. I don’t think writers are ever boring.

Sage is really rockin’ the Spanish. He made a 100 on his Rosetta Stone Lesson 4 exam. There is not a children’s version of Rosetta Stone. This is the same stuff the adults use. I’m really impressed. Immersion is important, so we are going to look for those opportunities. He has really pulled ahead in math.

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Oh yeah. A really strange thing has happened. Wile E. has turned into a GOOD dog.

There’s also something to be said about posts that crack you up. This guy absolutely has a way with words (he’s a writer, so of course he does) and he has the cutest cats. Check out this short post: Friends in High Places. It made me laugh when I REALLY needed a laugh. I found this blog when I was doing one of my fantasy “I’ll move back to Mexico someday” searches.

I have been worried sick. We canceled our Fourth of July get together, which may not have been such a terrible thing, since the mixture of relatives that were coming was a bit dicey. I really hope the doctors know what they’re doing. Alarmingly, this is not uncommon. The pharmacist told me that she had seen eleven other patients with MRSA that day.

I’ve been all weepy and stuff, with stress and my screwy hormones. Greg told me that I was a good mommy because I take such good care of my boy and I just about lost it. I suppose I really needed to hear that. I beat myself up all of the time about not having a more stable life when Sky was growing up. I honest to goodness didn’t realize how damn important that is to a kid, believe it or not. I believed that if I didn’t make the mistakes that my parents made, then I must be doing things perfectly. Not. I shouldn’t be so hard on some of the parents of my students when I was such a jacked up parent myself.

And anyway, I continue to to pay for those bad choices. Sky doesn’t call me often, and leads a lifestyle that worries me. I feel literally tied up in knots worrying about him. Where he is, what he’s doing, if he’s okay. My knuckles have something that feels like arthritis. It seems like the worry made manifest. What better place than in the hands that cared for him and now feel absolutely helpless?

If something happened to him, probably no one would know how to get a hold of me, since he got rid of his cell phone. He’s 19 now. I didn’t talk to him on his birthday, because there is no way I can reach him. The parenting thing doesn’t diminish much after 18. It’s still all about wearing your heart outside of your body.

Yesterday, out of the blue, Sage asked me what a “PO” was. I told him that it was the post office, located next to Krogers. He said, “No, it was up near Grandma’s.”

I realized that he meant the probation officer. It’s been well over a year since that has come up. I explained. He was confused about why Sky had to go there. I said, “Do you want to know what he did?”

Sage looked at me very seriously, and shook his head. He has his brother on a pedestal, and he’s not about to take him down.

I had to try to get myself out of this funk. I went to a cool site, Kiva, and made a microloan to the woman in my new sidebar widget. I think microlending is awesome, since you can help people again and again with the money you put into it. I just love Kiva. My other favorite is Heifer International, which sounds like a Miss Universe for fat girls, but is another incredible charity.

Anyway, am going to put serious effort into continuing to shake this off. Going to get some good sleep, get up and go to the gym, and then do some craftsy stuff. It’s a plan.

7/06 Cheerful Update: Sky IMed me this morning!! He’s safe, and is currently in Dallas with some friends. He promised to give his friends my number, easing one of my worries. He should be here in the next couple of weeks. This just totally made my day!

I have never been able to pronounce the word “refrigerator” in Spanish. Unfortunately, that’s not the only problem I have with refrigerators. I also have the problem of standing in front of them far too often. I’ll get to that in a minute.

Don’t you just love that orange fridge? I want it. It’s about $2300, which in my messed up little mind, somehow seems reasonable. It’s totally ME. Of course, the red one would match the kitchen appliances that I have been collecting for the past twenty years. Click on the photo and you can see it in all of its glorious colors.

Anyway. If I did buy a new fridge (which will probably happen in a year or two), I should probably buy the invisible model. At least if they’ve invented an invisible fridge by then. Because, you know, they really should. It would solve all sorts of problems, and the person who came up with the design would win some sort of award for solving much of the country’s obesity problem.

I’ve been thinking about self-control. Try as I might, unless I eat practically nothing but nasty meat (not real fond of meat…), I get the hungries. An almost no-carb diet is the only thing that gets rid of them, and I just don’t think I can maintain that for the rest of my life. So, since I can’t control hunger, I’m going to focus on what I can control.

I can control what goes in my mouth. I’ve switched to only eating healthy foods (again…) and of course this is a good example for Sage, although the low-cal stuff really doesn’t help Greg much. We are like Jack Sprat and his wife. Nuf said.

More importantly, I can have the discipline to get up off my butt and go to the gym, which I have been doing. It really feels awesome to know that I can control burning calories, even though sometimes I just can’t help having that midnight snack. Because I’m really hungry!

So I’m doing a couple of things right. I’ve lost four pounds so far, which is reasonable for two weeks. I’m trying to get into the “lifestyle” mindset as opposed to the “lose 30 pounds in 30 days” mindset. I figure at the very least, I’ll build endurance and be a heavy woman who can kick ass.

Sage walked three miles on an incline today with me. He goes with me whenever I go. It definitely counteracts some of those video games!

5 minutes later: Edited because I can’t spell the damn word, either!