What if the words never flow again?
This is not how I pictured it ending.
Nothing is there, and the fear that it too has been stolen from my heart...
only makes the words run farther.
I had a brother once. He took my joy and put a price tag on it.
Well...how 'bout that?
I went to a wonderfully therapeutic retreat in Leflore County Ok. that's brought back the theory of the Primal Scream in direct conjunction with embracement of nature.
Here are a few of the wonderful places where I stood and screamed in order to vent and release. Also I let the guides at this getaway/retreat know of my fear of dogs, especially great big dogs.
Therefore, they arranged for me a way to overcome my fear and I took some pictures of these powerful dogs because I suddenly realized that dog is my copilot.
...and on my way to that *Maverick* group on the Highway North last night, I saw the first falling star I've seen in years.
When you get to that point in your life, when you realize you have absolutely nothing left to wish for and your mind is scrambling just to come up with something...that's either senility or faith.
To no longer need a dissection of the Universe to believe in the flow of good. To allow the collective unconscious to be a positive...man, that's not a baby step, that's a freakin' leap.
"Strong Woman" vs. "Self Will"...where do you draw the line?
Alone in this world raising a child, things get muddied...
I knew a woman with a gambling problem who was the Treasurer of her Book Club...she stole a great deal of money over the period of several years.
I admire this woman for many reasons, even the theft. She was in a tremendous amount of pain from multiple losses in a short amount of time. Doing anything she could to stay alive long enough to deal with the pain and loss.
Too many people cannot handle the pain, and choose to exit stage left.
Human beings are not hard wired to take hit after hit and be happy, joyous and free...it doesn't work that way, no one is exempt from getting inadvertently stuck in the the cycle of grief.
To recognize the fact one is stuck, takes self examination. Self examination takes courage. Courage means facing fears. Facing fears takes faith in something greater than you.
Last night for the first time since the loss of my daughter, I recognized I was stuck in the cycle of grief. I've been participating in a workshop for the last five weeks...started back in theeeerapy over the summer, and finally after almost nine years it clicked.
It's where my sense of humor went, it's where my art went, it's where my ability to get close to people went, it's where everything that had meaning in my life minus Mer, went. It wasn't fear, it was/is grief and loss.
You may be saying "No shit?" but when the pain is so enormous, the losses come one after another, hit after hit...remember Psych 101...we shut down the hard drive to stay alive. Self preservation at any cost is instinctual.
I don't have the ability to change myself...I can take action, I can do things differently, but I can't change myself. I learned this lesson a long time ago. The lesson I haven't learned is allowing myself to be manipulated out of fear and guilt over the past.
I habitually choose people who harm me to reach out to, and that has to stop now. As children of God we stand on our feet, we don't crawl before anyone.
"Strong Woman vs. Self Will"...where do you draw the line?
Mer made me promise him to wake him up after the results were in.
He went to sleep sad because we live in a state that thought things should stay the same.
When I woke him he said "Mom, we live in Aframerica now!"
Mad TV aside, baby boy I sure hope so.
How many single white "Welfare Mama's" sat in front of the TV last night with their ten-year-old son, praying for a Leader to make their lives visible, valuable, accessible, worthy of qualified child care, health care...the ability to make changes?
I don't know the answer, but I believe with all my heart President Obama (if some whack job doesn't take him out first) will show us the way home.
I believe with all my heart President Obama will make a better country for all of us if we work together. If we work WITH each other and not AGAINST each other anymore.
The division in this country over the last twenty years is apparent everywhere I go. The lack of support, the depression, the "addictions" (man that worn get thrown around) we as a society use to tolerate the intolerable.
The lack of honesty, personal accountability, professional cohering, I'm-bigger-than-you-so-I'm-gonna-bully-your-ass-into-doing-what-I-want playground mentality.
When did we become so openly able to attack other human beings and not be held liable? Just, you know...in general?
On Saturday Mer and I went to the Baby Shower of a woman I'd never met before. She married a man I did considerable damage with many years ago. The amends I owed him has been staying OUT of his life (I also still have some of his crap, but that's another story)
When Mer was tiny, the woman who raised this man gave me his wicker rocking horse. Mer and I bought pink ribbons, attached them to the rocking horse and took it as their shower gift. Still sturdy and fully loved now by both their bottoms.
I loved this man, so much I had to step away from his life completely. It was the kindest, most loving, tolerant, patient thing I could do.
We had to quit playing God, not only with our own lives, but the lives of others. When I got to that place where I knew what was best for YOU, I wasn't looking at ME...and I fell 10 years.
Ten years is a very long way to fall, I'm still bruised in areas.
TODAY, I am grateful for the much needed changes ahead for the "Us" in "We". I don't believe "God wont give you more than you can handle"...
I believe God somehow provides you the resiliency to over come and persevere.
There ARE extremely hurt/dangerous people in this world.
Thank God I'm not one of them anymore.
I officially missed the start of NaBloPoMo...let's just say I was um, "Indisposed"
I took Mer with me to see history made today, something I wouldn't have missed for anything. Either way (Obama Mama) I wanted him to be able to tell his Grandchildren about watching his mother vote in the most historical Election in history.
This is a good place to be at the moment.
Knowing I am a strong woman, how far I've come and wont stop for any mofo.
When you speak your mind, someone will try and silence you.
When you stand up, there will always be someone who wants to knock you down.
Take heed, stand clear, and follow the star in the East if you must...
but for Christ's sake be true to yourself.
...and on the floor next to me, wrapped in a washcloth, is the biggest soul I've come across in so very long.
A tiny field mouse who brought Mer and I closer than we'd been in some time. For this alone, his week-long life was monumental and with notice in this world.
Taking a crying Mer to The Greek Festival to cheer him up, lighting candles for all we have lost and gained. Knowing "They" would ask about Athena, which of course "They" did.
Holding Mer while he cried and cried. I will not try and toughen Mer up, the world and life does a good enough job on it's own. I am to hold him only.
As some day he will hold me as I slip through, it's the cycle of life.
...and it's a bitch sometimes.
"At the DISCRETION of the NewsOK Editors, commenting on this article was turned off."
First of all, when does the Oklahoman ever use discretion?
I feel great, GREAT sorrow for this family, but cannot fathom for a second placing my child ahead of myself when getting off of a large piece of farm equipment.
I am a mess. A constant neurotic, worrying mess over my child...but he is alive...as am I, at the hands of my neurotic worrying mess of a mother.
To place my child, at 18-months-old, on the ground ahead of me and allow him to walk off, to even let him out of my arms? Is it a cultural thing, I don't know, but a life has been snuffed out, gone forever from this earth for no reason.
"I grabbed my daughter and we got down on our knees and prayed." said a witness...for what? For God to DO SOMETHING? Don't get me started, THIS has NOTHING to do with God.
This has to do with timing, stupidity, and the laws of science.
If praying to God makes you feel better, then by all means do it.
The preciousness of life cannot be taken for granted, whether by the mother of a lost 18-month-old, or a ten-year-old praying for a field mouse to live.
Shit just happens, and sometimes it's bad...very bad.
I watched both my parents die.
People I loved taken from me in horrendous ways at hideous times in a young woman's life.
I watch my child like a hawk because of what I've seen in this life.
Timing, stupidity, and the laws of science.
There's a tremendous amout going on out here. Everyone has switched to
"Point and Click" advertising, but not everyone knows how, nor has the
time.
I've been blogging now for five years, three of them here at Typepad.
Operating three sites of my own, trying to explain to lay people the value of social networking and web 2.0 interactive media.
I change the look and feel of my site often, because I get bored, I don't care who reads and who doesn't...The 13th Apostol isn't for anyone else but me, and if someone gains something from my yammering, them alls well.
There was a time in the beginning I tried hard to connect as Seth Godin explains (and reminds)...don't try, just write. It's OK to be bored, but keep it simple stupid.
This site has been a place for me to write about lumps in my breast, my son's bad ticker, the loss of my daughter...
I talk openly about my life here...have opinions, make mistakes, get to apologize. Days go by without a post, unless it is November and NaBloPoMo. (which really disappointed me, turning into something monetary)...coffee.
K. As I was saying...when public domain becomes a money making entity, we begin to lose what the Internet Highway is all about. I run open source software, not compatible with all major content management systems by choice.
It's akin to standing on the corner picketing to stop the war...pointless, but it makes me feel better. My C02 minimizer on my PC, same thing.
Using Typepad vs some other platform/server...I don't have to deal with all the spam, down time, unnecessary coding...I get to focus on what I do best. I can increase my bandwidth as needed, upgrade to unlimited when the time comes...and they do the nonsense I don't have time for.
As Typepad, an underling of Six Apart, turns five-years-old this month...I'm reminded where I was the first time I heard anyone use the word "Blog".
It was exactly five-years-ago in a journalism class.
A fellow student was talking about a political blog...that's how far we've come in five years, making web developers nervous, newspapers panic, The Media can't stop us...and it's important it stays this way.
OMG! Give me a break...cell phones in prison?
Do they have even a clue what these people do with them?
I've had comments on my business site from inmates in prison using cell phones. Drug deals...I think that's what they want us to believe... while these people, caged animals, our fellow human beings, some guilty, some not - are using them to communicate with the outside world. Criminals!
I get so angry at what makes headline news in this state.
The Inmate/Cell Phone story topped the Walking with Dinosaurs clip.
To which Miss Lara herself (no public photo available at present) directed 40+ Elementary school students to in the pouring rain yesterday.
Does anyone really give a shit if inmates communicate by phone?
Seriously, what damage can they do inside that can't be done outside by someone else?
It's also very cold now, and my right leg doesn't want to work at all.
Foot...leg...eventually Miss Lara will be pushing my loud mouth around in a wheel chair while I complain about yellow Journalism. (sinister visual) Thank God my hands still work, so I can yell with this keyboard.
Why don't we talk about the Heritage Hill Homes Tour this weekend? Or The 24th Annual Greek Festival (Yassou!) or The Magic Lantern Festival Sunday the 26th down in Paseo?
No, let's talk about Inmates having contraband Cell Phones.
Within minutes of two females (who know zero about me per my choice) having nothing better to do with their lives than poke their noses in mine...the Universe shifted, and three jobs came in.
I'm just glad I'm me. I Wouldn't want to be anyone else.
Me and my mousling feeding self (Oh yes I am, every two hours)
Mer helps, but school, homework, extracurriculars, and watching cartoons are quite important.
After school each day, about five kids come barreling out the door of the school into my arms. Two are the man who committed "Ho-Mouse-side's" offspring. Yesterday they looked up into my eyes and said "Is the mouse alive?"
"Oh my yes, he/she is thriving, getting stronger every day. We named him Despereaux". They smiled, saying "Really?"
"Oui, oui, the little mouse baby is so small, but think happy thoughts for him and if Despereaux makes it till his eyes open he can come to school and visit."
Teaching children to love and respect life is imperative. Hugging children who's parents cannot be there after school, a reciprocal gift of abundance.
Some people would rather look at others than themselves...it's easier. I remember being that person, always pointing my finger at everyone else...it cost me a great deal in the end.
Close scrutiny of ones life takes courage. It's by far the hardest thing I've ever done this late in the game.
No man can make me happy.
No Job/Career can make me happy.
No Food/lack of food can make me happy.
No chemical can make me happy.
No amount of money can make me happy.
Not even my child, who is my heart, can make me happy.
I do not have to participate in other peoples lives to make mine interesting and joyous. It is enough, even with my physical limitations. I can be useful, I am a good mother, a strong woman.
This I know...people who do not look at themselves, cannot truly see others.
Driving Mer to school this morning (after we fed "Despereaux") I was quiet, full of bitterness, resentment, hurt.
Out of nowhere it dawned on me how far I've come from where I was six years ago, and the negativity slipped away.
It is by Grace alone I wake up every day and raise this child by myself.
It is by Grace alone I went to school and received an education.
It is by Grace alone I bought a home for us.
It is by Grace alone we are no longer in the projects.
It is by Grace alone my bills are current.
It is by Grace alone my son is still as healthy as he is.
It is by Grace alone I have the strength to get things done.
Grace alone.
More than enough.
I heard over the weekend "You are the company you keep"...
I've spent the last month stressing over a friends website, doing back stands to try and please this person, only to be insulted and put down when I asked to be reimbersed for the charges to my credit card only.
Not including hours spent, bandwidth, etc. it's just stupid.
They don't give you enough information to "Fix it" and then get mad when it's not perfect.
I did the best I could with what I had and what I knew. It's not perfect, but it has all the info they needed online now. Then I find out Friday there's an old website...so nothing is showing up in a google search.
Not while the old url is live. Not without a redirect...which I can't get to due to the domain name being in a persons name who no longer works at the foundation...so somehow it's my fault?
THIS is why I isolated for four years, and why it's starting to look really good again.
"You are the company you keep"...something to consider.
Sometimes all one can do is throw their hands in the air and laugh hysterically...or just throw up.
What started out as a great Fall Break get-a-way weekend, full of good friends, good food, laughter at the days gone past...ended up being a...oh where shall I start?
Should I start with waking up Friday morning with the refrigerator I bought at the garage sale down the street blocking my front door, or should I start with the herpes out break that began on Monday, or the tooth that broke off on Wednesday...Hmmm?
I will tell you of the pipe that I came home to late Saturday night, bursting forth gallons upon gallons of city water under my floating home for the second time in as many weeks.
I will tell you of the mouse/rat baby brought home from "Roman Nose State Park" with us, due to my child's uncontrolable, unrelenting, inconsolable, sobs of powerlessness over an adults desire to "Get a good nights sleep".
Rather than taking the litter to the woods TWENTY FEET AWAY, he literally tossed them two feet from the back door of their cabin, where his very own offspring announced the next morning "Come look at the mice babies my Dad killed!"
Mer, being Mer, found one who had survived the cold night, cupped the tiny living litter mate in his hands, blowing hot breaths upon it as he tenderly trecked the hill to the main clubhouse to get me to "Mama Fix" it.
A whole gaggle of kids and I went back down to the cabin and lied the mate in the warm sunshine, all SWEARING upon all things holy (and not) they would stay clear of the area allowing the mother to come back for her baby.
They, of course being kids, messed around with the live one all damn day...
I could take no more, when a kind diabetic man offered up a syringe of milk, and there sat Mer alone at one of the mess hall tables trying to nurse the mousling.
I packed my tearful child up and came the hell home.
Now feeding every two hours a mousling, and a non-eating Mer.
I can literally hear my hear my home cracking around me.
We have no water, no heat, but the three of us, Mer, the Mousling & Me (waking every two hours to nurse the thing) huddled together under many a blanket knowing things will get better.
Now let me tell you why it was all worth it, why every ounce of gas spent, every tearful moment, every painful step - was worth it.
The gaggle of kids who refused to leave the mousling be, I followed them pied piper style, over the woods and through the dale...to a falls so blissful, so October cold, so serene. Watching them play in the water, makes losing my home seem hysterical at least. Unimportant at best.
In the blink of an eye we lose this innocence, lose the ability to jump in icy cold water and cry over mouslings, we lose the very best part of us, and end up angry, impatient, adults.
MER - "Maaaaam, I don't wanna go!"
Mom Eastwood - "You're goin' kid"
MER - "Maaaaam, I don't wanna!"
Mom Eastwood - "You're goin' and you're gonna like it."
MER - "Maaaaam, NOOOO I'm scared of guns!"
Mom Eastwood - "That's my point."
MER -"WOW Mom, you did that in heels, just like on TV!"
Mom Eastwood - "You watch too much TV."
Why is it if we stand up for ourselves we are shut down?
I am AGAIN without a Physician, another discharge letter arriving in the mail. Who do these people think they are?
Two want to dope you up, two wont return your calls, one refuses to see you face to face...am I a patient with an obvious jacked up back per my MRI's, or am I some junkie off the street trying to cop dope?
Why does no one listen anymore? Whatever happened to having a Physician/Patient relationship with your doctor?
I've been trying to get my medical records for six...no, seven months now, while this thing grows in my back. I've been labeled since the first discharge, after I refused to continue taking the long-acting crap that made me crazy (er) and therefore have not received appropriate health care since.
O.U. still wont give me my records.
This has to be the most absurd thing I've ever experienced, yet here I am again. I believe we are meant to be honest with our Physicians, so I have been...WRONG!
It scares the Hell out of them, they see Law Suit and head for the hills. This last one was number...ummm, wait FOUR, number four in the last-no......FIVE in the last year.
The next time I'm going in lying my ass off.
Lying like a rug, making shit up...I'm just going to be the biggest liar in the world.
Doctors will do ANYTHING to protect their precious asses.
This is what I've learned in the last year. If I wanted to sue anyone, I'd have to go out of state to get a Physician to testify, since they are all insured by the same company. (I know his wife)
At the cost of my child becoming an orphan, I will no longer be telling anyone the truth. I'm so sick of this, the clock ticking away.
There has to be a Dr. out there who will communicate with me and not pass judgment on me.
If drugs were all I wanted, I could get drugs. God, I'm not an idiot.
I want a Doctor who is going to work WITH me to treat the WHOLE person. I don't think they exist anymore, but I'll keep looking (and now lying)
There just has to be one out there.
For Mer's sake.
When I was a kid, my favorite person in the whole world was my Aunt Fontaine.
She was my Mom's sister, 21 years younger than her, 13 years older than me...so she was like having a big sister.
Fontaine went away to college to become an Archaeologist, which I thought was just about the coolest thing next to being Patty Hurst.
Fontaine would come home and tell Mom and Dad, who practically raised her, all these fascinating stories about fossils, bones, dead bodies and stuff. (Awsome-ness when you're eight-years-old)
This is what "I" remember about my Fontaine:
*She laughed a lot.
*She took us to Bartlesville, OK. where we found Crinoids, Dad made into jewelry.
*She worked at the FAA for Dr. Clyde Snow, the father of Anthropology.
*She was the person who found a missing piece of bone fragment in a field where a girls body was dumped. The bone fragment was directly related somehow, to proving how the girl had been murdered.
Why after all these years the name Kathy Beatty comes creeping in, I don't know, I would have been Mer's age then.
*She taught us how to go Spelunking.
*She always wore a jean jacket.
*She got married and went away.
Can't remember the last time I saw Fontaine, or any of my Mom's family.
My brother and I don't talk, but I tell Mer all the stories I can recall.
Oral history.
Mer's *other half* may have destroyed all our material things, but like I tell Mer..."They cannot take your memories."
I talk and talk, hoping Mer will grab on to some of it. That somehow through my words, and keeping things written down (for $30 a month!) he'll know who he is and where he comes from.
He is an artist, a dreamer, a crappy mathematician, a singer, an inventor, a scavenger, a survivor. Has one first cousin he's never met, but asks me all the time if he has any cousins. (like Cousins just *happen*)
My childhood was full of hamsters, sunshine, laughter and....... dysfunction...just like everyone else's.
The difference between myself and some Crack Mom, is a choice.
I've spent so much time trying to MAKE something happen this week, I'm giving myself a break today...
STEP AWAY FROM THE COMPUTER SLOWLY AND NO ONE WILL GET HURT...much.
Mer made it back in one piece, although it's painfully obvious the kid's exhausted...as am I. He's doped up on a grilled cheese and, "Honey, what are you watching in there?"
"Um, Cut, cut - I can't pronounce it"
"Spell it buddy?"
"C-U-T-T-H...roat (fast)
"What? (grabbing for a pen and my glasses) One more time only slower?"
(pregnant pause)
"C-U-T-T-H-R-O-A-T"
..."CUTTHROAT!?"
Exasperated sigh..."I changed it."
Mama Radar.
Like I was saying, Mer's doped up on a grilled cheese and Sponge Bob, and I'm doped up on Pall Mall Menthol's (Hey the windows open & the air filters howling) and a desk somewhere underneath all this mess.
I made the deadline for the paper I wont be writing for again. No one did anything wrong per se, I just don't have time for stupidity in my life.
I wasted an entire day working on THE SAME WEBSITE I'VE BEEN WORKING ON SINCE GOD, to cover a story for someone I'd prefer not to have dealings with.
I'm too old, too tired, and too good a writer.
You have to ask yourself why people pick something up, or read a blog? What keeps them coming back week after week, or day after day? Duuuh?
It may have taken all 23, 28, 38, 40, (K, just leave it at that) years of my life to finally start trusting my gut and stop being everyone's foot wipey thing...what's?..., DOOR MAT, GY-AWD I'm so gonna buy Brain Games.
I'm fed up with being "Nicey Nicerson"...even my brother thinks I'm a loser because I don't put people on an imaginary *Do Not Speak To List*...(He's had people on the "THE LIST" since 1983...he's so much more Greek than I am.)
My Theeeraaapiiist calls it setting boundaries, I call it..."Lock & Load" (I always overshoot the mark)
...and I hate her, I hate her so much I go back every week to tell her so.
Wait till she realizes I had a great childhood. She'll have to write her Thesis on such an anomaly. I made poor choices in life, no one else (cough, Mer's donor's, cough)
Dad raised me, this is true. Mom was there physically, but Alzheimer's makes Japan forever occupied. Duck & Cover gets old after the fourth or fifth time in one day. I thought it was normal...what the hell is "Normal" anyway?
Many fathers raise their children alone:
"Daddy, why mama go bye, bye?" "Well Sugarplum, mama loved you, but she loved that crack more... she had to follow her drug induced dreams and become a Rock Star baby girl...but hey, rumor is you have five more brothers and sisters now, isn't that great!?"
It's all about communication, something half the world can't seem to do.
While I'm in so much pain some days my brain is willing to try Trepanning to get relief, I still have my "Mama Radar" 'en force though.
The gratitude I feel for the moms and dads who stepped up this weekend to be Mer's guardian at camp, make me want to cry. They stood in for something Mer, at 10-years-old, may never have. They don't realize the impact this has on my son.They are Mer's only positive male role models outside of school.
Did they know who's Grandson they'd be taking camping when they were kids? One of the Troop Leaders from another pack remembered my Dad fondly. It touched my heart like it always does, but this time it added a little extra security. (maybe they'll make extra sure the kid doesn't drown eh?)
Being a Mother is honorable. Doing it alone, even more so. (this is what I tell myself to fall sleep at night) It beats the Hell out of fantasizing about throwing Molotov Cocktails at both Mer's Dad's houses. The one who left and the one who stayed...who then eventually left.
These children keep us going when all else fails. they keep us accountable, honest, sincere and trying.
At least for this Mother.
Mer faced enormous fears this weekend. The first time in his life he was gone from me for two nights by choice. Mer is scared of the dark for good reason, yet he faced the fear and is now so proud of himself, as am I. (beaming) (Imagine it w/o the Pall Mall hanging out of my mouth K?)
The little guy, with a bad ticker and so much love and faith in me that I'll not be a crip ( health wise, not banger) forever, has given me strength and determination to fight for appropriate health care, and try Chantix again.
...eventually.
Wilson Arts Integration School Staff, family's & friends receive an additional 10% discount through October 31. (Think Halloween do's...or don'ts!) Contact Toni Cooper at N-Style Salon to schedule your appointment today! Cut, Color, change is good for the soul...or just a trim. Proceeds will benefit your children's classrooms needs.
You all know me and my hair thing right? It's like women of color...oh, wait...
I am one. In a Greek sort of colored way. It's ALL about the hair.
Can't wash it every day, can't use too much heat, color - oh God don't get me started.
Over
the summer around early July (there's a coincidence coming here, just
wait) I met a gorgeous mom at the pool, just days before my hair
appointment at "Salon-who-shall-not-be named"
This gorgeous mom (just look at her y'all?) named Toni Cooper, says "I'm a Stylist, here's my number, you might need it later"
Enter the 1st of September -
My gray is 12 feet long, my "Husky Red" is abalone pink (I warned him. Hey, it was a freebie, maybe THAT was the problem? Not.)...and I resemble Cyndi Lauper on an 80's meth binge.
Fear wrack's my soul.
To buy a box or twelve and let poor Lara be traumatized for life trying to color me, or - call Toni?
Whom
(here's the coincidence part. Could you PLEASE keep up?)
coincidently is a (school who shall not be named) refugee, and a new
Wilson Arts Integration School parent.
(Apparently my blabbing at the
pool all summer did some good. It's rare, but it happens occasionally)
So there we are in the halls at Wolf Night and whom do I see, but the gorgeous mom Toni from the pool.
A sign! The Goddess Medusa has shown me the way!
A sign my gray/brown/reddish/pink hair was to be placed in her hands, a sign I'll never be under 40 again...sigh.
So, I took four Valium and made the call. (breathe Apostol, breathe)
Within
2 hours I was sitting in her station at N Style Salon, a 12 year
veteran of "The Follicular Defragging Force". Hemming and Hawing about
what I wanted.
Finally, and with great trepidation, I relinquished my crowning glory, yet once again. Can you say "Color Correction?" Yep, thought so.
Let me tell you about N-Style Salon since I've bored you to death again talking about my hair (hey, some of you get it, some of you don't)
Remember the old "Blue Corn Cafe"? The ginormous warehouse/barn looking New Mexican restaurant on Penn & Memorial that bombed miserably?
Hello "N Style Salon!
Good-Bye bombing miserably!
Rochelle Hale bought the building and turned it into a Full Service Salon & Spa. I couldn't even get the whole building in my viewfinder.
Rochelle left several of the circular booths in place, setting aside an area for her nail techs (very smart) most of the original fixtures are still in place, making way for a Southwest meets Urban feel.
The photos don't do it justice, mainly because I had a crappy camera at the time, but the place is simply fabulous, as is Super-Mom Toni Cooper.
The head of the Wilson PTA was ceremoniously coiffed by Ms. Cooper, I will be returning next week hopefully, because Toni knows her stuff. It's not all a bunch of hype and promotion at "N-Style". No wasting money on fluff.
I can't speak for the other stylists, but Toni, a hard working single mom who trained under Duncan Bros., doesn't ignore you when you tell her how your hair behaves. She listens, therefore I trust her explicitly with my hair. (but I trusted the last guy also. See where that got me?)
The place is big enough your entire wedding party can book it at once - hence N-Style Salon's "Wedding Packages"...OK, now I'm getting depressed.
Check out the N Style Flickr photo set here...
Just trust me, if Toni can handle this mop, she can handle ANYTHING.
(That grimace is pain, but NOT from my hair looking a bad like tie dye job on a Dead T-shirt anymore)
Since Toni has, like myself four-years and counting, fallen head over heals for our magical Arts Integration School, Faculty and P.T.A...the entire month of October she's giving a 10% discounts to all Wilson families,( kids included ) on all Cuts and Colors.
Proceeds will go toward off-setting classroom expenditure.
On a good day this comes out of our Educators pockets. On a bad day Mr. Hoppers has to Fly signs on the corner...it's just not right.
On top of the 95 deadlines I haven't met the last three months BECAUSE I'M DYING...I now have a job offer as to write for a downtown/midtown newspaper. My life circumstance, can't possibly get any funnier.
I want to be taken seriously, medically, professionally, but this is just too much. Allow me to take a moment while I projectile cry...again.
How do I defend myself against the ignorant? Against a bureaucracy that seems will not change? I made the biggest mistake of my life when I sought out alternative pain management therapy at the beginning of the year, not realizing the medical communities ignorance, or mine.
Not realizing I would be labeled and given inadequate care, that my life would deteriorate to such extent I may never be able to pull it out (too dramatic)
I keep thinking there's something I can do, but there's not.
I'm tired of watching Mer go without a fully functioning mother.
Having to make the choice to send him camping without me last night broke my heart, and his.
Yet continuing to smile through pain that never lets up because that's what mothers do. We smile and promise our babies it's going to get better...even though we know, at this point, it's not.
It's been 20 years since I quit drinking, that's not an option, but something has to change soon because my brain can only take so much, before it literally has to have relief.
At church this morning I made the life sucking commitment to go on the retreat next weekend. (and lil' Mer will be pushing me in my wheelchair with "Mudders" on it)
There's no way I can do this, but I'm praying for a "Miracle"...Oh, wait...I don't believe in those. How 'bout an illegal shipment of Mexican Pharmaceuticals? More realistic at this juncture.
I'm afraid that wont work either, I can't see Mer visiting me in the joint.
Not so I can take him on a "Church Advance".
We couldn't go last year because I was afraid to drive on the medication I'd just been so rudely switched to overnight. Hallucinations don't make good bed fellows with long road trips.
Year before last I was working, and before that, and before that.
So before Mer is in COLLEGE, I'd like him to experience our fellowships retreat.
Maybe I'll tie a bow on him with a note that reads: "Lost little U.U. - if found, please return to Robbers Cave asap" and kick him out at on the steps of the Sanctuary Friday afternoon...
Now, THAT just might work.
Have I mentioned I hate Doctors?
Especially ones I was engaged too...No, that ones a resentment, not hatred...the rest I just hate.
I'm out of patients, get it, patients.
Oh Christ, I've lost my sense of humor along with my bladder control.
After completely giving up on "Bill" and spending the majority of the week in the supine position, I've come to a place of frustration with the medical profession and my body even dynamite wont fix.
Limits of sporadic moments sitting at this computer, driving, being "Sybil" to Mer...it's not an acceptable way to live. Being treated like a criminal while fighting for health care is bullshit. I'm not alone.
The problem is the laws in this country, the individuals who abuse the health care system. (the true criminals don't use the health care system, they use the Internet. Duh)
We write our Legislators, join forums to support each other, trying to be pro-active in our health care. When are people living with chronic pain going to be treated with respect and not suspect?
Imagine having a "Headache" from the middle of your back all the way down both legs that doesn't ever stop. Eventually you cannot think straight, make decisions about anything past the next five minutes.
No promises to your children, because you don't want to let them down again.
Everything is calculated the best you can. Steps to the store entrance, which store, time of day you might be able to go, will you be able to get your child to school, Cub Scouts, their Dr. appointment, get the laundry done...blah, blah, blah.
You're held hostage in a body that refuses to let you go, then held hostage by the medical profession. This isn't my first stupid rodeo, I've been living this way for the last 15 years. I inherited my fathers back, and it's progressively deteriorated as I've gotten older.
I know all the tricks. Visualization techniques, deep breathing, used to do yoga, used to walk, used to do a lot of things (yeah I'm venting)
I've had acupuncture, steroid injections, seen a Chiropractor, changed my diet, lost weight and kept it off.
Does the above sound like a criminal, or someone trying to feel better?
I'm so pissed by how I was spoken to by a P.A. on Friday, I don't know how to handle it yet so I'm not doing anything.
She was condescending, shaming, humiliating, and wrong. She was also uneducated and misinformed regarding pain management. I left there in more pain from her battering than I arrived in. Does she speak to Cancer patients like this?
Chronic intractable pain is managable, but the medical profession has to communicate with their patients. All we want is free from the darkness, and that doesn't mean being doped up out of our minds.
I don't know where this woman crawled out from under, but she needs to do her homework, she needs to shut her mouth and HEAR what her patients are saying, before she passes judgment on them.
No one who has been free from the fog of being over medicated would ever want to go back. It's just as bad as the darkness of pain.
All a Physician has to do is communicate, give and take with the patient to achieve this. I've had ONE in my life. A tiny Pakistani woman who believed I knew my body better than a text book knew it. Believed in a combination of Holistic and Western healing. We worked together as a team, when she moved her practice to Arizona, I began getting passed from one resident to another.
My life has slowly decreased in quality ever since, and there's not a fucking thing I can do to stop it.
They want to start cutting on my back now. Knowing nothing about my life and the small child who's only support is ME. Brilliant! Let's dare not look at the more realistic options like COMMUNICATING WITH YOUR PATIENT to find a less invasive alternative.
I will address the treatment I received on Friday with my insurance carrier. It will not happen again. They don't pay for me to see some idiot, they pay for me to see my Primary Care Physician. Someone I thought might know his shit...if I can get care directly proportionate to my condition, and not someones "Label".
I'm tired you guys, hope is fading fast, and right around the corner is winter.
If you live with Chronic pain, you know what I'm talking about.
Think "Happy Thoughts" for Apostol...and if you do happen to have spare explosives, you know my email.
...and no, venting did not help, but thanks for letting me whine : )
My Big Fat Greek Mouth, has overloaded my Big Fat Greek Ass yet once again...
"Suuuure I can handle "Web Articles", noooo problem, don't sweat it, take a load off, rest assured, easy does it" and on, and on, and on.
I cannot handle "Web Articles", something I'm almost certain Mer could do in his sleep...but no, I KNOW EVERYTHING!
The really sad part is I know people, several at First Church who, being good Unitarians, would question me ceaselessly, then invent some variable of the Internet "Equation". Convincing me it would solve world hunger and global warming at the same time.
Yet being a "Greek Gone Bad" (AKA leaving the Orthodoxy), I am physically, unable to pick up the phone and ask for that word beginning in "H". While habanera's are my favorite fruit, that's not the "H" I'm speaking of.
Dare anyone believe I do not KNOW EVERYTHING (cough), for survival of the fittest has nothing to do with what's in your bank account (thank God). Survival of the fittest is OBVIOUSLY in reference to whom is the better poker player. Duh?
The client is unfortunately a friend of mine, which in Greece would mean she would have all authority to cut off my ear if I can't get her website done by deadline.
I like my ear, I wear glasses at times quite necessary.
Driving, viewing small print, finding the bathroom at night.
My ear is a nice accoutrement to my other ear.
"Web Articles" = I am now Bill Gates Bitch.
Microsoft is like a car with five wheels...
Where is the God Ubuntu when I need him?
Let's just put it this way...unless you desire your inbox slammed to pieces, DO NOT give your email address to Match.com.
See my friend Jeanne, who happens to also be my Dentist and is on Faculty at O.U., recently met the man of her dreams there. Until then I was utterly convinced it was another "Take your money Net scam".
Jeanne is goo ga over this guy, the feelings are mutual and I couldn't be happier for both of them (unless of course she relocates and takes my mouth with her)...
Ah love...it makes me break out in hives. Nonetheless, I'm not getting any younger, have intentionally spent the last six years alone, going to school, raising Mer, buying a home, all the things people do as...you know, couples. If I continue at this rate, Mer will be an orphan.
One human being cannot do it all...or can they?
I have a meeting in an hour, woke up to my 3rd broken RED Mr Coffee Coffee Maker, flew out the door at 6 AM leaving a sleeping Mer in a house with 32 candles lit, began to focus about the time I pulled into the Starbuck's drive-thru, ordered two Vente quad Pumpkin Spice latte's (because I was asleep that's why), slammed one on the way home, clamored in the house to rouse Mer, was spiking his hair as he brushed his teeth, shoved a piece of toast in his mouth on the way out the door to school, came home hit the shower, made my 9 AM by the skin of my teeth, back to my office to try and get Apple Care on the phone (which I don't have the patience to wait for)
something sparkly caught my eye and it was all over...
After my meeting I'm strapping explosives to me, taking my 3rd broken RED Mr Coffee Coffee Maker back to Target with a note of my demands:
"Dear Customer Service - In adding up the amount of money put forth towards my previous Mr. Coffee purchases over the last 18 months, I have concluded a nice "Bunn" would be an adequate exchange. Given the level of duress and undue anxiety placed upon me by the choices in merchandise you offer customers.
Therefore, given my extremely unstable, painful condition, a direct result of Target and it's retail options...effective immediately this RED Mr. Coffee Coffee Maker will be exchanged for this (hold up Bunn) exceptional quality Bunn.
Sincerely,
a valued Target Customer"
See, that's so simple.
Maybe I'm not ready for a relationship.
I have to stop reading the daily...it just pisses me off.
This mornings article on East Side housing problems here brings to light the fact people don't have to stay where they are.
Literally or metaphorically.
It, like everything else in life is a choice.
I know too Ken. I lived there.
One year was all it took, living in crack infested Project housing, for me to know I had to make better choices in life.
For myself, for my son.
From The Projects to The Hood, I fought my way out.
I wrote letters, I put on my "Happy Face", I got an education.
Driving miles and miles each day, leaving Mer in state sanctioned Day Care facilities to be yelled at and tormented by anyone who could "Fill the position".
Do you know why people stay on that side of town?
Because they want to.
Crime rates are up everywhere, even where I live now, it doesn't matter.
We make choices every day, choices affecting tomorrow.
We max out our plastic and live in slavery, we hit Remington in the hopes of magical fixes to our "Problems".
If you have a problem money can fix you don't have a problem,
you have a consequence.
Holy Mother of Disabled American Vets, what is going ON?
In a Daily headline here urging ex-felons to vote (dig, dig, dig) I'm reminded of the gentleman I know who, due to a severe case of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, began drinking again to self medicate...the drinking lead to "Criminal Minds" (Hot young profiler in Cardigan w/ heat on hip)
One thing lead to another, and he was eventually stripped of his Social Security Disability Rights.
Rights which enable this man to function, seek adequate medical treatment, keep a roof over his head, get his meds, AND stay off the corner of 39th and I-40 as a professional sign flier, eh hem.
We want the convicted felons to vote, but we don't want our disabled vets to have appropriate care. Well...OK.
God Bless The Queen!
For the first time in many, many years I feel like medically I'm in the hands of a Pit Bull.
A Pit Bull who wont just let me wither away into nothingness again.
I went to see my beloved "Allen" the Pharmacist, another one of my Pit Bulls in waiting.
We have this "Deal" he and I (God everyone wants "Deals")
He's allowed to call me on my shit, and I'm allowed to follow him to his residence with a .380 automatic...or listen, which might be the lesser of two evils in the long run.
My Pit Bull Doc seems to think highly of the practice of medicine, as opposed to his own ego. Something I certainly can't relate to, but I hear Christian Martyrs can.
Care is a strange thing, after so many months in pain, once I got to the point of utterly giving up on anyone giving a crap about the person and not the "Diagnosis"... I found a place of strength and acceptance which allowed the choppy tides to turn.
Whether or not surgery will be a viable option with my "Life Circumstances" (barf), I still don't know. What I do know is my head is starting to clear again, and even though I'm worn out from spending so many months in pain...
I have hope again.
Who said Pit Bulls were all bad?
In a story reported here by the Daily OK, an Attorney, one Steve Liles is now "Barred for Life" for falling in love, having a child out of wedlock while married to another woman. Actions transpiring over a 23 year period.
"Scandalous"reports of misconduct related to Mr. Liles then secretary, one Dawn Lukasik, who informed Mr. Liles years later...lo and freakin behold "Baby, you have a son from our little love fest...but sweet cheeks he's in prison now" (bat, bat, bat)
Thereby Mr. Liles and Ms. Lukasik (who had developed a nasty little meth addiction at some point) spent time, money and effort to reacquaint Mr Liles with his incarcerated son.
The rats.
At Mr. Liles disciplinary hearing last year, he stated "I was plain stupid. I wasn't thinking straight.”
He also said last year he was "regretful, remorseful and extremely sorry” for his mistakes. He said, "The issue is: Did I do things that I shouldn't have done? Absolutely.”
Mr. Liles has reimbursed the courts for false travel expenses, false expenses related to office remodeling, allegedly done by Ms. Meth, er Lukasik...of over $4,000, the dudes at the very least attempting to rectify his situation with the Bar, unlike SOME Attorneys we know.
Ms. Lukasik eventually went to prison in '05 on meth related charges after admitting she had a problem (no shit) , Mr Liles divorced his wife in 2006, and married Ms. Lukasik upon her release from prison last year.
Sooo, WHAT? I mean we have these guys here, pulling heir drunkalog and they'll get a slap on the wrist, we have Judges with sex toys under their bench (Oh yeah baby)...
and Liles is disbarred for LIFE? Oklahoma just plain ROCKS the judicial system.
June 21st vs. Sept.15th news story here on Child neglect charges...
I feel safe, don't you?
