The 13th Apostol

The Passing of a Mighty Mouse or Why I Will Vote OBAMA

...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.

Timing, Stupidity and the Laws of Science

"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.

Trying Too Hard Get's You Nowhere

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.

Inmates Use Contraband Cell Phones to Communicate...Criminals!

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.

Close Scrutiny Takes Courage

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.

Grace Alone

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.

Isolation vs The Company You Keep

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.

Un-freakin-believable...or Leaf Kickin' '08

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-boy Visits the Gun Range with Mom

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."

I Have an M.D. Therefore I am GOD

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.

Oral History 101

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 Returns Unscathed or Trepanation is Good for the Soul

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.
 

N-Style Full Service Salon & Spa and Wislon Arts Integration Specialty School

 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.

Warning: Post Written on 3 hrs. of Sleep

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.