Dreamed a Little Dream of Me

The following is what I remember of a waking dream:

I arrived at what we'll assume to be Aunt Mabel's house by feel. It more resembled Grandma and Grandpa's apartment on Pleasant Street by layout and also seemed like GiGi's farm house at times, but the overall sense was Aunt Mabel's with its narrow stairway to shared bedrooms and unapologetic style of bare, plywood flooring all the sweeping in the world couldn't quite turn clean.

Everyone lived there commune-like, as I've always said I'd been raised...my Grandpa was there, my uncles, some cousins I knew were related yet can't exactly tell you how...some twenty-somethings and, of course, there were the littles. Kids, I mean. A small group of parent-less children who some of the cousins took under wing or hung out with just to prevent major tragedies.

I learned that my Grandfather's catheter had a strange trick to it. In her time of taking care of  him only my mom had mastered its strange drainage system. My uncles kept letting pee get all over him and it made my Grandpa frustrated - but he felt resigned to the ordeal of it since my mom passed away.

Eager to ease his embarrassment, I stepped in and tried holding the hose end shut til someone could get a bedpan to let the fluid roll out into...and yet I was panicked because I stressed that I could be causing more damage by holding the end shut.  The oddest thing about it was... my Grandpa would pee and the catheter would presumably work like normal? But then we had to hurry to grab the hose it was attached to and find a container for the inevitable rush of urine.

All this was done in a corner of a living room type area where Grandpa sat up in his hospital bed. Uncle Mike, ever agitated at everything and everyone, had long since taken off for the night. Uncle Bob, ever casual about everything and everyone, helped Grandpa to clean blankets and lit up a cigarette. He slowly smoked.

There was a sense of peace and of being at home...even through the chaos. Everyone did as they should or would have. There was no stress for being who or what you are. We all accepted each other as is - good, bad or indifferent. Family. We roll our eyes at the whack jobs and share grins at stupidity - we band together in discomfort and seek resolve. Family.

It switched to dinner. Things were rather high brow in the dining room. I felt out of place, being that I was a guest even though they all considered me family. There were too many glasses and there was far, too much silverware. There was food, rich food, expensive food, which didn't make any sense for an Aunt Mabel kind of world. I felt like we were acting parts in "dress up," smartly asking for plates to share and commenting on whatsits as if we paid any attention to the real world. We didn't.

Try as we did, the evidence of poverty was on the table...not in the quality of the food but in its quantity. It was a meal I was reluctant to take part in - I felt obligated to take more than I wanted of the steak and other meats, even though I was hungry enough to eat what was on offer and more. I knew by taking what I wanted I'd be causing someone else to miss out. I was careful in what I chose for myself. Caring.

Out of the strange, stuffy room and onto the dusty front porch. I felt free again. Happy. Only, I noticed one of the parent-less kids. She stood right out to me. She looked like me at 7, 8 or 9 years old. She acted like me. She talked like me. I found out her name was Wendy. Like me.

Wendy was looked after by volunteer cousins and friends. She didn't seem too hurt by that...in fact, she was a charming little fat girl. All freckles, all knowing, bright-eyed and chatty. She was eating candy, ignoring a plate of home cooked something or other.

In that moment, I understood that I was there to take care of Wendy. She didn't have a parent. The people who took care of her meant well but they had their own kids, their own lives, and they weren't really giving her the kind of attention and discipline she needed. They weren't able to convey to her how important she is and how her health will equal happiness....and nobody thought to tell her she is a beautiful girl.

There wasn't anger to place on anybody. Everyone was doing the best they could. Wendy needed me. And it was like they all knew I was there to take her under my wing. I was there to be her mom and disciplinarian and chaperone and teacher and friend.

I had a good time talking with her. We had a chat about the candy. I took it away and she looked at me with awe like she'd never been challenged before. I told her she can have candy, but she can't make it her dinner. I gave instructions to her to eat the real food and expect the candy to be something special and rare. I asked her daycare sorts to, please, when I'm not in her presence, be on the lookout for that...to not let her hurt herself like that. To help her understand that it's better and more loving of everyone (me included) to encourage the real food.

They all agreed.

My dream then changed...and spun into something to do with clothing, donations, friends from the Scottsville Farmers Market, old plans coming forward...a caller reaching out to me from a nursing home...and me hurrying to show up to a meeting place. I arrived naked & I was the only person who was remotely embarrassed by that.

I know it's a mix of really weird stuff but I keep thinking that dream and missing my Grandpa and hoping I really do have custody of Wendy. She's so cute. And so worth it. I felt like I could be good for her.

Woulda Been "Wendy's Red Kitchen"

I am feeling out of sorts because I've come to the inevitable decision to have our vet take a, possibly final, look at our long-loved family dog to see if she feels what I fear is true: It's time. I wanted this post to be positive and jovial, the way my kitchen feels when I am in it, but I am maudlin and resentful for having the option to euthanize my dog. I sort of wish I didn't have the option....but then he'd deteriorate and be in more and more pain which is a big soul suck of a thing to see.

So, I'm going to postpone the post about my kitchen and post this in exchange. If you could keep us and Simon in your hearts over the next few days especially...thanks.

If You Could Change Your Story

What if some of the most defining moments of your life are ones that have you in a holding pattern? What if the true story you remind yourself and others about is what allows depression to consume you? What if your whole truth could be squeezed and pressed and processed and, from it, you could extract a single drop of a substance so powerful it could change your memory from one of pain to one of remarkable strength?

Ladies and Gentlemen: There are no known statistics for what I am about to attempt. This is a feat so daring, so death-defying, you may not believe your eyes. I, Wendy the Beautiful, will revisit a very painful, very role-defining, time in my life and I will change the outcome.

"How?" you ask. "This is a trick!" you say. "Why, it's only the power of suggestion at work," you murmur to yourself and to your neighbor, but I say this: I will not remain the victim of cruel people who could not have bothered with courtesy toward a scared and innocent child. I will no longer say to myself, "I can't believe they did this to me." I will not turn to you and gasp, "Can you believe they did this to me?!?!"

It no longer matters what they did. It matters how I reacted - and how I've continued to react through all time.

Can I take one of the most excruciatingly frustrating, sorrowful, humiliating experiences of my life and, with the superhuman strength of a tight fist, milk a droplet - a tiny dewdrop of a thing - of dignity from it? I believe I can.

First, I will have to retell you this story:

My Tip Jar

Maybe if I treat my blog like a New Year tip jar I will update frequently enough. I am willing to try!

So, here I am. I have managed to lose 1 pound in a year. One. Yep. I'll not go over how I feel about that because I know you can fill in for me. I don't feel any differently than you would.  So, I lost one pound ultimately in 2013. I lost several pounds over and over and over, just did not keep them off.

I am still in the U.Va. study to monitor blood glucose and learn to handle Diabetes the way it really has to be. I wish there were other ways...like anyone who has to jab her finger 6 or more times a day and then DO something about the results she sees...but I'm able to accept that taking care of this is an unchanging, unyielding process.

I started a TOPS group  in May and have been its leader all the while - which makes the loss of one total pound for the year all kinds of embarrassing. I am facing it, though, and with a deep breath am going to keep to staying positive and keep going to my meetings and keep starting over. Eventually, something has to click. Right?

I'm about to teach sedentary people how to move their bodies. I so wish I had this idea when my mom was alive. I wish I dropped everything else in my life and went to her the way my head always said to...and I wish I worked with her to get us both healthy. I can't now - not with her - and I can't realistically drop everything yet I am going to spend one Thursday a week with (hopefully) a few people who have not moved very much in a long time and who want to be present in their bodies and begin somewhere. This is exercise and also therapy for me. We can help each other.

I have begun the new year by outlining my next Best Year Yet. My focus is my health (all aspects of my health) and so many things contribute to the success of my health...things I didn't realize could or would...and the first is joy.  Whatever I do, I am surrounding myself with joy.

My first step. I am putting more design effort into my kitchen. It is already a room that I love very much. Now I am amping it up by adding the decor that has spent years on Pinterest and in my head...and hasn't made its way to my wall. My kitchen is going to be a place of joy for me where I can create healthy meals for myself and my friends and family - a place I not only love to be in but am good at taking care of myself in.

Otherwise I am just taking care to continue routine skin care and teeth brushing and hair setting/styling that always makes me feel good and fresh and relaxed. For Christmas I bought myself a new set of skin care products but I may go back to my previous set because the organics stuff I'm trying seems to make me break out a whole lot. It's weird? Chemicals for the win? The stuff I normally buy is pricey...and maybe it is a get what I pay for thing?

I put some more stuff on Pinterest that I will get for myself when I reach certain goals. I don't like to think I am materialistic. I guess I really am. Whatever, though. This is about joy. Sometimes things make me happy. Things are better for me than food.

Welcome, 2014.