Off My Meds

Yeah, no wonder I'm so tired. That stuff I was taking since the fall to help me quit smoking? I cut way back on smoking, and then my time ran out on the prescription. Tonight I'll smoke my last two and then, well, lots of prayer. I have given up chocolate for Lent before, but never something as serious as smoking. If I do it for thirty-eight days (I know, I know, I'm late) there's a good chance I will stay quitted. And it really is a sacrifice.

But the side effect is that I'm worn out half the time. Yesterday I had to force myself to keep moving; working at school for a while, shopping, making lists. If I stopped, I was going to fall asleep wherever I landed. It must be withdrawal, but I've been off the medication for a few weeks now. Would those withdrawals last as long as all that? I want my old energy back. It might be that I can call the doc and just beg a refill. As long as it didn't have any long-term negative effects, I'd take that stuff forever. With it, I feel invincible. I've accomplished so much and thought through problems so clearly and lucidly while taking it. Now four months of it and I am hooked. And having trouble concentrating since I'm off it.

Which also bothers me. I've never been one to take medication I didn't need. When I looked into the possibility of certain medications damaging my liver, I started toughing it out whenever I was feeling pain. Headaches I still medicate the crap out of, and tooth issues as well, but for everything else, I just lump it as long as possible. (This is how I discovered I have a high pain tolerance.) But I want this stuff back. I liked how I felt taking it. I liked the feeling of competence. But it shouldn't take a pill to make me able to recognize my accomplishments.

Still, I have to be conscious to HAVE accomplishments, and I'm not having an easy time achieving that state.

This is so not the time to be off my meds. Carnival is in 7 weeks, I'm taking over the treasurer position soon after that, somewhere in there I become precinct chair, I'm hoping to launch a business this summer, the Bigun has graduation and a birthday coming up, and then she goes to training.

Note to self: call the doctor Monday morning.

This message brought to you by GlaxoSmithKline.

The Power of the Unspoken Word

Here's a funny. Well, it was to me. It's a little bit of a success story, because if there are any faults for which I will surely go to hell, it's my big fat mouth.

One new friend I have comes over a lot, and our kids play very well together, so I'm almost always pleased to have them all around. When one of us has a thing and can't get the kids (jury duty for me, surgery for her) we get each others' kids. It's cool, having a backup system. I never had that.

So anyway, her next door neighbor has not liked this. My friend is away from home more often, or busy when she is home. The neighbor's daughter has fewer people to boss around, and gets grumpy over it.

In fairness, my friend told me all the above, about the conflict between the kids as well as between them. Nobody else really knows what went down, but I can guess what happened. Apparently, my friend's daughter stayed home sick, but felt better later and wanted to go to a church event that night. Overhearing that, the neighbor (again, hearsay as I wasn't there) reportedly said "Well, you'll have to ask your mom and Fish's permission, won't you?"

Excuse me?

Still, my friend tells me these things and it's all secondhand. I'm insulted, but I'm not going over there and getting my friend into bigger trouble for opening her big mouth even more.

Fast forward to Friday. Early release day, the kids all have school parties, and it's the day after a new security system has been installed, so I'm there to help out the staff and greet people. Up comes that very neighbor, determined to chat with me.

Y'all, you would have been so proud of me.

We chatted several minutes and the neighbor said "We ought to get our girls together. The only thing is, sometimes having her for a neighbor gets things a little territorial."

One of the stories my friend has told me about this family is that whatever anyone on the street gets for a birthday, Christmas or special occasion, the daughter HAS to have it. Now. Veruca Salt, in the flesh. Apparently, if that is true, then momma has come over to get the Little Critter as the newest acquisition. And momma was also checking to see if I'd carry dirt back to my friend. Because her next thing to say was "You know, when she lives next door, you never know when she'll just come walking in."


(Wait for it. I'm soooooo proud.)


So I sweetly say: "Well, that's why it's different being next door. It takes a little more effort to get up and make one's way all the way over to my end of the division."

That tactic failing, she attempts to get me back on getting our girls together to play. So I respond with: "You know what I'd LOVE! I'd love getting everyone together at the pool this summer! We always go down there on Monday nights; you should join us! Let's make plans!"

So I talked to my friend several times since that conversation, and I never brought it up. I could feel the urge to spill everything come on strong, but I fought it again and again. I thought I'd bust from the effort. Then she calls me today while I was out running the shopping gauntlet. It seems her neighbor and she had a chat today, and her neighbor told her "You know, I misjudged Fish. She's really sweet."

HA! If she only knew! But for once I can say that I kept silent when I should have. So often I regret saying something I said, and I rarely regret holding back words I want to say. It's nice to report, for once, that I governed this lethal weapon and it served me well.

Maybe I'm giving up gossip for Lent.

What Matters Most

What matters most to you? What's really important?

We always seem to find ourselves asking this question when someone dies. Silly trivial things take on such diminished importance, we wonder why we ever cared about any of it at all. I'm there today.

I've had relatives die before, but nobody I'm close to. JJ's relatives seem to be dropping like flies lately; a sister, an uncle and two aunts, all gone in three years. I loved them all, but close? No, not really. It seems my clan is actually the hardier one, though JJ's grandma is now 100.

Tim, in his mid-forties, dying of a heart attack (I was just told) brings it home in a new way.

S and I are doing our best for Joy. We've got dinners planned for a month out, answered phones, started cleaning the refrigerator (it was Tim's domain,) answered phones, talked to the principal and reassured her that yes, it would be a good idea to bring the counselor and Austin's teachers to visit, and today took Austin to pick up Joy's mom from the airport so Joy could go to the funeral home. Oh, and answered phones. It doesn't seem enough to us. I'll go back this evening to see what else we can do, and S is there now. S and I discussed it; we're just unable to think of anything else we should be doing.

I'm thinking about all this because of the battle royale. Certain relatives are upset that Tim will be cremated. Others are incensed that he will not be buried in a suit (he hated suits.) Everyone has a claim, an emotion, a tie that demands their opinion be heard. And Joy has heard them over and over. It's damaging the relationships left and right. Again, I state that I've never been in this situation, but from the outside it looks so petty, so stupid, so trivial. It just doesn't matter. A good man is gone, and the pain and the void created by his leaving is rending holes in the people who loved him. The grief has to be the greater for all that.

I've shed more tears more frequently for Tim and Joy and Austin than for anyone else I've lost. I've heard Austin talk casually about his dad being dead, and Joy's worry that he isn't processing it, and I realize I'm studying grief close-up. And natually I ask what would I do? How would I behave, what would I feel, what would I do with those feelings if I had those challenges?

What am I made of? And how will I be remembered? I think it's Steven Covey who says to live your life each day being the person you hope your obituary describes.

A song lyric keeps coming back to me from Cheri Keaggy-

What matters most
Is how much we love
What matters most
Is how much we give
What would it matter if we just lived
Without loving our God
Without loving each other
What matters most is
How much we love
Setting our sights
On the needs of our brother
Loving our neighbor as we love ourselves
We give to the Lord
When we give to each other
Faith, hope and love, especially love
That's what matters most

I'm getting out the yardstick and checking where all I fall short.

Tim

Tim - the best BBQ man in the city. Tim did all the cooking for carnival last year. When the burgers weren't defrosted in time, Tim sent someone home for a brisket he'd cooked and made BBQ sandwiches until the burgers were ready. You should see the menu he made for this year.

Tim always picks up Austin after school. Even before Austin started school, when the LC and I would be walking by, Tim and Austin would be in the front yard because Austin liked to watch everyone pass his house on their way home. Since Tim's been on disability for his back, he hasn't worked outside the home, but that hasn't stopped him. Tim has been working on dreams of getting his amazing BBQ sandwiches and sides (the beans are to DIE for!) in a local store, and going into the catering business.

When I drove by and caught Tim dragging an old fridge he got from the next door neighbor up the drive by himself, I called JJ and asked him to go down the street and ask Tim if he needed help. Tim had finished by the time JJ got there, and it killed his back. It stunned Tim that people would just offer to help, but Tim should have recognized that when you give, it's reflected back to you. It's the kind of thing Tim himself would do; he just didn't recognize it on the other end.

Every Halloween and Christmas Tim and Austin help his wife Joy decorate the yard. Huge cutouts that they made themselves grace the yard; graves with silly names in one season, huge letters spelling out J-O-Y and Santa cutouts in the other. This past Halloween, Tim fired up the barbecue pit and passed out hot dogs, beans, and burgers to any family who stopped by. It humbled us, the warmth which with Tim set up out there and fed longtime friends and strangers alike.

Every evening when Joy gets off work, Tim has dinner ready. And he's really the cook in the family. Joy says Austin cringes when he thinks Joy has to cook because she's out of practice. Their anniversary is in a couple of weeks; 10 years. They married later in life, and Austin is the only child they made together. Tim has other children, one of whom is about to give birth to his grandchild. There's been much excitement in the house because of the baby. Austin will be an uncle.

Joy called this morning. Tim died yesterday at home. She found him face-down on the den floor when she got up. They don't know yet what happened.

I just wanted to pause and remember what a great guy he was. And how much I'll miss him.

(enter appropriately eye-catching title here)

OK, ok, so I got really tired of looking at the last post. Finally.

Carnival time is here again. I have about 8 weeks to get the thing done. I've thought and thought about how to improve over last year and I think I've come up with some good plans. Of course, they could be moronic ramblings, too. We'll see. One major cool thing? Having races with these. I am so gonna rock if that works.

I finally got to go to Bible study class and service last weekend. It's been something like two years, since I've worked most weekends in the preschool area. I think people were starting to wonder if JJ had a wife anymore. (He does.) And interestingly, I ran into a guy who I went to school with from 5th grade to graduation and haven't seen since. Not a crush or anything, just the nice guy who was also class president or something. He had been coming to class all the time with his wife and I never knew because I wasn't there. Now he's made me all of a sudden want to go back on *coughtwentycough* years of vows never to see my graduating class again and actually go to the reunion this summer. Dangit, Ray. I was happy thinking I'd hate the reunion until you started talking about it. Now I'm all curious.

Last week I got paid $50 to help a friend design the look and text of her website. That was a $25/hr rate, more than my miserable employment record has ever earned me so far. And it was kinda fun. When she has it up I'll post a link and you can see whether I'm worth it.

Tomorrow I am off to the state PTA convention in San Antonio. I love that town for conventions. Anyone need any cheesy Alamo crap while I'm there? I'll be thinking of you as I stroll on the Riverwalk in completely different weather from the way it was last June. I'll even have to bring a sweater! I look good in a sweater.

S had her hubby over today to examine the house for piecemeal small remodeling projects. We were talking adding a dog door and some new lights in the kitchen. Maybe some ceiling fans. By the time he left we had remodeled the entire front half of the house and kitchen, added 5' on to the pantry's depth (crucial!) and created a breakfast nook and a window seat and a new cabinet arrangement and...

Stop me before I spend again.

Lost in Translation

Literally.

I have my fingers in everyone's pie at school.

School store, I'm on it.
Box Tops, I'm there.
Homeroom mom, check.

This is nice a lot of the time. People know me, because I'm always around. People ask me questions and advice, because I seem to know what's going on. Executive board members ask me to join them at convention in San Antonio (!!) when another one has to bow out.

But here's where I get stuck: we're now a bilingual campus (not that there's anything wrong with that). This means that every letter home must be in English and Spanish. So far, so good. Theoretically, we'd put together an English flier, send it to be translated and approved, and it would come back in plenty of time to go home before events.

Not happenin'.

The president gets the info and gets it translated, then turns it into the administration to review. And it gets LOST. Perpetually. Just Tuesday I went to the office to ask about several documents I had turned in that I will need reasonably soon. Oh, no, they say. Your stuff is not here. We haven't seen it.

Humph.

One item was a new order form for all the spirit items we're selling; keychains, water bottles, gel pens, etc. The old order form had deadline dates for November, but I needed a new form that said that all the items were in now, and that people could still order. Nope, nobody in the office had it.

So Wednesday I check the in-boxes of all the "pies" I'm messing in. Lo and behold, there's a TRANSLATED order form in the in-box. A translated form with the OLD information on it, and a December date. HUH? Now everyone in the office denies putting it there. Lovely. I supposed it translated itself and walked into the box.

I had to leave the campus to keep from biting heads off.

I don't mind getting my things in weeks and weeks ahead. I don't mind getting everything in the queue early so that there's allowance for all the craziness that inevitably goes on at a public school campus. But when they freaking lose things and then lie to me when they magically reappear?

I'm livid.

They had better hope I don't run for president in two years.