We all have them. We need them. Systems are inevitable. I personally believe that men need them more than women do, but that is just my opinion.

Which way does the toilet paper go? I dated a great guy in Ft Lauderdale. He was such fun. We talked one day about how people get caught-up in the way the toilet paper goes on the roll. He and I preferred the tissue to go ‘over’. So, to find out how much it mattered, I began putting the tissue under. I watched over the week as the tissue was mysteriously rotated back to ‘over’. He did not say a word. He just repositioned. I finally fessed up. He did too. He told me that evidently it DID matter to him. He acknowledged that he was ‘one of those’. It was a funny experiment in life. We are not immune.

When my dad had open-heart surgery, he could not drive for a while but had medical appointments to keep. I lived in the same city so volunteered to drive when I could. The first day out, he needed to go to his office. I not only had driven there hundreds of times to see him, I had also worked there when he needed help. I knew the way.

As I backed out of his driveway, he said, “Where are you going?” “I go down the hill.” The hill was a slope that joined the same road. In other words, going up, or going down took you to the very same place. It made me smile a bit. He had been told to ‘stop trying to be in control of everything and stop getting aggravated at the little stuff’. Immediately, he said, “well, everyone does it differently, it doesn’t matter.” That did not fool me a bit. Of COURSE, it mattered. I was connecting to the road in the wrong direction. ‘Systems’.

Part of his rehab was to take a daily walk. I was an early morning walker so I suggested we meet to walk together. He quickly agreed. Walking can be lonely at first.

The first morning, because we were still in fall weather, it was dark when he wanted to do his walk. I normally waited until early daylight but this was his gig and I was willing to bend.

I walked to the appointed spot, knowing my path because I did it daily, but it was still daunting because it was DARK. I actually carried a flashlight. As I waited, I saw his light coming. As he got closer, I realized he was wearing a ‘miner’s hat’ with a light in the brim. Funny but it made sense.

We began our first journey together. As we crossed a street, he moved to a different side. As he moved, he kicked a small rock out of the sidewalk. He was looking everywhere, his little light shining, and our additional flashlights made us obvious.

The next day, I saw his miners cap and flashlight approaching. I had to be there first. You did NOT keep him waiting. It was not worth the reproach. As he arrived, we set off and crossed the small road. He immediately changed sides. He also found a small rock to kick. That was when I knew: system. He had a system already. He needed a system. He would never deviate. Always changing sides at the same time, always finding a small rock at almost the same place, to kick aside. He was back in control.

My parents cannot load their dishwasher unless it is loaded properly, in their way. When you try to help with the dishes, it means having to unload and reload because things are in the wrong place. I understand it to a point. I have become much more flexible about my dishwasher. My parents seem to need to fill every nook before they run the machine. I get that. We were taught to do a full load, to save energy. That was 40 years ago. Now, our appliances are so much more efficient, we can do loads that actually have a bit of space and not lose our retirements. My parents will never accept this. It is their system. Only certain things can go in the top, certain things can go in the bottom, and some things must ALWAYS be washed by hand. Not manufacturers’ suggestions: our parents’ system.

My husband had many systems. When he travelled, he always packed one extra pair of underwear for the number of days away. Carved in granite. I saw it firsthand early on. So, we took a trip together and the very first day, I snatched his ‘extra’ pair. That night he was frantic, looking for his ‘spare’. I had expected that he would start looking when he was down to one or two. Nope. Today. Right now. “Where is my extra pair of underwear?” it drove him nuts. It drove him nuts for 6 days while we were on our adventure. He was so unsettled. He actually began to accuse me of taking his extra underwear, so certain was he that he could NOT have been in error. I began asking if we needed to do a small ‘hand wash’. He assured me that he had enough. He just needed his spare.

The last day of our trip, he came out of the bathroom in his last pair of clean underwear to find me wearing his spare. I thought it was hysterical. It was not funny in the least. I had messed with his system. He still remembers that trip as ‘not good’ and it was all because of the stupid underwear.

I have never known a woman to be this anal.

I empty all the trashcans on Monday because Tuesday is trash day. I do my laundry and I clean my grill from weekend use. Today I will make new hummingbird food and replace the feeders with clean ones. I have already cleaned and refilled all of the birdbaths. I will clean out the fridge and wipe the shelves. I will wind my pendulum clocks. I will test my sprinkler system and walk my land to check outdoor lighting to replace bulbs. I replace the towel my cat sleeps on and I am certain to do my ironing. I have to press because Tuesday is errand day. Wednesday I pay bills and make phone calls. It’s my system.

Yesterday, wishes were granted. I had my head examined. I was overdue.

Testing was intense. 5 hours of sitting in a small office, doing all types of things to show how my brain works, if at all. This is necessary because of several brain injuries and Alzheimer’s being rampant in my family. As I prepare to move, I need to plan based on my hope to live independently.

My good fortune is finding humor everywhere in life.

The man (psychologist) was just as you would expect. He ‘tried’ to be fun, but is, after all, something of a scientist, anal, orderly, and controlled. My polar opposite.

While I took tests, he observed and surreptitiously scribbled secret notes. I asked if I might please have some water. He grabbed a coffee cup and obviously saw the horror on my face as he started to fill the dark brown-stained cup for me. He stopped. I had not meant to show my concern. I must have been fatigued. He said, “This bothers women,” pointing to the stains inside the cup. I agreed (wholeheartedly). He said, “It doesn’t bother men, why does it bother women?” I told him that most of us would fear the cup was not clean. I went on to say my brother had a heavily stained coffee cup. He carries it with him everywhere. Once, without realizing my transgression, I cleaned it. Thoroughly. I did the old ‘Polident’ tablet in the cup, twice. Then, I took a scouring pad to the offensive stains. The next morning, after putting it through the dishwasher, I proudly handed him his pristine cup. He asked what I had done. I told him I had just cleaned it, as if it were no big deal.

My brother left. When he returned, he had a new cup. He did not openly complain. After a year or so, his new cup looked just as bad as the one I had spent hours cleaning. He was happy again. I had clearly ruined his cup. I learned the lesson.

This man across from me asked if I needed a different cup. I said no (I lied). After another section of testing, he asked me how to remove the stains. Amazingly, men know that women fight stains. We get no extra salary for this. We get no recognition but men know we fight stains. We are wonder women without the snazzy costume and lasso. I told him to put a Polident tablet in it.

The look on his face was so odd. He almost looked embarrassed. Then he explained that he does not wear dentures. I smiled slightly and leaned over the table. I said, “You know, it’s interesting. You are allowed to buy them anyway. ‘They’ don’t even check.” He just stared at me. I could see I was not getting through to him. So, l leaned in a bit further and said, “In Texas, men are even allowed to buy sanitary napkins.” That did it. He broke. He laughed. He saw the humor.

We went back to the testing.

Two hours passed, immersed in the paperwork and the various tasks I was given. He finally saw that I needed a break. He told me I could take 10 minutes. I almost felt as if a lock was taken from the chain that held me in place at that small table. I bolted.

When I returned, I carried a large cup of coffee, extra shots. He was noticeably concerned. I apologized for bringing something into the exam room, assuming that was some sort of ‘rule’. It confused me, though, because we had been sitting there, drinking water from cups. He explained that the testing materials were very expensive and spilling coffee on them, it would be a problem. I was mortified that I could not be trusted with my cup of coffee, even though I am not known for being sloppy with beverages. Each time I took a sip, he watched carefully. It was an agonizing drink. During the time I consumed it, he explained twice more the expense of the materials. I knew I was on thin ice.

He turned a page in my booklet in front of me. There was crayon all over the page ahead of it. I asked how crayon got on this expensive booklet and how he could possibly expect me to use it, thus ruined. He was serious: “children are not easily controlled.” He went on to explain he had tried to get the crayon out of the page, to no avail. He asked if I might know of a way to remove the crayon. He asked if I needed a new booklet. He simply cannot help himself. He is a serious type.

During one part of switching materials, I asked him how long he had been married although I felt certain he was divorced. He did not want to share that information, which was fine. He DID mention that the crushing blow to the union was the desire of his wife to have a pet. He explained that a pet means there would eventually be a pet hair somewhere that it “doesn’t belong.” I had enough of a mental picture and needed no other explanation.

As we were reaching the end of the testing, he was rushing me. We were behind schedule. I realized what a huge transgression that was so I was doing my best to accelerate. He announced that we would not be able to finish but he thought he had enough to complete his analysis.

As he rushed me to the door, he explained that I would need to return for his results. We made another appointment.

I am edgy about the results. I am hopeful but recognize it is just going to be my life and I cannot control the outcome too much. I want to take a piece of cat hair. I just can’t help myself.

I am selling everything. Ok. Almost everything.

I consider myself to be ‘divesting’. It is all very odd and different since I spent much of my life ‘collecting and holding’.

I wrote once about letting things go that you hold due to love and memories. I still adhere to that lesson. I recognize that ‘things’ are not people and ‘memories’ are not ‘things’. Therefore, I get the fact that by letting things go, I have not let go of people and memories that are important to me.

I am in new territory. Things I have owned and used for years and still see huge asset in owning. Point here is someone else should own them. I have had my time.

I have a shelf unit. My husband hated it from the get-go. During a time of particular stress in our family, I moved in with a relative to help him save his house. This shelf unit was almost our “un-doing.” The fight about this dumb thing was huge and scarring. My dad came to me one night, explaining that he could ‘cut the bottom of the unit’ to make it go to the basement and fit. That was heartbreaking to me. Nevertheless, I was the intruder. Saving the house did not mean I was welcome. We cut the poor shelf unit. Nobody would ever know it had been changed. I lamented. It was my custom-built shelf unit.

When my husband realized I was bringing it along to our marriage, he balked. I was surprised to recognize his dismay over my shelf unit. It has a drop down desk in the center, beautiful oak, cubbyholes, and all of the shelves fit onto dowels so you can mix, match, and create any design you desire, with your changing needs. What’s not to love? I just did not understand his upset. It ended up in our daughter’s bedroom. She could use the desk. She had lots of books and stuffed animals. It worked. We moved again and it was too tall for the ‘basement’, which we refer to as the ‘lower level’. So again, I allowed it to be cut. Again, I am the only person aware of the cut. This thing has been impervious to pain.

In one place I lived, no wall was long enough for this unit. So, I disassembled it. I put the desk into my bedroom and used the two rectangular shelf units in the living room, on each side of my picture window. Worked just fine. Perfect. I do not see the problem with this unit. Every time I move, and I have moved 6 times since I got the unit, I just work the puzzle of the thing to manage my new space. However, in the meantime, since it goes together immediately, sitting on dowels, I can get about 16 boxes off the floor, to create space. When you move, that is a huge deal. I love this unit.

Now, I am divesting. The shelf unit no longer suits my life. I know I will miss having the ability to get so many boxes off the floor in my next apartment or house. That was always a lifesaver, making a pathway through so many boxes. But. I have grown. I don’t use 70’s shelf units anymore. The fact that this is relegated to the ‘basement’ of several houses says everything. I am letting the shelf unit go.

Someone looked at it and suggested $80. I almost threw up. A contractor came over, looked at it, and said there was probably $200. of good wood. Well, now we were talking! The problem, he explained, was how the wood was all tied up with this shelf unit. Oh.

It took me another 6 weeks to digest this. I am now asking $80 for the shelf unit. Someone will get a great unit, or a bunch of good usable wood.

Am I crushed? No. I finally saw the light: I have had use of this shelf unit for 34 years. If I get ANY money for the wood or the unit, I am way ahead of the game. It is like selling a house. When you are leaving, you need to disengage yourself from what the next people might think or do. It is not longer important because you are ‘selling’, “divesting,” moving on.

I am moving. It is time. I am ready. And whatever anyone wants to buy, I will be willing to part with so that I can move forward. Looking into my past has not served me. Looking forward, to what I might create next is the only logical step I can take.

I love a bargain.

What am I missing?

I worked from the age of 16. I paid taxes, paid into social security. I gained skills, increased my income, continued to follow the rules, paying into a program that we have been warned will soon collapse.

I have seen people ‘game’ the system. I see people paid to do nothing. I see people using social security as their ‘fun money’ because they really do not need it. I see very wealthy people, still taking social security as it becomes due because they are due. I see elected officials make laws about our social security that cannot touch them. They pass laws; they do not abide by the same laws as those of us who put them into the position to represent our rights.

Today I learned that I cannot claim disability. I have a brain injury. I have 3 broken places in my back. I have a broken knee, wrist, thumb, and finger. I jammed a leg evacuating an airplane in the 70’s. That leg has caused me problems with my foot, ankle, knee, and hip. I have a broken pelvic bone.

In spite of this, I continued onward. It wasn’t hard. I was young. As I reached my 60’s it became harder. However, I was lucky. I married the man of my dreams. We agreed that I would sell my holdings, pay his debts and we would live on his earnings, which I knew would increase. I had faith and confidence in him.

Now we are divorcing.

Because I stopped working full time, stopped paying individually into the ‘system’, I no longer exist on the social security rolls. I was still working. I was cooking, cleaning, dealing with the kids, shopping, entertaining for his business connections, and keeping everything and everyone organized. In short: I was a stay at home wife. In 2010, that still means I did not work. In 2000, that still meant I did not work. Why? Every time a television program shows a man taking over the job of his wife, for just a few days, he changes forever. He is apologetic, he is apoplectic, and he is ashamed. It is WORK.

I used to say I would love to have a wife. I would love to have someone who would take care of all of the mundane chores, the errands, the cooking, the cleaning, and the crap. Everything I did not want to do would be ‘done’. Yes, a wife would be wonderful.

When I became ‘that’, I balked. It was a very difficult transition. I felt like someone had stamped ‘stupid’ on my forehead. I got little respect and began accepting that as the stupidity of the masses. I was the very same woman who had run a successful business, who kept her own home, who hired, fired, kept payroll and ran accounts. Suddenly, I was just ‘his wife’.

It took me almost a full year to come to terms with being ‘only that’. When I finally did, I began to recognize this was what so many women before me had done and I was lucky someone was willing to let me take care of everything else while he earned the most money. Heaven knows, I could not have earned as much.

Because of that, my social security stopped. Dead. Stopped. And because of that, in spite of the hundreds of thousands of dollars I paid into my account, I cannot use that money now. And now I really need it. I desperately need it. I cannot do what I did before. I cannot process my computer programs any more. I cannot count on getting up in the morning because of the headache that will not let me sleep until 3 or 4 in the morning, night after night. I cannot say I am capable of driving daily without causing harm to someone because my brain just does not understand anymore what I am supposed to do. I choose to stay put, keeping the city safe by my staying off the streets, away from that huge machine that I can still steer, but not necessarily remember the rules that govern.

I cannot be dependable. If I could, I would still run my business. If I were dependable, I would manage to vacuum my house constantly as I used to. If I could, I would not run out of so many things before I realized I needed more. If I could, if I could, if I could. I cannot.

And no help. Nothing. I am too young to draw my social security and I do not have the required credits to draw my disability because our income was lumped together and FICA paid out of the whole. Huge lesson. No wonder people complain about marriage taxes. I had no clue. I merged everything. I have nothing. I paid lots to the system to take care of myself in old age. Well, old age has arrived and it looks grim. Another old lady without income.

A friend of mine is not in great health; his time is short.

I have lost so many people in my life and my family. You begin something of a routine. It becomes necessary to continue in your daily life while you monitor the person who is leaving theirs. Routines help us cope. Knowing the ending is difficult but you still must keep moving forward, toward that difficulty.

It’s almost like a movie you love, but cry when you watch. You enjoy the good parts yet you know the worst is to come and regardless of many repeats, you will still cry. You love that movie.

Family and friends gather in a hospital. It is a kindness for them to come to a grim place like this. They want to pay their respects to the family and the friend. It is true respect. That respect carries through a funeral service. You do not attend a funeral for the person who is gone. You attend for the family to see how valued their beloved member was in life. It is respect.

When my mom passed away, I was determined to have a gathering of the fun and joy she created. Several people were kind enough to relate their stories of time spent with her, laughing or being amazed. Everyone in the chapel laughed, even though many of us had to give into our tears. My mom was always laughing. We said good-by in style and I know she enjoyed watching.

Because of my mom’s service, I do my best to attend those for my friends. I go because the family deserves to feel their loved one touched many lives. Respect.

I was talking to a friend today about respect. Specifically we were sharing the importance of being certain our next generation of women learns respect. So many lives change due to a lack of respect. Naturally, you cannot respect others until you respect yourself. Young women are especially in need. Our society still operates on ages-old routines. Many continue to make young girls obsolete in favor of young boys. Women will always be necessary because we give birth. However, young girls have consistently been pushed to the back. If these young girls do not learn their importance while they are children, they will have a more difficult time standing firmly for themselves as adults.

Our school systems believed that young women could not really grasp math and science. Astonishing. My father did not think a girl needed college. He pushed my 3 brothers to attend, even though none of them did well in high school. For me, it was not an option. He decided I would just find a husband. This idea is still alive and well in many families even though women are now more than half of the workforce.

Once a young woman values herself, she begins to expect equality in her life. Men do it so easily but women have to be taught by parents, teachers, and relatives. We need to change this. Once done, I believe many teen pregnancies will be avoided. When a young girl realizes she has more in life than to ‘catch a boy’, her options open fully. Once open, they rarely close. This has nothing to do with being pushy. It has everything to do with pushing yourself. Respect.

Being strong and respecting yourself means there is no sign of weakness to tears. Crying when your soul aches is a sign of love felt. You can only be as happy as you have allowed yourself to be sad. The valleys and peaks must balance. That is respect you owe yourself in life.

I wish for women. I hope for humanity. I pray for leaders who will make rules. I do not know how this will end. Movies and books cannot tell me. I have to play it out to the end. Nothing can foretell this.

How much do I wish I really knew? I wish I knew. Sometimes knowing the end isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Don’t you hate it when your child is sick? They whine and complain, they ‘hurt’ but cannot explain exactly where or how, they cry, wanting more ‘mom’ time but refuse to do as you plead with them to do. They cannot understand the meds they dislike. They don’t want to be ordered about. They are not quite honest about what is at stake and how they really are dealing with the day-to-day.

You want to scream. You want to run away. You want them to grow up or let you parent. Either side would work better than what you have in the here and now.

I just visited such a household. It was difficult. Who raised this jerk? I’m sorry. I know he cannot help it. I know his mom is almost ashamed, as is the sister who had to take on the task of raising this child. However, if he will not admit something is wrong when the TV show comes on, he should not be allowed to suddenly be at death’s door when it’s time to help with the dishes or the laundry. You cannot have it both ways. Neither can a sick kid, but that’s just my opinion.

What I know is I spent a horribly frustrating time with family, some overindulgent and some just plain angry and frustrated with the attention needed by one member being under the weather. What is the solution?

The obvious one is that you wait until the illness is past. That always helps. Everyone can relax. But, what if your child is brain-injured? That child will never really ‘recover’ from this illness. Those parents don’t get the opportunity to ‘wait it out’. They live this 24×7, and have no outlet unless they are fortunate enough to have a huge support group. A huge support group. Huge.

I am seeing commercials about health care. Morgan Freeman is a spokesperson for ‘something’. I get the message. We need to help each other more often than we do. I understand that volunteers are needed. I know we should be doing more for our own. What I do not have the answer to is: how?

How does the normal family get the much-needed help when someone in their household is not going to improve but takes a majority of your time and energy? We are all so busy now. We have so many needs to fulfill.

I came home a crying fool. Afraid I had not done enough for my family unit. Sleep-deprived, angry, upset, scared. What I left behind is the mom who still has to deal with this while I fly away. I did laundry, cooked meals, cleaned the house, made beds, pushed meds on a kid who refused to take them, ran errands, and did medical appointments so that she could finally get a break. It completely wore me out. I am spent. Finally, home, I have no energy left. I have a full week ahead of me and don’t know how I’ll manage it. Tomorrow she starts with more doctor appointments, meal prep, housework, and laundry. Taking the medicine we need is not easy. He needs medicine. She needs rest, medicine, and they both refuse it because they are not capable. He needs to be fed and clothed, not simple. He wants things his way; she wants him to wear his underwear UNDER his clothes, not on top. She wants him to eat and is exhausted with the work that entails. He will not drink his juice, wants specific foods and because he is not well, she wants to provide but is close to illness herself as a result.

When I left, we all cried. I promised to come back soon. I always make that fruitless promise. I cannot afford to keep flying there but these people are so important to me. My family is so scattered. Travel is expensive and of course. I have to pay someone to care for my pet, my home, my routine, in my absence. Money. Medical. Misery. What in the world is happening in our lives? Who should be taking care of this, of us, of lives in illness when something has prevented us from having family members to do it? Moreover, with those family members, where do you draw the line? They cannot do everything. We cannot expect anyone to do anything. What is the solution?

Forgive my soapbox here, but why is our country continually working on a new health care program instead of making the program that our elected officials have, the national norm? Shouldn’t everyone have the same option at the same price? It certainly makes sense to me.

So, my stepmother will continue. I know she is exhausted. And the recalcitrant sick boy is my father. How does something like this happen? Until we find solutions for our family members whose mind has eroded, we are all sick.

I find myself surrounded lately by people who ‘enable’. What is happening here?

My hairdresser is enabling her son and his family. My younger cousins and nieces, nephews are enabling their children. My great attorney friend enables his kids, who have their own families. And if you ever watch something like ‘super nanny’,  or ‘wife swap’ you see constantly that families are afraid of their own kids, when it comes to discipline.

When that generation matures, who is going to give them this leeway?

I have a tendency to view these things in terms of pets. If you die, who will take care of your pet(s)? Just think for a moment. If you have pets, who will they go to if you are hit by a bus tomorrow? better make those plans. We never know what is coming around the next corner.

I have a friend who cooks her own pet food. I used to feed mine a raw diet. I have other friends who hand-feed their pets each meal. Still others sleep with their pets, sometimes to the detriment of their spouse.

Here is my concern: if you die, will anyone do all that? doubt it. If someone is good enough to take in your pet, they will have done more than enough, giving your beloved pet a warm place to sleep and food when needed. They won’t hand feed, they won’t cook and bake, they won’t chop up raw veggies. Once I began to think of this, I stopped that.

Now, my pets get pet food. Plain and simple. Just like everyone else would give them. if they get a better deal: super. But, if they just get a place to ‘sleep’ and food and water, I don’t want them to have any more agony than they already will, wondering where in the world I am. I think it’s better for my pets. And heaven knows, it  has begun to save me time.  And, not requiring so much from friends who might be kind enough to agree to take my furry babies.

I feel the very same way about kids. If something were to happen to us, who is going to treat your 20 year old as if they were still 6? Who is going to treat your 6 year old as if they were still 2? The world does not revolve around any one of us. It certainly does not revolve around our kids or our pets. I feel as if I am keeping my pets in a low-maintenance  area in their lives, so that if needed, anyone can pick up in my absence. I feel that this is the kind thing, the smart thing, and the right thing to do.

No toleration of yelling, screaming, kicking, complaining, when the world is basically just fine. No refusal to become adults.

My wonderful hairdresser gave her son and his ‘due soon’ baby a place to stay. He brought the wife and the dog. That was 7 years ago. They now have 2 dogs, 2 kids and no money. my hairdresser, in her  60’s is supporting everyone in her retirement home. She has one bedroom, they fill 3. Incredible. She wants them to move. They have said they cannot wait to leave so that they can live life the way THEY choose. But, 7 years and a larger family later, they linger. She is enabling them. why would they leave? They give her 200 bucks a month. The own ¾ of her home. They use everything and she cleans after them. if they get ready to leave, she feels guilty. It’s backwards. She should feel guilty that they have never had to learn to support their own lifestyle. It is heartbreaking.

I used to chop fresh veggies, go to the store daily to get ‘fresh’ meat to add to the food. Nuts. I finally realized one day that if something happened to me, the cats would immediately be on death row or be given a bag of cat food. Unless, of course, I left money in my will for them (I haven’t). I prefer having them get a bag of cat food. Any food will do at that point. Pet  food.

I have a friend whose dog has only slept on the bed it’s entire life. the dog was adorable. Now the dog is huge. I stayed over there once and woke to the dog, on top of me. I was not part of it’s territory. I’m lucky it didn’t tinkle on me to mark territory. I didn’t mind too much. It was only 1 night and I love pets. But, if I inherited that doggie, it would have to learn to sleep on a dog bed or the floor or something. And, if it yelled and screamed for 2 or 3 weeks while it was ‘getting that lesson’, I might not be inclined to bend over backwards for someone’s dog that was not properly raised, doesn’t understand that the humans are alpha and the dogs are not.

Hand feeding? Quit it. Dogs and cats and everything else really CAN take pretty good care of themselves. We get in the way.  and….we are supposed to be teaching our children to interact, to get along, to become self-reliant. Anytime you see a kid blowing up, stop to think just how long a different person would put up with that. nobody does it like enabling parents.

Sleeping with your kid? Nope. I won’t. will your cousin or your brother or sister if they suddenly find themselves with your children because you died? Doubt it. They aren’t used to bending into pretzels because you couldn’t bring yourself to do the right thing.

Why have we found ourselves in a world of people afraid to let kids grow up, become responsible, have pets that understand who is in charge? What in the world happened to the generation that followed one of the greatest?

Ooops. Cat needs cuddles. I hear the screaming. Better go get her.

horrible week. cannot imagine one worse yet I know another is bound to appear.

4 of my dearest friends have experienced huge loss of life. what is worse than that? before that, I was feeling very bereft, left, alone, frightened and sad. now, i recognize again that everyone has ’something’. as my best friend said today, “you don’t have to look very far to see someone in a horrible position.”. she is so right.

3 of my best friends lost their pets in less than a week. one, is losing her husband. good heavens. I’m upset over my husband’s “stuff” and my pride and my money and divorce.  I need to get a grip.

I always say, ‘everyone has something’. when you are in the midst of it, you don’t remember that. just look around your own corner. someone is dying emotionally, spiritually or physically. someone is. I promise.

I have been helping a woman through her chemo. talk about a rude awakening. this is serious stuff. naturally, I keep my stupid stuff to myself.

so many of my friends and family are coping. we just didn’t dream things could become this grim. amazingly, spring will make all of us feel a little better. we will probably be missing someone but we will see more sunlight, watch new flowers bloom and realize that our world will trudge onward.

the most amazing part of this to me is the few people who still don’t ‘get it’. the ones who are completely caught up in their own drama, their own pain, not even seeing everything around them. that is heartache. name calling, bullying, pointing out faults, yelling, screaming, to no avail. we only diminish ourselves. I have been as guilty as the next. I keep trying though. I really do try. knowing that, I cannot discount that others are probably trying as well. we just see things at different times.

let’s pull together. please. let’s just row this boat in the very same direction. our time here is short. shorter than anyone knows. some of us feel we’ve been here, done this. possibly so. doesn’t matter. everyone is struggling with the very same issues and problems. we all deserve a break. we all deserve love. we all deserve a chance to improve.

I’m trying to improve. hard to imagine I could be better, but I’m gonna try!

I am often afraid. I fear so many things that haven’t happened. I fear things that ‘could’ happen. the relationship between the first and the second are huge.  there is the possibility that nothing bad could happen at all. irrational fears.

I am afraid of spiders. I don’t know why. many are so tiny. I try to help them. I know they are afraid of me. then, the bigger ones: ok, I’m frightened to pieces. no clue as to why. I think I am afraid of things that ’scurry’:  mice, rats, big bugs (roaches), spiders, and the like. again, they have never bitten me. I am just uncomfortable. afraid.

but why am I afraid of people? not many people, but certain people doing certain things. why should I fear them?

I am pretty fearless generally. it is not the person I fear, but what that person represents (as my stepdaughter taught me) me (CALL ME ANYTHING). I fear what I cannot predict. how many of us don’t?

of late, I am afraid of my future. I fear being without funding. I have only been that way once in my adult life and I managed by working 7 jobs a week. I was also 38. huge difference. now, I find myself without income and I feel old and withered, fretting about my financial future.

how different from a spider or a rat or mouse is this fear?

I know a wonderful woman. she is frightened to pieces of fire. I will hope to understand that fear before I leave her company. she consistently cuts trees, thinking this will prevent her family from burning. during the time I have known her, she has given way to both of her children leaving the nest, moving onward with their lives. she still fears that fire. she has more than one home. she is constantly cutting trees to prevent the danger of a dwelling being lost to fire. we all watch and feel for her dread. no one person will be able to put that to rest. only her. only this woman can prevent herself from the slashing of trees and shrubs, homes to so much wildlife, because she fears fire.

I’ve known her 10 years. I have yet to learn what was killed, or  lost  in a fire, in her life. I gather she lost something or someone precious. but, maybe it’s an irrational fear.

I fear sharks in the ocean.

I was raised in the ocean. my brother and family swam in the Atlantic and the Gulf for years. at times, our mother would call out to us: “sharks! , be still.  now, come slowly to me.” we learned that sharks were a danger. we were afraid but not terrified. when I saw the movie “JAWS”, I became very frightened. that was different. now, I’m afraid. now I’m frightened. now, I can be terrified.

but that’s me.

don’t we all have something? everyone is afraid of something. we all have our terrors. our worries. it doesn’t matter if they are things or stories or memories. they still frighten us sufficiently. we are afraid.

how interesting that so many of us decide that what one person fears is silly, yet inside we fear something. isn’t it time that we all recognize that everyone has fears and no fear of one person is any less than the fear we carry? personally, I think it’s past time.

it’s STUFF. we all have it. nobody is exempt. without fears, terrorism could not exist.

I don’t know about the rest of the world, but when I get on an airplane, I kiss myself goodby. I say my prayer to my guardians, my family, my loved ones and I put myself into the hands of ‘everlasting hope’. whatever happens after that is whatever happens. I have warned my family that if I were to perish in a plane crash then I was meant to, I decided to, I chose to. because, as a crew member, if I did not get out of a plane, there was a very good reason. I decided I needed to help someone else, I decided my life was over, I decided. yep. I decided.

so, what is your fear? do you acknowledge it? do you try to pretend it doesn’t exist? we all have it. no one person is exempt, no matter their posturing. everyone has fear.

overcoming that fear is a huge step forward.

my fear of sharks dissolved several years ago (that’s another blog). my fear of being left is dissolving now. (I’ll manage) my fear of spiders is a work in progress but I’m gaining on it considerably. i still dont’ like roaches but I realize now how long they have survived and try to acknowledge that as I do my best to kill them, standing as far away as possible. roaches are scary.

I used to give presentations to help abused kids. Sometimes these kids were ushered from home to home, house to house, with little grounding ability, then blamed for becoming what we nurtured them to become. These are foster children. The reflection we give them is not pretty or fair.

Have you known any? Yes. You very probably have. Do you kids ever play with foster kids? Probably not.

My speech would be to city organizations. Organizations wanting to make their City and State a better place. They want to show they care.

Think about the life of a foster kid for just one minute.

Your parents are not getting along. They fight. Maybe you’re molested. (It’s difficult for a young woman to reach the age of 18 without being sexually molested in our country.) You might be hit, or punched. You might need to take care of your drug addicted parent, instead of being cared for by them. This is unfair to a minor. This is their world:

One evening, the doorbell rings. People are standing there, strangers, talking to the adult present. In less than 10 minutes, you are being transported ‘somewhere’. You were asked by a stranger what you want to take along. Hopefully, you remember your backpack, your teddy bear, your favorite jammies, your hair and toothbrush. You are a kid. You’ve never had to make these decisions. You have little time and are completely confused. What in the world is happening?

They remove you from your home, from your parents’ care, from your life.

Tomorrow, after no rest and much angst, you find yourself registered into a new school. You know none of the kids or teachers. Your trust is zero. You are frightened and angry. What in hell did YOU do?

You live in a different house. Maybe it has 10 people in it, maybe it has 3. You have new ‘parents’, but they aren’t your parents, and they get to tell you what you can and cannot do. You have a bedroom that you’ve never seen, probably shared with someone you’ve never known. This is your new life. Why? Because your parents were not doing the job they needed to do for you to develop into a productive adult and member of society. What in hell does THAT mean? Why are you in trouble here? Where is your mom or dad? Where is your aunt? Your best friend? Your cousin?

Gone. Everyone familiar is gone. You are in the system. You don’t know where you supposedly live because they want to be certain you cannot run away. New house, new school, new family, new part of town.

Now you live ‘here’, wherever that is. Now you attend this school. Now you need to comply to adjust and live. You become a change-agent. You begin to morph into whatever is required to exist.

This is the life of a foster kid. To add insult to injury, we often prevent our kids from getting to know these kids. Why? Is it because they are not ‘normal’? They have done nothing wrong. They are total victims. They are children. Now, we shun them. Why? Because we teach our kids not to accept different and new. Parents worry that foster kids are going to cause trouble.

So, a child, dragged crying and screaming from their home is shunned by everyone new. People they need. People they must adjust to in order to survive.

Why are we allowing these feelings to continue with abused children? Instead of giving them a wonderful, warm, loving environment, we give them the ‘look-away’ and tell our kids that they are ‘not really our kind’. What kind of future does this portend? Those kids are in the worst possible situation. Can’t we offer more help than this? Will we?

I view every child as my future support. I admit that. If we do not include these kids into our working society, where will my social security come from? When will my family recognize that elderly people have value and education? If we don’t incorporate everyone into our society, how much longer can our society exist? We need everyone. We have no right to discriminate. We created everyone we see. They are the product of our living values and rules. Isn’t it time to bring everyone home?

I worked as CASA (court appointed special advocate) in Colorado for 4 years. It was difficult emotionally. It was time-consuming. It was the most rewarding thing I had done in a very long time. Our generation has the time and energy to put things right for our future generations. More importantly: they deserve and desperately need our input. Should we sit, complaining?

Our future is on our shoulders. Shouldn’t we stay involved? It’s for our kids. Not the ones we gave birth to but the ones who will shape the future with them. Let’s stay involved. For everyone. All of us are foster kids, dependent on strangers to show us the proper path. Start in the mirror.

You deserve to know where you live.