Here kitty, kitty......

Sometimes it takes something bizarre like falling off a baby grand piano to get one in the mood for writing. Yeah, I did that today. It was a spectacular fall and worthy of a whole story in itself. Instead, I feel like bitching about my life. So, indulge me. I could’a died today. And if that’s not enough, yesterday….I had a colonoscopy!

Because my 14 year old daughter has been experimenting with a variety of illegal substances and enjoying drugs which have not been prescribed to her, I took her to a substance abuse counselor. As my know-it-all teenage girl who-has-enough-pharmaceutical-knowledge-to-pass-the-state-board-test-on-the-first-try-does not believe she has a problem and that all adults are aliens and full of alien green shit, she; according to the counselor, would not benefit from counseling at this time.

Instead I was referred to a counselor to deal with my codependence issues. Pretty much, we meet once a week, which is what I‘ve done on Ab‘s summer vacation.

My counselor suggested I read Codependence-THE DANCE of WOUNDED SOULS-A Cosmic Perspective of Codependence and the Human Condition.

The author, Robert Burney, is said to be a non-clinical, non-traditional therapist-a healer, teacher and Spiritual guide whose private practice is based upon the Twelve Step Recovery principles. He specializes in codependence counseling with emphasis on emotional honesty, grief processing and inner child work-while teaching individuals how to become empowered by having internal boundaries.

Being the ‘highly functioning depressed’ person that I am, I continue to be open to the possibility of growth through my life experiences and the written word even if I am supposed to look at those experiences and my reactions to them through the eyes of my “inner child.”

The author says that in modern psychology, researcher began to understand how profoundly the emotional trauma of early childhood affects a person as an adult. He said that they realized that if not healed, these early childhood emotional wounds, and the sub-conscious attitudes adopted because of them, would dictate the adult’s reaction to, and path through life. So, he says, we walk around looking and trying to act like adults, while reacting to life out of the deep emotional wounds and attitudes of childhood.

So, I suppose that it was my 7 year old inner child that threw a gigantic,screamin’ hissy fit today when I found out this morning that my beloved indoor kitty, Grayson was missing after being left outside all night.

The pain is unbearable. My kitty is lost. He’s never coming back. No, I don’t want another kitty. I want Grayson. He’s soft and he loves being carried like a baby.

It’s the stern adult mother in me who wants to strangle my adult daughter who began allowing Grayson to go out on the front porch with her while she smokes, despite me telling her repeatedly not to let him go outside. It got where she’d let him stay out there longer and longer, as he’d be soaking up the sun or enjoying the fresh air while cooling off under the bench on our front porch. He won’t leave she said.

Today, she’s saying, “He’ll come back Mom!”

The money conscious adult in me is counting every dime I’ve spent keeping that cat alive in the past two years.

The little girl is saying “Who cares about what it costs! Just bring him home to me! Let’s put up flyers! Can we offer a reward for his return?” as she continues to cry.

Have you seen my pretty kitty?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the road again..........

I have more stories in my head about my recent Oklahoma visit, but I will have to get to them later as I am off again tomorrow on another trip!  Gosh this retirement life is exhausting!  I'm heading to the outskirts of Nashville to find my new dream home, near Fly Boy's house. Now that I have a laptop with wireless connection, I may be able to do a few entries while I'm gone.  If not, I will catch up with everything when I get back!  Take care everyone!   

He's Home Again

We arrived at the well-kept old cemetery just a few minutes late for our appointment after experiencing some minor problems with the directions we were provided. Seems there’s more than one road with the same name leading to different places. We wanted the country road with the same name that didn’t run next to the railroad tracks.

Despite the many times I’d been there with my father, I would not have been able to find it on my own, so we were thankful for the basic directions and the fact everyone involved had cell phones.

As a California girl, I had to laugh at our situation which sounded just like one of those commercials I’ve heard…..Ok…you are going to come to a fork in the road, actually 3 forks…you don’t want to turn on that first one…just go about 50 yards till you come to the second fork and turn left there. If you find that you are at the top of the hill…there’s an old white house with a green tractor in the field…you have gone too far. So turn around and go back to the corner and turn right…No white house on the corner? It’s a two story red brick with a big stack of hay in the field? Ok….I know exactly where you are. Just stop right there and I will come and get ‘ya!

Mr. Reese, the caretaker for Upper Camp Creek Cemetery looked as if he was in his 70s and appeared to be in much better shape physically than any of us. His face was weathered from years at the “Highway Department” from which he’d retired. He stood tall and strong on that sunny Monday morning, as he thrust the post hole digger into the red Eastern Oklahoma soil where so many of my ancestors are buried.

He had a genuine reverence for the departed and their families, giving his sympathy for our “loss.” Before he started digging at the exact spot I‘d selected between the headstones of my infant half-brothers, he asked my permission to use that particular tool since our urn measured only about 3 inches high. It seemed a perfect choice to me. I certainly wasn’t expecting a bull dozer for this little chore, but I guess he felt we might find a post hole digger somewhat irreverent. My only concern was that the hole was deep enough at about 2 and a half feet. Mr. Reese assured me that it would be fine and secure with the granite headstone I was about to order, in place right above. As if on cue, Mr. Reese gave us a few minutes alone.

My Uncle Lee handed me the urn, and after a minute or so, I passed it to my Aunt Mary to hold, which was my idea of some type of ceremony. When she handed it back, I dropped to my knees and gently placed Papa’s urn in his beloved Oklahoma resting place. I scraped some of the red dirt over it with my hands and rose to my feet when Mr. Reese appeared with a shovel and asked if I wanted to use it. With tears in my eyes, I pulled more of the earth over my father’s ashes, then passed it to Lee for his turn.

I was burying a part of my father, but they were burying a sibling; someone they’d had in their life for so much longer than I. My heart ached for them to have experienced such a loss and such difficult grief; a feeling I know too well having buried two of my sisters in the past few years.

We each thanked Mr. Reese with a donation to the fund for the upkeep of the cemetery, which he gladly accepted. We then headed to town to purchase the granite marker, which Mr. Reese offered to place at no charge.

I left Eastern Oklahoma knowing that I accomplished something that my father always wanted, a final resting place near where he was born.  Because as he neared death in August 2004, he wanted to make things easier on his family by saying “Just cremate me and bury me here in California.”

I think he’d be proud to know I was able to do both.

An Oklahoma Trip

      "Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality."

                                              ~Emily Dickenson

 

About a year ago, when Fly Boy was home from Iraq for his mid-tour “vacation” I headed to North Carolina to visit him, with a stop over in OKC to visit with my beautiful and incredible paternal Grandmother. I left OKC thinking that would be the last time I would see her alive, since she was nearing 89 years on this earth.

When I was heading back to California, we looked into each other’s eyes and I could see that she too felt it was our last goodbye. She had survived two strokes and was using a walker, but she was still pretty sharp and happily living in an assisted living community with her own belongings around her.

Since that visit, she’s deteriorated greatly. A broken leg, nearly at the hip- requiring surgery and she hasn’t walked since. Kidney failure; and dialysis 3 times per week. Weight loss to skin and bones, and horrific bed sores. We call her the Energizer Grandma-she keeps going, and going and going, despite her physical condition and the lack of quality care she received in the “skilled care facility“ that her situation required. She’s now in a new nursing facility that I hope will take better care of her than the last one. That’s what I am hoping to see, when I arrive there next week.

In a perfect world, one of her family members would be able to care for her at home.

But, her remaining children are in their mid to late 60s with their own significant health problems. A few years back she refused to relocate to California with Papa and I, which was probably best, considering his poor health and subsequent death. I would have been taking care of the both of them.

My Uncle Lee and I are heading there next week to see her and my Aunt Mary, who‘s recently broken her shoulder. While we are there, we plan to head toEastern Oklahoma and visit the graves of long gone family-a tradition with my dad. This is my first trip to the cemeteries without him, which will be somewhat strange, and also my first trip to the cemeteries with my Uncle Lee, who‘s never been quite the cemetery fan, unlike Papa.

While we are there, we will bury a small urn of Papa’s ashes in the Camp Creek Cemetery, next to his two infant son’s sites. I think he’d be happy to know that some of his ashes are in the red dirt of his beloved Eastern Oklahoma.

As I cannot take the urn on the plane, since it can’t be unsealed for inspection and its shape could easily be mistaken for a hand grenade, (yikes!) I have appropriately packaged the urn to be sent via the USPS and will mail it tomorrow.

The urn is about 3 inches tall and wrapped securely with bubble wrap and placed inside a ziplock sandwich bag. Just in case, I put my Aunt Mary‘s address inside the ziplock bag as I‘d hate to know Papa‘s ashes were lost in transit, if the box was damaged. I then cushioned it all with tissue and tightly packed it inside a small, heavy cube shaped box. Lastly as required, the label must identify the contents as “Human Ashes” and, so it is ready.

Aunt Mary will check with a mortuary in the area to see what regulations, if any are required to bury the ashes in that old cemetery and make the arrangements. While there, I will purchase a small marker for the site and ask that the mortuary put it in place when it is finished.

Papa would have done the same for any of us.

 

Pam-One Girl's Head Noise

I just found out about Pam's death.  What a sad loss for her family and for us in J-land.  Rest in total peace Pam.  We'll miss you. 

Creating my reality.......

This morning I fed my cats something called UPSTREAM DREAM by Meow Mix. Somehow that sounds a little obscene. I bet the salmon would think so too.

All the books I’ve read lately have a common theme along the lines of creating your own reality, “calling forth” what you want in life, etc. So, since I entered the HGTV’s Dream Home give-away about a zillion times, and have now determined I am not one of the 3 finalists with a key……………..I fully expect to be one of those who wins some of the “thousands” of dollars they are giving away to others tonight on the “live” show. (This journal entry is also another way of “calling forth” what I want----am I into this or what?) Anyway, look for my name!

And, since I am not the winner of the HGTV Dream Home, I am creating my own reality and searching for my dream home……….in Tennessee.

Yep.

Since Fly Boy and Fall Girl; who are about to provide me with my new baby grandson-are living in Tennessee while Fly Boy’s stationed at Ft. Campbell, I’ve decided to relocate to be near them. I am so excited about the change and I haven’t even visited the area yet! There’s really not much holding me here on my beloved mountain anymore. My oldest daughter has moved home and she also is open to the move and a new start in her life. Ab may be the holdout, but since she’s elected to make the poor choices that she has in the past year or so, (including testing positive for a seriously controlled substance this week at her school) I am not letting her vote. Perhaps such a change will do her good as well.

Fly Boy and I have been checking out new/newer houses online and the prices are unbelievable, compared to those here in inflated California. I can buy a lot more house for my money in Tennessee and maybe even afford to put in a swimming pool for Ab.

So, one of the first things to do in my retirement life is to get this house in shape to be sold. I’ve created a “To Do” list and have decided to also concentrate on de-cluttering my house; paring down my possessions. Less to move and some garage sale bucks in my pocket!

But, for now…I am heading down the mountain for a girl’s day out.

More later!

 

 

It's That Time

Despite having plenty to write about, I have neglected my journal (and my journal buddies) for some time. I miss writing, but have been consumed by a lazy funk that I must crawl out of so I can start to really enjoy my retirement life. There are probably a few dozen reasons…..some damn good reasons, that contribute to my semi-depressed state of mind. But, since my psychiatrist says I am a “highly functional depressed person” I guess I need to do whatever I need to do to get back to being highly functional.

Perhaps today will be the start. This is my “official” last day of work and I must go to the worksite to sign out, which is a dreadful task of going from office to office to obtain signatures from every manager staff or their secretary if they are not available.

This practice was probably started by someone who intended for the managers to shake every exiting person’s hand and provide some words of wisdom or good wishes. As the managers are usually out of their office on official duties, the secretary is tasked with saying goodbye instead. Either way, what I know should be a day of total ecstasy has caused me to nearly have an anxiety attack at the thought of stepping back on the prison grounds after all this time off….and then dealing with pleasantries.

All I want to do is go to the Personnel Office, get my “retired” identification card and head off into the sunset with that chapter of my life behind me. **SIGH**  Sometimes I wish I were invisible.

On the other hand, I have secretly hoped that I would go in today and find that some caring person has organized a retirement luncheon in my honor. Doubtful, since the only call I received from anyone at work since I announced my plans to retire was my boss asking me to return the keys to my office. If a party was in the works, you’d think that they’d at least want to know what time I planned on being there today. **POUT**

I’ll get there when I damn well feel like it.

So there!   ;)

What is your emergency????

Never one to let an opportunity pass, I applied for a position as a part-time Police Dispatcher, before the ink was dry on my retirement papers and I got the job!

I guess I felt that I should be doing something productive, rather than just spending my time adjusting to NOT working in a prison after 25 years. As a so-called “Type A” personality, if I am not continually stimulating my brain with some meaningful activity and I sit doing “nothing” then I will just fall asleep. That’s not exactly how I want to spend my “Golden Years!”

So, the Chief said that he was thrilled to have someone older, since the younger employees often only stay until they can have enough experience to move on to a larger agency. In my case, I wasn’t there for the money, or the benefits; just simply to stay involved and productive in the law enforcement field. After my on the job training he would send me to the required 9-1-1 Emergency Operator academy, which would be for 3 weeks. Then, I would work a few 12 hour shifts a month, not to exceed 960 hours a year so my retirement benefits would not be affected.

I have no idea why I thought that this little po-dunk Police Department in an area with about 8500 full-time residents, would not have much going on and that it would be a fun…. Yep…FUN….job, without any stress. I figured that there might be an occasional call for service….like a domestic dispute or barking dogs interrupting a good night‘s sleep. Stuff that you‘d think that you would deal with in a mountain community that‘s infringing on nature and beast…“Paul 4.…see the woman at…….regarding possible mountain lion on her property.”

Wrong.

It was way more than that. In my four, 8-hour days of training we dealt with lots of crazy stuff, including three 9-1-1 calls….one medical…someone not breathing, a chimney fire, and the worst…..a missing 2 year old. Her mother left her unattended in their high elevation back yard (prime mountain lion territory), for about 10 minutes…near horse troughs and densely wooded mountain drop-offs. After ensuring the estranged husband didn’t kidnap the child, putting the entire valley on alert and organizing volunteer search team members, she was eventually coaxed out of her hiding place by her mother’s sweet voice on the police officer’s bullhorn, offering her an ice cream cone. Whatever works, I guess.

By my 3rd day of training, I was entering all dispatch information on the computer and running all vehicles and licenses for the traffic stops, all while trying to decipher the officer’s Phonetic Alphabet over the radio. Thank goodness my patient trainer understood what the officer was saying…..and she translated the info while I operated the computer. Every day I went home and attempted to memorize……ADAM, BOY CHARLES, DAVID, EDWARD, FRANK, GEORGE, HENRY, IDA, JOHN, KING, LINCOLN, MARY, NORA,  etc…by reading off each license plate on the car in front of me. The tricky part was trying to write it when hearing the officer recite the plate info over the radio. I wondered if I’d ever get it all together and most of all, I worried that I wouldn’t be fast enough, or accurate and that possibly I would endanger one of our officers with my inexperience. It was especially distressing when one officer would work traffic and make stop after stop, after stop. I finally asked him to give me about 10 to 15 minutes to recuperate between traffic stops! He just laughed! Then, when there were two cops on at a time, both working traffic…..arrrrrggggggghhhh….it about put me over the edge. 

One thing about the experience...I have a greater understanding and appreciation for those who do that work...the street cops and the dispatchers!

Each day, I went home with my shoulders so terribly tense, and my mind racing a mile a minute. I couldn’t relax and I couldn’t sleep. When I managed to sleep, I dreamt of the phonetic alphabet after listening to the police scanner in the evening at home. My stress was mostly self-imposed, because I knew that I was fully capable of doing the job and that I was catching on very quickly. But, I really felt that I’d made a big mistake in taking on a stressful job, without fully having rid myself of the stress associated with my 25 year career. After discussing it with my friends and family, I made the decision to resign, before I got too far into the training and wasted the Chief’s time and money.

After I made the decision to resign, I felt a huge weight had lifted off my shoulders. That in itself made me realize that I’d made the right decision. It’s time to relax and enjoy life for awhile. I’ve got places to go and people to see (Lisa) and a grandbaby to rock in August.

If and when I go back to work….I think I’ll be a florist or something like that!

 

 

It's Done!

Last Thursday, I drove 2 hours North in the pouring rain (which didn't bother me a bit) to submit my retirement paperwork. 

The staff answered some important questions and gave me hearty congratulations when it was all said and done.  I walked out with an "official retirement date" of April 26th, and I will "sign-out" at my worksite the previous day.  In the meantime, I will continue to use up my leave credits until my "last day" on the clock. 

On Saturday, I snuck into work to clean out my office, which was bittersweet.  I just didn't want to deal with a lot of people as I did that, so instead I wrote a memorandum telling them of my decision to retire and said my goodbyes that way. 

Now, I'm thoroughly enjoying my new life and exploring the possibilities of where I go from here.  At 52 years of age, I am young and healthy enough to do anything.....and believe me, I've got a bunch of ideas.

First, I am going to apply for my Private Investigator's license, and hopefully work part-time in that field.  Should make for some interesting journal entries. 

Then, there's a professional book in my field, that is sorely in need of updating.....which has been calling my name.  It's a subject near and dear to my heart, in fact, I've taught lots of classes on the subject.  It would involve lots of research and interviews, but it would be fascinating!  It's a much needed learning tool for correctional staff throughout the country and I believe it would sell well in the specialty market. 

But first, I am going to finish up my remodeling and home organization, which is somewhat hampered by the oldest adult child moving home again, since we've got boxes and boxes of her stuff to put away.  Certainly enough to keep us both busy for awhile.  Yesterday, I picked out my new carpet, which will be installed tomorrow in the living room and up the stairs.  Upon completion of the upstairs organization, we'll carpet the upper floor rooms. 

So, there's lots to do and way more time to accomplish those things. 

I'm lovin' it!!!  

 

 

Happy Anniversary!

Today is my 25th anniversary with my State agency!!! 

I am so very grateful for the opportunity to work in such an exciting career, that provided so well for my family and to be able to retire with 90% of my salary at age 52! 

Guess what I am doing today? 

Yep! 

Applying for that retirement! 

I bet you can see that smile on my face right now!