Journal Entry # 13

My Grandmother is amazing!

My uncle Joe is a nurse. He said she should have died two days ago. I did my shift this evening and when I got there she was propped up in bed. She even managed to eat some scrambled eggs this morning. She's lost 14 pounds in two weeks but she's tough as nails. She was awake and talkative.

My aunt Katie brought her three things to make her more comfortable. When she was done explaining what they were, my Grandmother said in her dry tone, "Well, what else Katie? I love her!

Journal Entry # 12

I know I'll get through it but it won't be easy. She's my best friend.

I've only lost one person in my life I was close to, my Grandfather. I wouldn't have guessed four years ago I would be saying this about my Grandmother. We had a strained relationship for over 15 years due in part to her being prejudice. I never really got the chance to know her as a person because I was too immature.

One of my biggest flaws was my inability to forgive people. I felt that I created part of the negative energy that always seemed to find me so I decided to change my life by forgiving those people that I held resentment for.

In doing so, what I discovered about my Grandmother will change my life forever.
I learned that part of her prejudice came from my stepfather. He was stabbed by two black men and almost died. She received the call in the middle of the night. The anger stayed for decades until she got cancer and had to be hospitalized. She met a black nurse that in her words, "Took the best care of me of anyone." She told me that she started to see things differently from that point forward. I see the change and I admire her for it.

I have people I'm close to. I have an amazing sister who wants the best for me, always. I have a best friend that comes to visit me from Tennessee every year just to laugh with me. I have a husband that loves me and thinks I walk on water. What I have when I'm with my Grandmother is something I know I'll never have again. For whatever reason, I'm sure I could find lots, I've always felt an imbalance in my life. It's like I'm one click away from feeling peace but that click is a million miles away. Our relationship, her ability to understand me, her honest opinions; it's put me in touch with it. She's strong, funny, independent, and the most influential person in my life. Selfishly, I'm not ready to let go of her but soon I will have no choice.

She was told 3 years ago this coming February that she only had 3 months to live. Her determination, stubbornness, and will to live gave me time to know her. I'm a better person for it. I know I have to deal with what is going to happen in the next two weeks but I don't even know where to begin.

Theme Week # 4 Part 3

Completely exhausted from 7 classes, 4 kids, two dogs, and a full time job, I couldn't have picked up a toothpick let alone a frying pan so when my husband asked "What's for dinner?", I threw a package of raw hamburger at him and said, "You're looking at it!" "What the hells your problem?" I slammed the front door and sat on the steps staring at the sky. A few minutes later, pretending I hadn't been a complete bitch, he came out and asked if I wanted to go get something to eat.

Driving to the restaurant, he looked for deer while I abused his ears with all the reasons my life sucked.

We waited for twenty minutes before the hostess showed us to the table and sat there another fifteen minutes before the waitress would come take our order. "I'm Stella." She weighed all of 250lbs. She had long, greasy brown hair and was missing one of her eye teeth. "Whad'ya want to drink?" "Hello to you too", my husband said. "We'll both have a Heinekin." Without acknowledging, she put her pen behind her ear and walked away. "Yeah, she gives me an appetite."

The waitress came back with our drinks. She put my husbands down on the table so hard it foamed over the neck of the bottle. "Figure out what ya want?" "I'd like to start with a new waitress." Unamused, she ignored my husband and turned to me. "I'll have a club sandwich." My husband, ever the wise ass said, "I'll have the ribs, and hold the hair." "Will that do it?" With a smirk, my husband nodded and she walked away.

While waiting for our meals, one of my husbands friends came over to the table to say hello. Not wanting to hear the "Great White Hunter's" sixth version of last night's deer kill, I excused myself and went to the lady's room.

I washed my hands, turned the dryer on and waited for the heater to kick in. Out of the stall walked Stella. Before I could force a smile, she left the bathroom...Never washing her hands. That's just great. Of all the waitresses. We get stuck with Ms Ecoli! I walked back to the table and sat down.

Stella brought us our food. I stared with disgust at her hands. "Anything else?" Before we could finish shaking our heads, she was gone.

Famished, I wrapped my fingers around the sandwich, took a huge bite and pulled the sandwich away from my mouth, only it wouldn't separate.."Oh my God!" I spit my bite onto the plate and started to gag. "What's the matter" my husband asked nervously? I pointed to the piece of hair holding the sandwich together. My husbands face turned white. He waved the waitress over. "What do you need?" "I need you to change your attitude, the goddamn tone of your voice, and get your manager!"

The manager came to the table apologized and asked if I wanted something else to eat. "Oh yeah, why don't I make it easier on your cook and lick the toilet seat before you serve me!" Again, I apologize. I'll deduct the meal from your check." "The meal? Are you fucking serious", my husband asked. Do you honestly think I'm going to eat these ribs let alone pay for any of this meal!" My husband lifted both plates in the air and turned them upside down on the table..."Deduct that" he said and we walked out.

Theme Week # 4 Part 2

Completely exhausted from multiple shifts caring for my terminally ill Grandmother, five classes, and a part time job, I couldn't have picked up a toothpick let alone a frying pan so when my husband asked "What's for dinner?", with disdain I replied "Applebees."

We drove to the restaurant in silence. I unloaded the week in my mind while he scanned the fields for deer.

Resting my head on his shoulder while waiting for a table he asked, "You Ok Babe?" "Yeah, I'm fine, just tired."

The waitress wasn't exactly friendly but then I wasn't in the mood for rehearsed chit-chat. I ordered a club sandwich, and my husband, a rack of ribs. "Anything to drink?" In unison we replied, "A Heineken."

Happy to think of something else, I listened for thirty minutes to an over-dramatized depiction of "last nights hunt" Several beers later, the waitress brought us our food. "Anything else?" Before we could finish shaking our heads, she was gone.

Tricked by a beer buzz, I felt famished. I wrapped my fingers around the sandwich, brought it an inch from my mouth, and saw it...Inside my sandwich between a tomato and a thick layer of mayonnaise was a black curly hair!

Repulsed, I dropped my sandwich and said, "I think I am going to puke!" My husband called the waitress over. Annoyed by his gesture, she flipped around and with heavy feet, walked to our table.

"What do you need?" "I need you to take this sandwich out of my face before you have to clean up a little more than some spilled salt and used napkins." "What's the matter with it?" I pointed to the hair. She grabbed the plate and said she would send the manager over.

Watching my husband gnaw on his ribs I asked, "How in the hell can you sit there and eat?" His Neanderthal response, "I'm hungry."

The manager came to the table and asked if I wanted a different meal. "No just the check." He came back, said he deducted my meal (how big of him!), and handed me a $5 coupon for my next visit.

"Unless I can use this at some other restaurant, you can keep your coupon. There's hair sir, and then there's ,hair. One is forgivable, one is not!"

I stared at my husband while he finished his meal, irritated that he would eat when I hadn't. I walked to the car ahead of him....it's a quiet ride home.

Theme Week # 4 Part 1

I had a busy week so the last thing I wanted to do was cook dinner. My husband and I went to Applebees instead.

Thirty minutes and two beers later, the waitress brought my club sandwich and Gary's ribs to the table. I picked up the sandwich to take a bite and saw a hair in it. I put the sandwich down and waved the waitress over. She apologized and asked if I wanted another meal. I said no but asked for another beer.

The manager brought me the beer and a check with the sandwich deducted. He apologized and handed me a $5 coupon for my next meal. "Unless I can use the coupon at another restaurant, you can keep it." My husband finished his meal and we left.

Best Sister In The World

Well, she's no nun...not even close!

I have another sister I call the demon. She lives for my unhappiness.

Sparing you all the mushy details, Cathy is simply a ray of sunshine in my life.

Journal Entry # 11

John, I posted a response to lecture 4.

When I was little, I had these wide cupboards over the closet in my bedroom. I used claw my skinny legs around the closet doors and haul myself into them. I kept a pillow, flashlight, and all my girly private things up there. I used to spend hours writing in that confined space. I'd write stories, poems, thoughts or just anything in my diary.

The saying "Writing is an escape" has a little more meaning to me. I can't say that I enjoyed my reason for writing, but it let me be somewhere else. (The friend you hate)

I like the set ups you give. It lets me see it in another way and that's a good thing. I just can't wrap my head around it as quickly as I could my closet doors;}

Theme Week # 3

The suns starting to fall into the earth. My hair's matted to my head from sweat. I'm sitting on the front steps in my cut off Levis and pink shit kickers covered in grass, and engrossed in the serenity of the moment...

"Hey, watcha doin?"
screeetch. End of that moment!

"Just resting."

"Yeah, I saw you from the kitchen window. Thought I'd come bug ya."

Reeeally, you watching from your kitchen window? What a surprise!

"I'm just mowing the lawn so Gary doesn't have to think about it when he goes golfing."

Who am I trying to kid?

"I wish my wife would mow the lawn."

"She'll probably surprise you some day."

"I always see you out here working. Do you ever slow down."

Let me guess, from the kitchen window?

"That's what I'm doing sitting here."

"Hot day isn't it?"

"Yep." I jump off the step with the energy of a goat, and kick the grass off my boots hoping he sees my ambition to be somewhere else.

"Gary left early this morning. I saw his lights pull out of the driveway."

Man, you don't miss anything!

"Yeah, he was meeting friends for breakfast then doing a little golf."

"He left you here all by yourself?"

Until now.

"I don't mind. I like to be alone sometimes. If you can't be alone with yourself and enjoy it then you should start thinking about a prison career. Minus the whole solitary confinement thing."

He laughs out loud, plops his ass on the step, and leans back.

Real smart Darlene. Entertain him so he wants to stay longer!

"I was thinkin' you probably get bored so I thought I'd keep you company."

"I'm truly never bored. I can find a hundred things to do in a day." (Hint. Hint.)

The sun is setting now. I swear I hear the crickets singing "take him home country roads, take him home."

"I have to go in and start dinner. I'm gonna have to say goodnight."

"Yeah, it was great talking to you."

"You too."

He gets up from the steps and says, "I'm going to go home and play with the box my children came in."

I'm going to go stock up on sugar!

" Repulsed, I say, "Good luck with that." He turns to leave and says, "Goodnight neighbor."

"Yeah, night."

Journal Entry # 10

It's such a pitiful site. Hunter sitting at the end of his dog ramp waiting. I wonder what goes through his head. Did she forget me? Is she coming back?

It's been said that dogs don't have a sense of time. I don't believe it. Hunter, without fail, sits by the door to his gate at 6am every morning. He watches through the patio glass anticipating. When I don't come right out, he paces and when I'm really behind, he does the ramp thing. Duke, on the other hand, he plays it cool but the second he hears "Good morning my boys!" he's a bowl of jello.

I bring them in the house on occasion but it's like having a toddler over, there are all kinds of things I need move out of the way, put up high and close. These are not lap dogs. They aren't even foot dogs. They are like horses on crack. I'm to blame. When they were puppies, I loved to watch them chase each other. The first time they flipped my coffee table, I realized where I had failed.

People give me the raised eyebrow when I tell them they live outside. Lower it... I spent $1000.00 on a insulated dog house with a window, human, and doggy door. The roof is pitched and shingled, and it's bedded with hay in the winter. Do you think that matters to the dogs? Nope! They prefer lounging in the two $75.00 igloo houses. Then there's the $600.00 fence. They aren't living in squalor by any means.

I took a break in this entry to do my parental duty. Hunter's back in the igloo tired, but happy.

Journal Entry # 9

Kraft macaroni and cheese! If someone told me that I had to pick one thing to eat for the rest of my life, it would be Kraft mac and cheese.

Most foods I grew up on, I wouldn't dream of eating. Hamburger Helper for instance. What cruel punishment for children! I would literally cringe when I heard my mother speak it.

Biscuits, what really is the purpose? My mother thought putting different toppings on them would somehow disguise that it was just another biscuit. I think she was proud of her biscuits. Glad someone was.

I'm fully aware of the lack of nutrients in a box of mac and cheese, that the pasta stays in my stomach hours after I've eaten it, and there are 780 calories in one box. When I'm shoveling in that creamy mixture of butter, milk, noodles, and cheese I can't even hear myself think. I'm just a kid with her mac!

Journal Entry #8

How do people do it? How can a person just say "I'm going to bed." crawl under the covers and fall off to la la land? I have to jump through all kinds of hoops just to consider it. A glass of wine, Excedrin PM, a banana; none of them work but then there's always the chance...

Before I get into bed the window has to be open, and the shade pulled down just enough for me to see outside. Once the door is closed and I see that my rifle is still under the bed, I watch T.V for at least twenty minutes. Usually, I bore myself into a sleepy state by watching re-runs of The Jefferson's or Three's Company. When I start feeling groggy, comfort is essential because any amount of movement once the T.V. is off turns the lights back on in my head. It's really all for nothing. Often I wake because my husband is snoring or the dogs just saw a hurd of deer and think I want to know about it. At that point, it's psychological warfare.

There are the nights I look forward to when I'm so completely exhausted from lack of sleep that I'm wiping the drool from my mouth before the T.V is even off. Yep, those are the good nights.

Duke and Hunter

Just as soon as I was finished spending close to two hours bathing, cutting nails, cleaning ears, and brushing...they rolled in the dirt! Got to love them!

Journal Entry #7

I saw the most amazing thing yesterday morning. It was 6:30am. There was a light frost on the border of the lawn and dew clung to everything. I walked my dog Hunter first. We take the normal route around the yard so he can do his thing in the tall grass. For whatever reason, he felt the need to lift his leg on my peppers. Since my husband eats them, I wasn't too disgusted...we continued on.

The sun greeted us as we walked down the long driveway. I didn't notice until I turned to my left but there were literally hundreds of perfectly spun cobwebs clinging to the fields. The sun lit them up making them look like dusty circles. With the exception of a few, the majority appeared as if they were subdivided into military rows. I stood staring in amazement. There are so many things in the world to see but this was something I'd never heard anyone speak of.

I walked the dog back up the driveway still mesmerized by the site. Suddenly a nose pushed against my hip. Hunter was letting me know that I wasn't paying attention to him the way I did every morning. I scratched his ears, and gooed at him while walking with my neck cranked doing everything I could to sneak a few more looks of mother nature's art.

Journal entry #6

"That's not what she meant!" I felt like screaming those words when I was called to my Grandmother's house yesterday. She is terminally ill and under hospice care but probably one of the toughest ladies you will ever meet. With the occasional bouts of fever, you can hardly tell that she has metastatic cancer.

I was met at the door by one of my uncles. We'll call him Hank. My grandmother calls Hank her "paper tiger". He's tall, dark, handsome and for fifty-five, built like a tank. He has a deep voice and a heart of a marshmallow. I asked how she was doing and he said "fine but a little loopy." I wiped the tears from my face and went to her room. My Aunt "Cindy" was in bed next to her. Cindy is the youngest daughter. There are six kids in all. I sat beside Gram with a brave front and told her I was just popping in to say hello. She looked pitiful. I visit her three to four times a week and stay the night quite often. I wasn't used to seeing her so weak. She was in and out of reality but still had her quick wit and dry sense of humor. During one of my Grandmother's "spells" my Aunt Cindy decided to pray over her. In the middle of her trembling from a high fever, my Grandmother jumped up and shouted "I'm healed!" Everyone laughed. She said she wasn't sure she had the strength to do it but couldn't pass it up.

My uncle "Dick" is her youngest and the favorite. To me, he's the most manipulative person I've ever met. My grandmother made him, not only the executor of her will, but the power of attorney. She has a decent amount of money, none of which I will inherit nor would want to. My uncle Dick however, just can't wait to get his hands on it. Knowing how close I am to her, he thought he would play on my emotions and manipulate me by saying "In good conscious, I cannot drive Mother to the hospital for treatment. It is against what I believe as a nurse and what she has requested in her living will." He's good but not that good. I read right through it. No matter what I feel, I respect that I am not her child and really have no say but he understood that I, in no way, felt she was close enough to death not to take her to be hydrated. That's not the intent of her living will.

My mother arrived to the same speech only my mother crumbles at any pressure. When he said she has every right to take her to the hospital but he will not do it, she folded. I told her that she had to do what she felt was in the best interest of Gram. I told her to not look too far ahead. Uncle Dick's reply, "Don't look too far behind either."

Because I am extremely close to my Grandmother and very protective of her, my mouth couldn't have stayed shut for much longer so l decided to leave. I called my mother that night and told her to stand on her own two feet and to go with her instincts.

Today, I drove to my Grandmother's. Not only had her fever broke but she was walking around and completely level headed. I sat beside her in bed. Without being obvious, I asked her what she thought her living will meant. She said it meant that she would not be put on a respirator or any machines to stay alive. I told her that was everyone's misconception so I prodded further. "So if it meant that you would live a few more months or weeks comfortably, you would consent to hydration, and antibiotic treatment. She said, "Of course, I want to be around as long as I can."

I know there is a fine line with this issue but seeing my Grandmother defy all the odds stacked against her, I hardly think being hydrated warrants a "drastic measure" of survival. She is reaching her three year survival mark. I'm not nieve. I know the cancer will eventually get her but her will to live is much stronger right now. I don't want her to suffer but I don't want her to be dismissed either. There isn't much I can do except respectfully speak my mind and love her while she is here. The latter is much easier.

Theme Week #2

He has his hands. My husband has my stepfather's hands. The fingers are long and square at the end. The top of his palm is wide with a tint of reddish blond hair that fades towards the knuckles. Hands, to me, aren't just necessary appendages. We build with our hands, destroy with our hands, love, and even hate with our hands.

I was four when I met Ed, my stepfather. My brother, sisters and I were sitting in the back of a station wagon with my mother's friend Marsha. It was dark outside. The mist hung tight on the windows. I remember feeling very uneasy. The shadowed light we had, came from a street light beyond some pine trees. When my mother finally did come out of the club, Ed was with her. She tapped at the window for me to roll it down. Ed stuck his head in and said hello. I didn't like his looks. He had kinky hair, dark eyes and a scruffy face. He joked about taking her away from us. What was funny to him became a fear I carried for over a decade.

Ed was a violet man. When he wasn't drinking, he was the father I always wanted. He teased me a lot which brought me out of my shell and gave my shyness a much needed reprieve. I welcomed the feeling. He stood up for me when my siblings picked on me, listened to me when it felt like no one ever would, and on many occasions ate my meatloaf so I could leave the kitchen table. When he drank, he was an unimaginable monster. I was torn between a man I hated, and the only father I knew and loved.

When I was seven I woke, as I often did, to my mother screaming. I ran downstairs to see my stepfather on top of her with his hands clenched around her neck. I remember time moving in slow motion as I grabbed at his hands desperately trying to pry them away. His hands were all I could see. They became an ugly imprint in my mind.

I was thirteen when my mother divorced Ed. She met a man named Butch. He was an
ex-professional boxer. He was a quiet, stout man with an odd tick in his face which caused me to stare a lot. When he twitched, he would take his stubby fingers and repeatedly rub them under his nose. His knuckles were scarred and calloused. He and my mother dated for a few months before he became physical with her and then made the mistake of threatening us. My mother had a distorted view of what it meant to keep us safe. She thought she was doing her job if she took the blows not knowing the pain it caused us to watch.

I moved out at fifteen and became a nanny. It was also when I met my first boyfriend, Chris. He was everything pure to me. He was a Catholic virgin that didn't drink, and attended church every Sunday. He was confident, strong, and held my hand wherever we went while I dutifully followed behind him. His hands were soft, clean and gentle. It was three years before I realized that I had a voice. Soon, it was apparent that my timid demeanor was the facade that was his strength. He lost control and his hands followed.

Over the years every man in and out of my life held in their hands my fears and disappointments. Looking at my husbands hands, the hands that hold me when I'm scared, wipe my tears when I cry; the very hands I held when I vowed to love him forever. They look like my stepfather's hands but seeing them as I do, they are nothing like his at all.

Journal Entry #5

A traffic cop in a tin can, a half eaten egg salad sandwich, and the wretchedness that has been my afternoon!

After spending several hours in the lounge and losing two hours worth of work to an expired page, I decided to leave my frustrations there and try again tomorrow. Yeah right...

Due to my hectic schedule, and some crazy things going on in my life, eating has not been my usual priority. Two weeks and seven pounds lighter, I jumped at the feeling of hunger and headed to the deli across from the college.

Forgetting to bring my purse, an egg salad sandwich became my only choice. No big deal. My appetite was back! I unwrapped the sandwich, folded the paper neatly in my lap and took my first bite. Hoping to beat the five o'clock traffic, I put it between my legs and plunged my car into the sanity that bridge repair created. Twenty-five feet later, my car completely died. "SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!" I tried looking for my hazard lights but couldn't find them. Some genius Saab designer thought putting the key in the center console would prove fascinating so God only knew where the hazard lights were. I tossed the egg salad sandwich in the passenger seat and rolled down the window. Turning the key with my right hand, I waved cars past with my left. Anywhere else but in the center of hell! "Please start. Please start!" I repeated that in my head for what seemed like eternity. Finally it started and I layed on the gas peddle.

I pulled into Advance Auto and saw two young men sitting on their motorcycles. I didn't want to shut the car off so I slammed the door and offered them money if they could find someone to steal it. Needless to say, my chariot was still there waiting when I returned.

After calling my husband and leaving a loving message about him ignoring my concern about the car, I turned to the passenger seat and saw my sandwich fermenting in the sun. "Yep! I'm feeling hungry now."

Journal entry #4

I slip off my tattered leopard print slippers, pull back the covers and slither gingerly between the sheets. Carefully, I fluff my pillows as not to disturb the comatose lump beside me. Shifting...I'm suddenly frozen in place. He moved! I stop breathing for a second...wait...he's snoring again. I continue shifting until I find a comfortable position. Hahhh that's it. I reach for the remote to discover it isn't near my glass of water. How could that be? I hesitantly look to the direction of my husbands table. Yep, damnit! The remote is on his side of the bed...

His mouth slightly open, eyes twitching, and tree chopping steady, I move myself closer. Turning on my side, in slow motion, I reach over his body. My hand touches the plastic. YES! Suddenly he rolls. My arm stretched in the air, I'm as still as mouse. I listen for his "melodic" rattle then return to my comfort zone. Suddenly it occurrs to me...he gets out of bed at 4am like a bucking bronco released from his holding gait. He flips on the light, grabs the door handle and swings it open without a thought in the world for me.

Click! TV's on. Time to make some popcorn.

Journal Entry #3

"We're going in. Caareful...nice and slow. A little to the left. Now straighten it out. Squish! That's what I imagined happened when my sister had her invetro fertilization last week. Outside looking in it seems a little cold and calculated. Inside, I've seen their five year struggle to conceive.

I understand the theory behind "If it was mean't to be" but saying that to someone trying to get pregnant is like saying "It's possible you weren't mean't to be a mother." That's hardly consoling.

My sisters neighbor just found out his ex-girlfriend is four months pregnant. She's a heroine addict. How was that "meant to be?" Maybe it was meant to be that someone was born into this world with the ability to discover a procedure that would help women like my sister. I guess it's how you choose to look at it. I choose to believe the meaning behind what they are doing is more significant than how it's done.

Journal Entry #2

Do you ever feel like you just want to reach out and slap someone for no reason at all? I'm not a violent person, at least not outside my head but today, for whatever reason, I wanted to take a bag of cheez its and shove them down a kids throat!
I was sitting in speech class going over in my mind how I would present my speech. The room was completely quiet except the wrattling of a bag and the smacking of little orange squares between the puffed cheeks of a kid who clearly didn't make the best food choices. I'd like to pretend that my nervousness about giving the speech was the reason I was so irritated. It wasn't. I'm one of those people who can't go to the movies because the sound of people digging into their popcorn bag and licking their fingers really just pisses me off. Believe it or not, my friends say I have the patience of a saint...Maybe they've just learned what not to eat in front of me!

Journal Entry #1

I feel like I am living in the sitcom 'Everybody Loves Raymond'. My husband made the mistake of buying land from his best friend. The problem is, he lives next door and comes over whenever he feels like it. He wouldn't dream of calling ahead of time? Why should he? We don't have anything going on in our lives that we couldn't drop so we could listen to him talk incessantly about nothing.

The times I allow my ears to take in his ramblings, they are filled with everything that is going on from his kitchen window, which happens to be in direct line of our front door. "I saw Darlene walking the dogs. I saw Darlene taking a ladder out of her car. I saw you pick that gray and white rock with fossil imprints and throw it just over the stump 5 degrees southeast". Get a life!

He's a good friend of my husbands but most friends are that because they live a minimum of 10 miles away and visits are scarce.

Home is supposed to be where I can peel of my clothes, release myself from the constraints of my brassiere, and throw on a holey t-shirt without being concerned at what might pop out. It's where the world is closed out. Instead I feel closed in.