bornredheadedme-blog

[bornredheadedme-blog]

So Long Elgin

I'm selling my beloved home in Elgin, Illinois. For many years Elgin had developed a bad reputation with economic depression, gang warfare, and people who stopped caring. Then, one day someone said that all the beautiful homes in this river town shouldn't be ignored. Elgin has a substantial number of Sears Catalog homes. One actually purchased a kit from the Sears catalog. It was delivered to the site and built right there. My lack of engineering skills makes me think that people who built these homes were brilliant.

My home was built in 1936, per the elderly neighbor in the house behind us. He kept feeding my dog oatmeal raisin cookies even after we told him that the raisins were bad for her. And he gave my grandchildren religious tracts apparently in hopes that their poor neglected souls could be saved. The neighbor to the south was an old farmhouse that had been split into 3 apartments. The house itself was owned by an elderly woman who lived across the street from me. Her daughter and grandson lived in the main apartment, and the other 2 smaller units were occupied by single men.

To the north was a 3 generation Latin family who regularly entertained in the back yard with all the wonderful food and music that I loved so much. They eventually made an offer for the house and we accepted it. The various other neighbors were equally lovely, and included Eileen, whose grandparents built her home and eventually it became a generational unit. Her parent was raised in the home, as was she and her sons as well. Norm and Diane were the block captains (not a real title) who hosted the block party pot luck on the National Night Out. We enjoyed this annual event and even returned the year after we moved out to say goodbye.

All my life I wanted to live in an old house. I love the quirky architecture with the curved doorways, the family-sized dining room and a bathroom on each floor. The rooms were huge so our large family didn't seem to crowd any room. A short time after we moved in, our son died from a sudden PE, leaving a hole in the soul of the house. As time went on and our daughter's divorce became more and more contentious, she and the children moved in, filling the house with the chatter of children, and the love that enveloped everyone.

Eventually, the evil stepmother died (not from anything we did) and the whole family was back together. The kids finished schools (elementary, middle and high school), TJ performed in the Elgin Children's Choir until it disbanded, and all of the children played in the various school music programs, including the marching band and color guard. We were members of a wonderful community. And now we're not.

We will close on the sale in mid-October, and part of me is so very sad, and part of me just wants it to be over. It's hard saying so long to so many great memories. But my heart goes out to the people purchasing the house. They know of the soul of the house and I know they will appreciate it's spirit.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Dear Ralph

Since I've known you for most of your life, I also know a lot about what went on in your life. For some of your history, I've been able to fill in the blanks, based on my professional experience and watching your behavior over the years.

Your years in Germany were difficult to say the least. You effectively cut off your support system here so when you went over there, you had nothing to help shore you up. I know, you don't need anyone to shore you up because you are the smartest and greatest. That's why you are so successful in your life.

I often wonder if you even know the source of your anger. You repeat things over many times and it always seems to go back to money, and/or taking your advice/lack of respect. Your memory is selective so that you remember only that you were generous with both. And those people who wronged you are stupid and will only end up poor and destitute because they ignored your precious advice.

You come off as being generous, but at what cost? You insist that rather than depend on prescription medication for my asthma, I should buy cheaper Primatene tablets and depend on those. I've had asthma for years and over time, have come to terms with what I need to do to care for myself. But you insist that you know better than my pulmonologist. Your advice was neither sought nor respected because you couldn't respect my self-knowledge or years of experience.

You force your opinion on everyone, even when we thank you and move on, you continue to insist that you are the only one who is right. You have shown how truly narcissistic you have become. If we don't change our evil ways, you become angry and call us stupid. Your contempt of us is so obvious and even when pointed out, you disparage anyone else's opinion. We've experienced your name calling, insulting comments, and bullying so much that when you tell me you're done...well, I'm not seeing it. Just when I think I'm safe from this narcissist, you text me again to show me an article indicating that you believe you are the smartest among living beings. It doesn't seem to matter that others have a high IQ.

My education includes assessing people. I can even do it on the fly, but ethically would not do so in a meaningful way. I'm trained to estimate a person's IQ, and have years of experience utilizing that training based on strong scientific research. My diagnostic skills have been pretty spot on so far in my professional career, and have matched closely to various psychological assessments done by PhDs. So when you send me a magazine article pointing to the top 10 ways to know that someone has a high IQ, maybe better you should send me the top 10 ways to know someone displays narcissistic behavior. In this house, we all have a triple digit IQ and use it daily.

Every time you tell me it isn't about money, I know it's about money. You think you're being generous by deciding to purchase something because it's such a great deal. I know I have a hearing problem and struggle daily with understanding people's speech. So you generously locate a set of earbuds that attach to the outside of the ear and tell me you will get them and have them sent to me. I told you 3 times not to do that and you did it anyway. I'm waiting for you to send me a bill. They don't work for me and I told you they didn't when you insisted on ordering them. I believe that when you tell me that you were so generous with other members of my family, the circumstances were similar.

Ashley's car repair...did she specifically ask you to order the parts or did you jump the gun and do that thinking she will think you brilliant and heroic. The stupid blankets you purchased for all of us despite Melissa telling you they were not needed. I'm now stuck with a 10 foot square blanket for my little full size bed. I never opened it so you can take it back if you want. I could go on, and have the text messages to support my statements.

I know that you need to protect yourself from feelings of inferiority and shame, and so you will always deny your shortcomings, cruelties, and mistakes. I refuse to be upset and/or get blamed for something that’s not my fault or be characterized with negative traits I don’t possess. I know from experience that it isn't about me.

You don’t live in reality, and that includes your views of other people. My self-esteem is pretty strong. You get to keep that projected negativity all to yourself.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Voting Blue in Trump Country

I live in rural Illinois and am virtually surrounded by corn and soybean fields. I am careful about speaking out loud about my voting choices out here since many lawns sport Trump 2024 signs. I keep hope, especially when my daughters noted a huge billboard, "Your Candidate is a Felon" while driving home from visiting family.

I really want to watch the debate tonight but simply looking at tRump's face and hearing his voice turns my stomach. I imagine his wife was raised in a home where the men were always in charge and women did what they were told. Her coming here and marrying someone wealthy, and who could bring her parents here from their home country makes perfect sense from the standpoint of someone who grew up under those circumstances.

I woke up November 9th, 2020 and at 5 am sat on the edge of my bed and cried. How could we go from the educated, genteel, family of Barak and Michelle Obama to the likes of a man who made ill manners and rude behavior the norm. Suddenly, it was okay to make death threats towards people who did not agree with him. A man broke into the home of Speaker of the House Pelosi and beat her husband in the head with a hammer, stating that his goal was to kill the Speaker. Why was this? Because #45 said that we were welcome to do that AND he would pay legal fees.

It seemed that mass shootings were becoming more and more commonplace and when the White supremacists marched in Charlottesville, and a man drove his car into the crowd of counter protesters, the "leader" of our country said there were nice people on both sides. It didn't matter that the White supremacists were marching to show their threatening strengths just like the KKK did during Reconstruction. They carried yuppie-style tiki torches instead of the sticks with oil-soaked cloth wrapped around them.

The lies that the campaign spews are so egregious that I can't believe no one has sued for libel. Even with the stats printed right in front of them, people believe that the economy has faltered and that unemployment is rampant, when in fact these issues are not real. His followers don't recognize the massive tax breaks he gave to millionaires and billionaires are what has caused the prices to skyrocket since none of the money these people have managed to squirrel away ever trickles down so us working stiffs still need to work 2 and three jobs just to pay rent. We shouldn't have to choose between rent and medical or food, but often that's the reality.

I'm retired and on a fixed income, fearful that what was enough is quickly becoming worth less with each passing month. Household groceries have doubled so I'm now forced to read the sale flyers each week and shop accordingly. Salads are becoming the go to dinner for our family of 4. But I like salads. I live in fresh produce country but the growing season is limited.

When my president, Joe Biden announced that he was withdrawing from the race, and Vice President Harris would step up, I was happy that such a strong, educated woman was in the new race. True to form, #45 began denigrating her, questioning if she was smart enough, cause you know, she's a woman and a Black one at that. He went after her because she is always smiling and laughing. When that failed, his VP choice, Vance, went after her because she was child-less. A childless cat woman.

Then when she selected Tom Welz for her running mate, his biography impressed me. In his heart he's a social worker, like me. He believes that kids need food and shelter more than they need the 10 commandments in their classroom. He served 24 years in the military, and Vance attacked him, accusing him of leaving his squad in the lurch right before they were sent overseas. Apparently one is never allowed to retire from the military. Basically, Mr. Welz puts Vance to shame with his miniscule military time in comparison. But in reality, Mr. Welz thanked Vance for his service.

I feel much better about the Dem ticket, especially since Kamala Harris is so brilliant and can out maneuver #45. I have great faith in this election and hopefully will be crying tears of joy the morning after the election this year, unlike 2016.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Selling My Home

My husband and I bought this home in 2009, and I have loved it, warts and all for the past 15 years. When my daughters decided to move to boo-foo, Illinois, I hated leaving it but was prepared to sell then. My granddaughters asked if they could rent it and pay mortgage and utilities since this was the house in which they grew up. I worried but they insisted that between the two girls and Anna's husband, they could manage.

Anna just bought a house in Michigan, leaving me with having to restructure my mortgage with them 5 months behind, and having to get rid of multiple families worth of accumulated crap. Finally the house is ready to be sold. As this has played out, my anxiety levels are through the roof, resulting in a flair up of my inflammatory process. My pain levels have nearly debilitated me. I honestly feel like I'm going crazy. My back is horrible, and I have had muscle cramps constantly. These increase exponentially with various medications so I can no longer use Symbicort and I'm afraid to switch to any other asthma meds besides my albuterol inhaler and Advair.

This episode has opened my eyes to how strange my body is in relating to stress. I have always reacted in strange ways but this is the first time it appears to be systemic. I don't want to take pain killers because opioids make me sick, ibuprofen takes away my sense of taste and smell, and nothing else works. I've increased my calcium and magnesium, not working. I take Tylenol arthritis formula and it doesn't even take the edge off. I think I take it every morning to fool myself into believing that I'm actually doing something constructive.

I am trying to increase my use of anti-inflammatory foods and decrease my use of meats. I really don't like fish, so chicken will have to do. But the family is going more vegetarian...they'll figure it out.

So, yesterday our realtor texted me and let me know she has had two inquiries about the house. Wouldn't it be nice to start a bidding war? It's the largest house on the block with 4 bedrooms and 2 1/2 bathrooms. The upstairs bathroom has a soaking tub in it and people have liked that so far. I'm mentally begging the universe to open peoples' minds to possibilities and get this puppy sold.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Getting Old

I suspect that I am living the karmic realization of my mother, just as she did hers. She was 8 years old when her mother developed strep throat and asphyxiated because in 1928, they didn't have penicillin yet. At the time, my grandparents were separated. My grandfather, Chester, was unable to find work in Chicago. He was a Linotype engineer and the machines were few and far between locally. He was finally able to find a place in Lynn, Massachusetts and once there, sent for his wife and child.

Grandmother's family didn't think Chester was good enough for Mildred and went to great lengths to convince her that she should stay in Chicago and give up on her marriage. Within a year, Mildred contracted strep throat and died and exactly one month later, Chester married Helena. Chester immediately sent for his daughter, and received letters from his mother-in-law, Ida, begging him not to take his daughter. Ida, then 62, had given birth to 4 children, now one was dead and the others grown adults. So rather than allowing Chester and daughter to live together as a family, Ida selfishly wanted to keep her granddaughter.

Chester relented. It would be another 10 years before Chester's daughter would visit he and his wife and their new baby in Massachusetts. By that time, Marjorie, his daughter was 19 and had graduated from a private high school at age 16 and was already accepted into nursing school. At age 16, Marjorie was simply too young to be a working nurse and withdrew from the program. Instead, she went to secretarial school, the only real alternative for women.

Helena was already caring for her 3 year-old son, Byron, and found the intrusion of a 19 year-old stepdaughter so egregious that after threatening Chester with leaving him, she packed up Byron and left in the night. Chester packed his daughter up and sent her back to Chicago to appease his wife. He wasn't about to lose another child.

Marjorie is my mother, my namesake, and I was the 3rd attempt for a son. My parents were stuck with 3 girls. Suzy, the eldest, was curvy from birth, and behaved impulsively, which was a constant irritant to my father, Clyde. Since Suzy was conceived when he returned from his stint in the Army, he was suspicious that she might not be his child. The fact that she looked like Marjorie didn't help. When their 2nd child was born, Terry, she looked just like Clyde, which provided further proof to him that Suzy was not his.

Four years later, I was born and looked just like my mother. Clyde was now completely confused, but he had already spent 7 years believing that Suzy was not his child that he never connected with her. The distance between them never diminished. Terry, a petite blond little who had a lazy eye (as I also did), wore glasses from age 5, and was the favorite of both parents. Then, Terry developed a painful hip/leg and since it was during the polio scare, she was admitted to Contagious Diseases Hospital in Chicago.

I am unable to locate where it was in the 1950s, but I remember my parents parking along a side street behind (?) the building and Suzy and I waiting in the car while they visited Terry. At some point, Clyde would come by and ask what flavor ice cream we wanted. He would return later, bringing cones for both Suzy and me. Once a boy patient on one of the upper floors talked to us and threw empty syringes down to us. We were easily entertained.

Turned out, Terry didn't have polio, but an infection in her hip socket. She later would tell us that she was diagnosed with shallow hip sockets, a "fact" which allowed her to blame her fragile body for all sorts of chore avoidance. It also permitted my mother to openly favor Terry over Suzy and me and we both knew it our whole lives.

Consequently I never actually felt close to my mother. When she found a lump in her breast, I was the one who came and sat with her one Saturday night when she was so convinced that the biopsy she had was malignant (it wasn't). I did so because I felt sorry that she had convinced herself that we were lying to her to prevent her from knowing that she was dying. This was probably the most obvious session I ever had as a therapist (prior to attending college) and she needed to vent her fears. I helped her understand that while other family members might try to protect her, I was the upstart who would never lie to her about something so serious. She survived but still turned to Terry when she wanted something.

And so it continued, Terry was the one, the precious child my mother favored over all others. When my mother's house was so overwhelmingly full of crap, and the hoarding became a dangerous situation, I was the one to organize and spearhead the cleanup while my parents vacationed in Canada with my great aunt. But Terry was a small part of it so the credit was hers. We used a trash compactor and hundreds of plastic garbage bags and filled the front yard. We ended up calling the waste disposal company to send an empty truck. We filled that one and kept going.

Eventually we emptied the house of garbage, including whole sets of cookware that were never washed after use (or emptied). We emptied the fridge of the gross disgusting unrecognizable nasties that reeked every time we opened it. We scraped the built up grease from the stove and eventually cleared and scrubbed the 50s red Formica countertops that hadn't seen the light of day for at least a decade or two. We found the floor.

We rolled up the rug in the master bedroom. We actually had to scrape the rug in that room. The house was built on a crawl space which was not vented. there was no moisture barrier between the wood floor and the humid crawl space, and the room had been filled with old magazines, household documents, clothing and all of this compacted the carpet causing it to disintegrate as we tried to remove it.

When my parents came home, Terry was the one they thanked, and at that moment, I stopped caring. It took them just a week to begin to fill the house again. We convinced them that living in Texas was a better idea than traveling back and forth. We rented the house to a young guy who actually fixed some things. Half the house had been without power for some time and it turned out that when the new next-door neighbors were building their house, they asked if they could plug into my parents' house. The old electrical system of the house was controlled by 4 fuses. Two of them blew but the neighbor never said anything. All my parents knew was they lost half the electrical in the house.

So Kevin, the guy who rented the place immediately spotted that. He also got rid of the 20 year-old grape jelly in the utility room. When we moved into the house in 1956, my parents planted grape vines. Within a couple of years, we had tons of concord grapes and I remember my grandma coming out and she cooked down the grapes and helped my mom make the jelly. They used paraffin with a string embedded in it as a lid. I wonder what the shelf life would be for those. I wasn't about to try any to find out.

The jars were stored on shelves in the utility room, which also contained the wringer washer and rinse tub which never seemed to be empty. My mother didn't believe in completing any task. Once, I heard her comment that she didn't clean house because no one had ever taught her how. I asked, "Then who taught me?" I think I confused her. I know she appreciated what we did with the house, but it took some time for her to realize that the bulk of the work was my doing. She and my dad spent the rest of the summer at my house and left their house to Kevin.

They went back to Texas at the end of the summer and spent the next couple of summers with me or traveling to visit friends. They went to Michigan and my dad didn't want to have to stop often on the road so he neglected to take his lasix which caused him to go into congestive heart failure. He was literally drowning in his own fluid. That turned into his last hospitalization. He had always said that he never wanted to be kept alive by machines. My mother was told that if his heart could be allowed to rest, he could survive this episode. So she allowed them to insert a pacemaker. When he woke up, he removed that pacemaker (painful to say the least) and told me that I was to tell everyone that he needed to "do this" himself. Later I realized that he was telling me goodbye. Finally, he was allowed to go peacefully on his own terms.

My mother put the house on the market. She had no reason to keep it without him. A young couple made an offer of $64,000 with 8% interest if my mother would hold the paper. Since it was considered a "handyman special" she really didn't have much choice. They got a house that needed a roof and various other repairs sitting on 3/4 of an acre in a great suburb of Chicago and my mother no longer had to worry about upkeep. They got a great deal. Today that little house is valued at over $300,000.

My mother returned to Texas, and traded her 5th wheel for a park model. She now had a two bedroom trailer to fill up and needed to get crackin'. A few years later, she was notified that there was an apartment available in the senior complex a few blocks from her beloved Terry and she was instantly ready to come back to Illinois. The problem was that she had continued her hoarding ways with the new park model and it was a disaster. Terry had to pay a cleaning company to clear out and sanitize the trailer so she could sell it. This was in the late 90s and the cost was $1200. The average housecleaner charged around $30 to clean 4 rooms. By the time they were done, the floors needed to be replaced among other repairs. She worked fast.

It's not that I don't understand how getting old affects my ability to do chores. I sit in a lightweight chair (wicker) to vacuum. I have a shop stool with wheels to do dishes and clean in the kitchen. My bedroom isn't as neat as it used to be and I need help to make my bed, but I try as much as I can. She didn't have the interest in finding ways to get things done.

She moved up north to be with her beloved Terry, and it took her about 2 years to fail a housing authority inspection. A social worker came and tried to work with her, and she explained that she had daughters but they wouldn't/couldn't help. She explained to the social worker that her one daughter who lived 4 blocks away weighed over 300 pounds and had trouble getting around and then told her I was too busy to help. She also told her that she was taking medication that made it nearly impossible to carry a trash bag out to the dumpster 25 feet from her front door.

I was at my internship (working on my masters degree in social work) when the social worker called me to inform me that she was considering making a report for elder abuse. I paused for a moment and then asked her if my mother told her what I did. She said my mother told her I was in school and too busy to help her. I told her that I was studying to be a social worker and then told her the entire truth; that Terry weighed about 120 and had no problem getting around; that sister Suzy was morbidly obese but lived more than an hour away and was unable to physically help, and that no matter how much I tried to help, as fast as I removed, my mother filled in.

I explained that this was the fourth time my mother would receive help to clean up her mess and frankly I was tired of the extra effort needed and her lying about her circumstance to authority figures. I told her that I would talk to my sister and we would do the best we could to intervene.

I found a huge pot of "osso buco" sitting on her stove, and learned that she had made it a week before and had been eating it for several days. She couldn't fit the large pot in the fridge so it just say on the stove. She must have had the constitution of iron man that she didn't get food poisoning during that time. It took me several hours to clean the bathroom and another few hours to clean her kitchen. My frustrations grew steadily and I finally asked her why she had 32 coffee mugs in her cabinet. "In case someone stops by for coffee." I pointed out that there was no place to sit because all of her chairs and sofa were full of crap. I packed up all but 4 cups and got rid of the outdated food stuff in her cabinets. She complained the entire time that I was wasting her food. It took a week and she was able to move back, after we cleaned up the spilled birdseed by her patio door. That way we were able to close the door and stop the mice and "vermin" from coming in to feast.

We eventually realized that my mother couldn't live by herself and Terry was in no condition to take her in. Terry's diabetes had taken it's toll and she had been struggling with having "mini-strokes." So I explained to my mother that she would be moving in with her less favorite daughter but there would be rules. I moved her into a first floor apartment with me and cleaned up every week so she could see me do it. I came home one day to her "clean" dishes in the dish drainer and that had a thin layer of grease. When I rewashed them, she questioned why, I told her that they were dusty and I just rinsed them. I bought a portable dishwasher that evening.

I've spent so many hours trying to figure out what I have done in a former life to warrant being the daughter of this woman. I was the 'son" they wanted, but I didn't reap any benefit for that. I spent my life feeling like I was never enough no matter what I did. I questioned everything, even when my brain told me I did well. I understand the concept of the "Imposter Syndrome" and can see how my feeling like second best contributed to that.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

The Reality of Cancer (cont.)

The first week after my first chemo treatment, my hair began to fall out in large areas. It was so bad that my daughter shaved my head for me and I wore a baseball cap to cover my lack of hair. I also began itching all over my body and nothing took the itch away. The only time I didn't itch was when they hung a bag of steroids at the time of chemo. I tried every antihistamine available and combinations of several. I'm still alive so we know they didn't kill me, but at the time, I began to have thoughts of how much easier my life would be if I were dead. Hopefully I wouldn't itch.

I have Hashimotos disease so I'm already immuno-compromised, and now chemo, which is supposed to suppress my immune system even further, has taken any shred of protection I have. I developed pneumonia from a simple cold, had endless UTIs, and the little cyst on my shoulder suddenly exploded into a giant abscess that required hospitalization.

I only had 4 chemo treatments the first 2 months, and then 1 each week after that for 12 weeks. Then, the surgery, where they cut out the areas where the tumors were and also the lymph glands to check the spread. So I ended up with 4 incisions and breasts that looked like the Ripper had paid a visit. But...I was instantly cancer-free.

A month later the tortuous radiation therapy began. I didn't realize it, but radiation for breast cancer is like exposing the tender skin under and around each breast, and in both armpits to intense sunlight without the brightness. I developed huge blisters in all places mentioned, and nothing much can be done about them. I tried the salve they gave me but that really didn't help. I just had to wait it out. So 3 times each week, I went in and let them burn my boobs.

After 12 weeks of radiation, I got to ring the bell while one of the nurses took my picture. She cut off my head, and left me hoping that wasn't an omen. But I was done! In another few weeks I was pronounced cancer-free and that's what I wanted to hear.

But, once that dreaded word enters your body and psyche, you're never free. I think about it every day and check my breasts weekly, in case a lump appears. I don't want to miss it. I know I didn't the first time, but the two weeks that it took me to get the mammogram made me worry about allowing the cells to multiply that much faster.

Each year, I have a mammogram at the breast specialist, and then I also see my oncologist and they palpate my breasts so I don't feel like I'm waging this battle by myself. I am aware that when I first discussed family history of cancer, I flaked.

I know my dad had a tumor attached to the outside of his large intestine, but his doctors said it was due to his smoking. I still don't have a clue how they arrived at that. My grandmother (paternal) also had some type of cancer, but I'm not sure what kind. My mother had fibercystic disease, but it never developed into cancer. She did have one incident of skin cancer, but nothing more.

Cancer seemed to be more common on my father's side of the family. His father was an alcoholic and died of stomach cancer. His sister died of ovarian cancer, various aunts and uncles died because of it. At one time we determined that out of 12 members of his extended family, 11 died from cancer. Most of my family were smokers, and both my parents died from emphysema so the cancer thing is not a surprise. My mother smoked up to the very end and quite literally suffocated with nothing to be done for her. I try to convince my children and their children not to smoke, but I remember listening to people tell me that in the 25 years I smoked. Fat lot of good that did for me. I have asthma, but not emphysema. I win.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Family History

Retirement leaves me with tons of time to do stuff. Of course, I have no intention of doing this stuff, since I still haven't been able to clean my room due to mobility issues. I have another cold, the third in 2 months, and I think I may have figured out why I keep getting these things.

I was started on Singular by my pulmonologist and when I finally looked up the side effects, the most prominent one for me is flu symptoms. I already have a weakened immune system and apparently the singular is triggering it. So, I stopped taking it and switched to my inhaled meds. Same side effects but I'm hoping that the inhaled medication works better. We'll see.

So, I've been researching my family tree. I'm amused that after moving to this remote village, I've discovered that many of my relatives, including great-grandparents were born and are buried close by. This gives me the opportunity to visit the local cemeteries to photograph the graves.

In addition, I have discovered that I, along with 30,000,000 other lucky people, am a descendant of John Howland, who arrived on the Mayflower. In addition, another of my ancestors and his wife were among the first settlers of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. My family history is rife with important people. The chair is shaking because I'm trying to suppress my laughter. We've all met people who are impressed with their own family members. My commenting on my ancestors doesn't mean a lot if I don't notice my children and my grandchildren, and now my great-grandchildren.

The twins, Anna and Kathrine are amazing. One started in customer service and is now an insurance adjuster for a commercial insurance company. The other got a job as a CNA trainee at a nursing home and is planning on going to nursing school.

Another works in customer service for a bank, and the 4th one, the only boy, is completing training to be an EMT/Firefighter. He loves it and his confidence levels are through the roof. So I don't care so much for the accomplishments of my ancestors as long as my immediate progeny are successful in negotiating their lives.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

The Reality of Cancer

I loved my job. Working with homeless vets and watching them recover from chronic homelessness and other issues gave me such joy. So, in December 2018, I had a mammogram, which was the beginning of a whirlwind of unexpected activity.

Following the mammogram, which indicated cancer, the doctor's office made an appointment at the Breast Center of my local hospital. At the time, I didn't realize that I had a diagnosis. So a biopsy was done on my left breast, and as I was escorted to another room, the nurse began explaining the next steps, i.e., seeing a breast specialist, an oncologist, a radiologist, and a myriad of other "ists" in my future.

"So it's definitely cancer?" I asked.

"Oh yes," she said.

That was the first I was difinitively told "you have cancer." I had to wait until the second week in January to see the Breast Specialist, and while there, I had another mammogram, an ultrasound and another biopsy after another questionable area was located on my right breast. So now it's bi-lateral breast cancer. Now it's time to follow up with the oncologist.

I met with the oncologist and I swear, he looked about 12. I got over my anxiety about his age and qualifications as soon as he began speaking. He drew all over the papers in front of him, pointing out that my bi-lateral cancer was HER2 pos, HR neg metastatic type, stage 2b. He outlined all the steps, letting me know that I would start chemo in February, and yes, I would lose my long red hair. I left feeling a bit overwhelmed but I was ready to talk to my grandkids about the diagnosis and treatment.

We gathered them all at the house, and the first question one of them asked was, "Are you dying?"

"We're all dying." I said.

I explained that yes, I had been diagnosed with breast cancer and had begun a rather intricate schedule of treatment. They took it well, with little or no tears or panic. I found myself masking my own sense of panic for the sake of everyone around me.

The next day I told my supervisor and my team. I explained that I could do work from home at least for most of the time and even from the treatment center while receiving chemo. My team, as always, was very supportive and I made sure they all had all my contact information in case they needed me.

Stay tuned for the next installment.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

A Little Anxiety Goes a Long Way

It took me more than 60 years to figure out that I struggle with anxiety. I have adult ADHD, so anxiety goes hand in hand with that, but today I realized that the free-floating anxiety has taken hold of my brain and refuses to let go.

I've tried to occupy myself with other things, listen to books, watch tv, clean the kitchen (ugh), but nothing takes it away. Meditation would help, but I don't have patience to continue, because my brain simply won't shut down enough to allow it to help.

So I'm checking out sending out my intention to the universe and following that with envisioning the positive result. I will also make a charm to help me stay with the process. The problem with ADHD is that we tend to have trouble with focus. That lends itself to all of those thoughts flying helter skelter though my brain. Because I can't shut my brain off, meditation becomes nearly impossible.

Add to that, I start each day with an ear worm, some song that runs constantly through my brain so loudly that I can actually hear the musical riffs between the verses. What's worse is that none of these songs are currently on any playlist. I read somewhere that if you let the song play though in your brain, it will stop. I don't know who thought that one up or how they came to this idea, but they suck. Even turning on audible or a podcast doesn't help, I just hear the earworm in the background. It's really hard to get the gyst of the Dateline mystery with Barry Manilow singing "I Can't Smile Without You" in the background.

I usually give into it by cleaning or doing something that requires physical effort. I can fill the time with meaningless activities and the earworm doesn't bother me. I can actually sing along with it. But lately, I've been announcing the song to my daughter in hopes that I make myself stronger than it. I'm so taken with the range of the songs I am hearing. It's kind of hard to make them stop when I find that I can identify the singers from as far back as the 40s. I guess having a musician for a father influenced me.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

I don't want to live here anymore. I love my daughters, and appreciate all they do for me, but I can't help but wonder if I'm experiencing a sort of learned helplessness. If I can't do it, they will. Everyday, I make a mental list of things I want to accomplish, and everyday, I get nothing done.

I get the dogs out, I load the dishwasher, a particularly unpleasant job since my daughters put dishes in the sink with food still on them. We don't have a disposal so all that food sits in the sink and rots, especially on hot days. We have quite a collection of fruit flies and they love my daughters. The smell is particularly lovely.

I have installed some flying insect traps throughout the house, made a wine trap (small glass, a little wine, covered with cling wrap with a few holes poked in it. They fly in but they can't fly out), and even some sticky flypaper. At least they no longer attack my face when I go near the sink. when the kitchen garbage can overflows, I grab a white bag and start filling that with the new trash and leave it on top of the can. So then they have to keep the dogs out of the kitchen so they don't shred the bag. They get the message and take that bag and fill it with stuff from other areas and then take both bags out.

Today I had to collect the bathroom garbage which was overflowing into two different bags. I collected all of it into a big black bag and left it at the top of the stairs. I know, it's pretty passive aggressive, but I'm tired of asking.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Both my adult daughters are sick right now. My eldest, Jen, was diagnosed with Lyme disease after a week in the hospital and is now home dealing with the neurologic aftermath. My youngest, Melissa, is down with symptoms of the latest version of Covid, and is isolating in the lower level of the house. I'm caught in between them, hoping against hope that I don't catch what Melissa has, and afraid to go out on the deck for fear of getting bit by the dreaded tick that caused Jen's illness.

Melissa's doctor told her to get tested for Covid and she did. She was negative. So I don't have to hide in my room. But it's really awful watching both of them be sick and not being able to do anything about it. I can't even cook anything for dinner because eating is not recommended.

I'm reminded of when my husband was struggling with liver failure in his last months. He would start out the day lucid and able to carry on conversations, but as the daylight ebbed, so would his lucidity. Jen's symptoms do the same thing. She can get up and take her dog out, and have a cup of coffee, but the within a few short hours, the headache becomes worse even with Tylenol arthritis formula. She spends most of her days lying down in her room.

It's later, a couple of weeks later, both the girls have been seen by their doctor, and Melissa is due back at work Monday, and Jen is thinking of requesting permission to WFH 1/2 days for next week to test out her increasing stamina. If she can manage next week, she will return to work the following week. I admit I blamed Melissa's symptoms on her Siamese twin-connection with her sister, but then I developed a headache that Tylenol didn't touch for about 5 days, and nausea to go with it. We are all doing so much better.

And now, the hot weather seems to be leaving us, in the 60s today, and I'm looking forward to working on my room and closet. It's been nearly 2 years since we moved in. It's time for me to get busy.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Sciatica

I signed up for physical therapy and chiropractic in November to address some issues with my neck and long-term sciatica. We worked on my neck stretching but sadly I was told I should not expect much in the way of change in my neck position. I'm glad I listened. No change. We worked on stretching the muscles around the sciatic nerve, and while I have improved strength and mobility, I have almost constant sciatic pain.

I was released after 3 months due mostly, I think, to them getting tired of this old bag coming in 3 times a week and not improving. It didn't help that I got sick in November and I couldn't shake the wheezing. After I stopped going to PT/Chiro, I maintained my wheezing state until I returned to my doctor in April. I had told everyone who "treated" me that I thought it was asthma, but no one paid much attention to the old person.

Finally, my doctor told me he thought it was asthma. Now, keep in mind, I had told him this before. Now, he says it like he has just made a miraculous discovery. He prescribed an inhaled steroid and within 5 days, the wheezing stopped. Finding that inhaled steroid in any local pharmacy was another story. The COVID pandemic had decimated pharmaceutical stores and I had to change pharmacies to get the script filled. Then, since I tried first at Walgreens and couldn't get it, when I transferred the scripts to my new place, Walgreens told them that I had already filled it. It's pretty sad when the customer has to do the legwork to get them to call corporate to switch it back to unfilled so I could finally get relief.

Did I mention that the sciatica is still with me stronger than ever?

[bornredheadedme-blog]

I once worked with a trans client who was a veteran. They constantly spoke of their time in the service in a time when women were not allowed to serve in anything other than nurses and office associates. She would tell everyone within earshot about serving in Vietnam on a ship in the Navy. Another hint that she was trans.

She always wore dresses, and sat in particularly unladylike poses, displaying a package not often seen on a lady. Despite this, we liked her and encouraged her to be herself. She was a news junkie and requested that she be allowed to teach a current events group, which once started, failed abysmally because she was unable to allow discussion. She was unable to stop talking about her personal history and would take more than half the class telling it. When I tried to steer the conversation back to current news, she would flail and get very flustered. The current events group was sidetracked.

She had no intention of having surgery and I'm not sure she was taking any hormones. But one of the good things that came out of our interaction was that while her brain convinced her that she should have been born a female, her body produced male hormones and as such there were parts of her anatomy that required checkups to avoid problems as she aged. Because she was identified female in her chart, the typical flags for annual tests were not there. Her prostate had not been checked for several years as her psychiatrist pointed out, leading him to research what other physical issues had been overlooked. It's likely that this realization saved her life and the lives of future trans people serving in the military.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Adults and Children

I was 12 years old and learning every day about people. How some people were great and others weren't? At 12, I really didn't know about what my body was able to do and at that age, I was much more interested in riding my bike, climbing trees, catching toads by the creek, and other normal tomboy things.

I'm pretty sure that my dad would never even think about any of his daughters as anything other than children growing up. He spent lots of time teaching us about art, car repairs, animals, and music. And I was incredibly lucky that none of my male relatives leaned toward pedophilia.

So, when my sister began dating a very cute young man, my parents didn't bat an eye when his 40-year-old uncle began hanging around our house. He was a nice enough sort, but when there were no adults around, his comments to me made me uncomfortable. Even at that tender age, I recognized that he was grooming me, even if I didn't have a word for it.

My parents didn't get the red flags that were all around us, even when I told them I didn't want to be around him. Finally, we were sitting outside one evening when I saw his car turn into our street. I jumped up and ran into the house yelling, "I'm not here." I guess my mom finally got a nudge of how uncomfortable I was and began to curtail the family gatherings in the front yard. And Terry stopped dating the nephew.

But, just because I picked up on the signs, doesn't mean everyone does. I wish we could give our children a mental red flag system that could protect them from the stalkers and pedophiles that endanger them. Maybe we could make a phone app that could identify them. I have an app for identifying plants and bugs, why not bad guys?

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Cinderella: a new ending

When the clock struck 12, Cinderella was able to run home without the missing slipper and her coach and footmen all returned to their original state. By the time her stepmother and stepsisters returned, she was already asleep in her little room.

The next day, she heard that the prince was searching for the girl who left the glass slipper on the step. He didn't even think about the fact that he was basing his search on her foot size, and not the face he fell in love with. Cinderella did think about that. She reminded her stepsisters that the shoe might not fit and they should make him look them in the eyes. The stepsisters didn't listen. They didn't care if he loved them for their looks. The shoe would be the test.

Cinderella went to the market, where the prince was holding all the young women in the kingdom in the square offering them the opportunity to try on the glass slipper and be his queen. Cinderella stood near the prince, and asked if he remembered what the girl looked like. Did he remember her hair color, or her eyes, or perhaps if she was a good dancer? The prince denied that he noticed those things during the ball and didn't seem to notice that he was speaking to the young woman he sought.

Cinderella laughed and went home with her parcels, and deliberately avoided the prince and his entourage.

Sucks to be the prince.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Camping

My father's (and my) first camping trip was in a large canvas tent, in Nicolet National Forest in northern Wisconsin. A heavy rain was predicted and Clyde and Marge tightened the guy ropes - a mistake as they were to find out. The accumulation of rain caused the already tight ropes to pull out of the wet ground causing the canvas to sag on both ends. Clyde and Marge were doused when the ropes on their end gave way and the canvas collapsed from the weight of the accumulated water.

They knew the tent at the other end where the children slept was about to do the same thing so they got up and went outside. Did I mention they slept in the nude? So there they were crawling around outside the tent attempting to drain the water off the top of the tent over their girls. They managed to get it fixed up enough to allow them to go back to bed. By the time they came back into the tent, they were covered in mud and leaves and soaked but they went back to bed anyway.

In the morning, my mother got up early and, after putting on her clothing, went out to see the damage. Since they had been unable to pound in new stakes during the night, they tied the ropes to the nearest trees. When my mother saw the tent in it's comical glory, she laughed out loud. My father followed her out to see what she was laughing at and joined in. They took a photo of the tent, and for years we couldn't identify what the slide was until my mother pointed to the rope tied to a tree.

This trip was in 1955 and I wasn't quite 5. Everything was new and fun. The only bad thing about the trip was that I couldn't stay and play in the water for very long. After about 20 minutes in the water, my lips would turn blue and they made me get out. I hated it.

I remember my dad got up really early and went out fishing, and brought back trout which my mother cooked for breakfast. 68 years later, I can still smell and taste how wonderful it was.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

I Know a Lot, I Know a Little

I'm a clinician. I've treated many people who struggle with addiction. I've watched clients win and lose but they always keep battling. Why is it that I can't allow my daughters the same understanding that I have for my clients. They smoke cigarettes. In January, they told me that had quit on NYE. I congratulated them but said no more. Saturday they bought cigarettes because, "It's been a tough week."

In my mind (and in my experience), as long as you quit with the idea that you can always have another cigarette if you have a tough week. The best way to quit, in my experience, is to commit to never having another, whether it be drink, smoke, or whatever detrimental addiction with which you struggle.

When I quit, I convinced myself that the smell of cigarette smoke would make me nauseous. It worked. But a funny thing happened when I quit. One day at lunch, with my still smoking sister, she lit a cigarette and left it smoldering in the ashtray on the table. She would get in my car and crack the window a half an inch and light up. She knocked the cherry off her cigarette and burned a hole in my upholstery. I opened my window all the way down to get away from the smoke (it was January) and she complained that she was cold.

Now, 33 years after I quit, I have asthma, but recently I found out that I don't have emphysema. I worry about my children and grandchildren and their future health issues. There's no guarantee that they will avoid the dreaded E but given their family history of cancer and emphysema they have a much greater chance of developing one of those. The smoking simply adds to that chance.