Revelations

I'm off Facebook for the moment, well, actually for January. I might stay off longer since I'm finding the hiatus soothing and relaxing.

My church does this "social media fast" every January. That isn't why I'm doing it. I'm doing it for me. Because I'm sick of Facebook. I love those real friends I'm made there but there is so much nastiness that I really don't like it.

So why am I there? I have a large family scattered across about 7 states. Keeping in touch is easier on Facebook. We even have a group page. I have writing groups that are interesting and some local folks that I consider friends. There are people I met through my writing I enjoy chatting with. Oh, and because "they" said if you're a writer, you need a page. So, here I are. . .well, there I are.

The thing is, the absence is having an interesting effect. No, I'm not working on the novels. I'm still blocked, mostly. I am, however, finding my other creative outlets coming out. I'm crocheting more if my hands aren't bothering me. I'm getting to the gym a tad more. I'm reading more. I play with the kittens. I get the laundry put away more often. I am on Instagram but that's a different thing altogether. They have a lot of craft ideas and so does Pinterest.

All around, my life is shifting back to center. Probably a good thing.

Does anyone remember what people were like before social media? Before the internet?  I know we think it's a wonderful thing. It might be if it were an actual tool rather than an escape or a platform. Look at that! The people pushing it even call it a "platform". It's designed solely to push agendas. Of course, it's marketed as a way for people to "connect" but that couldn't be further from the truth.

The reality is it drives a wedge between people already separated by distance. They're not close enough to hug you ... or slap you, so you can say what you want and consequences be damned. And the nicest people become rude and cruel. Me included. I try very hard not to be nasty, but with so many snowflakes around, no matter what you say someone gets offended. 

Think about the people you know on Facebook. I don't have thousands or even hundreds of friends. I'm very particular and have never sought to add people. I even have relatives not on my list. But how many do we really know? I'm fairly certain I know or am related to over 50% of my contacts personally. It's probably closer to 75%.  Can you say that? If so, that's great but I'm guessing that most people can't say that.

We're people who want to connect. And TPTB have sold us a gimmick that promises to do just that. And then your "friend" unfriends you because they disagreed with you or found your values offensive.

The fact is that you never connected at all. Real friends can accept differences in opinion, values, and colors without making a big stink about it. Real friends just ignore the irritations that arise between them or they approach it reasonably and without malice. They understand your stresses, pains, and troubles and if they don't, they need not take you to task over it. That thoughtless person who continually says hurtful things is not and never was a friend. I may very well fall in this category on someone's list. That's just the realities of Facebook. We aren't friends if we behave like antagonists.

None of this occurred to me until I separated myself from Facebook. I'll admit it is a kind of revelation. I seldom unfriend people, unless their material is so offensive I can't in good conscience keep them on. However, I've been unfriended a few times. I can be brutal in my statements. By that I mean direct and unpolitically correct. I don't hide behind masks very well. So, folks get annoyed and offended.

I rarely delete comments unless they're obscene because I figure if you want to make a fool of yourself, I won't stop you. My policy is to unfollow and see how that goes while taking steps so they don't see my post much if at all. I've blocked some post from certain contacts. Eventually, they'll drop me. I never get offended by this.

The realization that Facebook is a negative force in the world is probably not new but I think I've only recently realized the depth of the negativity. It isn't really a nice place, but it's convinced a lot of us it is. I'm going to have to reevaluate how I use it and how frequently.

If you've not taken time away from social media, and I mean more than a day or a week, I urge you to try a month-long fast. It may surprise you. Be advised, it is not as easy as you think. In fact, I suspect most won't be able to do it. Give it a shot, anyway.

Finding Time

I know they say travel broadens the mind but it also rips a hole in your soul. The first trip I took was a vacation with my Aunt and Uncle. I read 5 books on that trip and it was awesome. I swam a little and was able to just site on a quiet patio and read. I do not require lots of entertainment on vacation.

I was home only three weeks when my brother died and I had to leave and go home for the funeral. I was gone only three days but let's face it, it was not a pleasant trip. My whole family is still reeling from this death and I don't know why we'll ever feel that it has really happened.

The next trip was exactly one week later. We went to Arkansas to pick up my granddaughter. She's been visiting her dad for the last six weeks. I'm glad she's home. I'm glad I'm home! This is the longest trip I take. It takes 12 hours. The map says 9 but if you really have to go to the bathroom and eat, you can just add more. If there is construction or car accidents... and there are... you can add even more. We experienced it all. We left both times at 6 a.m. and arrived home at 5 p.m. We limited out stops to the shortest possible time. This helped. Leaving extremely early also seemed to make a difference is how we felt. The fact that I didn't have to do the driving certainly helped me. I'm much less tired than I was after that first trip.

Somewhere in all that I managed to scrounge up 1354 thus far in July in one of my WIP. I'd hoped for more but unfortunately, travel got in the way. Now, despite all that, I don't think 1354 is anything to sneeze at. I'm amazed that I got that much writing done. Admittedly, that's only over the course of two days but I consider myself lucky to have had two days where I could function. I will thank God for small favors.

School starts on the 7th so things will be busy the next few weeks but I've pretty excited that I don't have anywhere I have to go and I might just get some more writing accomplished.

I'm going to set up my calendar in the next few days with my writing times and I'm trying to make sure I get enough rest factored in. That seems to be my biggest need. I am always tired due to the RA and the fibromyalgia. Factoring in rest when you have an autoimmune disease is so important, particularly if you want to write. In the past, I've always neglected it and this last year has really revealed that to me. Once I started making rest a priority, above everything else, and setting aside days for specific chores I found that I functioned better and actually felt like I could do other things like writing or working on a home improvement project.

I'm going to try to hang on to the optimism and structure my time more stringently. Pray for me. I need it.

First Interview & Other Minutia

I feel so important now. Fiona Mcvie just posted an author interview with me on her blog! It is so thrilling. My first interview. OK, maybe I'm over-reacting but really, it was a lot of fun and now I feel like I can do this.

I've been running around for a few days now and having a hard time remembering what day it is. Sarah is out of school and without that schedule to keep up on track, we're both asking all the time "What's today?" I don't feel so bad when she asks, too.

I've still got some painting to do to the chairs but I have to go buy more paint. At the moment, I'm working on a child's park bench that belonged to Sarah when she was a tot. It is really a lovely bench and made of oak and iron. Rather than sanding and staining the slats, I'm painting them a hammered bronze color. I'll post photos when I'm done.

It has rained so much that the ground feels a bit spongy. The heat and humidity are miserable for more than a few minutes so I'm painting in bouts, coming in to cool and dry off. We did need a good soaking rain and I believe we got it. I just wish it had cooled us off.

Guess what I did today? Put away laundry! Yes! Yes! I did it. I still have some sheets and towels to do but I can do that sitting and watching t.v. later. I got everything hung up and just have to move it to the closets. It didn't take long, a surprise there, and I was so relieved. The only drawback is the severe pain in my trapezius that is setting up a migraine. I've discovered that is one of my triggers.

Sarah is leaving next week to go to Arkansas for two months to spend time with her Dad. She always looks forward to seeing him and spending time with him but she hates to leave home. I'll miss her terribly and I know her mom and other grandparents will as well. I won't have to get out of bed early until August unless I just want to get up.

Had a weird experience yesterday. I was exhausted because I had not had enough sleep the night before and went to sleep in the recliner. When I woke up I could see fine out of my right eye but my left one was as blurry as if I'd been wearing the wrong glasses. It took three hours to clear up. I'm wondering if it was a visual migraine. I started having them about 5 years ago and they're very odd and frightening. Today, I have a real headache just over that eye. I'm about to take some meds for a migraine in a few minutes. No, I didn't call the doctor. There was nothing to show them. I just couldn't see, even with my glasses. But you know what, I could feel the difference in the eyes.

I'm off now to wait the meds out and see if I can organize a writing project I've set for myself. Everyone have a wonderful weekend. Just use caution in the heat.

Do visit Fiona's blog and read the interview. Read several and leave her a comment on them if you enjoyed it. Well, leave me one, too!

Selective Reading

Sarah and I had a conversation on the way home from school today. I always find these so entertaining and enlightening.

We've had a lot of rain in the last few weeks. Last weekend our street was flooded and, while we are above the flood zone, our neighbors are not. We didn't have to leave the house but several of them had to move their cars to higher ground. 

Today we had misting rain and Sarah noted that, like me, she loves rain. However, she said that she wasn't happy with the flooding issues. 

She commented, "I thought God said he wouldn't flood anything anymore?"

I said, "That's not exactly what he said."

"In the Bible it says he wouldn't make it flood anymore," she said.

"No, he said that he wouldn't destroy the world by flood anymore," I said.

"Oh." 

I added, "The next time he'll do it by fire."

"What?"

"The Bible says that the next time God will destroy the world by fire."

Long pause and then she said in a strained voice, "And that's why I don't read some chapters in the Bible."

Hmmm.

Battling the Kraken

Within weeks of my October back surgery, I began to feel better. In fact, I couldn't remember when I had felt that good. I'd even begun to write again a bit. It felt nice. I found I could do some house cleaning. 

The holidays hurried by with virtually no notice on my part. No celebrations here. But despite the depressing state of Humbug, I was up and doing things. So much so I pulled a shoulder muscle and was knocked out of things for a week. 

Winter rolled up on me and by the first part of January, I was beginning to think the new year was going to look pretty good. 

Until. 

In the middle of January, sometime around the 14th, someone released a Kraken. Yes, I know that a Kraken is a mythical sea monster from Norway. I'm borrowing the name to make a point. 

This thing began to devour everyone in town. Specifically, me. For the last three weeks, we've battled it. Mike at his house and Sarah and I here. Sleepless nights of violent coughing, choking, and lack of sleep. Days of raging fits of coughing and choking. Mike and I have both seen the doctor while Sarah, youth and beauty combined, bounced back. He saw them twice. We've had cough suppressants, antibiotics, steroids, inhalers, and OTC cough meds. As of today. . . we're still coughing and hacking. Although one could say the severity is less, it is no less miserable. 

I laid off the steroid because, after 3 days, everything I put in my mouth tasted horrible and made me sick. Even water was nasty. Admittedly, Evansville water is nasty on a good day but this was even worse. I started back on the antibiotic after one day off also. They're just wrecking my days. I feel sick and sluggish.

I stopped taking my immunosuppressants weeks ago because I need my immune system at the moment. The cold and this other deadly beast, flu (we've been spared), require extreme measures. I'm staying in but the immune system has to be loaded. 

The drawback, last night I touched the back of my left hand and screamed. It feels like there is a knife stuck between the second and third knuckles and the nerve is in bad shape. There is no sign of an injury, just unholy pain. I put a med called Pennsaid on it and then, covered it for the night with a patch containing the same. Today, let's just say the knife is smaller but I don't dare move it. I was concerned it might be all tissue related but I think it might be the joint and ligament inflamed. I need to be back on the meds soon.

This morning I got up and realized stopping the steroid was probably a good idea. I felt a bit better. I even managed to put away most of the laundry I've washed the last two weeks. Except for the sheets. The sheets are where things live that suck your energy. Probably baby Krakens. I'll get them. Eventually. 

What does all this foolishness mean? It means that precious little writing has happened in 2018. Say, none? Well, maybe a few words. I'd have to check the calendar. I began with good intentions and if you go back and read every year for, well a while, during the first few months of any year, you will see this sort of thing happens every single time. I'm pretty sure now that something is out to get me. 

Just because I'm paranoid, doesn't mean I'm wrong. I'm not letting it get me down this time. I'm hanging on to one thing. This cold will pass. Winter will end. The air will warm up. The Krakens will go back to Norway. I'll try and head to the Gulf for a bit. 

I'll take my computer with me.

30 Days of Shorts - Day 3: The Fourth

Courtesy PublicDomain.net

The smell of smoke drifted across the yard and titillated my nose. I opened my eyes and stared up at the blue sky dotted with drifts of white clouds. I could hear burgers sizzling on the grill. Shifting my head slightly I looked in that direction.

On the patio, John stood at the grill, his flag apron flapping gently in the breeze as he stood watch over his burgers. Red, white, and blue linens covered the table. A few feet away, a second table held condiments, utensils, and vibrant plates, cups, and bowls. Fruit, cakes, pies, veggie trays, and packs of buns staggered throughout. I sighed and looked back at the sky.

Half a dozen children were giggling and playing in the sandbox and on the swing at the far back of the yard. My lounge chair was near the side yard, between the house and the play area. I could relax here, in slight solitude with my book, on a small table at my elbow, and a glass of iced tea. Eventually, chaos would ensue, once the children decided they wanted the sprinklers on. My own children were inside watching a movie while their children enjoyed the more common pursuits of a summer holiday.

I looked at the flag flying high over my house. It was such a beautiful thing. John had insisted on a flag pole that was higher than the roof. Upon his return from Vietnam, his disillusionment with his country grew; he was angry at its betrayal of the men who sacrificed their youth, families, health, and lives because they elected leaders who didn't share their ideals. He had been one of the last sent over and one of the last to come home, and he had not experienced as much trauma as many of his friends. But it had been enough.

He'd left the military with bitterness and regret. But when the towers came down and the reaction of the country was indignation and swift reaction to terrorism on American soil, John had put up his flagpole and the Stars and Stripes flew over our home. For a time, it had flown over virtually every home in the country. It would always fly over whatever land John resided on. It has saddened him that much of the nation folded many of those flags and stuffed them in drawers, forgotten, like the men who fought for it for 200 years.

Now they were burning it and John was ready to go back to war, this time with his own nation. He was so sick of the disrespect and dishonor heaped on that flag hourly. The latest images on the news had nearly caused him to have a stroke. For days he'd stomped around the house, snapping at everyone who irritated him. Our oldest son lived up the street and was so worried about his father that he came every day at sunset, when his dad took the flag down to assist him.

I watched him flip the burger, and he turned to smile at the children and then waved at me. I waved back.

I wondered what other people, non-military people, thought when they looked at military families. Did they see the fierce love of the country it takes to serve for years in strange places where you have no family, no friends, no home?

Did they know the fear those men felt as they sat in dark shacks, in strange lands, hated and despised by people who would kill them without a moment's thought? Did they know the grief they felt when they looked at the dirty, torn photos of their families?

Did they see the fear of the wives, sometimes husbands or parents, sending their loved ones to places from which they may never return? Did they know the terror of never getting even a dead body back?

How could anyone even guess? We protected them from the realities, never talked about it. We don't have marches, protests, parades spouting our fears, hates, and frustrations. The ones left behind fight as well. We, too, are the strong, the proud. Do people understand that we lie awake at night and pray our husband or child will not drive over a bomb, get hit by missiles, shot by a sniper, or have their head cut off by an insane animal?

Did they even have a clue as to why we accepted the risks? Anyone would do it, right? We were Americans, standing for all that is good and right. When the oppressed won't fight for themselves, we fight for them. We die for people we owe nothing. Did they really think there's enough money in the world to compensate us? Did they really believe we reaped enough financial benefit for all we dealt with to serve them?

Did they wonder what we see when we look at them? The ungrateful, the unappreciative, the criminals, the mobs of fools? No. We knew those existed. We did it for a land that was worth saving, that many had already died to shape. We did it to give hope to those who sought freedom and safety. We did it because there were some things worth fighting and dying for and this nation contains much of that within its borders. That despite the bad, it contains so much that is good.

I sighed. At least, it used to. I wasn't sure anymore. I think John was beginning to question it as well. Was anything worth fighting for anymore? We watched the things we'd held dear crumble, hatred burning up cities. And I watched my husband crumble with it. Men like him had bled out in muddy fields around the world for that scrap of cloth on a pole and the people she represented. Now, those people would take her and turn her to ash. What fools.

My children poured out the back door, demanding food. My husband laughed and received the slaps on the back from hungry sons. Grandchildren raced to the tables. Mothers gathered their chicks under their wings. I watched and wondered.

Above it all, she snapped in the breeze and I looked up. Our time of service was over, but one never forgot the value of those who served and we never forget what that symbol represented. We knew the value of this nation as no one else. We knew what it cost in blood, tears, and grief. We knew as long as that lady flew, we could enjoy another 4th of July with our family.

Long may she wave. God bless America.