Category Archives: Childhood Traumas

February 17, 2013 · 0:00

Beats the Alternative

One of my first bloggin’ buddies, Georgette of Georgette Sullins’ Blog tagged me for a blogging game.  My choice of morning activities was to respond or clean the house.  Guess which I chose.

The Rules:

1. Post these rules. (CHECK)
2. Post a photo of yourself and eleven random facts about you. (CHECK-ish)
3. Answer the questions given to you in the tagger’s post.  (CHECK)
4. Create eleven new questions and tag new people to answer them. (CHECK)
5. Go to their blog/twitter and let them know they have been tagged. (I’m goin’, I’m goin’)

Here’s me.  Sort of.

Yes, I'm a hairy beast. Mine is more blondish red, but same idea

Yes, I’m a hairy beast. Mine is more blondish red, but same idea
(Google image)

Eleven facts you may not know about me.

  1. No one has ever accused me of being neat.
  2. I went to secretarial school.
  3. People for whom I worked as a secretary in the 1970s are still trying to find stuff I filed.
  4. My interest in politics started during the Vietnam War but really took off in my freshman year of college when a professor suggested I take his course then next semester.  He thought I was brilliant, so I took his course for an easy “A.”  It was a course on the Kennedys  — the best history course I ever took.
  5. I cannot work on one thing all day.  My mind bounces around too much.  I call it a “Superball”; others say it’s ADHD.  You choose.
  6. My husband John and I were introduced by my old boyfriend, Erik; they worked together.  John and I often sat next to each other at firm functions and insulted each other mercilessly.  Erik used to get really mad at me because “other people just don’t understand that you are joking.”  John and I started dating 4-5 years after I broke up with the other guy.  The “people that didn’t understand” were a bit surprised.
  7. I was Daddy’s girl from the start.  I’m guessing conception.
  8. My brothers and sisters didn’t hate me because Daddy liked me best.  They used me to get Dad to say “yes” to something they wanted.  Worked for me.
  9. I routinely skipped school in 4th grade.
  10. I feel panicky whenever I have to drive across railroad tracks after living next to the NY-New Haven railroad line growing up.
  11. When we got bored just hopping across the railroad tracks when a train was approaching, my brother and I used to pull down our pants and then hop across the tracks in front of approaching trains.  Yup, every day is a gift.

Now, here are my answers to Georgette’s questions:

1. Did you have a cousin close in age to you?

Maureen, my mother’s sister Ruth’s daughter is 10 months older than me.  Aunt Ruth was a widow and she and Maureen spent most Sundays at our house.  Aunt Ruth was always placing Maureen and me back-to-back to see which was taller.  Of course Maureen always “won.”  It used to make me cry.  I didn’t like Maureen much as a kid.  We’re great friends now.

2. What was the first novel that transported you?

My sister Beth used to read my brother Fred and I the classics, right from the start, and I’ve always read voraciously.  But the first time I remember really consciously being aware of the power of words to transport was when I read Great Expectations.  I was then at the intersection between my own childhood and adolescence.  Dickens, who was clearly an adult when he wrote it, was able to go back so clearly and understandingly into Pip’s childhood feelings that I was comforted that I’d always be able to go back to mine.

3. Is the work you do to pay the bills a passion or practical?

My career has been completely accidental.  In my teens I dreamed of being an actress and a singer.  My mother worked in an office and it seemed like the worst sort of drudgery imaginable.  In my arrogance, I knew I was better than that.  More interesting.  More creative.  Smarter.  (See The Silver Lining – thankfully, I grew out of being such an ass.  Mostly.)

But I had health problems – colitis they thought (it’s actually Crohn’s).  I would always need health insurance and so my parents forced me, kicking and screaming, to secretarial school.

They were right.  I HAVE always needed health insurance.  But I managed to turn secretarial jobs into other (still office-bound) jobs that have been more rewarding and really interesting.  I have been incredibly lucky.

My current job is wonderful.  I get paid to write and to learn and to look at this wonderful view every day from my office window.

(Google image)

(Google image)

I have no complaints about taking the practical path.

4. Do you have a favorite country western song? If so, which is it?

5. If you could (or do) grow a garden would there be flowers or vegetables to fill it?

The only successful gardens I’ve ever had were vegetable ones.  There is nothing like the taste of that first tomato.

6. What would you like to see in the US that you haven’t seen yet? Or abroad?

In the US, I’d like to see some more of the west, particularly the National Parks – the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone (Jellystone would be nice, too 😉 I’d love to meet Yogi and Boo-boo)

In Europe, I’d love to see Rome.  But not when they’re trying to elect a Pope.

7. Have you ever caught a fish? If so, tell us about it.

One summer night when I was 7, our first summer living near the beach, my brother Fred grabbed me and we ran to the beach. There was a creek that ran with the tide, which was coming in.  Fish were swimming upstream to spawn.  The moon was full and shining off the silver scales of millions of fish.  We went in the water and caught one with our hands, took it home and put it in the bathtub.  We were going to keep it as a pet.  He(?) surprisingly died and we buried him in our garden that year.

I’ve never seen anything like it.  We never saw the fish migrate like that again — it was magical.  I think of it every time I see moonlight on water.

8. What’s your favorite breakfast, lunch or dinner meal?

Dinner:  Roast beef (medium rare) with gravy, egg noodles and green beans.  I don’t eat too much beef any more so it is a rare and wonderful treat when I do.

9. Have you been surprised recently? What surprised you? When?

Blogging has surprised me constantly since I started doing it.  I didn’t expect to make so many friends this way.

10. What is a state you have never traveled to, but you plan to visit someday?

Colorado.  I’ve never been and I love mountains.  It sounds like the perfect place.  I’d also love to visit the Pacific Northwest.

11. Is there a 2012, 2013 movie you would recommend?

Lincoln and the Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.

Now I get to ask questions:

  1. Were you closer to Mom or Dad (if you were spawned by aliens, please explain)
  2. There are moments in history that everyone alive at that time remember (for me it was the Kennedy assassination).  What was your first?
  3. Favorite pet ever
  4. Funniest quote
  5. Best insult you ever delivered and why the recipient deserved it.
  6. First memory
  7. What do you dislike most about blogging?
  8. Do your friends/family members read your blog?
  9. How would you be using your time right now if you weren’t answering my stupid questions
  10. Your dream job.
  11. What you expect to be reincarnated as in your next life?

And now, my victims.  Please feel free to ignore this or do it.  It is your choice.  I will not be hurt, I will not, in fact, stop stalking you.  I chose folks I thought would continue speaking to me after naming them.  If you’re not on it, you weren’t forgotten.   But feel free to answer my questions.  Feel free, in fact to make up your own.

Benze from Benzeknees

Carrie of The Write Transition

Cheryl of Crumb Snatcher Tales

Chris of Word Play

Cooper of Security is for Cadavers

Courtney of The adventures of Miss Widget

GOF from The Bucket

Guap of Guapola

Janice of Aurora Morealis

John of Johnbalaya

Lisa from The Big Sheep Blog

Michelle of The Green Study

Peg of  Peg-o-Leg’s Ramblings

Rara of Rarasaur.

Revis of Stuphblog

Sandy of Sandy like a Beach

S7 of Speaker 7

Tops from Life With The Top Down

TwinDaddy of Stuphblog

Val of QBG Tilted Tiara

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Filed under Bloggin' Buddies, Books, Childhood Traumas, Family, Humor, Music, Pets, Stupidity, Word Press

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February 9, 2013 · 0:00

What’s In A Name?

Shakespeare never had a dog.

No, if he’d had a dog he would never have had Juliet say “What’s in a name…”

Because you see, there is something about naming a dog that makes people choose poorly.

I was reminded of just how poorly recently at the park.  John and I were walking our dog Cooper by the river when we came upon a couple with a Giant Schnauzer walking in the opposite direction.  Their dog and Coops had met before, but I hadn’t asked the dog’s name.  This time I did.

“It’s, ummmm …” said the owner with a sigh, “Gladiator.”

I fussed over Gladiator, petted him, let the dogs sniff and even smooch a little bit and then we continued on our way.

As we walked away, I chuckled to John, “Oh I remember feeling like that.”

“Like what?”

“Embarrassed to have to introduce my dog,” I responded, thinking of Goliath, my alcoholic German Shepherd.  (John will never stop laughing at me for having chosen that name.)

It was a stupid name.  And I chose it.  For the first time in my life, I had a pet with a stupid name and I couldn’t blame someone else.

Well, I could, actually.  And I did.  You see, I had brunch with some friends one Sunday.  We were talking about Saturday morning cartoons, what we liked, what we didn’t like when Frank brought up “Davy and Goliath.”  For the folks in the room, Frank described Davy and Goliath:

“It was a Christian-based show where Davy, the boy, always wanted to do something a little bit wrong or dangerous.  His dog, Goliath, served as his guardian angel.  Whenever Davy wanted to do something of questionable intelligence, Goliath was always there saying ‘I don’t know, Davy,’ and tilting his head to indicate that the idea was pretty stupid. “

I realized then and there that I wanted a guardian angel.  I wanted someone who would protect me and stop me from doing stupid things.  I wanted ‘Goliath.’

Fortunately, a few days later, I found him.  My dream dog.  A German-shepherd/Malamute mix puppy who was about 4-1/2 months old.  Trouble was, he was a wee bit psychotic.  And huge.  Unfortunately, I DID name him “Goliath.”  (Goliath I am sad to say became an alcoholic.  I wrote about it here.)

His right ear usually flopped over making him look ridiculous

I loved that dog.  But almost immediately I hated introducing him, because he grew into his name.  He was huge.  And having a huge, psychotic dog named Goliath doesn’t get you into the best parties.

Naturally, I blamed Frank the next time I saw him.  It was, after all, all his fault.

It wasn’t my first experience with a stupid dog name.  Growing up, my father had for reasons nobody ever really understood, named one of our dogs Oklahoma.  None of us had ever been there; we speculated years later that perhaps there was a college football game on TV.  No, Dad would never tell us why, but we had a dog named Oklahoma.  Okie for short.

Next time around, my brother Fred was in his hippie, metaphysical stage.  I will not say that drugs had anything to do with the fact that he named our next dog Klingsor, after a Hermann Hesse novel.  I was always a little bit thankful that the dog’s name wasn’t Siddhartha, although that would have made me a hit with a certain crowd.  Dad, however, in a rich bit of irony from the man who named Oklahoma, thought it was a stupid name and modified it.  Dad always called Klingsor “Mr. Klink,” after the colonel on Hogan’s Heroes.

Klingsor

For sheer embarrassment at the back door, though, my friend Keily had a dog with another ridiculous name.  Her sister had been given the honor of naming their puppy, and Rose thought that she should name it after something she loved.  She named the dog “Baseball.”

Try shouting out any of these names for your dog when you’re calling him to come in from the back yard.  Everybody in the neighborhood hears you calling your dog.  You shout: “OKLAHOMA!” and neighbors want to shoot you because they get that damn song stuck in their heads every single time.  They hear you calling “BASEBALL!” and realize that your family is in a league all their own.  They hear you calling “KLINGSOR!” and think you are having a bad reaction to LSD.  They hear you calling “KLINK!” think you’re looking outside for a TV character and realize that the neighborhood is going to the dogs.

They hear you calling “GOLIATH!” and become convinced that you do, in fact, need a guardian angel.  Or a straight jacket and a padded cell.

As the owner of one of these dogs, you want to hide under a rock.  You want to pretend you’re dog-sitting.  You want to let everybody know that you didn’t give that dog that stupid-ass name, even if you did, in fact, give it to him.

You know how you’re supposed to learn from your mistakes?  Well, dog owners don’t necessarily.

After Goliath died, John and I of course needed a dog.  Jacob was a year old, and we researched big dogs that are good with kids.  We decided to get a Bernese Mountain Dog because they’re great with kids, beautiful, and tend to not try to kill the mailman like Goliath did.

It was of course the olden days.  Before email, the interwebs, and modern communications.  We found a breeder who had a puppy.  She sent a picture to us by mail, to see if we were interested in driving 5 hours to see him in person and possibly take him home.   I ripped open the envelope the minute it arrived and called John:

“He is the cutest puppy in the world.  We have to get him. 

And we have to name him “Adolf.”

I can still imagine John sitting at his office desk, pulling back the telephone receiver and looking into it thinking “I married a mad woman.”

But tell me, what would you have thought if you’d received this picture:

I mean, really now. What would your first thought have been?

I mean, really now. What would your first thought have been?

Fortunately, while still on the phone telling John we had to get the cute little guy, I realized that Charlie Chaplin also sported that same mustache, and so the puppy that we did in fact bring into our family, became Charlie.  Phew!  That was a close one.

To William Shakespeare I will say this.  What’s in a name?  Long term embarrassment if you’re not careful.

***

Loyalty demands that I include a picture of Cooper, my now elderly but still incredibly sweet dog, pictured with his big brother Jacob.  Cooper was, thankfully, named by his breeder.

Jacob & Cooper in Alps

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Filed under Childhood Traumas, Cooper, Dogs, Family, Goliath Stories, Humor, Pets, Stupidity, Wild Beasts

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February 6, 2013 · 0:00

I’m a Serial Killer

Oh Lord.  I’m not quite sure how to handle the guilt.  Will I need therapy?  Drugs?  Electric shock treatments?

I considered going to confession.  But as a lapsed Catholic I didn’t want to risk it.

You can't be too careful

You can’t be too careful

What will happen to me?  To my family?  How will my husband, my son, my brothers, live with the shame of being family members of one such as me.

And what if I go to jail?  I’ve never been, but I’ve watched enough prison movies to know I wouldn’t do well there.  I won’t  last long at all.  The other cons will hate me and make sure I pay dearly.

But it’s not my fault.  I didn’t know.  If I had, I know I’d have lived my life differently.

You see today I learned that I am a serial killer. You’d think I might have noticed before now, wouldn’t you?  That I’d be scurrying around, digging holes in the basement floor or the back yard. That I would be having all sorts of bonfires.  That at a minimum I would have purchased a wood-chipper to dispose of the evidence.

Nope.  It wasn’t necessary.

You see, I have been carrying the bodies around with me for decades.  No wonder I’m tired all the time.

I know you didn’t listen to the video.  But you should have.  Because then you’d know that because I have used birth control pills – contraceptives – Pastor Kevin Swanson thinks I am a serial murderer with a uterus filled with dead fetuses.

Ewwwww.  Got any Massengil?

Make mine a double!

Make mine a double!

 *   *   *

Tell me, is there a contest going on to see which right-wing fanatic can say the stupidest thing ever heard by mankind?

Do I get a vote?

Because this comment is clearly a contender.

All images from Google.  Thanks Google!

86 Comments

Filed under Childhood Traumas, Health and Medicine, Hypocrisy, Science, Stupidity

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January 19, 2013 · 0:00

Appreciation

For a while, I’ve kind of wondered why the issue of gun sanity makes me so, well, crazy mad.  More than any of the other issue I feel strongly about, this one runs the deepest in my heart.

But thanks to Lisa of Life with the Top Down who commented on my last gun control piece and told the story of her father-in-law leaving a loaded gun in a drawer where her young son found it, I figured it out.  (Lisa’s story ended happily, thankfully.)

Yes Lisa reminded me of one of my own stories.  One of my earliest memories, in fact.  A clear as a bell memory where I am inside my own head as I acted out the events.  Remembering it made me wonder if this might explain why I feel so strongly that guns should be handled, well, differently in the U.S. than they are today.

So here is my story.

It was summer, probably 1960, but maybe 1959.  I was playing in my backyard with Debbie A who lived next door.  I didn’t really like Debbie.  Nobody did.  She was argumentative and we always fought.  Everyone always fought with Debbie.  But that day, Debbie said something that made me mad.  Really, really mad.  And so I went into the house to get my Dad’s gun so I could shoot her.  I don’t remember wanting to kill her; I just wanted to shoot her.

I went into the house, past my mother who was doing dishes, watching us out the back window.  And I opened the drawer where I knew my dad kept his gun.  He had been in the Navy in WWII, and he had kept his gun.  I knew that.  I was sure of it.  And I knew exactly where it was, too.  It was in the bottom drawer in the den.  And I was gonna get it.

Dad's Gun

But I couldn’t find it anywhere.  I emptied the drawer but couldn’t find it.  I asked my brother, Fred, who tried to help me find it.  Finally I asked my mother, who told me with a laugh, “there’s no gun in this house!”

I was crushed.  Disappointed.  I really wanted to shoot Debbie.

Years later I told my Dad the story.  His eyes widened when he thought of what might have been.  Would I have accidentally shot myself?  Would I have mistakenly blown my wonderful brother away?    Would my mother have been blasted as I headed out the door to shoot Debbie?

Would I have shot Debbie?

Dad told me that he had kept his navy revolver, but only for a short while.  When my mother first got pregnant he got rid of it.  “Kids and guns don’t mix,” he said.  “That’s a recipe for disaster.” He was right.

I was 3-1/2.  What would my life have been like had I found the gun?  How many other lives would have been ended or ruined by my action?  My really delightful childhood would have been much, much different if I had murdered someone before even starting kindergarten.

So today, on “Gun Appreciation Day” I celebrate my Dad, who was a smart guy.  Thanks Dad, for protecting me (and who knows who else) from myself.  Because you were right — kids and guns don’t mix.  Trouble is, a lot of the adults who have them don’t mix well with guns, either.

This song is about fathers.   Not guns.  It is beautiful, though.  And it makes me think of my Dad and the wise choices he made that helped me navigate life.

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Filed under Childhood Traumas, Criminal Activity, Family, Gun control, Neighbors, Stupidity

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January 13, 2013 · 0:00

Before the Fall

It was 1977 when I first lost my pride completely, medically speaking.  January 23, if I’m remembering correctly.

And as happens in so many of my stories, I was in the hospital.  This time in one outside of Boston.  Nineteen seventy-six/seven was a big year for me, my first living on my own away from my parents, my first real boyfriend, my first taste of independence.

My first time dealing with my shitty illness on my own.

This particular hospitalization (my second) was actually a pivotal experience in my life.  I came out of those doors a different person, a better person.  I think back on it fondly  This one afforded me the opportunity not just to be treated for my colitis-that-was-actually-Crohn’s, but time to reflect on life.

The hospitalization did not start out well.  It was the day after my birthday when the doctor informed me that I needed to go in.  I was terrified, because my first and only previous hospitalization was the stuff of nightmares – nearly 40 years’ worth.

Besides, I was already pretty low.  Things were already rocky with my boyfriend Mark.  When I went into the hospital he refused to come and visit me.  It was exam time, and he needed to study.  The hospital was directly in between his dorm room and the library.  Hardly a major effort was involved in stopping by, giving me a kiss, and going on his way.

So I dumped him.  (Last I heard via Google he is a senior executive for a huge tech corporation.  He is, I’m sure, now a multimillionaire asshole.)

Anyway, there I was, sick, sad, lonely.  I had just moved to Boston and knew almost no one.  Nobody came to visit me in the hospital.  I was pathetic and very lonely.

But the resident in charge of my case made up for it.  He was wonderful.  He was cute.  He was compassionate and caring and he had a mad crush on me according to the nurses who know everything.  And I, fresh from dumping an asshole was flattered by the attention.  OK, I was madly in love with him.  Dr. J. Sigh.

My treating physician was really terrific, and he had a name that began my list of weird doctor names:  “Dr. Lesser.”  If I’d have had my wits about me, I would have requested “Dr. Moore.”   But I was sick, so I didn’t.

Anyway, Dr. Lesser was examining me, and he decided to do a sigmoidoscopy right then and there in my hospital bed.  A sigmoidoscopy is a test to check out the lower colon.  I affectionately dubbed “the umbrella test” because when your lower colon is raw, as mine was, having a sigmoidoscopy is like having someone shove an umbrella up your ass, open it, and pull it out.

So anyway, Dr. Lesser had me get into position.  The knee-chest position, which is a misnomer.  It should really be called the “Swallow your pride” position.  Head on the pillow, butt, bare-assed above you in the air.

KneeChest2

Google Image. Not me. Really.
I’d be screaming bloody murder.

Dr. Lesser was putting on his gloves to start the exam when I heard a voice that made my heart pitter-patter say:

“Oh, can I do it?” said the man I had been madly in love with 30 seconds earlier.

Shit.

The new love of my life wanted to stick instruments of torture up my ass.  All I can say is he nipped that crush in the bud.  Or the butt.

That was the first time I totally lost my pride, medically speaking.

In retrospect,  I don’t really mind.  Or I’ve gotten used to it.  It makes for good stories that I can tell again and again so that I can relive the most humiliating moments of my life.

Since then there have been countless times when I lost my pride in a medical setting.  Illness does that to you – and when it is poop related, well, the opportunities for humiliation are bottomless.  You become a pin cushion, a warm body filled with vile fluids and other unfortunate materials.  A specimin.  A black hole of embarrassment.

As I said, I’m OK with that.  Because in order for doctors and other medical professionals to make me better, and for others to learn how to do that, well, they need to poke around in places where I don’t normally encourage exploration.  So I always say “yes” to the gangs of medical students that want to crowd around my bed while some doctor does something weird to me.  Pokes, prods, whatever.  (I have never had another in-bed umbrella test, though, thank God.)  “The rounds” is where doctors learn how to treat patients, what medicines to prescribe, whether they really want to spend their careers looking at the dark end of the human body.  It is helpful, and really everybody benefits.

One plus I’ve found is that these young doctors often come back around to chat with me individually.  It alleviates some of the loneliness inherent in being hospitalized.  Sometimes I have felt more comfortable telling them things I should have told my doctor – it gets filtered back through, and my treatment is adjusted appropriately.

Teaching is good in medicine, whether it is doctor to resident or patient to doctor.  An exchange of information benefits everybody.

I recently read an article about a woman named Martha Keochareon who has done the most amazing thing, knowing from a nursing point of view just how humiliating sickness can be.  And you know, I honestly want to be just like her, although not any time soon.

The article, entitled Fatally ill and making herself the lesson is the finest example of just caring medical professionals can be.  Because it’s about a nurse who decided to invite student nurses from her alma mater to use her as a case study.  To let student nurses learn about end of life care from someone who can give them a first-hand lesson in how to deal with death and dying from someone who is facing both.

You see, Ms. Keochareon is dying of pancreatic cancer.  The students were invited to feel her tumor, but most importantly, they were encouraged to ask her anything.  Anything at all.  How does it feel to get the diagnosis?  How does it feel to know you’re dying?  Does it hurt?  Where does it hurt?  Can I make you any more comfortable?  What can I do to help make you feel better?

Imagine the questions we all might be too uncomfortable to ask just anyone.  Ms. Keochareon is inviting a few lucky students who will benefit most from understanding those answers – they will then be better prepared to help ease others’ pain and suffering.

Throughout my many ordeals with health problems, there is one thing that always stands out.  The nurses.  Their caring, their help, their comforting touches and words, their cheerful attitudes.

But this is the most heartwarming story I’ve ever heard.

Ms. Keochareon has given these student nurses, and really the rest of us, a huge service.  With all of my heart, I am in awe of this gift, and I hope that what time she has left allows her to pass on the lessons she knows are so very important to teach.  She has opened a door to help us understand and accept dying as a real part of life.  That is something I believe our society prefers to forget.  But it doesn’t let us.

And with this gift, I’m also pretty sure Ms. Keochareon gets to keep her pride intact.

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Filed under Childhood Traumas, Crohn's Disease, Health and Medicine, Humor

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