Halloween

Halloween, October 31st every year. As with many holidays and festivals Halloween has roots in pagan practices. It has evolved into an evening of going door to door for candy, dressed up in costumes both scary and cute. It is fun.

As a child I remember getting dressed up in home made costumes. I was a pirate, a bum (what a lack of PC awareness we had then), a robot, a ballerina, a princess. I never really got scary costumes. I have always been somebody who has nightmares if I watch scary movies and get the heeby jeebies in the dark. Getting dressed as something that terrified me was not something I would do.

As an adult I dressed as a nun, as a sheet covered ghost, as a scarecrow. I handed out candy and carved pumpkins. Did you know that the first jack-o-lanterns were made of either potatoes or beets? (I am a cornucopia of useless trivia.) My brother and his family go all out for Halloween and it was fun being around them as they draped huge spiderwebs on their porch and hung gigantic spiders from it. I get a kick out of people who put tombstones in their front yards and have been in garages that look like grottoes.

Lately I have been more and more bothered by what appears to me to be the celebration of death and demons. Maybe it's because of Marvin's passing, maybe I am just getting old. Maybe it's the creepy idea that demons are real and dangerous and I don't want to open myself to that kind of negativity. I don't know.

This year I did absolutely nothing for halloween. I felt good about it.

Orange Cranberry Bread

It amazes or maybe it dismayses me (Yes, I make up words) that it is a Holiday - a 3 day weekend, a Monday.. whatever, and I have heard from only 3 people in the last week. All of them wanted something, and when they got their yes or their no, their service or their denial.. it was the last heard from them. Have I set myself up to be a service creature? I must have. Who else could have doe this to me? Nobody - me.

Having said that I guess I have to honestly admit that I don't mind being a service creature. There is something to be said for being the reliable one that folks know. There is a sense of accomplishment in knowing that I am the one that can be counted on when stuff needs to get done.

What I mind is being only a service creature. I would like to be more. I would like to be the one to call and chat with. I would like to be the one that gets invited to go along. I would like to be the one that folks like to stop by with a loaf of really yummy, still warm orange-cranberry bread. I would like to be the one whose house is where friends congregate over the kitchen table to catch up.

Ah, so now we get to the crux of it. I've been gone for the last 15 years. My friends have other friends now and the ones that don't, I really don't need to reconnect with. The kitchen table is empty because I have no friends left in this area. I have friends in other parts of the sate and in other parts of the country. It's true - I have friends. It's just that none of them are here.

My kids are here, but, oddly, they have adult lives. My grandsons are terrific and I love spending time with them, but they are at the mercy of their mothers' schedules. I really do enjoy the boys. 18 mos and 4 years. Terrific kids. They (kids and grandkids) are not included in this pity party because they are pure breathing, walking joy.

So I will be the spare room when one is needed or the car or the wallet or the protector, or even the babysitter. Why? Because I like it. So there. I like it! It makes me feel good to be able to contribute to the quality of somebody else's life. So shoot me.

Still, a phone call would be nice. Maybe I'll go make some orange-cranberry bread....

What the heck?!? A bitch blog.

OK, so where is it written that problems have to all hit at one time? Why can't they line up and take turns, with a sweet little pause in between so I can catch my breath?



My car is a wonderful vehicle. But it's a little older and has issues. the check engine light won't go off, the fluid levels won't stay up. The driver's side window has fallen down into the door, requiring the purchase of an expensive ribbon-looking devise to hold it in place. Gas mileage is horrible and I can't take it anywhere non-local for fear that it will simply... die. I took the kids to Rochester a few weeks back - 45 minute drive. It caused one of the tires to explode! Not a flat tire, noooo. Literally the side wall of the tire blew off on the thruway at 65 miles per hour. Want to see? Look to the left. I am not kidding - just blew up.




Now, we were on our way to the closest 5Guys and that may or may not have been a Sign from God that perhaps He does not want my arteries clogged with animal fat. So I'll take this one. But since then the window thing happened and check engine light and.. you get the idea. Recently in a very scary thunderstorm, I was required to get creative in protecting my vehicle from the elements. Would you like to see that? hmmmm?

I have been advised to trade it in. One problem - it's paid for. It's mine - outright. I can't afford a car payment. Period. I can barely afford the insurance (liability only) on this one. I live in Buffalo.. 'nuf said.


My knee has been the source of pain and restriction since I hurt it at work on April 9, 2010. I torn the meniscus in my left knee - twice. the first time was pushing a non-electric bed back from Radiology with a guy in in who had a chest tube. Bed went one way, I went the other, my knee twisted, popped, but i kept going. Got the guy back to his room, iced myself down and finished my shift. Limping, but it was Friday, had the weekend off and Monday too - rest, ice, elevate. I know what to do. Been a nurse for 35 years and don't know how to do this? pshawww. Tuesday back to work - feeling better, call light goes off right next to me. I turned into to the room to answer it and pop. No, that's not true - it was POP in my left knee. Emergency Room via wheelchair. X-Rays negative. Cannot bear weight. Employee health gives me the list of doctors and off I go to see the orthopedic guy who tells me I need an MRI. Surgery, PT and here I am - limping, sore and still not working. So what, right? Didn't I get in the mail today notification that Work Comp is requesting an IME?? Independent medical Exams are requested by insurance companies when they think that the patient whose wages they are partially covering are full of shit and need to get back to work and stop whining. July 15, 2010 @ 0930 I have an appointment with their doctor. I must bring with me every scrap of evidence that i shouldn't go back to pushing beds and wiping butts immediately. It should be fine - I am genuinely not faking, so that should be obvious, but it's more freaking stress! No pictures - sorry.

Social Security Administration. These vipers are amazing! Background story. Marvin E. Lewis died Thanksgiving morning 2006, leaving behind a grieving widow (me) and a daughter who may never recover from that trauma of losing her Dad so young. She was 14. On the advise of Hospice ( Thank GOD for them - they are wonderful. Donate to them. ) I applied to Social Security for survivors benefits for both of us. We were, of course, approved. I got a job before I ever saw the first check for me, but Krystina's checks started in March 2007 and continued without pause monthly. They were not big, but they allowed her to have some of the stuff that she would have otherwise have gone without - glasses, boxing lessons, field trips, like that. But I digress. One year later the decision was made that she would go live with her birth mother. That's a whole other blog and we will NOT explore that here. I gave her the $400. in savings that I had set aside for Krys and her SS checks started the next month at her new home in Buffalo. No problem, right?

Fast forward to present. Social Security wants $8,608 from me saying that I was overpaid. WHAT!!?? Never happened. I called them and they would not discuss it with me because I was no longer Krystina's legal guardian. Today in the mail - my wages are being garnished for $8,608. starting immediately. On what planet can these things happen? How can there be no recourse - no hearing, no process? I am just to quietly sit back and let this happen? I don't even know what to do next. I cannot afford a lawyer - I'm out on Work Comp - and that is under review.

Money. Let me tell the truth. When I have money I am able to pay my bills and do normal things, like pick up a little outfit for my grandkids, I am happy. Simple things like put blinds on my windows and .. oh I dunno - get the car fixed. That is not the case now - and hasn't been for a while. Since moving back to Buffalo I have struggled financially in ways that I only saw on TV. I lived with my daughter, son-in-law and brand new baby for the first few months back here. During that time, my job was delayed and my car totalled by a Buffalo Police Cruiser. Delightful. I got my apartment 3 months later, but could not afford gas, so I boiled water on the stove and bathed in the sink. I had no refrigerator or stove, but made do with a microwave, hot plate and a styrofoam cooler until one of my daughter's friends gave me a camper fridge from his garage. Wonderful - seriously - it was heavenly. I have not been able to do any of the things I used to take for granted. Out to Lunch is a memory. Vacation is a fantasy. Road trip... well - see above. :-) Money is a tool, not a goal - that has always been my view of it. Still is. But now I have an empty toolbox and it doesn't look like it will ever be useful again. i have about 2K in retirement saved, no savings, have sold everything valuable to keep utilities on and a roof over my head. I am out of options. Only God can provide at this point.

Lonely I can tell you from lonely. I miss Marvin every single day of my life. Every breath I take is a reminder that he cannot. He used to say, "All we have is each other." He said it so often that I believed it. Now what, smartass? I am that miserable creature in the corner, covered in ashes. I am "that lady". Don't feel sorry for me, though, because i put myself here. I put all my eggs in one basket. I painted myself into a corner. Pick a metaphor - it applies.

I can't imagine going on the prowl for a new husband, I cannot bear this feeling of being alone. I don't have the juts-pa to turn tricks, and am not slender or cute enough to be a Cougar. So I sit in the house, waiting for Physical Therapy appointments. I go nowhere, I do nothing. Alone.

Maybe that's the idea - maybe I am supposed to be reduced to utter despair so that God is the only one I can turn to in all of creation. It's a really cruel plan if it is true. I don't believe that God is intentionally cruel. So back to square 1 - What the heck?!?

Time Starts Now

Today's blog is neither amusing or insightful. It is.. a personal update.

I have spent the last 2 days sitting in my house. I have gone nowhere, done nothing, contributed nothing to anyone. I have spent no time in deep contemplative thought. I have scrubbed nothing. I have accomplished nothing. I'm OK with all that for right now.

I spend a great deal of time and energy over the last month running to and fro. Fixing, correcting, carrying, facilitating, cajoling, encouraging, visiting. For someone who is out of work, I have been on the go more than when I was working. There is something deeply wrong with that picture. It is lopsided. I am off work to recover from a work-acquired injury that required surgery to fix. I am supposed to be gently working my knee in PT back to a state that will enable it to take me back to work. Instead, I have used it as an excuse to "do" for everyone but myself.

I am exhausted. I have taken two days to rest. Tomorrow it starts again. I am making a promise to myself here and now. I will be kinder to myself. I will be considerate of myself. I have run my poor old body into the ground, and that is poor stewardship, indeed. A friend of mine used to say that we can start over fresh, anytime we want to. he would say, "Time starts now." I like that. Although I am more of a technology person, and a reset button has charm, I declare that Time Starts Now.

I have battled depression over the years. I have taken medication from time to time and it works for awhile. I was told that as a Christian all the joy I need is in God. I believe that. I guess that makes me a SAD-Ventist. Christian and still sad. When it gets to the point that I do not get off the couch, bathe or eat for days on end, however, it is time to do something differently. So if I am starting Time over, I also vow here and now, to seek some medical help. I am really no good to anyone like this, and certainly not to myself. Marvin was able to shake me out of it. I think he is the only one who ever has been able to. Somebody asked me if I miss him. My response was and is, "Only when I breathe." I also used to be able to go to the garden and get dirty and sweaty. Plant something, weed something, pick something and feel SO much better. I don't have a yard here in the city. Oh well.

Most of what I have lost over the last couple of years is "stuff". I really don't care that much about stuff. The house, the cars, the electronics - things I had to sell to make ends meet. Who cares? It's the people I have lost that really take it's toll. Marvin's passing, Krystina leaving to live with her mother. Some of these things cannot be helped. Some may have been preventable if I had only done things differently. But I didn't. So if Time is to start Now, I need to hit the reset button on regrets and self-recrimination as well.

Oh! Good news - I have been 30 days now without smoking cigarettes. Yeas - I know - BAD-Ventist. It's a disgusting habit I picked up years ago and in times of stress I backslide. So shoot me. I have been 30 days without it again and that is an accomplishment.

Stay tuned - I'll let you know how it all works out.

Sue

Breaking Chains

When my father was born, there were knuckle marks across his tiny pink forehead. They were there because his father had punched his mother in the belly in an effort to kill the brat that was growing inside her. He was premature and injured. Amazingly, there was another son born after him!

Some things I will never understand about being Catholic. This is one of them. Birth control - bad. Giving birth to babies that you hate before they are even here and intend to destroy physically, spiritually and emotionally - good. Now before anybody gets their panties in a knot - I am personally against abortion, BUT I will fight for the right of each and every woman to make that decision for herself. That makes me, by definition - PRO-CHOICE. That's right - I said it. I chose to have my children. As I get older I realize that my choice to continue my pregnancies was in response to that same still small voice that tells me that abortion is the wrong choice for me. I also want to make very clear that I do not believe that all Catholics hate their kids, abuse their kids, neglect their kids, or anything of the sort. In point of fact, I do not believe that ALL of Anyone will be or do Anything. It's stereotyping and it's disgusting. That was simply my grandparents life. When I asked why they had 3 children they didn't want I was told it was because they were Catholic.

My father grew up alright, but he always had a violent temper. A tiny vein on the left side of his forehead was often the only warning we had that things were about to go terribly wrong. He would line us up in the living room and whip us with the buckle end of his leather belt. He never gave a reason. It wasn't his responsibility to let us know what we had done - we should already know that. I got it, as the oldest, first and last. First for not stopping it to begin with. After all, as the oldest, I should know what my younger brothers were doing. Lastly I got it again for not telling on my brothers. My mother would be sent from the room, as she objected to this type of treatment. The two times I remember her intervening on our behalf, it went very badly for her. I've seen my mother struck, stabbed with a fork and with a screwdriver. To this day I cannot stand to see a child hit.

Having said that, I have to admit to smacking my own kids. I don't think I was ever abusive. It felt like it to me every time I did it though, not because there were the bruises or blood I had grown up with, but because of the rage I felt when doing it. It is an unreasoning rage that builds up and explodes. Awareness of the abuse I had suffered probably kept me from doing any real damage to bodies. But I carry that guilt with me every single day of my life. It's like an old backpack strapped to me and filled with canned goods. It's heavy. It wears me down. I feel like I can never atone for it.

Being Christian I know that I can be forgiven for these things. I truly am sorry. But I cannot seem to forgive myself. I pray every day that my children, who are now grown, do not hit their kids. I haven't seen any signs of this ghastly behavior so far. I thank God for that Mercy. I also know that my children, now grown, are at greater risk of being in abusive relationships themselves. Other than being a kind support and an open door, there is nothing I can do about that but watch and pray.

It is my hope that the chain of familial violence ends with me. I would happily take all those beatings again if they could be the last.

Where's My Casserole?

At the ripe old age of thirty, with 4 children, an ex-husband who was totally absent and no hope in the world of getting out of the crumbling housing projects of Tonawanda, I decided to go to college. I never said I was bright, or that my timing was good, or even that I deserved to pursue a degree. I just said I went. It was a struggle unlike any I had gone through before or since. Four small kids (all under 6) and starting school. I cannot today tell you what I was thinking. Working full time at night, Food Stamps, Medicaid, Coop'ing babysitting with other single moms and now.. what? college? Really?

I majored in Political Science for 2 reasons, none more important that the other. I knew that a BA in Poli Sci could get me into Law School and I liked to argue. I seemed to have an opinion about nearly everything. So it made sense at that time in my life to head toward law school. Like eveything else in my life, my plans became dust. But I get ahead of myself here.

I took my Poli Sci classes and hated every minute of every one. I envy people who enjoy History and Economics and all the crap that goes into a degree like that. But it wasn't me. I did well enough. i had a 3.6 average. In order to fill in the gaps in my schedule, keep the financial aid rolling in, I took Sociology classes. Now those were fun! The study of the behaviors of groups of people. Not individuals, but large, sampled groups. Amazing, thrilling and fun! In my Junior year I met with my PS advisor who pointed out to me that I was way off the mark in graduating on time in my chosen field, but was 3 classes away from a degree in Sociology. What!? I switched majors with a quickness. I never regretted that decision. Many others, but never that one.

One of the classes I took was Sociology of the Family. We talked about all kinds of things in that class. My professor was a single Dad who had fought long and hard for custody of his son. He liked to talk about how happy he was to be that single parent. he talked about the joy his son brought him every day. He talked about how all his female colleagues would ooh and aah over him, heaping him with praise for raising one child all by himself. He talked about how the neighbor ladies would bring casseroles to his house so he wouldn't have to cook after a hard day at work.

Where was my praise? Where was my oohs and aahs? Where was my freaking' casserole? It occurred to me then, in the finest Sociology thinking, that there seemed to be a status difference between how single fathers and single mothers were perceived. Single fathers were heroes who were to be lauded and supported. Single mothers were whores or alcoholics - why else would their husbands leave them? I wanted to do my research on just that. I came up with a proposal, wrote it up and took it to my new Sociology advisor for approval. She said it was ridiculous and I should try to find something that wasn't so obviously crap. I tried to defend my idea and she told me, "You can't bullshit a bullshitter. Find something else."

How was I to know that she was one of the admirers of this guy, that she had actually been a casserole-bearer? Well shit. That's just how things go in Sue's World. I'm still waiting for my casserole.

Shoulda Married the Jew

My parents met. Well, of course my parents met. Otherwise I wouldn't be writing this. Start over. It was 1955. My mother was a good girl from the West Side - not the surly West Side, but the nice part between Elmwood and Delaware. Near Nardin. She had a poodle skirt, saddle shoes and and was in the choir at two churches. She had a voice like an angel and could play the piano. Her name was Kathy and she almost always had her little sister, Nancy with her. She was dating a Jewish boy whose name is not spoken. He Who Must Not Be Named was the love of her life. He took her on boat rides and treated her like a queen.

My father, Eugene, was a Fonzi-type guy from the East Side - Lovejoy area to be exact. He drove a candy apple red convertible , wore his hair in a DA and rolled his Lucky Strike cigarettes up in his sleeve. He was every mother's nightmare. Devilishly good looking, smooth talking, well traveled and broke. He was back from serving in the Marines (Korean War) and was scoping the action in the "rich" part of town. He and his brother, Bob were driving down Elmwood on a warm spring day, cruising for some hot babes.

Elmwood, to this day, is a great place to meet people. It has an artsy feel to it. It is a tree lined street with generous sidewalks and lots of places to stop for coffee, drinks, whatever the occasion calls for. On this spring day in 1955 it also had Kathy and Nancy, walking home from choir practice.

They didn't stand a chance these two girls. OK, to be fair, Kathy was 19 and technically a woman. She had a job as a copy girl at the Courier Express Daily Newspaper. But her sheltered upbringing had left her more of a girl than a woman. So when Mr Fabulous rolled up in his shiny convertible and offered the young ladies a ride to wherever they were going, they did the only thing they knew how to do. They said No. Over the next few weeks Eugene made himself a visable presence in their lives. Today it would be called stalking. Then it was persistence and good timing. It was only a matter of time before they were having coffee, going to the Erie County Fair and making out in the back of his car.

When it became clear by June that Kathy was "spending time" with Gene, her parents requested a meeting. He came over to the house with flowers for my Grandmother (who was NOT impressed) and made the hello's in record time. After his departure, my grandmother turned on her heel, looked at Kathy and asked,"No white boys left?" and walked away. Now, my grandmother was not racist. Her husband, Kathy's father, was not white either. He was Native American. They had been raised in the same orphanage and married as soon as they were both released at age 18. But in 1955 Polish people were not considered white either. They were dirty immigrant laborers who were beneath the social standings of a young, gifted Presbyterian girl.

4th of July, 1955. Candy apple red convertible, fireworks, beer. You guessed it.

A small wedding ceremony took place in the side chapel at St. Paul's Cathedral. See, pregnant girls couldn't get married in the main Sanctuary. Gene took a job repairing television sets and they got a small apartment in Lovejoy. That's where I was born.

Grandma was heard to say, many years later, and under her breath, "Shoulda married the Jew".