This should have been done a LONG time ago. To all who served in the Vietnam War : Thank you. Thank You. Thank You. I'm at a loss for words; how can any civilian truly understand what you went through and dealt with? I can't. Yet you choose honor, integrity, and still have a great love of our country. You put yourselves aside and fulfilled a the duty you were called to do. That takes character, strength, and unselfishness; three virtues not possessed by the hippies, anti-establishment
Friday, September 25, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
A Rebuttal To The Attack On My Right To Free Speech
Facebook poll:
Should President Obama show his birth certificate to the American public?
Claire Vecchio Hickey: Yes he needs to show it. He is the President - not the King.
Yesterday at 11:41pm · Comment · Like / Unlike · View Feedback (5)Hide Feedback (5)
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Susan Marisi Kerwin
LMAO! UNBELIEVABLE!! I think the Water in Texas is poisoning you! : )I cannot believe that *people* still are going for this bullcrap... WTF?????You are blowing my mind! LOL!
5 hours ago
Claire Vecchio Hickey
Well Susan, you cannot prove what you believe anymore than I can. The water in Illinois is full of shit as well. Isn't it great that we can have opinions(that's what they are) that differ, and neither one of us will be thrown in prison or executed for them? I don't agree with you, but I respect you. :)
34 minutes ago · Delete
Write a comment...
**************************************************************************************
The previous was a comment written in response to my vote in a poll published on Facebook. The poll is: Should Barack Obama show his birth certificate to the American Public?
If you know me, you know that I don't have a problem when the opinions of others differ from my own. Liberal or Conservative. What is right for one person isn't necessarily right for another. I also believe the Right and Left keep each other in check, while all the others in between keep an eye on them both. And for the record, I refuse to join either party. I like to think for myself without having to check with someone else first, and refuse to be put in a box, so to speak.
Did you read what SMK wrote? First she wrote, "UNBELIEVABLE!!" As if there was absolutely no question about the authenticity of the Certificate Of Live Birth, which is not the same as a Birth Certificate. And that those of us who expect the president to adhere to the same rules as the rest of us are morons, and fools for expecting President Obama to have the same birth certificate as everyone ele born in Hawaii in 1961. Yes, the President finally produced the previously mentioned Certificate of Live Birth. Notice the titles are different? Why is this so?? The Birth Certificate is a long form, including mother's maiden name, father's name, whether or not the birth was legitimate(back then this was included), race, father's occupation, doctor's name, hospital name, date and time of birth. The Certificate of Live Birth doesn't have the name of the hospital, location of the hospital, or the name of the doctor. So you see why there would be some doubt.
I can't speak for anyone else, but as far as I'm concerned, this has nothing to do with Left vs. Right. Personally I don't give a shit which side a person is on. We are talking about being PRESIDENT, not a KING. Presidents are not supposed to be above the law. If it was you or I in Obama's shoes, we'd have to produce the correct document, no excuses. Why not him? And we all know damn well that if the situation was reversed the Democrats would be screaming it from the rooftops in Washington D.C.
Then it got personal. She indicated that there must be something horribly wrong with anyone who voted the way I did, as well as to imply that Texans are ignorant, backward idiots who can't see beyond the borders of their state. Sue has been heavily influenced by ignorant stereotypes and has obviously never been here. Then she tried to downplay her outrage by adding the "LOL" abbreviation in several places. Say what you mean and mean what you say, Sue.
And what about the part that says, "I cannot believe that *people* are still going for this bullcrap...."?? Is she indicating that Texans are not human? What are we then? Humanoid? Are we a sub-species of human? Or a species unto ourselves? What does it mean, Sue? That word refers to me personally so I have a right to know. If you want to believe what you wrote, like I said, you've got a right to your own opinion. But I also have a right to take offense when someone strips me of my humanity. That's low. If that is indeed what you meant.
Most of you have figured out by now that this blog is NOT about whether President Obama produced an authentic birth certificate or not. That argument is moot now anyway. There has been so much uproar on BOTH sides that a counterfeit certificate could have easily been fabricated by now, or the real one destroyed(if you consider what they produced authentic.) Not only that, people will always see what they want to see, even if the truth is staring them in the face. That goes for Liberals AND Conservatives.
That kind of thinking is what Communists and Nazi's ascribe to. How else could all those people live within odor distance of places like Auschwitz, Treblinka, and Sobibor and NOT know that human flesh was being burned in those deathcamps? Not to mention the fact that the Polish locals LIVED THERE. Don't tell me that they didn't see huge areas of buildings surrounded by barbed wire fence, Nazi guards, complete with skeletal human beings working themselves to death and deemed undesirable by the Nazi government? How could they NOT KNOW???? Because they didn't want to see it. For whatever reason.
I also remember learning in school about people being whisked right off the streets, and out of their homes in the Soviet Union and never seen again - all for disagreeing with the government. If someone tried to cry out for their civil rights, or against the Kremlin for any reason, they were taken away from society forever, lest anyone else start getting the same ideas.
Verbal attacks on people who disagree with you, although not nearly as barbaric, is from the same mindset. That's what I take offense to here. These verbal vilifications go from making fun of people, to ridicule, to harassment, all the way to physical violence against the opposition. Individuals like this feel entitled to launch a verbal blitzkrieg against anyone who expresses a dogma that differs from their own. These folks are like a pack of Nazi-pitbulls. There is no room for debate, redress, or modification; Nazi-Pitts are right, everyone else is wrong. They attack by clamping down on the metaphorical neck of the victim with their fangs and shake and shake and never let go. The intent being to rip the voice right out of it's prey and shut them up forever. ~This is the antithesis of what the American mindset ought to be.
I have witnessed this type of belief system in both Liberal AND the Conservatives. I've seen people of BOTH persuasions on the offensive with this type of arsenal. Attacking. Attacking. Always attacking. To retreat is to admit there is a possibility that they, and at least part of their belief system could be wrong. As far as I'm concerned they are all a bunch of control freaks who only make life worse for the rest of us. The attitude of these people isn't worth the scum on the bottom of my shoes. The sewer is too good for those kind of ethics.
Thank God that as Americans we are all entitled to our own opinions, guaranteed by the Constitution(at least for the time being.) And another, "for the record", I do not hate President Obama. I don't believe that he is the Devil Incarnate. Neither do I agree with his socialist ideas. But I have respect for the man. Not for what he wants to do with our beloved country, but because he is President. Like it or not, he's here for the next four years. He is Commander In Chief. Remember, "Render unto Caesar, the things that are Caesar's. Render unto God, those things that are God's"- Matthew 22:21. God commands that we pray for our leaders, He didn't say under what circumstance to do so. He simply said to do it. I won't let go of what I believe to be right, not for anyone. But neither will I stoop to the level of a four year old and bad-mouth the guy. I see nothing wrong with questioning authority. Not a thing wrong with it. In fact I believe it imperative that Americans do so. Every one of us. Why? Absolute authority corrupts absolutely. We need to hold our leaders accountable. ALL of them. No one should be able to escape scrutiny. But there has to be respect along with the questions. Otherwise you are just as bad as you think they are.
So Sue, if you read this, it is not a message of hate from me. The antithesis of love is not hate. It's indifference. There is no hate or indifference towards you in it. Like I said two or three times already, you have a right to your opinion, no matter how right or wrong you may be. And I respect that. What you wrote, though, was a personal attack on my intelligence, my character, and a state you have never lived in. Let me remind you that you don't know me. You don't know anything about me or what is in my heart. I've hardly seen you in the last 35 years. Why do you assume that there has to be something wrong with the water in Texas - if only in a metaphorical sense? I have my reasons for feeling the way I do, as I'm sure you do. But I'm not going to attack you for it. I suggest self-examination on your part, starting with your feet that stink just as bad as mine.
Should President Obama show his birth certificate to the American public?
Claire Vecchio Hickey: Yes he needs to show it. He is the President - not the King.
Yesterday at 11:41pm · Comment · Like / Unlike · View Feedback (5)Hide Feedback (5)
View all 5 comments
Susan Marisi Kerwin
LMAO! UNBELIEVABLE!! I think the Water in Texas is poisoning you! : )I cannot believe that *people* still are going for this bullcrap... WTF?????You are blowing my mind! LOL!
5 hours ago
Claire Vecchio Hickey
Well Susan, you cannot prove what you believe anymore than I can. The water in Illinois is full of shit as well. Isn't it great that we can have opinions(that's what they are) that differ, and neither one of us will be thrown in prison or executed for them? I don't agree with you, but I respect you. :)
34 minutes ago · Delete
Write a comment...
**************************************************************************************
The previous was a comment written in response to my vote in a poll published on Facebook. The poll is: Should Barack Obama show his birth certificate to the American Public?
If you know me, you know that I don't have a problem when the opinions of others differ from my own. Liberal or Conservative. What is right for one person isn't necessarily right for another. I also believe the Right and Left keep each other in check, while all the others in between keep an eye on them both. And for the record, I refuse to join either party. I like to think for myself without having to check with someone else first, and refuse to be put in a box, so to speak.
Did you read what SMK wrote? First she wrote, "UNBELIEVABLE!!" As if there was absolutely no question about the authenticity of the Certificate Of Live Birth, which is not the same as a Birth Certificate. And that those of us who expect the president to adhere to the same rules as the rest of us are morons, and fools for expecting President Obama to have the same birth certificate as everyone ele born in Hawaii in 1961. Yes, the President finally produced the previously mentioned Certificate of Live Birth. Notice the titles are different? Why is this so?? The Birth Certificate is a long form, including mother's maiden name, father's name, whether or not the birth was legitimate(back then this was included), race, father's occupation, doctor's name, hospital name, date and time of birth. The Certificate of Live Birth doesn't have the name of the hospital, location of the hospital, or the name of the doctor. So you see why there would be some doubt.
I can't speak for anyone else, but as far as I'm concerned, this has nothing to do with Left vs. Right. Personally I don't give a shit which side a person is on. We are talking about being PRESIDENT, not a KING. Presidents are not supposed to be above the law. If it was you or I in Obama's shoes, we'd have to produce the correct document, no excuses. Why not him? And we all know damn well that if the situation was reversed the Democrats would be screaming it from the rooftops in Washington D.C.
Then it got personal. She indicated that there must be something horribly wrong with anyone who voted the way I did, as well as to imply that Texans are ignorant, backward idiots who can't see beyond the borders of their state. Sue has been heavily influenced by ignorant stereotypes and has obviously never been here. Then she tried to downplay her outrage by adding the "LOL" abbreviation in several places. Say what you mean and mean what you say, Sue.
And what about the part that says, "I cannot believe that *people* are still going for this bullcrap...."?? Is she indicating that Texans are not human? What are we then? Humanoid? Are we a sub-species of human? Or a species unto ourselves? What does it mean, Sue? That word refers to me personally so I have a right to know. If you want to believe what you wrote, like I said, you've got a right to your own opinion. But I also have a right to take offense when someone strips me of my humanity. That's low. If that is indeed what you meant.
Most of you have figured out by now that this blog is NOT about whether President Obama produced an authentic birth certificate or not. That argument is moot now anyway. There has been so much uproar on BOTH sides that a counterfeit certificate could have easily been fabricated by now, or the real one destroyed(if you consider what they produced authentic.) Not only that, people will always see what they want to see, even if the truth is staring them in the face. That goes for Liberals AND Conservatives.
That kind of thinking is what Communists and Nazi's ascribe to. How else could all those people live within odor distance of places like Auschwitz, Treblinka, and Sobibor and NOT know that human flesh was being burned in those deathcamps? Not to mention the fact that the Polish locals LIVED THERE. Don't tell me that they didn't see huge areas of buildings surrounded by barbed wire fence, Nazi guards, complete with skeletal human beings working themselves to death and deemed undesirable by the Nazi government? How could they NOT KNOW???? Because they didn't want to see it. For whatever reason.
I also remember learning in school about people being whisked right off the streets, and out of their homes in the Soviet Union and never seen again - all for disagreeing with the government. If someone tried to cry out for their civil rights, or against the Kremlin for any reason, they were taken away from society forever, lest anyone else start getting the same ideas.
Verbal attacks on people who disagree with you, although not nearly as barbaric, is from the same mindset. That's what I take offense to here. These verbal vilifications go from making fun of people, to ridicule, to harassment, all the way to physical violence against the opposition. Individuals like this feel entitled to launch a verbal blitzkrieg against anyone who expresses a dogma that differs from their own. These folks are like a pack of Nazi-pitbulls. There is no room for debate, redress, or modification; Nazi-Pitts are right, everyone else is wrong. They attack by clamping down on the metaphorical neck of the victim with their fangs and shake and shake and never let go. The intent being to rip the voice right out of it's prey and shut them up forever. ~This is the antithesis of what the American mindset ought to be.
I have witnessed this type of belief system in both Liberal AND the Conservatives. I've seen people of BOTH persuasions on the offensive with this type of arsenal. Attacking. Attacking. Always attacking. To retreat is to admit there is a possibility that they, and at least part of their belief system could be wrong. As far as I'm concerned they are all a bunch of control freaks who only make life worse for the rest of us. The attitude of these people isn't worth the scum on the bottom of my shoes. The sewer is too good for those kind of ethics.
Thank God that as Americans we are all entitled to our own opinions, guaranteed by the Constitution(at least for the time being.) And another, "for the record", I do not hate President Obama. I don't believe that he is the Devil Incarnate. Neither do I agree with his socialist ideas. But I have respect for the man. Not for what he wants to do with our beloved country, but because he is President. Like it or not, he's here for the next four years. He is Commander In Chief. Remember, "Render unto Caesar, the things that are Caesar's. Render unto God, those things that are God's"- Matthew 22:21. God commands that we pray for our leaders, He didn't say under what circumstance to do so. He simply said to do it. I won't let go of what I believe to be right, not for anyone. But neither will I stoop to the level of a four year old and bad-mouth the guy. I see nothing wrong with questioning authority. Not a thing wrong with it. In fact I believe it imperative that Americans do so. Every one of us. Why? Absolute authority corrupts absolutely. We need to hold our leaders accountable. ALL of them. No one should be able to escape scrutiny. But there has to be respect along with the questions. Otherwise you are just as bad as you think they are.
So Sue, if you read this, it is not a message of hate from me. The antithesis of love is not hate. It's indifference. There is no hate or indifference towards you in it. Like I said two or three times already, you have a right to your opinion, no matter how right or wrong you may be. And I respect that. What you wrote, though, was a personal attack on my intelligence, my character, and a state you have never lived in. Let me remind you that you don't know me. You don't know anything about me or what is in my heart. I've hardly seen you in the last 35 years. Why do you assume that there has to be something wrong with the water in Texas - if only in a metaphorical sense? I have my reasons for feeling the way I do, as I'm sure you do. But I'm not going to attack you for it. I suggest self-examination on your part, starting with your feet that stink just as bad as mine.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Third Try Is A Charm
9/13/09 - The picture was taken at the Arlington Convention Center when I met Phil face to face. This draft has been a waiting to be completed
for some time now. Lots of things have been going on in my life and I have not gotten around to finishing it yet. Here is my attempt to do so:
8/24/09 - Here I am starting this same blog over again. grrrrr........Yesterday I wrote a blog about my experience when I met Phil Harris on Saturday - two days ago. The piece was completely done, and while it was not Pulitzer Prize material, I thought it wasn't half bad. The only thing that was the matter with it was the picture size. I thought it should be smaller and in the upper right hand corner. Before attempting to remove the image, I decided to go to the help section to see how this is done so I wouldn't inadvertently delete the entire piece. What happens? After following the directions completely, at the last second I pushed the wrong button and DELETED THE WHOLE THING!! GRRRRRRR..........%$#^&*^%^!$##%%*&$^%#@!!! Just about every cuss word in the book spewed forth, filling the immediate area around me with conniption and regret. So much so that even Captain Phil Harris would have blushed if he had been present at the time. Why did I get so upset? First, I am a writer. Everything I write has to be perfect. I'm a nit-picker when it comes to this. My work has to have the right rhythm, the right balance, the right words, and be grammatically correct. It took me about three hours just to write a few paragraphs. Not to mention that unbeknownst to me, my gallbladder had the beginnings of an infection, and I was still very excited about meeting Phil. I wanted the blog to be exceptional.
So here I go again. I'm giving it the old college try. This time however, I made sure the picture was the right size and in the right place FIRST. Lesson learned.
Now, I had the thrill of my life on Saturday last when I met Captain Phil Harris of the Discovery Channel's Deadliest Catch. I was elated because I have never met a celebrity that I admired before. Or any other kind of famous person. To be honest, I never wanted to meet another one enough to give it a try. I have "idolized" and "crushed" on others before, but this is the first time I have been moved enough to get out of my comfort zone and face the irksome crowds I don't like to do so. Why Phil and not the others? Phil is real, and for real. He presents himself as nothing more than he is: human. Still on the same level as the rest of us.
Right around this time,I mailed the packages that I talked about in a previous blog, and found out that Phil, Sig, and Joshua were coming to Texas. They were to appear at the Arlington Convention Center in Arlington, Texas in a month's time. Woo! Hoo! Talk about timing! It felt like God had a hand in the whole thing. A fabulous lady and mutual friend, Helen, works for him as an administrator. She graciously let me send the packages to her home in Seattle so that they would be delivered directly into Phil's hands. She was supposed to let me know when this happened and what his reaction was like. I knew ahead of time that he wouldn't get them right away since he has been extremely busy on the road making appearances all over the country. But once I knew he was home, and Helen had seen him, I still didn't hear from her. Since I'm not there I gave her the benefit of the doubt, and waited some more. Finally it was close to the day he would be here so I figured I'd ask him myself. That became the main goal of my venture to Arlington. And although I couldn't wait to be in Phil's immediate presence, I was on a quest to ask him if he had received my gifts and to observe his response.
If the camera died or some other calamity befell us, I honestly didn't care. My only concern was to get to Phil and have his answers revealed. I am not interested in autographs(I think they are pointless and a waste of time), and I wouldn't care if I didn't have any pictures. My labor of love was the only thing that mattered. I just wanted to know if I touched his heart. That's all I want from this whole thing. I don't want to be publicly acknowledged, and I did not do this to become Phil's lifelong friend. I detailed my reasons in a letter that was enclosed in the package as well. They will not be listed here because they are too personal to share. If Phil wants to share them with anyone, I trust (and hope) he uses descretion. I don't want my open heart exposed to the whole world. In fact, I abhor the very thought of it.
Now, getting back to what would happen once I threw the question out there at him?When I told him who I was would he know me? I didn't know what to expect. Remember, I had no experience in this department. But as far as I was concerned, nothing else mattered.
That's the end of the second attempt to finish this blog post. Why do I feel like I'm going to hear the announcer say to turn the page when I hear the bell? If you are under a certain age you would have no idea what I'm talking about.
Getting back on track here. Man, this is panning out just like my quest to learn of Phil's response to my gifts and if there was any feedback from him. For indeed it was a quest. When I met him in person, Helen's name got his attention. He said he did get the gifts, but they were at his house and that he hadn't had a chance to open them as a result of his schedule. And that when he did he said I would be contacted somehow. I thought he said through him. So I waited, and waited. I waited some more. My heart sank. Finally I asked Helen herself. She had completely forgotten about contacting me, apologized profusely and said that he already opened the gifts when Phil's good friend Bonnie and her husband Skip were in Washington visiting him, a week or so before I met him. Helen explained that she and Bonnie - who lives in Amarillo, have become tight friends and that the excitement of meeting face to face for the first time, and spending time together took up most of her thought processes. Why am I not surprised? I work my ass off and then my message is fucked up and the worth of what I was trying to express is lost, or at the very least, deemed inconsequential. At least it seems that way. Nothing against Helen - I totally understand. I would have done the same thing in her shoes. I'm railing against life. Shit happens. And sometimes it doesn't. In regards to Helen finally meeting up with Bonnie, I thought that someday I would experience the same thing when I met Denise for the first time. Eventually her true colors showed themselves and in the interest of self-preservation, I had to disconnect myself from her. But this is not about me and Denise. That's another blog.
I'm tickled that Helen and Bonnie met and spent time together. So anyway, I asked her if he liked his gifts. She said he held up the fleece pullovers and said they had class. He really, really liked them. Unfortunately Gizmo's coat was too small. The AKC needs to change their information on Yorkies. The sizes they gave for a full-grown male Yorkie is obviously smaller than Gizmo - a full grown male Yorkie. I'm so sorry little guy. I would be happy to make a bigger coat, but I don't want to appear too eager, and I don't want to put anyone on the spot. NO to mention that I haven't been asked. Maybe after Phil is at sea next month I'll ask Helen what she thinks.
I asked if he liked the "The Far Side Collection" - she said he kind of held it up and looked confused. She told him to put it on the Cornelia Marie for the rest of the crew. I know that Phil isn't a book reader. That was the whole point of giving him a comic book. It requires very little brain power for when he has down time while fishing. Maybe someday he'll "get it." For those of you wondering, no Phil isn't a book reader, he prefers magazines. And he is a very intelligent man. Trust me. You can't be a successful crab fishing Captain and be stupid or a moron. It's impossible. And he's one of the most successful Crab Fishermen there are.
During this conversation with Helen, I was so excited that I forgot to ask about the Fort Worth Harley Davison t-shirt that I had to send seperately because I forgot to put it in the original package. I also forgot about the letter. So a couple of weeks later I asked about those. Helen said that Phil loved the t-shirt. Also that he definitely got the letter, she saw him holding it, but didn't know what he did with it.
So there you have it. My first and only time to send anything to a complete stranger I see on tv once in a while. I don't plan to do it again. Why? I'm not like the usual viewers. I hate to be called a fan. That word brings to mind teeny-boppers and bubble gum. I don't have Phil on a pedestal. He can't save me from anything and doesn't have the answers to life. He's an ordinary man who is a crab fisherman first and foremost. Yeah, he's on tv, and women all over lust like crazy for him, but I'm not getting in line with them. That's not why I sent the gifts. It has nothing to do with his celebrity or the reaction my hormones have when I see his picture or on tv. I sent them soley for the reasons I spelled out to him in the letter I sent. On the surface it looks like we have absolutely nothing in common, and never did.
Phil, the son of a fisherman, motherless at seven years old, the original latch-key kid who grew up near the sea in Seattle, started driving a car at 10, on his own at 14 or 15, constantly in trouble as a youth, made his first $150,000 by the age of 17, married twice, dumped twice, two wonderful boys, long hair, tatoos, earring in left ear, loves his Corvette ZO6, his big Chevy truck with flames on the sides, a custom made Titan Chopper, and a beautiful Harley Davidson Electra Glide, and one of the most successful crab fishermen on the Bering Sea.
Me, born and raised in the land-locked midwest into a large family, father an electrician, mother a nurse, was "odd man out" and constantly bullied by siblings and neighborhood kids, not allowed to feel or express anger while growning up, always had to be "the good girl" and never rock the boat, uprooted and dragged to Texas at 15, did hair for years while I was still trying to decide what I would do with my life besides wanting to be married, not having the right tools to deal with life until much later than most, terrified to move out until 26 when I was dragged kicking and screaming by my cousin who knew I could do it, proposed to twice, dumped twice, professionally decorating cakes and working in surgery, finally getting married at 31, two wonderful kids; a boy and a girl, now working on becoming a published writer and hopefully making a living at it.
How different can you get than that? But in reading interviews with him and watching him on the show, and reading in between the lines, I perceived that we do indeed share some elements and attributes in and from our lives. What they are is of no consequence here. I just hope I didn't make an idiot of myself by pointing this out. I say that because I never heard anything from Phil. I haven't the faintest idea what he thought of what I wrote to him. It probably surprised him that I had 12 stationary sized pages worth of words to say to a man I had never met at the time I wrote them. Truly, I don't know what I expected. Maybe I hit the nail on the head and scared the shit out of him. When I asked Phil about the packages, face to face, I thought he had said they would be acknowledged. I was apparently mistaken. And for the record I do not want published the fact that it was me who made and gave him these things, and I don't want a pat on the back. In the letter I sent, I told Phil that I don't want anything from him. Maybe he took that to mean any kind of acknowledgement as well. Oh well. I talked to my good friend Jennie about this and she told me of something she learned in school where she's training to become a Fire Fighter. When the instructors, who are all male, like or approve of what you did, they don't say anything. The only time they say anything is if you screw up. It's a male thing, I guess. I read that he's on his way to Fort Wayne, Indiana as I write this, and he just got back from California night before last. Since I don't know the guy and I'm not there, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. I just hope he enjoys what I gave.
for some time now. Lots of things have been going on in my life and I have not gotten around to finishing it yet. Here is my attempt to do so:8/24/09 - Here I am starting this same blog over again. grrrrr........Yesterday I wrote a blog about my experience when I met Phil Harris on Saturday - two days ago. The piece was completely done, and while it was not Pulitzer Prize material, I thought it wasn't half bad. The only thing that was the matter with it was the picture size. I thought it should be smaller and in the upper right hand corner. Before attempting to remove the image, I decided to go to the help section to see how this is done so I wouldn't inadvertently delete the entire piece. What happens? After following the directions completely, at the last second I pushed the wrong button and DELETED THE WHOLE THING!! GRRRRRRR..........%$#^&*^%^!$##%%*&$^%#@!!! Just about every cuss word in the book spewed forth, filling the immediate area around me with conniption and regret. So much so that even Captain Phil Harris would have blushed if he had been present at the time. Why did I get so upset? First, I am a writer. Everything I write has to be perfect. I'm a nit-picker when it comes to this. My work has to have the right rhythm, the right balance, the right words, and be grammatically correct. It took me about three hours just to write a few paragraphs. Not to mention that unbeknownst to me, my gallbladder had the beginnings of an infection, and I was still very excited about meeting Phil. I wanted the blog to be exceptional.
So here I go again. I'm giving it the old college try. This time however, I made sure the picture was the right size and in the right place FIRST. Lesson learned.
Now, I had the thrill of my life on Saturday last when I met Captain Phil Harris of the Discovery Channel's Deadliest Catch. I was elated because I have never met a celebrity that I admired before. Or any other kind of famous person. To be honest, I never wanted to meet another one enough to give it a try. I have "idolized" and "crushed" on others before, but this is the first time I have been moved enough to get out of my comfort zone and face the irksome crowds I don't like to do so. Why Phil and not the others? Phil is real, and for real. He presents himself as nothing more than he is: human. Still on the same level as the rest of us.
Right around this time,I mailed the packages that I talked about in a previous blog, and found out that Phil, Sig, and Joshua were coming to Texas. They were to appear at the Arlington Convention Center in Arlington, Texas in a month's time. Woo! Hoo! Talk about timing! It felt like God had a hand in the whole thing. A fabulous lady and mutual friend, Helen, works for him as an administrator. She graciously let me send the packages to her home in Seattle so that they would be delivered directly into Phil's hands. She was supposed to let me know when this happened and what his reaction was like. I knew ahead of time that he wouldn't get them right away since he has been extremely busy on the road making appearances all over the country. But once I knew he was home, and Helen had seen him, I still didn't hear from her. Since I'm not there I gave her the benefit of the doubt, and waited some more. Finally it was close to the day he would be here so I figured I'd ask him myself. That became the main goal of my venture to Arlington. And although I couldn't wait to be in Phil's immediate presence, I was on a quest to ask him if he had received my gifts and to observe his response.
If the camera died or some other calamity befell us, I honestly didn't care. My only concern was to get to Phil and have his answers revealed. I am not interested in autographs(I think they are pointless and a waste of time), and I wouldn't care if I didn't have any pictures. My labor of love was the only thing that mattered. I just wanted to know if I touched his heart. That's all I want from this whole thing. I don't want to be publicly acknowledged, and I did not do this to become Phil's lifelong friend. I detailed my reasons in a letter that was enclosed in the package as well. They will not be listed here because they are too personal to share. If Phil wants to share them with anyone, I trust (and hope) he uses descretion. I don't want my open heart exposed to the whole world. In fact, I abhor the very thought of it.
Now, getting back to what would happen once I threw the question out there at him?When I told him who I was would he know me? I didn't know what to expect. Remember, I had no experience in this department. But as far as I was concerned, nothing else mattered.
That's the end of the second attempt to finish this blog post. Why do I feel like I'm going to hear the announcer say to turn the page when I hear the bell? If you are under a certain age you would have no idea what I'm talking about.
Getting back on track here. Man, this is panning out just like my quest to learn of Phil's response to my gifts and if there was any feedback from him. For indeed it was a quest. When I met him in person, Helen's name got his attention. He said he did get the gifts, but they were at his house and that he hadn't had a chance to open them as a result of his schedule. And that when he did he said I would be contacted somehow. I thought he said through him. So I waited, and waited. I waited some more. My heart sank. Finally I asked Helen herself. She had completely forgotten about contacting me, apologized profusely and said that he already opened the gifts when Phil's good friend Bonnie and her husband Skip were in Washington visiting him, a week or so before I met him. Helen explained that she and Bonnie - who lives in Amarillo, have become tight friends and that the excitement of meeting face to face for the first time, and spending time together took up most of her thought processes. Why am I not surprised? I work my ass off and then my message is fucked up and the worth of what I was trying to express is lost, or at the very least, deemed inconsequential. At least it seems that way. Nothing against Helen - I totally understand. I would have done the same thing in her shoes. I'm railing against life. Shit happens. And sometimes it doesn't. In regards to Helen finally meeting up with Bonnie, I thought that someday I would experience the same thing when I met Denise for the first time. Eventually her true colors showed themselves and in the interest of self-preservation, I had to disconnect myself from her. But this is not about me and Denise. That's another blog.
I'm tickled that Helen and Bonnie met and spent time together. So anyway, I asked her if he liked his gifts. She said he held up the fleece pullovers and said they had class. He really, really liked them. Unfortunately Gizmo's coat was too small. The AKC needs to change their information on Yorkies. The sizes they gave for a full-grown male Yorkie is obviously smaller than Gizmo - a full grown male Yorkie. I'm so sorry little guy. I would be happy to make a bigger coat, but I don't want to appear too eager, and I don't want to put anyone on the spot. NO to mention that I haven't been asked. Maybe after Phil is at sea next month I'll ask Helen what she thinks.
I asked if he liked the "The Far Side Collection" - she said he kind of held it up and looked confused. She told him to put it on the Cornelia Marie for the rest of the crew. I know that Phil isn't a book reader. That was the whole point of giving him a comic book. It requires very little brain power for when he has down time while fishing. Maybe someday he'll "get it." For those of you wondering, no Phil isn't a book reader, he prefers magazines. And he is a very intelligent man. Trust me. You can't be a successful crab fishing Captain and be stupid or a moron. It's impossible. And he's one of the most successful Crab Fishermen there are.
During this conversation with Helen, I was so excited that I forgot to ask about the Fort Worth Harley Davison t-shirt that I had to send seperately because I forgot to put it in the original package. I also forgot about the letter. So a couple of weeks later I asked about those. Helen said that Phil loved the t-shirt. Also that he definitely got the letter, she saw him holding it, but didn't know what he did with it.
So there you have it. My first and only time to send anything to a complete stranger I see on tv once in a while. I don't plan to do it again. Why? I'm not like the usual viewers. I hate to be called a fan. That word brings to mind teeny-boppers and bubble gum. I don't have Phil on a pedestal. He can't save me from anything and doesn't have the answers to life. He's an ordinary man who is a crab fisherman first and foremost. Yeah, he's on tv, and women all over lust like crazy for him, but I'm not getting in line with them. That's not why I sent the gifts. It has nothing to do with his celebrity or the reaction my hormones have when I see his picture or on tv. I sent them soley for the reasons I spelled out to him in the letter I sent. On the surface it looks like we have absolutely nothing in common, and never did.
Phil, the son of a fisherman, motherless at seven years old, the original latch-key kid who grew up near the sea in Seattle, started driving a car at 10, on his own at 14 or 15, constantly in trouble as a youth, made his first $150,000 by the age of 17, married twice, dumped twice, two wonderful boys, long hair, tatoos, earring in left ear, loves his Corvette ZO6, his big Chevy truck with flames on the sides, a custom made Titan Chopper, and a beautiful Harley Davidson Electra Glide, and one of the most successful crab fishermen on the Bering Sea.
Me, born and raised in the land-locked midwest into a large family, father an electrician, mother a nurse, was "odd man out" and constantly bullied by siblings and neighborhood kids, not allowed to feel or express anger while growning up, always had to be "the good girl" and never rock the boat, uprooted and dragged to Texas at 15, did hair for years while I was still trying to decide what I would do with my life besides wanting to be married, not having the right tools to deal with life until much later than most, terrified to move out until 26 when I was dragged kicking and screaming by my cousin who knew I could do it, proposed to twice, dumped twice, professionally decorating cakes and working in surgery, finally getting married at 31, two wonderful kids; a boy and a girl, now working on becoming a published writer and hopefully making a living at it.
How different can you get than that? But in reading interviews with him and watching him on the show, and reading in between the lines, I perceived that we do indeed share some elements and attributes in and from our lives. What they are is of no consequence here. I just hope I didn't make an idiot of myself by pointing this out. I say that because I never heard anything from Phil. I haven't the faintest idea what he thought of what I wrote to him. It probably surprised him that I had 12 stationary sized pages worth of words to say to a man I had never met at the time I wrote them. Truly, I don't know what I expected. Maybe I hit the nail on the head and scared the shit out of him. When I asked Phil about the packages, face to face, I thought he had said they would be acknowledged. I was apparently mistaken. And for the record I do not want published the fact that it was me who made and gave him these things, and I don't want a pat on the back. In the letter I sent, I told Phil that I don't want anything from him. Maybe he took that to mean any kind of acknowledgement as well. Oh well. I talked to my good friend Jennie about this and she told me of something she learned in school where she's training to become a Fire Fighter. When the instructors, who are all male, like or approve of what you did, they don't say anything. The only time they say anything is if you screw up. It's a male thing, I guess. I read that he's on his way to Fort Wayne, Indiana as I write this, and he just got back from California night before last. Since I don't know the guy and I'm not there, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. I just hope he enjoys what I gave.
From Second Grade Hell To Middle Age Revelation
Have you ever been going along, living life, then out of no where get blindsided by a freight train of sorts that sends you reeling, reaching out, grabbing at anything, and trying to hang on so you can get your bearings in order to regain control, so you can figure out what the hell was that? Why the hell now?? That just happened to me.
I was happily reading the main Face Book page when I came across the picture post of my friend Cindy Baranowski. It was her third grade class at the elementary school we both went to, Diekman School, in Dolton, Illinois. I had to have a look. Cindy had Mrs.Metz, I had Mrs.O'Block. She and I never had the same class but we all knew each other. It was great. I remembered a lot of the names she didn't and gave them to her. Then I noticed there were two more elementary classes of hers in her albums. So I looked at them. Next was sixth grade. She had Mrs. Hudik, the science teacher, I had Mr.Fiegel, the math teacher. Again I filled in the names she had left blank. On to the next. The second grade. I was going through and my eyes came to a screeching halt. Timmy Kilboy. If I live to be 100 I will never forget that name. He made my life miserable in the second grade, just as much as my teacher, Miss Sarlas, did. The little bastard constantly picked on me, teased me, kicked the shit out of me, and always seemed to get away with it. I don't remember any time the kid had to answer for his actions. I must add at this point that at this time my Clinical Depression first reared it's ugly head. So here I am, a little seven year old(god we looked almost like babies), suddenly the world is out of focus from depression, undiagnosed depression mind you, a teacher that has it out for me, and a little twerp of a bastard who wouldn't let up on me. I should also mention that my parents were not into protecting their children. It cost them too much. And what needs they did meet were made as we were made to feel guilty for them having done so. The only thing I remember being told when picked on is, "Ignore him/them." I tried. And if instinct kicked in and I tried to fight back I got it even worse. So it just got to where I would land on the ground after having been knocked down somehow, then I'd curl up as best I could and just take it, hoping it would be over soon. I don't ever remember anyone coming to my rescue, or telling a teacher. I never saw any of my siblings while this was happening on the playground either. I don't remember ever telling a teacher myself. I probably figured that if my own parents didn't do anything to help me, why would they.
Oh God this is killing me to write it. Where in the hell was everybody?? I'm sure with the depression that I'm not remembering it completely correctly. But damnit I know that little bastard should have been stopped. My parents should have considered me more important than themselves. I didn't expect from my memory of Miss Sarlas. The bitch. She's the only teacher I ever had that I didn't get along with and I didn't like. Every other teacher, from kindergarten to college, I liked and got along with wonderfully. So I know the problem was hers, not mine. That woman should have not been allowed to teach children. High School maybe, or college. But not second graders. Especially not impressionable second graders who had no protection. Maybe that's why it seemed she always picked on me. She, like others in my life, knew they would not have to answer for their actions.
When, in the past I thought about that part of my life, I never thought about Timmy Kilboy or Miss Sarlas with positive thoughts, but I never had the knee-jerk reaction I did today. As soon as I saw the little, pint sized twerp and thought about how lucky Cindy was to have Mrs.Lindbloom instead of Miss Sarlas, all the anger that was stored in me bubbled up and boiled over. Or more like it came to a head and popped, oozing oil, liquid and solid, pus, and blood like a huge zit. That's where they were stored, in a giant zit in my memory. Then I squeezed, and squeezed, watching all the germ infested rememberances of them squirt out of me, never to have that kind of reaction from me again. Writing continues to squeeze the pustule and clean it out. Then applies the peroxide, to kill any remaining germs. No, I feel much better. And to show that I haven't let them or any others in my past rot me on the inside I'll concede that for all I know Timmy Kilboy may have gone home to parents that beat the shit out of him everyday. Something made him get pleasure out of torturing me. Although I don't feel it in my heart right now, I do hope he changed from that nasty little boy who was on his way to becoming a troublemaker as an adult. Not just for the world's sake, but his as well. And Miss Sarlas? She was middle aged then and not married. Maybe she needed to get laid. She sure acted like it. Something certainly influenced her behavior. Only I hold her more accountable since she was an adult. If I ever meet her again someday I'm going to ask her "why?" I hope she's changed for the better too. And one more thing, when we are all standing before God on Judgement Day, I'm not going to be standing there, pointing at them saying, "Look what they did to me!!!" That means I'm to a point where I can and do forgive them. I'm no saint, mind you, I do it because it frees me. I'm not bound to forgive them since neither of them has asked for forgiveness. But even then, if you don't do it, it will eat away at your soul. Mine has been hurt enough.
Yes, if you've read my "Hell Is For Children" blog you'd understand that this is another chapter in the book of my life. No, I'm not doing this to say, "Oh poor me." If I did that I'd be just like my parents. I do it because writing has always been a lifesaver. Literally. It's kept me from ending my own life once or twice. I also want it on record. I don't fool myself into thinking any of my tormentors will face justice because of this. No. I'm letting God take care of that. He is much better at it than I am. I'm hoping that maybe someone else will see themselves here and realize they have hope. I fought my way out of a pit of hopelessness and despair, and so can they. I also hope that if one of my loved ones has trouble understanding where I'm coming from, this will help. There is a whole lot about me that I WILL NOT share with anyone, except a minute, trusted, few. If I count them on my hand I still have fingers left over. So don't ask.
I'm not even going to ask God where the hell He was when all of this went on. It seems like He's not there for little ones a lot. But, from what I know of my own relationship with Him, and His nature, He is there. Just because we can't see him in person, or by what action we think He ought to be taking, doesn't mean He's somewhere else. Now I'm not going to go into that "God's ways are not our ways.....blah, blah, blah, blah, blah......" bullshit. For that 's what it is. It's a cop-out. The reality is that I haven't the faintest idea why we don't always see Him when we need to the most. I have no earthly idea. You'll have to take that up with Him. Ask Him yourself. Go ahead. Swallow your pride and do it. I did. I don't always get an answer. But in this life we don't always get what we want, do we? Shit happens. It has since Adam and Eve disobeyed God and ate the fruit that He told them not to eat. When they defied the Almighty, sin entered into the world. When that happened, all that it contained came with it.
What?? You never heard this part of the story? When sin came so did disease, so did suffering, so did pestulance, so did abuse, so did genocide, so did man-eating animals, so did war, murder, rape, arson, serial killers, poverty, etc, and anything else that can make a human being or living creature suffer on this earth; It all came in with sin.
Some people think that God was mean to keep the fruit from Adam and Eve, or to throw them out of the Garden of Eden when they ate it. If these geniuses will look close enough they will find out that if Adam and Eve would have stayed in there, they would have died. They couldn't go back and do it over. They couldn't act a certain way to get rid of the sin that infected them. They couldn't wash it away. There was NOTHING they could do to separate themselves from the sin they brought upon themselves. There was no hope. Then, God actually saved their lives by casting them away. Did you know that? We cannot have sin in us and survive God's presence. It's too perfect. Too powerful. I'm sure there are more appropriate words to explain it but I don't have them. Do you think that was easy for God to do? They were His children. Yet He made them leave His presence. It probably felt like He tore part of Himself off in order to keep them alive. And on top of that, He made them clothes. Look it up. God sewed them clothes to give them some kind of protection since their sin obliterated the protection He had given them in the first place. God could have said, "Go on! Suffer! You deserve what you get!" But our Father didn't do that. And He had the perfect right to, unlike our mortal fathers. That's where Jesus came in. To remove our sin nature. Why not right then during the Book of Genesis? I haven't the faintest clue. Life doesn't always work logically and make sense just because we demand that it does, does it?
Every human has a sin nature, passed down to us from our fathers. (We don't get it from our mothers. This is how a mortal young girl could carry the Son of God. Please don't get mad at me if you believe Mary was sinless. I respect that you do, but I don't. Although I believe her to be a woman worthy of great reverence and respect.) The sin nature. In God's presence it would have killed Adam and Eve, and it would kill us. By kill I mean eternal separation from God(not going to Heaven.) We can't do it ourselves. Being good NEVER got anyone there. It's a lie. The sin in us has to be gone, once and for all. Being good didn't wash it away for Adam and Eve and it won't for us. We can't get rid of it ourselves. That's Jesus' job. But I'm not here to give a sermon, or to challenge other beliefs. I just had to finish the thought.
I'm going off on a tangent here. Here's an answer I got from the Almighty. It took 30 years to get it too. I'm glad I didn't know that ahead of time. I would have been too impatient.
My parents moved us to Texas in 1979 just before my 15th birthday. It was a total, complete, nightmare. I was in a place as different to me as if I had been moved to Oz. I was the outsider. I was the freak. And all the time I was in high school there my brother Sam, sister Mary, and I were never accepted. You'd think we had been born with naturally purple hair. And it wasn't just us. Carswell Air Force Base, and General Dynamics(now Lockheed Martin) were in Fort Worth too. So that meant lots of Air Force Brats and transplants whose parents worked at either place. Not one of us was accepted, ever by the local kids who were raised in White Settlement, Texas. The name says it all, doesn't it? We felt like we all died and went to hell. I had never heard of a 15 year old getting married - with the parent's blessing, before. Of course the girl was pregnant. But where I'm from there was no way in hell a 15 year old was going to be allowed to get married. Pregnant or not. 18 was the youngest I had ever heard of anyone getting married. Yet at Brewer High School in White Settlement, Texas, I knew girls that only went to high school to find a husband. ????? Oz. I wasn't kidding.
For years afterward I pined for my real home. I visited it as much as possible whenever I could. Kept in touch with friends and relatives. When I was 18 I wanted to move back but I didn't have the courage to leave home. I had no confidence or self-esteem by that time. In fact, at that time, due to circumstances out of my control, and due to the lack of protection that was mine, I started to think of myself as lower than the lowest human. I wasn't quite ready to say that I wasn't human, but pretty close. An event took place in my life that all but stripped it away from me, and was verified by my family's failure to protect or defend me. I'm not going into it here. So don't ask.
Fast forward throughout my adulthood, I had started to get psychological help by this time, but more happened, good and bad, life piled up and went on. About 10 years after the event of my 18th year, another huge cataclysm took place that caused such devastation in me that I did, indeed start to consider myself an "it", a "thing", instead of a mortal human being. I begabn to really start abusing myself too. I constantly felt like I needed the shit beat out of me. So I took a belt and beat my legs until they were black and blue. I cut myself. Not enough to need stitches. I didn't want anyone to know I was doing this. Why? I was afraid they would tell me what an idiot I was for doing it. And maybe even tell me I wasn't doing it enough.
Again, I'm not going into it, so don't ask. No, I haven't gone into it.
Once again my family abandoned me, mentally and emotionally, and by doing so refused me medical treatment when I was having a miscarriage. They knew what was happening. Still, I dealt with it all by myself. Alone. I bled profusely for three days until I finally passed the baby. I could barely walk. In fact, I would try to do things that would make me bleed to death and have it done with. I didn't want to live anymore.
When life keeps telling you over and over that you are a doormat and that your job in life is to hold still while everyone wipes their feet on you, you start to believe it. Somehow, some way I went on. I even proved my parents wrong and got married. I even have kids. Thankfully I was diagnosed with Clinical Depression in 1999 and started on a wonder drug called Prozac. My life made a 180 degree turn. In 2004 I started with my current therapist, Alan, and in 2007 my diagnosis was upgraded to Dysthymia - meaning I have two kinds of clinical depression at the same time, and started on two new meds, Cymbalta and Wellbutrin. I've done nothing but improve since then. Last year the walls of my soul fell like Jericho and suddenly I have all this confidence I never had before. It's real. Not a fly-by-night fantasy. I can't tell you what strides I've made. So much dealt with, so much cast away.
Now, for the revelation I got from God, 30 years in the making? Why did He rip me away from my hometown, friends, family, growing confidence, the only place I felt I fit? To get to where I am now, I had to face myself, and my past. I had to see it for what it really was and deal with it. You know how it's written that, "The truth will make you free"? That's true. A big part of all the bullshit in my soul, heart, and mind had to do with family. Not just immediate family either. I'm not badmouthing anyone, but, if I had stayed in Chicago, close to all the crap I came from? I would be dead now. Or at least in a straight jacket in some psychiatric hospital or in a catatonic state somewhere, anywhere, to get away from the hell I lived in. My Dad's family fought, argued, back stabbed, gossiped, cast you out - my siblings and I affectionately call it the, "Vecchio Bullshit Syndrome." On my Mother's side, the Pearsons, they are known for sticking their heads way up their asses and pretending that everything is okay. Even when evil is staring them right in the face. We call this the, "Pearson Denial Mechanism." I'm not going into further detail of either side. Let's just say that I experienced it to the fullest. And if I had continued to live among all this, I shudder to think of what might have happened.
I can think of lots of different ways to have saved me from that crap. But I'm not God. And I do know that my life would have been worse if I had stayed or gone back. I don't have any desire to ask Him "why?" anymore. I am just glad to be where I am. I'm way off the subject I started with, but maybe not. I spent a good part of my life just trying to grab on to anything that was solid enough to stop the forward motion that was making my life out of control. It took all this time to grab ahold, catch my breath, figure out where I was, then right place to go. After several wrong turns, some with dire consequences, I finally made it to the right road. It's taken me all this time to get where I am now; sometimes I feel like I should have been here a long time ago. But I am where I am. More changes are coming up in my life. I'm not sure exactly what they'll be and when they'll happen, but at least I know how to deal with whatever comes my way. And I know who I can turn to when I can't take anymore. Thanks God.
I was happily reading the main Face Book page when I came across the picture post of my friend Cindy Baranowski. It was her third grade class at the elementary school we both went to, Diekman School, in Dolton, Illinois. I had to have a look. Cindy had Mrs.Metz, I had Mrs.O'Block. She and I never had the same class but we all knew each other. It was great. I remembered a lot of the names she didn't and gave them to her. Then I noticed there were two more elementary classes of hers in her albums. So I looked at them. Next was sixth grade. She had Mrs. Hudik, the science teacher, I had Mr.Fiegel, the math teacher. Again I filled in the names she had left blank. On to the next. The second grade. I was going through and my eyes came to a screeching halt. Timmy Kilboy. If I live to be 100 I will never forget that name. He made my life miserable in the second grade, just as much as my teacher, Miss Sarlas, did. The little bastard constantly picked on me, teased me, kicked the shit out of me, and always seemed to get away with it. I don't remember any time the kid had to answer for his actions. I must add at this point that at this time my Clinical Depression first reared it's ugly head. So here I am, a little seven year old(god we looked almost like babies), suddenly the world is out of focus from depression, undiagnosed depression mind you, a teacher that has it out for me, and a little twerp of a bastard who wouldn't let up on me. I should also mention that my parents were not into protecting their children. It cost them too much. And what needs they did meet were made as we were made to feel guilty for them having done so. The only thing I remember being told when picked on is, "Ignore him/them." I tried. And if instinct kicked in and I tried to fight back I got it even worse. So it just got to where I would land on the ground after having been knocked down somehow, then I'd curl up as best I could and just take it, hoping it would be over soon. I don't ever remember anyone coming to my rescue, or telling a teacher. I never saw any of my siblings while this was happening on the playground either. I don't remember ever telling a teacher myself. I probably figured that if my own parents didn't do anything to help me, why would they.
Oh God this is killing me to write it. Where in the hell was everybody?? I'm sure with the depression that I'm not remembering it completely correctly. But damnit I know that little bastard should have been stopped. My parents should have considered me more important than themselves. I didn't expect from my memory of Miss Sarlas. The bitch. She's the only teacher I ever had that I didn't get along with and I didn't like. Every other teacher, from kindergarten to college, I liked and got along with wonderfully. So I know the problem was hers, not mine. That woman should have not been allowed to teach children. High School maybe, or college. But not second graders. Especially not impressionable second graders who had no protection. Maybe that's why it seemed she always picked on me. She, like others in my life, knew they would not have to answer for their actions.
When, in the past I thought about that part of my life, I never thought about Timmy Kilboy or Miss Sarlas with positive thoughts, but I never had the knee-jerk reaction I did today. As soon as I saw the little, pint sized twerp and thought about how lucky Cindy was to have Mrs.Lindbloom instead of Miss Sarlas, all the anger that was stored in me bubbled up and boiled over. Or more like it came to a head and popped, oozing oil, liquid and solid, pus, and blood like a huge zit. That's where they were stored, in a giant zit in my memory. Then I squeezed, and squeezed, watching all the germ infested rememberances of them squirt out of me, never to have that kind of reaction from me again. Writing continues to squeeze the pustule and clean it out. Then applies the peroxide, to kill any remaining germs. No, I feel much better. And to show that I haven't let them or any others in my past rot me on the inside I'll concede that for all I know Timmy Kilboy may have gone home to parents that beat the shit out of him everyday. Something made him get pleasure out of torturing me. Although I don't feel it in my heart right now, I do hope he changed from that nasty little boy who was on his way to becoming a troublemaker as an adult. Not just for the world's sake, but his as well. And Miss Sarlas? She was middle aged then and not married. Maybe she needed to get laid. She sure acted like it. Something certainly influenced her behavior. Only I hold her more accountable since she was an adult. If I ever meet her again someday I'm going to ask her "why?" I hope she's changed for the better too. And one more thing, when we are all standing before God on Judgement Day, I'm not going to be standing there, pointing at them saying, "Look what they did to me!!!" That means I'm to a point where I can and do forgive them. I'm no saint, mind you, I do it because it frees me. I'm not bound to forgive them since neither of them has asked for forgiveness. But even then, if you don't do it, it will eat away at your soul. Mine has been hurt enough.
Yes, if you've read my "Hell Is For Children" blog you'd understand that this is another chapter in the book of my life. No, I'm not doing this to say, "Oh poor me." If I did that I'd be just like my parents. I do it because writing has always been a lifesaver. Literally. It's kept me from ending my own life once or twice. I also want it on record. I don't fool myself into thinking any of my tormentors will face justice because of this. No. I'm letting God take care of that. He is much better at it than I am. I'm hoping that maybe someone else will see themselves here and realize they have hope. I fought my way out of a pit of hopelessness and despair, and so can they. I also hope that if one of my loved ones has trouble understanding where I'm coming from, this will help. There is a whole lot about me that I WILL NOT share with anyone, except a minute, trusted, few. If I count them on my hand I still have fingers left over. So don't ask.
I'm not even going to ask God where the hell He was when all of this went on. It seems like He's not there for little ones a lot. But, from what I know of my own relationship with Him, and His nature, He is there. Just because we can't see him in person, or by what action we think He ought to be taking, doesn't mean He's somewhere else. Now I'm not going to go into that "God's ways are not our ways.....blah, blah, blah, blah, blah......" bullshit. For that 's what it is. It's a cop-out. The reality is that I haven't the faintest idea why we don't always see Him when we need to the most. I have no earthly idea. You'll have to take that up with Him. Ask Him yourself. Go ahead. Swallow your pride and do it. I did. I don't always get an answer. But in this life we don't always get what we want, do we? Shit happens. It has since Adam and Eve disobeyed God and ate the fruit that He told them not to eat. When they defied the Almighty, sin entered into the world. When that happened, all that it contained came with it.
What?? You never heard this part of the story? When sin came so did disease, so did suffering, so did pestulance, so did abuse, so did genocide, so did man-eating animals, so did war, murder, rape, arson, serial killers, poverty, etc, and anything else that can make a human being or living creature suffer on this earth; It all came in with sin.
Some people think that God was mean to keep the fruit from Adam and Eve, or to throw them out of the Garden of Eden when they ate it. If these geniuses will look close enough they will find out that if Adam and Eve would have stayed in there, they would have died. They couldn't go back and do it over. They couldn't act a certain way to get rid of the sin that infected them. They couldn't wash it away. There was NOTHING they could do to separate themselves from the sin they brought upon themselves. There was no hope. Then, God actually saved their lives by casting them away. Did you know that? We cannot have sin in us and survive God's presence. It's too perfect. Too powerful. I'm sure there are more appropriate words to explain it but I don't have them. Do you think that was easy for God to do? They were His children. Yet He made them leave His presence. It probably felt like He tore part of Himself off in order to keep them alive. And on top of that, He made them clothes. Look it up. God sewed them clothes to give them some kind of protection since their sin obliterated the protection He had given them in the first place. God could have said, "Go on! Suffer! You deserve what you get!" But our Father didn't do that. And He had the perfect right to, unlike our mortal fathers. That's where Jesus came in. To remove our sin nature. Why not right then during the Book of Genesis? I haven't the faintest clue. Life doesn't always work logically and make sense just because we demand that it does, does it?
Every human has a sin nature, passed down to us from our fathers. (We don't get it from our mothers. This is how a mortal young girl could carry the Son of God. Please don't get mad at me if you believe Mary was sinless. I respect that you do, but I don't. Although I believe her to be a woman worthy of great reverence and respect.) The sin nature. In God's presence it would have killed Adam and Eve, and it would kill us. By kill I mean eternal separation from God(not going to Heaven.) We can't do it ourselves. Being good NEVER got anyone there. It's a lie. The sin in us has to be gone, once and for all. Being good didn't wash it away for Adam and Eve and it won't for us. We can't get rid of it ourselves. That's Jesus' job. But I'm not here to give a sermon, or to challenge other beliefs. I just had to finish the thought.
I'm going off on a tangent here. Here's an answer I got from the Almighty. It took 30 years to get it too. I'm glad I didn't know that ahead of time. I would have been too impatient.
My parents moved us to Texas in 1979 just before my 15th birthday. It was a total, complete, nightmare. I was in a place as different to me as if I had been moved to Oz. I was the outsider. I was the freak. And all the time I was in high school there my brother Sam, sister Mary, and I were never accepted. You'd think we had been born with naturally purple hair. And it wasn't just us. Carswell Air Force Base, and General Dynamics(now Lockheed Martin) were in Fort Worth too. So that meant lots of Air Force Brats and transplants whose parents worked at either place. Not one of us was accepted, ever by the local kids who were raised in White Settlement, Texas. The name says it all, doesn't it? We felt like we all died and went to hell. I had never heard of a 15 year old getting married - with the parent's blessing, before. Of course the girl was pregnant. But where I'm from there was no way in hell a 15 year old was going to be allowed to get married. Pregnant or not. 18 was the youngest I had ever heard of anyone getting married. Yet at Brewer High School in White Settlement, Texas, I knew girls that only went to high school to find a husband. ????? Oz. I wasn't kidding.
For years afterward I pined for my real home. I visited it as much as possible whenever I could. Kept in touch with friends and relatives. When I was 18 I wanted to move back but I didn't have the courage to leave home. I had no confidence or self-esteem by that time. In fact, at that time, due to circumstances out of my control, and due to the lack of protection that was mine, I started to think of myself as lower than the lowest human. I wasn't quite ready to say that I wasn't human, but pretty close. An event took place in my life that all but stripped it away from me, and was verified by my family's failure to protect or defend me. I'm not going into it here. So don't ask.
Fast forward throughout my adulthood, I had started to get psychological help by this time, but more happened, good and bad, life piled up and went on. About 10 years after the event of my 18th year, another huge cataclysm took place that caused such devastation in me that I did, indeed start to consider myself an "it", a "thing", instead of a mortal human being. I begabn to really start abusing myself too. I constantly felt like I needed the shit beat out of me. So I took a belt and beat my legs until they were black and blue. I cut myself. Not enough to need stitches. I didn't want anyone to know I was doing this. Why? I was afraid they would tell me what an idiot I was for doing it. And maybe even tell me I wasn't doing it enough.
Again, I'm not going into it, so don't ask. No, I haven't gone into it.
Once again my family abandoned me, mentally and emotionally, and by doing so refused me medical treatment when I was having a miscarriage. They knew what was happening. Still, I dealt with it all by myself. Alone. I bled profusely for three days until I finally passed the baby. I could barely walk. In fact, I would try to do things that would make me bleed to death and have it done with. I didn't want to live anymore.
When life keeps telling you over and over that you are a doormat and that your job in life is to hold still while everyone wipes their feet on you, you start to believe it. Somehow, some way I went on. I even proved my parents wrong and got married. I even have kids. Thankfully I was diagnosed with Clinical Depression in 1999 and started on a wonder drug called Prozac. My life made a 180 degree turn. In 2004 I started with my current therapist, Alan, and in 2007 my diagnosis was upgraded to Dysthymia - meaning I have two kinds of clinical depression at the same time, and started on two new meds, Cymbalta and Wellbutrin. I've done nothing but improve since then. Last year the walls of my soul fell like Jericho and suddenly I have all this confidence I never had before. It's real. Not a fly-by-night fantasy. I can't tell you what strides I've made. So much dealt with, so much cast away.
Now, for the revelation I got from God, 30 years in the making? Why did He rip me away from my hometown, friends, family, growing confidence, the only place I felt I fit? To get to where I am now, I had to face myself, and my past. I had to see it for what it really was and deal with it. You know how it's written that, "The truth will make you free"? That's true. A big part of all the bullshit in my soul, heart, and mind had to do with family. Not just immediate family either. I'm not badmouthing anyone, but, if I had stayed in Chicago, close to all the crap I came from? I would be dead now. Or at least in a straight jacket in some psychiatric hospital or in a catatonic state somewhere, anywhere, to get away from the hell I lived in. My Dad's family fought, argued, back stabbed, gossiped, cast you out - my siblings and I affectionately call it the, "Vecchio Bullshit Syndrome." On my Mother's side, the Pearsons, they are known for sticking their heads way up their asses and pretending that everything is okay. Even when evil is staring them right in the face. We call this the, "Pearson Denial Mechanism." I'm not going into further detail of either side. Let's just say that I experienced it to the fullest. And if I had continued to live among all this, I shudder to think of what might have happened.
I can think of lots of different ways to have saved me from that crap. But I'm not God. And I do know that my life would have been worse if I had stayed or gone back. I don't have any desire to ask Him "why?" anymore. I am just glad to be where I am. I'm way off the subject I started with, but maybe not. I spent a good part of my life just trying to grab on to anything that was solid enough to stop the forward motion that was making my life out of control. It took all this time to grab ahold, catch my breath, figure out where I was, then right place to go. After several wrong turns, some with dire consequences, I finally made it to the right road. It's taken me all this time to get where I am now; sometimes I feel like I should have been here a long time ago. But I am where I am. More changes are coming up in my life. I'm not sure exactly what they'll be and when they'll happen, but at least I know how to deal with whatever comes my way. And I know who I can turn to when I can't take anymore. Thanks God.
A Tale Of Two Shirts; Or Claire's Folly
I'll try again. I fucked up the first try. It was deleted because of a misplaced pinky finger. Son-of-a- bitch. Yes, I'm not in the best of moods. If you know me then you expect the filth and foul language that goes with it. Whether it be my mouth or fingers. Either way it comes from my brain. Sometimes my heart.
I'm such an idiot. No matter what I do; I'm a fucking idiot. Why do I think I won't look like an idiot this time? I poured my heart and soul into those fleece pullovers, which is the only way I know how to do anything worthwhile, and he gives them a passing glance. Oh, I'm told he really, really likes his handmade shirts, but I didn't find out about it for several weeks after the fact, from a third party, and only after having to go through that third party to get the information. What's wrong with this picture? Why do I never learn? I must add here that the person who was supposed to tell me when he got them and how he reacted was seriously distracted during this time for reasons I can understand. It wasn't personal, it was an honest faux pas. Regardless, it seems that the gods of giving and acknowledgment have conspired against me.
Why does anything I do never turn out the way I intended for it to? And no, I didn't intend for it to end with Phil and I falling into each other's arms then riding off into the sunset on his Harley. In addition to that, I must have looked like some crazy lady because when emailed Bonnie to see if she would make sure Phil opened his gift before he goes fishing in October, she replied saying, "hope this eases your mind." Eases my mind? I wasn't asking her to ease my mind. I just wanted to make sure the recipient received the package from the sender. And as an added bonus, I wanted to know that the recipient liked said packages. That's all. Nothing else. It makes me think she sees me as some desperate housewife who is trying to get as close to Phil as possible, or is begging for Phil's attention, or who thinks Phil will rescue her from the drugery of her life, or that I believe that Phil has all the answers in life to make me happy, or whatever, blah blah, blah, blah...... My god that pisses me off to no end!! Am I that difficult to understand? I'm a writer for god's sake. I'm supposed to be able to communicate effectively!! Not only that, look at my record on his sites. Is there anything there that even smacks of "obsession", "fanatic", or "mania?" I give up. Fuck it.
Maybe other people are like that, but for the umpteenth time, I'M NOT!!! My life is NOT a drugery, I know that only I have the answers for what will make my life worth living, I do not need to be rescued from anything! and if I did, I'm perfectly capeable of rescuing myself! I don't need anyone else to do that! And certainly not Captain Phil Harris!! I learned to tell the world to fuck off a long time ago. I can't count on anyone to rescue me anyway; because when push comes to shove baby, the world can be a cold, cold place. It's every man for himself.
What do I want? All I want to know is if it touched his heart. That's all. Nothing else. I put a whole lot of time and effort, not to mention my heart and soul, into creating those fleece pullover shirts - and I know that no one asked me to do it. But I just happened to think Phil's heart is worth it. Now I'm not so sure. He knows that these shirts are handmade, and all that that entails, and still he doesn't acknowledge that the shirts even exist, let alone that he likes them. Some people say, "Well, he's a man. What do you expect?" I've seen him recognize other things given to him. No, I don't want mine publicly recognized; and it seems that a private "thanks" would be easier. But then that's just me. And it seems that I've been wrong quite a bit, lately.
If what I read about Phil is true, and what I suspect by reading between the lines is true, he and I have quite a bit in common. Even though it doesn't look that way on the surface. I just wanted him to know that I understand. Validation. That's what this is all about. Even years later, validation is such a salve. I'm not going to go into it. But in reaching out, I exposed myself and I got burned. I knew it was a risk. And I took it. I offered something most people don't understand, and made a fool out of myself in the process. I don't think anyone was specifically picking on me. I don't feel like anyone lashed out at me. I just exposed my soul and no one noticed. Or maybe gave it a just a passing glance. That hurts just as bad as if they had stomped all over it. Now, once again, I have the opportunity to choose how I handle what I've been given. I can admit that I remain invisible. Again, I have no worth or value. Again I'm carted off to the ship of fools, and written off. A passing sound that the main characters barley notice then say, "Did you hear that?" Then with a shrug of the shoulders says, "No? Okay. Whatever." And that's the end of that.
Why does that sound so familiar? Why do I keep doing this in hopes of a different outcome? If I ever get the result I want then does it mean that I'm finally able to be an equal among human beings? I don't know. Sounds like it. But in this case I don't think so. I made those shirts as a result of newfound confidence and self-worth. Come on, before this I was afraid to try to put a zipper in somthing I was making. Isn't that silly? But there it is. And I must say that the zippers in Phil's pullovers look fabulous. If I do say so myself. I'm a giver by nature. And if I stop being a giver I'll die inside. When I give to others, I give to myself. It's food for my soul. And what good is it go give to somone something that doesn't touch their heart? To do less is the same as saying, "I'm doing this only because I have to or it's expected of me and I don't think very much of you and I'm really doing this for show, not because you mean anything to me." I don't know about other people, but if I give you something, it means that I think you have worth and importance in this world. That's why I like Christmas so much. To me Christmas is all about giving, not getting. But alas, I've strayed from the subject.
No matter what I mean to anyone, I have to mean something to me first. I'm trying to teach my kids that. And for them to absorb that lesson, I have to do it myself. Kids don't do what you say, they do what you do. If not I'll have Denise climbing on my back, reaching around and forcing my head up yelling at me that she's not going to let me go down for the count. She can't save me, only I can. But goddamnit she's not going to just sit there and let it happen. She'll kick my ass until I stand up straight too. LOL! That creates quite a picture doesn't it? And the fact that we're both middle aged women makes it really funny too. It's nice to have someone who believes in you. Actually, it's as good as finding gold. Only a real friend would do such a thing. She doesn't think it's all over yet. And she can think that. But I'm not. I'm not going there again. If Phil wants my attention, he'll have to come and get it himself. And we all know that that isn't going to happen. And if it does, I'm buying a lottery ticket.
I said earlier that I don't want to be publicly recognized for anything I've done for Phil. And I don't. I don't want pictures of my gifts for him put on his website. I just want to know that my labor, and the fruits thereof, have touched his heart, and maybe even healed a bit of it too. That's why I did it all. From one kid to another. That and that alone.
I'm such an idiot. No matter what I do; I'm a fucking idiot. Why do I think I won't look like an idiot this time? I poured my heart and soul into those fleece pullovers, which is the only way I know how to do anything worthwhile, and he gives them a passing glance. Oh, I'm told he really, really likes his handmade shirts, but I didn't find out about it for several weeks after the fact, from a third party, and only after having to go through that third party to get the information. What's wrong with this picture? Why do I never learn? I must add here that the person who was supposed to tell me when he got them and how he reacted was seriously distracted during this time for reasons I can understand. It wasn't personal, it was an honest faux pas. Regardless, it seems that the gods of giving and acknowledgment have conspired against me.
Why does anything I do never turn out the way I intended for it to? And no, I didn't intend for it to end with Phil and I falling into each other's arms then riding off into the sunset on his Harley. In addition to that, I must have looked like some crazy lady because when emailed Bonnie to see if she would make sure Phil opened his gift before he goes fishing in October, she replied saying, "hope this eases your mind." Eases my mind? I wasn't asking her to ease my mind. I just wanted to make sure the recipient received the package from the sender. And as an added bonus, I wanted to know that the recipient liked said packages. That's all. Nothing else. It makes me think she sees me as some desperate housewife who is trying to get as close to Phil as possible, or is begging for Phil's attention, or who thinks Phil will rescue her from the drugery of her life, or that I believe that Phil has all the answers in life to make me happy, or whatever, blah blah, blah, blah...... My god that pisses me off to no end!! Am I that difficult to understand? I'm a writer for god's sake. I'm supposed to be able to communicate effectively!! Not only that, look at my record on his sites. Is there anything there that even smacks of "obsession", "fanatic", or "mania?" I give up. Fuck it.
Maybe other people are like that, but for the umpteenth time, I'M NOT!!! My life is NOT a drugery, I know that only I have the answers for what will make my life worth living, I do not need to be rescued from anything! and if I did, I'm perfectly capeable of rescuing myself! I don't need anyone else to do that! And certainly not Captain Phil Harris!! I learned to tell the world to fuck off a long time ago. I can't count on anyone to rescue me anyway; because when push comes to shove baby, the world can be a cold, cold place. It's every man for himself.
What do I want? All I want to know is if it touched his heart. That's all. Nothing else. I put a whole lot of time and effort, not to mention my heart and soul, into creating those fleece pullover shirts - and I know that no one asked me to do it. But I just happened to think Phil's heart is worth it. Now I'm not so sure. He knows that these shirts are handmade, and all that that entails, and still he doesn't acknowledge that the shirts even exist, let alone that he likes them. Some people say, "Well, he's a man. What do you expect?" I've seen him recognize other things given to him. No, I don't want mine publicly recognized; and it seems that a private "thanks" would be easier. But then that's just me. And it seems that I've been wrong quite a bit, lately.
If what I read about Phil is true, and what I suspect by reading between the lines is true, he and I have quite a bit in common. Even though it doesn't look that way on the surface. I just wanted him to know that I understand. Validation. That's what this is all about. Even years later, validation is such a salve. I'm not going to go into it. But in reaching out, I exposed myself and I got burned. I knew it was a risk. And I took it. I offered something most people don't understand, and made a fool out of myself in the process. I don't think anyone was specifically picking on me. I don't feel like anyone lashed out at me. I just exposed my soul and no one noticed. Or maybe gave it a just a passing glance. That hurts just as bad as if they had stomped all over it. Now, once again, I have the opportunity to choose how I handle what I've been given. I can admit that I remain invisible. Again, I have no worth or value. Again I'm carted off to the ship of fools, and written off. A passing sound that the main characters barley notice then say, "Did you hear that?" Then with a shrug of the shoulders says, "No? Okay. Whatever." And that's the end of that.
Why does that sound so familiar? Why do I keep doing this in hopes of a different outcome? If I ever get the result I want then does it mean that I'm finally able to be an equal among human beings? I don't know. Sounds like it. But in this case I don't think so. I made those shirts as a result of newfound confidence and self-worth. Come on, before this I was afraid to try to put a zipper in somthing I was making. Isn't that silly? But there it is. And I must say that the zippers in Phil's pullovers look fabulous. If I do say so myself. I'm a giver by nature. And if I stop being a giver I'll die inside. When I give to others, I give to myself. It's food for my soul. And what good is it go give to somone something that doesn't touch their heart? To do less is the same as saying, "I'm doing this only because I have to or it's expected of me and I don't think very much of you and I'm really doing this for show, not because you mean anything to me." I don't know about other people, but if I give you something, it means that I think you have worth and importance in this world. That's why I like Christmas so much. To me Christmas is all about giving, not getting. But alas, I've strayed from the subject.
No matter what I mean to anyone, I have to mean something to me first. I'm trying to teach my kids that. And for them to absorb that lesson, I have to do it myself. Kids don't do what you say, they do what you do. If not I'll have Denise climbing on my back, reaching around and forcing my head up yelling at me that she's not going to let me go down for the count. She can't save me, only I can. But goddamnit she's not going to just sit there and let it happen. She'll kick my ass until I stand up straight too. LOL! That creates quite a picture doesn't it? And the fact that we're both middle aged women makes it really funny too. It's nice to have someone who believes in you. Actually, it's as good as finding gold. Only a real friend would do such a thing. She doesn't think it's all over yet. And she can think that. But I'm not. I'm not going there again. If Phil wants my attention, he'll have to come and get it himself. And we all know that that isn't going to happen. And if it does, I'm buying a lottery ticket.
I said earlier that I don't want to be publicly recognized for anything I've done for Phil. And I don't. I don't want pictures of my gifts for him put on his website. I just want to know that my labor, and the fruits thereof, have touched his heart, and maybe even healed a bit of it too. That's why I did it all. From one kid to another. That and that alone.
Laprascopic Cholecystectomy; Am I Less Of A Woman?
Talk about exciting weekends. Last weekend I got to meet Captain Phil Harris and this weekend my gallbladder beat the shit out of me. Phil Harris is understandably exciting, but a gallbladder, exciting?
First, just because something is exciting does not mean it's exciting in a good way. Meeting Phil was most definitely good. My gallbladder develping an infection and then punishing me for it with excruciating pain, is most definitely exciting, but not good. I feel like someone punched me in the stomach all weekend, now. But when I was having the gallbladder attack the pain was as bad as front labor pains, and appendicitis. I say "front" labor" pains because as painful as it was, and it was , back labor is still worse, in my opinion. At first I thought it was acid reflux and took some Pepto Bismol and Pepcid AC. They didn't touch the pain. Then I tried to make myself throw up thinking that the pain would go away if I could just get the stomach contents out. After about two hours of this, it occurred to me that the problem could be my gallbladder. I seemed to remember people talking about it when I worked in surgery. That's when I decided to go to the hospital. The ER saw me right away and it didn't take long to figure out what the problem was. When they did a sonogram of my liver area they could see gall stones in the picture. As far as I was concerned they couldn't get it out fast enough. But that wasn't until the next day. Until then they kept me on a nice dose of morphine. That was great. LOL The surgery went just like the doctor expected with no nasty surprises. He even took pictures of my insides and the offending gallbladder itself. Cool. Now I know myself inside and out. ;p
I've come full circle with my gallbladder too. When I was working in surgery; of all the cases I ever scrubbed, I think the laprascopic cholecystectomy is the one I've scrubbed the most. When they wheeled me into the operating room I felt like I had come home. As I was scooting over to the narrow operating table I looked over at the scrub tech and his/her backtable and tray. I remember those instruments. The trocars, the rod shaped camera that goes inside your body, hoses, tubes, long electrocautery, sponges.
It just occurred to me that when I was first employed and my supervisor felt I was done being precepted, the lap chole (coal - ee) was the very first case I scrubbed by myself. I remember the look on Dr. Crawford's face as he watched me set up. To me it said,"Oh no! Not a new scrub! Not today!" He didn't seem real happy about it. Well, he didn't have a choice. When the case was over he was pleasantly surprised. And after that I was always one of the people he wanted working with him on those cases.
There's another doctor, who's last name was Wolf, and he always put the radio on the oldies station. When the song, "Little Red Riding Hood" came on and the singer started howling, Dr.Wolf howled right along with him. I always wondered what the patient would have thought if they had started to wake at that point. Even though the anesthesia people would never let you wake up enough to feel anything, your hearing is the first sense to come back from being under the influence of it. Surgery is almost never the way it's portrayed on tv. Another doctor had to have his Journey CD on with the volume turned all the way up. I'm surprised the speakers didn't blow.
I'm home now. I'm sleepy. The pain isn't bad. It would be if not for the Darvocet. Yay drugs! LOL I sure did like that morphine though. LOL Now I know why people do drugs. LOL
For the time being I can't lift anything heavy and I'm supposed to rest. This means that my family has to do for themselves. It's nice to just sit here and watch them do what I usually do.
My sister-in-law Tracy just called to check on me. She offered to bring us dinner on Thursday. I told her I would hit my brother up for some of Grandma's meatball soup. He's the only one who can make it just like she does. yummmm.......... One of the benefit's of this situation is the delicious food you get to eat and you don't have to make it yourself. LOL
First, just because something is exciting does not mean it's exciting in a good way. Meeting Phil was most definitely good. My gallbladder develping an infection and then punishing me for it with excruciating pain, is most definitely exciting, but not good. I feel like someone punched me in the stomach all weekend, now. But when I was having the gallbladder attack the pain was as bad as front labor pains, and appendicitis. I say "front" labor" pains because as painful as it was, and it was , back labor is still worse, in my opinion. At first I thought it was acid reflux and took some Pepto Bismol and Pepcid AC. They didn't touch the pain. Then I tried to make myself throw up thinking that the pain would go away if I could just get the stomach contents out. After about two hours of this, it occurred to me that the problem could be my gallbladder. I seemed to remember people talking about it when I worked in surgery. That's when I decided to go to the hospital. The ER saw me right away and it didn't take long to figure out what the problem was. When they did a sonogram of my liver area they could see gall stones in the picture. As far as I was concerned they couldn't get it out fast enough. But that wasn't until the next day. Until then they kept me on a nice dose of morphine. That was great. LOL The surgery went just like the doctor expected with no nasty surprises. He even took pictures of my insides and the offending gallbladder itself. Cool. Now I know myself inside and out. ;p
I've come full circle with my gallbladder too. When I was working in surgery; of all the cases I ever scrubbed, I think the laprascopic cholecystectomy is the one I've scrubbed the most. When they wheeled me into the operating room I felt like I had come home. As I was scooting over to the narrow operating table I looked over at the scrub tech and his/her backtable and tray. I remember those instruments. The trocars, the rod shaped camera that goes inside your body, hoses, tubes, long electrocautery, sponges.
It just occurred to me that when I was first employed and my supervisor felt I was done being precepted, the lap chole (coal - ee) was the very first case I scrubbed by myself. I remember the look on Dr. Crawford's face as he watched me set up. To me it said,"Oh no! Not a new scrub! Not today!" He didn't seem real happy about it. Well, he didn't have a choice. When the case was over he was pleasantly surprised. And after that I was always one of the people he wanted working with him on those cases.
There's another doctor, who's last name was Wolf, and he always put the radio on the oldies station. When the song, "Little Red Riding Hood" came on and the singer started howling, Dr.Wolf howled right along with him. I always wondered what the patient would have thought if they had started to wake at that point. Even though the anesthesia people would never let you wake up enough to feel anything, your hearing is the first sense to come back from being under the influence of it. Surgery is almost never the way it's portrayed on tv. Another doctor had to have his Journey CD on with the volume turned all the way up. I'm surprised the speakers didn't blow.
I'm home now. I'm sleepy. The pain isn't bad. It would be if not for the Darvocet. Yay drugs! LOL I sure did like that morphine though. LOL Now I know why people do drugs. LOL
For the time being I can't lift anything heavy and I'm supposed to rest. This means that my family has to do for themselves. It's nice to just sit here and watch them do what I usually do.
My sister-in-law Tracy just called to check on me. She offered to bring us dinner on Thursday. I told her I would hit my brother up for some of Grandma's meatball soup. He's the only one who can make it just like she does. yummmm.......... One of the benefit's of this situation is the delicious food you get to eat and you don't have to make it yourself. LOL
Response To Another Post From Captain Phil's Website
On the website http://www.captainphilharris.com/, there is a thread called, "Quit Smoking With Captain Phil", with a sub thread called, "Let's Show Some Support".
As always when the subject of smoking is brought up, the comments fall into one of several camps: Smokers, Ex-Smokers, Non-smokers who understand that they have no idea what it's like to smoke or be addicted to it, and then there are those Non-Smokers who I call the, "Holier than thou, I'm better than you, Look down their noses" crowd who think that smoking is a character flaw, and that all smokers are a lower form of life.
Some of those people think they are being nice about telling you to quit because they use nice words, friendly tone of voice, and keep reminding you how unhealthy it is for you. Then there are ones I consider "Anti-Smoking Nazi's" - for that's how they act. These folks feel it's necessary to constantly reconniter a smoker's habit and feel they are entitled to continually tell you that you need to quit smoking, why you need to quit smoking, how expensive it is to smoke, and all about how the second hand smoke from your habit is slowly killing everyone within a 20 mile radius of the cigarette you are smoking. All that with the tone and demeanor of someone who is addressing a 6 year old child.
I had not read the thread in a while so I have not read every comment, but when I did one post made me want to smack the writer upside the head. The subject of Phil's continued smoking came up. While most were sympathetic about how difficult it is to quit, one person named "Sock Monkey" answered with this, "I noticed that he is still smoking, maybe this subject should be deleted from the forum." When someone asked if we should stop supporting Phil because he has not succeeded yet and how hard it is to quit, she was answered, "hmmm, trying? Everytime I see him, he has a smoke in his hand." I wish that person was in my presence so I could verbally rip him/her a new asshole. I can't stand people who have that attitude. Who do they think they are?
Maybe I'm overreacting a bit, but when I smoked I was practically crucified for it. It was my life and nobody else's damn business. I never smoked in homes that weren't mine, I never smoked around babies except my own, and I never threw my cigarettes out of my car window. People who haven't walked in my shoes need to keep their thoughts to themselves and their traps shut. After a while of hearing them blab, you just don't want to be around it anymore. And in this case Phil can't come back and tell the person what he thinks. He'd get into too much trouble if he did. I'm not claiming to know exactly what he thinks, but I have walked in his shoes, so I probably come close. Here's my reply to Sock Monkey and anyone else like him/her. The first sentence is to another poster who answered right before I did, and at the end of her post she wrote, "
"There, I finally commited myself to an opinion on something......if you must throw stones, please aim for my gut, my head is already too screwed up as it is!"
I answered:
"Kim, you are so nice. I smoked for 25 years and have been smoke free for 2 1/2, so I speak from experience and won't sound as nice as you.
I get fed up with people who monitor whether or not a smoker has quit, or how much they smoke. What business is it of theirs? Most of us are here because we like the guy we see piloting the Cornelia Marie every week, and want everything done that will expedite good health to him. Most people would. There is nothing wrong with wanting Phil to quit smoking to achieve that goal. But whether or not he does it is his business. Not ours. I can't speak for Phil, but I'm sure part of him wants to quit because he wants to live, and have a good life. But as an ex-smoker, I can pretty much guarantee you that the rest of him is saying, "Quit smoking?? OH, HELL NO!!" - as his body craves the cigarettes even more than before. I understand this concept very well.
Sock Monkey, the title to this thread is: Quit Smoking With Captain Phil. This implies, at least to me, that the smokers other than Phil are supposed to try to put down the nicotine along with him. It isn't a thread for people to ride his back about whether or not he has stopped his bad habit yet. Why should we delete this thread? To punish Phil?? To send him a message that we think he's a schmuck because he still smokes?? Or is it a call to give up on him completely?? And will any of that make him stop?? Will Captain Phil read it and decide that he better quit so he doesn't let down his fans or hurt anybody's feelings?? What does he owe us, really?? Don't anyone correct me; the man is very generous with his time he gives to those who admire him, and lets all of them all know how thankful he is for all he has been given from this reality, and is always unpretentious about the whole thing. I've never seen him not humbled by his celebrity.
But in reality, he doesn't owe any of us his cessation from cigarettes. If you feel Phil has let you down because he still smokes, you had better examine your relationship to him. With the exception of a few ladies on this board, not one of us is a close, personal friend of his. If he owe's anyone the termination of cigarettes in his life, he owe's it to himself. No one else. Family and close friends do count - up to a point, but he's the one who will pay the ultimate price if he doesn't stop. Are you addicted to anything?? Have you ever walked in his shoes? I have. And I'm telling you that to cut the cigarettes out of your life is like having an extra appendage that will kill you if you don't amputate it. But here's the thing: instead of having a surgeon operate, you have to sever it by yourself. And without anesthesia. Does that sound easy? Especially while there are people all around you waiting for you to be done with it? There are also so-called "nice" people who feel they need to give Phil their opinion about his continued smoking, and they seem to think that he will really be influenced by those beliefs. I have a message for them: He won't be. You don't have that kind of influence on Phil. Not one of those comments will directly affect Phil's smoking habits. If anything, they will begin to piss him off. At least it did me. And again, I'm not speaking for Phil.
All I'm trying to say is to get off the guy's back. He'll quit when he's damn well good and ready. Constant pestering and pronounciations of a horrible future and his death will not help or encourage him or any other smoker to stop. And for those who see cigarette smoking as a character flaw to be looked down upon, I suggest you take a look at your own life. If you turn on the light in your closet you can get rid of all those dusty old skeletons in there.See Kim, now the stones will get thrown at me. You are safe."
Report to moderator 99.30.79.117
As always when the subject of smoking is brought up, the comments fall into one of several camps: Smokers, Ex-Smokers, Non-smokers who understand that they have no idea what it's like to smoke or be addicted to it, and then there are those Non-Smokers who I call the, "Holier than thou, I'm better than you, Look down their noses" crowd who think that smoking is a character flaw, and that all smokers are a lower form of life.
Some of those people think they are being nice about telling you to quit because they use nice words, friendly tone of voice, and keep reminding you how unhealthy it is for you. Then there are ones I consider "Anti-Smoking Nazi's" - for that's how they act. These folks feel it's necessary to constantly reconniter a smoker's habit and feel they are entitled to continually tell you that you need to quit smoking, why you need to quit smoking, how expensive it is to smoke, and all about how the second hand smoke from your habit is slowly killing everyone within a 20 mile radius of the cigarette you are smoking. All that with the tone and demeanor of someone who is addressing a 6 year old child.
I had not read the thread in a while so I have not read every comment, but when I did one post made me want to smack the writer upside the head. The subject of Phil's continued smoking came up. While most were sympathetic about how difficult it is to quit, one person named "Sock Monkey" answered with this, "I noticed that he is still smoking, maybe this subject should be deleted from the forum." When someone asked if we should stop supporting Phil because he has not succeeded yet and how hard it is to quit, she was answered, "hmmm, trying? Everytime I see him, he has a smoke in his hand." I wish that person was in my presence so I could verbally rip him/her a new asshole. I can't stand people who have that attitude. Who do they think they are?
Maybe I'm overreacting a bit, but when I smoked I was practically crucified for it. It was my life and nobody else's damn business. I never smoked in homes that weren't mine, I never smoked around babies except my own, and I never threw my cigarettes out of my car window. People who haven't walked in my shoes need to keep their thoughts to themselves and their traps shut. After a while of hearing them blab, you just don't want to be around it anymore. And in this case Phil can't come back and tell the person what he thinks. He'd get into too much trouble if he did. I'm not claiming to know exactly what he thinks, but I have walked in his shoes, so I probably come close. Here's my reply to Sock Monkey and anyone else like him/her. The first sentence is to another poster who answered right before I did, and at the end of her post she wrote, "
"There, I finally commited myself to an opinion on something......if you must throw stones, please aim for my gut, my head is already too screwed up as it is!"
I answered:
"Kim, you are so nice. I smoked for 25 years and have been smoke free for 2 1/2, so I speak from experience and won't sound as nice as you.
I get fed up with people who monitor whether or not a smoker has quit, or how much they smoke. What business is it of theirs? Most of us are here because we like the guy we see piloting the Cornelia Marie every week, and want everything done that will expedite good health to him. Most people would. There is nothing wrong with wanting Phil to quit smoking to achieve that goal. But whether or not he does it is his business. Not ours. I can't speak for Phil, but I'm sure part of him wants to quit because he wants to live, and have a good life. But as an ex-smoker, I can pretty much guarantee you that the rest of him is saying, "Quit smoking?? OH, HELL NO!!" - as his body craves the cigarettes even more than before. I understand this concept very well.
Sock Monkey, the title to this thread is: Quit Smoking With Captain Phil. This implies, at least to me, that the smokers other than Phil are supposed to try to put down the nicotine along with him. It isn't a thread for people to ride his back about whether or not he has stopped his bad habit yet. Why should we delete this thread? To punish Phil?? To send him a message that we think he's a schmuck because he still smokes?? Or is it a call to give up on him completely?? And will any of that make him stop?? Will Captain Phil read it and decide that he better quit so he doesn't let down his fans or hurt anybody's feelings?? What does he owe us, really?? Don't anyone correct me; the man is very generous with his time he gives to those who admire him, and lets all of them all know how thankful he is for all he has been given from this reality, and is always unpretentious about the whole thing. I've never seen him not humbled by his celebrity.
But in reality, he doesn't owe any of us his cessation from cigarettes. If you feel Phil has let you down because he still smokes, you had better examine your relationship to him. With the exception of a few ladies on this board, not one of us is a close, personal friend of his. If he owe's anyone the termination of cigarettes in his life, he owe's it to himself. No one else. Family and close friends do count - up to a point, but he's the one who will pay the ultimate price if he doesn't stop. Are you addicted to anything?? Have you ever walked in his shoes? I have. And I'm telling you that to cut the cigarettes out of your life is like having an extra appendage that will kill you if you don't amputate it. But here's the thing: instead of having a surgeon operate, you have to sever it by yourself. And without anesthesia. Does that sound easy? Especially while there are people all around you waiting for you to be done with it? There are also so-called "nice" people who feel they need to give Phil their opinion about his continued smoking, and they seem to think that he will really be influenced by those beliefs. I have a message for them: He won't be. You don't have that kind of influence on Phil. Not one of those comments will directly affect Phil's smoking habits. If anything, they will begin to piss him off. At least it did me. And again, I'm not speaking for Phil.
All I'm trying to say is to get off the guy's back. He'll quit when he's damn well good and ready. Constant pestering and pronounciations of a horrible future and his death will not help or encourage him or any other smoker to stop. And for those who see cigarette smoking as a character flaw to be looked down upon, I suggest you take a look at your own life. If you turn on the light in your closet you can get rid of all those dusty old skeletons in there.See Kim, now the stones will get thrown at me. You are safe."
Report to moderator 99.30.79.117
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