There's been a lot, at times, that I haven't cared for from my in-laws.  When Mike and I first got together, well, they were downright mean at times.

Mike's grandfather was never mean.  He never lost his temper with me or the kids.  He was kind.  He treated Russell with love and kindness from the get-go.  He always hugged me good-bye and he called me, "sweetheart."  He did small thoughtful things.  While he never spoke a lot, he usually showed you that he thought the world of you in a small gesture or a kind phrase.  That was just Pop's way of doing things.  I felt like one of his loved grandchildren.  I felt like a princess around him.

In the past few years, he's been in a state of decline.  We were at a casino and he was out of it for lack of a better phrase.  I made a small joke and he asked me to repeat it, so I did.  He clearly didn't get it, even though it wasn't any great feat of wit on my part.  And I wondered.  At a later time, we were visiting him and he seemed a little fuzzy-brained.  He also had a hard time getting around.

At one of Mike's brother's weddings, Mike had to escort him down the aisle to his seat because he couldn't get there on his own.

Today, my parents came to visit.  They gave me a star sapphire ring that my father bought for my grandmother, when he was in Vietnam.  Attached to it was a small note in her writing explaining that fact and that she wanted me to have it.  She knew it was my birth stone.  On top of that, there was a small hair clip with my name on it.  I don't think I normally would put something in my hair at my age, but I did today. I cried when I saw the note about the ring.  I felt the touch of my grandmother's love from across time and I just missed her terribly in that little bit of time.

As my parents got up to leave for the evening, Mike's brother called saying that Pop didn't have much longer and that they didn't expect him to make it through the night.  I guess he passed around midnight our time.  I miss him, too.  I wish sincerely that we could go to say goodbye to him . I always have appreciated Mike's grandparents because I miss mine very much -- Pop, in particular, reminds me a great deal of my mother's father, for whom I named my son.

Tonight, I miss Alice and Lyman.  I'm glad for their peace, though.  It was as if Alice sent that ring with my parents because she knew that today Pop was going to meet her for the first time.

This post is in memory of Alice, and particularly, of Lyman, who both are loved and both of whom made such marks on my life and the lives of others, in ways that others may not see, but in ways I see every single day. May I live up to the high standards they set for me and honor their memories by the way in which I live my life and love others, and of course, the way in which I love both of them.

I have to tell you the spoon story.  In my version of course, Ruby is one of the main characters. Ha!

Two friends, Ruby and Betty are at a diner having coffee and waiting for their food to arrive.  


Ruby is trying to explain to Betty what living with fibromyalgia is.  (I've seen this used for lupus, too.)  Ruby tells Betty, "Go grab all the spoons you can in the diner."  Betty giggles at the game and snags all the spoons she can find off the surrounding tables and comes back to her vinyl seat with a fistful of spoons.  


Ruby says, "Imagine that you wake up and you've only got 6 spoons. For each thing you have to do, you have to use a spoon."  So Ruby counts out 6 spoons and gives them to Betty.  


Betty says, "Well, I first I get ready for work."  And Betty places a spoon on the table.  Then she says, "Then I leave the house." And she places another spoon on the table.  "I work and come home." She places a spoon on the table. "I make dinner."  She places a spoon on the table.  "I watch TV."  She places a spoon on the table. "I get to bed."  She places the  last spoon on the table."


Ruby says, "Well, that's not quite how it works."  Ruby collects the spoons.


"First, I have to wake up." Ruby places a spoon on the table.
"Then I have to actually get out of bed." Ruby places a second spoon the table. 
"Then, I shower."  Ruby places another spoon on the table.  
"Then I have to get dressed."  Ruby places another spoon on the table. 
 "Then I have to get out to the kitchen."  Ruby places another spoon the table. 
"Then I have to eat."  Ruby places the last spoon on the table.


Betty says, "But you're out of spoons! You haven't even gotten to work yet!"  


Ruby says, "Exactly."

The weather changed from this cold front to a warm front and I swear, I could hardly scrape my corpse out of bed at 1PM, when Mike came in and forced me up to eat. Today was what I refer to as a no-spooner.

It was truly awful.  I finally got around to showering this afternoon at 3PM, when Mike informed me that Genny had invited kids over and they were playing with the hose in the yard.  I told him to get a bowl full of ice going and to load it with Orange Crush and that I'd be out in a few.

I showered in slow motion, but managed to get out and get some grapes put together in a bowl  and put them out the the porch.  I watched kids and supervised, so they didn't break any bones from the porch, where I took a phone full of pictures. The kids went home and Genny showered and then, Mike and I convinced even Russell to join us and we all played a game of cards.

Then I crawled back to bed and just kind of collapsed there until dinner and my shoulders and neck began to ache.

After dinner, I had Genny come in and help me hang clothes because my head was all over clearing off my dresser, but my body thought I was smoking crack.  I put them on hangers and she ran them to the closet.  If I tell her I'm having a no spooner, she is pretty sweet about helping me out.  Of course, initially,  I got the lippy response of, "Want me to get you a spoon from the kitchen, Mom?"   If I was feeling better, I'd have tossed a pillow at her, but I gave her a death glare and she said, "Nevermind!" and came in and got hangers.

People used to refer to fibromyalgia as rheumatism and I swear, if there's a weather shift, I can tell you.  When we had tornados and heavy thunderstorms last summer, I swear it felt like someone took a sledgehammer to every part of my body.  Today, I just felt like sludge in molasses.

My legs are sore and while, normally, I'd say I have no good reason for it, I know better. I got Mike to run the thunder massager on my back and the backs of my legs.  We call it the thunder massager because it just thunders over your body. A Brookstone special, I got it for Mother's Day and if I need to loosen the muscles in my shoulders, I just need to wedge that under my shoulders for about 10 minutes and I melt into the bed.  I took a hot shower after I received the thunder treatment and stretched, so now, while the sludge remains, at least the pain in my shoulders and neck has fled.

On days like today, I need a brain transplant on standby because I felt like I was using the same three brain cells and that they had run out of good ideas.  I'm hoping that the weather holds and that I get more spoons tomorrow because my head is well nigh overflowing with the stuff I want to be able to get done.  I just need my body to catch up a bit.

I had this enormous cup of coffee and no food, so went flying around the house for several hours high on my version of crack.  While normally caffeine doesn't smack me so hard, I think that whole empty stomach thing
really contributed to my spazz fit.

During that time, I texted a lot of people.  I messaged Mike about 20 times on YIM.  I then took a shower and inflicited myself on my daughter.  I buzzed all over town running errands and jabbering a million miles an hour and then, I drove her nuts at Walmart.  As Mike joined us for our shopping trip, I was starting to come down off this bizarre caffeine fit and Genny thanked Mike for "saving" her.

Then I looked at her and I said, "Now, you know how we feel every day when we deal with you without meds."

She asked incredulously,"Really?"

"Yup!"

"I am so sorry."

Words you think you'll never hear from the mouth of an eleven year old.

I still have some coffee in the carafe.  I'm thinking the bathroom needs to be cleaned because that damned laundry pile is annoying the shit out of me.

Who the hell needs crystal meth or crack?  Load me up on coffee, hold the food.  Now, if I could manage to get the physique of a meth head with caffeine I could melt that ass down and make some glue.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD, for those of us who are bosom buddies with that bitch, is something that affects many people for a vast number of reasons.

I have it because I was abused. Most of that abuse occurred as an adult, but some of it occurred as a child, though spanking a child with a paddle back then, wasn't considered abuse. It sure felt like abuse, but more specifically, it transmitted a lack of self-esteem to me that I took with me to my adult life in a series of choices that it took a while to "grow out of." It also took nearly dying to finally say, "Fuck this shit. I deserve better."

While there are things I still flinch over like pulled hair, I also have nightmares and moments of genuine terror over things that for most people aren't a reason to have a panic attack.

Today, I was talking with a friend, who is struggling with ghosts of a life past, and realized that PTSD has terrorized so many of us -- man, woman, child.

For me, that brought up things I can't get past. Hair pulling for some reason is one of those. The other night, Mike was playing with my hair, which normally I love, and he pulled it a little and I cried out. My hair is getting long again, so I find when he's kissing me, half the time, I'm pulling my hair out from under an elbow and wincing. I think having my fibromyalgia so up in my face is leaching up these half-remembered memories, and most of the time I can observe, but sometimes, they go clanging through like the proverbial bull in a porcelain shop.

Sometimes, I find myself googling for where in the world is Zip. I've found him and seen where he's been jailed, not surprisingly. He's been married. He's had a child. He's gone deeper into his psychosis and sickness. Then, I am filled with horror that I didn't report him for all that he did to me and other women. I think I was so filled with horror that I couldn't run fast nor far enough away. When he went to Japan, I figured that he'd offend someone and end up dead.

No such luck.