Twenty Years From Now

Image

My photos that have a creative commons license...

My photos that have a creative commons license and are free for everyone to download, edit, alter and use as long as you give me, “D Sharon Pruitt” credit as the original owner of the photo. Have fun and enjoy! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A few days ago I learned a huge lesson when I accidentally ran into a good friend of my mother’s in the grocery store.  He asked about “the children” whom he has known since they were 3 and 5. I talked, half laughing and half serious about what they were doing, about how life has changed, how we see them less, and how grown up they are,  “He looked at me and said solemnly “Yes, this is truly the hardest part.” Thankful for his understanding, I asked him “when this stage will end?” seeking his sage advice.

He looked at me directly with his intense, blue eyes and he said bluntly” “twenty years.” I thought he was joking but he was dead serious. “Forget it now, leave it and after they get married and have kids they’ll come back but not until then.” After that, he left quickly.

I automatically moved my cart to the fruit and vegetable section and stopped abruptly between the bananas and nectarines and all I wanted to do was cry. The last week had been a difficult one, a confusing one for me and this was the culmination that I didn’t want to hear but needed to hear. Rationally of course, I knew this and was proud of my independent children but  emotionally I felt something was amiss. The son with whom I communicate with a glance or one word was acting strangely, apparently, he felt the same way about me. Neither one of us was direct.

I thought I should get an Academy Award for Best Actress, encouraging him to have fun on new adventures, understanding totally why he would stay up at school for the entire week of his break. Apparently I fooled myself but not him. He saw through me before I SAW myself yet I could also read him, he felt a little guilty as well.

What we have learned: Communicate Directly even if it feels hard to do. Do it sooner than later. Me and mini-me know each other so well, but this time, he knew me better than I knew myself. My son communicated with his dad, his dad knowing things but not telling me, he WAS involved even though he didn’t want to be and he refused to play mediator….needless to say, It got messy.

I really do need a job and to get out of the house more. There will be major changes in our lives but they are not here yet. We need to sit tight where we are and I am not known for my patience. Any type of separation for an emotional doll like me feels like someone just lashed out and slapped me in the face repeatedly. So this piece is my own personal time capsule.  All my life my goal was to be a mom and raise two wonderful young people and I know I succeeded. Now it’s time for me to do new things, walk away slowly, knowing I did a great job. I’m smiling now, things make much more sense and I’m the one looking back and leaving, it’s so much easier than being left. Let’s take it up again, in twenty years.

Eppiglottitis 2: The Movie

English: Diagram of the Human Throat for the T...

English: Diagram of the Human Throat for the Throat article. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s the season when Summer is ending and you know you have a few precious days left of warm weather, light clothing and a little bit of sunshine left. As soon as those little Italian “prune” plums as we call them, appear in supermarkets, we know, summer is over. I’ve seen large candy packs lined up like soldiers at the drugstore and supermarkets for Halloween for for the past two months.  I’m waiting any day now for the Thanksgiving decorations and the holiday decorations: Christmas lights and tinsel and Chanukah menorahs and candles to be placed. In my family the fight over Thanksgiving has been going on for months.

In preparation for the Fall and Winter months, I decided to get ready by buying a large container of “home-made” chicken soup.  I make a mean chicken soup, let me tell you, better than theirs by far, but it was 93 degrees out and I couldn’t stand the thought of making it in the in my hot kitchen. I just wanted to be ready. Prepared for what, you ask? Well, obviously you have NOT suffered from the pain and misery of the dreaded disease Eppiglottitis which I have had several times and I know, my faithful readers from all over the world have too.

I am the Queen of Eppiglottitis.

Describing it as hell on earth does not give you an adequate picture. In my first Eppigottitis post called” Callling Eppiglottitis A Bitch Is A Vast Understatement” I heard from people all over the world, each one relieved to find another person that had it this miserable nightmare.I believe I described it as a sharp steak knife plunging down my throat repeatedly. It is the disease that has searing pain constantly underneath your throat for at least ten days and if you haven’t suffocated yourself yet by not being able to breathe, you have to take 3 different types of medicine to slowly get back on the road of recovery. The problem is, once you have the disease, any little cold, or any allergy that starts with a sore throat throws you into a tailspin of fear.

Like right about now….Is it allergies? I sure hope so. It is allergy season. I’ll give it the weekend. Do I go to the ENT? Does he really have to shove a tube up my nostril again to see the flap below my throat? Isn’t there any other way? Nope, there isn’t. People who have this horrible illness go through this every single time there is a mere tickle in their throat. We should start our own support group.

One reader had an interesting suggestion that I will pass on to you: because you CANNOT swallow he/she laid on their stomach and used a bucket to spit. I have to hand it to them, that is pure genius and would be a wonderful opening scene. Kudos.

Ok, fine there really isn’t a move about Eppiglottitis or book about …but there should be…..

Best wishes for a pain-free season.

Yellow Magic Madness #32

Many types of baclava

Many types of baclava (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

80-ply dough baklava (which is usually 40-ply)...

80-ply dough baklava (which is usually 40-ply), speciality of Beypazarı district of Ankara,Turkey (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

You know when I get something in my mind (like food) I need to have it fairly quickly. I am in search of baklava, so by the end of this weekend, rest assured, I will have had some. Honey, yellow, sticky and sweet, thin layers of phylo dough. It’s not only my favorite color, yellow, but easily in one of my top five favorite desserts.

God Bless the fine people who made these desserts. I’m drooling.

Photos by Wikipedia

The Many Ways of Making Amends

SIN EDITAR

SIN EDITAR (Photo credit: angel almanzo grupo 52)

People should think about how they behave, in general, especially if there are disagreements and disharmony. To some people saying “I’m sorry” comes naturally, to others it’s a huge, stubborn struggle. Around the world there are different techniques, prayers, rituals to atone for your sins.  In the Jewish tradition, the day of Atonement falls on Yom Kippur where practicing Jews fast all day to atone for their sins. They fast from sundown, the night before until after sundown of Yom Kippur. Catholics have confession when they go to church and can confess their sins where they are given a penance, some real duty to do and their sins will be forgiven.

I am more a spiritual person than a religious one. I don’t need a special day to atone for my sins, I try to do that every day I can, I often fail. I am a faulty individual who has to think back and concentrate on what I have done wrong and how I can make it better. It’s really as simple as that. Acknowledging that you are not perfect is the first step.Acknowledging other people are not perfect is the step after that.

I have never minded apologizing to my kids when I was wrong. I find it easier to apologize to my children than to my husband, I’m working on that…I have family members both in my family and in my extended family who would rather eat dirt than apologize. They will dance around an apology by changing the subject a hundred time and still will never say “I’m sorry.” It’s really not so difficult if you can swallow your foolish pride and admit that you are wrong. By not doing so you are only making things more difficult and complicated, creating more of a drama for everyone. It may infuriate me but there is nothing I can do to change it. Here, I need to start breathing slowly and accept them for who they are. I never said it was easy.

In my opinion only, I don’t think you need to be in a Temple or Church or Mosque or any other organized religion to believe in a spiritual and greater power. That’s my message, you don’t NEEED to do anything special if you want to atone for your sins, you can sit on a park bench and watch the stream go by, adopt a dog, do a good deed, help an elderly person weed her garden. Anyone or thing that you love and cherish as a holy being is wonderful if YOU believe in it. You can think about things you want to improve upon in the future. We all should do the best we know how to do and then try just a little harder.

Dedicated: to The Three Sisters

Photographs copyright of photographers.

Written copyright of author.

Apologize

Apologize (Photo credit: WolfS♡ul)

National Invisible Illness Week: September 9 – 15th

Fibromyalgia Eye

Fibromyalgia Eye (Photo credit: Vinally2010)

Who am I?  Can you see me ? Over here. The woman with the curly brown hair, green eyes, the one sitting down on the bench inside Target or the supermarket. No, I’m not lazy, I’m tired. Did I sleep well? No, but I don’t usually sleep well even though I have medication for that. Do I feel rested when I wake up, eager to take on the world. Well, no but I am older. How old? I’ll be 57 in two weeks. Well, it might not sound old to you, to me it’s ancient.

I have a childhood friend who claims she has Fibromyalglia  but refuses to see a rheumatologist. What? Yes, she sees a general doctor, one who knows about endocrinology for her thyroid.Do YOU see the point? Right, me either.  I have tried so hard to help her feel better but I’ve stopped, she obviously doesn’t want to feel better, she wants to complain.I grew up with her, no other bond, my mother remembers she’s been complaining since she was five, I remember it too.

I had to go to neurologist after I suddenly fell, on my back and test after test came out perfectly normal except for one: I had no balance. He had me walk a straight line in his office as if he was a police officer and I was a drunken driver. I zig -zagged on that line as if I had an overdose of margaritas and tequila sunrises and amaretto sours, mixed together in a huge bathtub big enough to fill a college party.

“Hmm” he said, “you have no balance” I nodded my head, up and down, ‘yes, I said, I know’ but he shrugged his shoulders and sent me away and said “I was fine.” If I was fine, why didn’t I have any balance? “Oh, it’s probably your Fibromyalgia…”he said. I’ve found now that when doctors don’t know what you have and they know you have Fibromyalgia that’s the answer they give. Nobody wants to take the time to figure it out, they don’t care, half of them don’t believe in the diagnosis anyway; since we don’t have many answers let’s all lump the various symptoms together toss them into a bag and label them Fibromyalgia. That’s easy.

What’s not easy is not having a cure and there really no potential in site. I happen to have a wonderful rheumatologist in the city and he is not only incredibly knowledgeable, he also really cares and that is an amazing combination and very hard to find. I don’t have as much pain as others but I have no energy. I can do one or two errands depending on the day and I never know in advance. It’s hard to make plans. Close friends understand, others don’t, want to know who your true friends are? Oh, it’s not hard at all.

I have a handicapped parking sticker for my county, you should see the dirty looks I get sometimes when I try to get out of the car. People judge on no information, they don’t ask, they immediately judge. They don’t notice the pain in my eyes from sitting in my car trying to stand up? No. So they notice the pain in the back of my eyes so I don’t cry out?  I don’t look “sick” is that it? That’s what I thought.Do not judge me or my handicapped sticker, I don’t judge you.

There it is, I don’t look sick therefore I must not be sick? Wrong. If my legs were in casts or my arms and shoulders too perhaps you would understand, but just because my pain is in the inside doesn’t mean I’m not sick. Sometimes, I wish I could show you my pain, physically. because emotionally, you’ve already done your very best to make me feel like worse than I already do. Maybe you could stick my whole body in plaster, maybe then you would understand.

Kellie Elmore, Free Write Friday

Leaves Turn

Leaves Turn (Photo credit: Thomas Hawk)

foliage – amber – wicker – aroma – sweater – cocoa

My older sister and I came home for Fall break to visit our parents in Vermont. We tried to come home together in the Fall when leaves were turning amber and red, and we wore thick wool sweaters with, of course, down vests over them. We didn’t do this often (or often enough as our parents continuously said) but it made them happy and I had to admit it was nice being home together. The four of us and our golden lab, Sadie. We sat around the  fireplace in our living room snacking on white cheddar cheese and Carr’s water crackers and sipped mugs of mulled apple cider. We were, mesmerized by the sparks of the amber logs and listening to the hissing of the fire, talking until our voices lulled like the ending of a softly sung lullaby.

Our mom told us to go upstairs, knowing we wanted to catch up on “sister talk.” We flopped on my bed and sure enough my sister who had questioned me for months about my ” so-called secret” just stared at me.”Oh fine” I’ll tell you, but it’s nothing, I swear.” It wasn’t a big deal at all but since I hadn’t wanted to tell her in her mind she had inflated it to be some sort of romantic mystery. I knew though, she was NEVER going to stop asking me even if we were in an old age home together gumming tuna salad sandwiches when we were 85 and 90.

“UMMM” my sister asked impatiently, “continue!” “I sighed, older siblings can be so bossy…”okay, okay I had a huge crush on Robert.” There, are you satisfied?”  “No, she said, ” THAT’S IT?, Why didn’t you go out with him?” I just starting laughing, I knew she would be disappointed and I was enjoying myself.

Luckily our mom came up to our bedroom with the aroma of hot, homemade cocoa with marshmallows wafting in the air carrying a tray of two steamy cups of hot cocoa and a plate with her famous butter cookies right out of the oven. She looked at us with that Mom radar and said “What’s going on in here?” We both laughed and at the same time said our usual response, “Nothing.” She sighed and we yelled after her, “Thanks, Mom.”

As soon as she closed the door behind her my prosecuting attorney aka my sister demanded details, I said firmly “Look there is nothing to talk about, you dated him and after I met him last time we were home he stayed after the Thanksgiving party and helped me clean up and we talked for a long time” “That’s great! she said, You would be perfect together, date him, he meant nothing to me”. “Oh no, I said, not a chance in hell. You dated him, remember? NO WAY. “Oh get over yourself, so what, it was a fling, I have NO interest in him at all.”

Apparently my sister had a lot of “experience” but it just wasn’t my style. There was no chance I was going to date anyone who had dated my sister first. She rolled her eyes at me and said “You’re just being stupid,” and then I simply nodded to signify the conversation was over. I paused dramatically for about 10 seconds on purpose and then said slyly with a devilish look, “besides, I could never date a guy who pronounced foliage as foilage, could you?” We both burst out laughing hysterically, holding our stomachs. Some things we could stand for, others, like mispronouncing words, we could not. We must have laughed for ten minutes until our mom, called us down to help with dinner, even then, it was hard to keep a straight face.

Photo credit to photographer

I own no right except for publication of blog

In Between Love and Loss

Love Hands

Love Hands (Photo credit: Luvinshots)

Love is not easy, but it is essential. Why do we all go on with our lives? Day after day shuffling our feet, not smiling sometimes for weeks or months, nothing to look forward to, nothing special on the horizon? With so much misery, disease, tragedy, war, incurable illnesses why do we accept it?  It comes down to one thing and one thing only: Love. You don’t need a crowd of people to love you, it can be one person or one quirky brown dog, or a petulant cat, maybe a goldfish named Frank, or wildflowers in a garden. We live for love. That is the ultimate dream and if you love one friend and the person loves you back you are incredibly lucky. Everything counts.

Love keeps us going when we want to give up, there’s a thread of love that inspired this blog from my friends. There is love between a group of friends and we have never met, there is a closeness, whose hearts and souls connected on a higher level. We may have originally gotten to know each other by our chronic illnesses, auto-immune diseases or fibromyalgia but that is the last thing we talk about now. If we lived closer to one another, they would be my safe place, my soul sisters.  We offer peace, love and kindness to each other, there is no judgment, just support.

I’m not unrealistic I know love isn’t always about happiness, when you love someone so much and they die or move away or just because they grow up and relationships change. Nobody tells you that when you are pregnant, that love also hurts, that love is also loss. Even if they told you, you wouldn’t believe them anyway. When you love your children so much and they walk away as strong, independent adults you are very proud but sometimes, if you are honest, it really hurts. Is it rational? No. It’s purely emotional.

I respect and admire both my children. But, part of love brings with it a searing unavoidable pain and there is nothing you can do about it. Without pain, we wouldn’t know how wonderful love really is.  The thread of love, twists and changes, every single day and night. You can’t control it, you can only change yourself and how you deal with the changes, like the waves of a turbulent ocean, strong, beautiful, unpredictable. Unconditional love is for children, it never ends, and I’m sure our children will not understand until they have grown up children of their own.

One day you are holding their hands to cross the street, trading toy cars or having a tea party, watching a shiny red fire truck, or playing dress-up and the next day, or so it seems, they are adults. They are adults you are proud of and cherish but they have their own lives now, and you are not the biggest part of it.  “Home” is someplace different now and just because they have a week off doesn’t mean they want to see you. First it’s a shock, then it’s a change but you get used to everything. This was never about guilt. I don’t want you to change for “the next time.”  I wanted you to let it go. Growing up sometimes means you can’t always have the last word and sometimes it means letting things go, if not for you, than for me.

“End of conversation. No new conversation.”

I love you, unconditionally with all my heart

Matchbox Toy Cars

Matchbox Toy Cars (Photo credit: sarflondondunc)

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Plinky Prompt: Did You Say Lie? Oh…I Thought You Said Bye…

  • What was the last lie you told? Why did you tell it?
    English: Golden Rice grain compared to white r...

    English: Golden Rice grain compared to white rice grain in screenhouse of Golden Rice plants. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


    See all answers

  • Pants on fire
  • You say lie, I say exaggerate. It’s all really a matter of
    perspective. I wouldn’t say I lie, exactly, because there is always a
    grain of truth in what I say. I will admit to exaggerating that grain
    into a pile of rice. Why? Only to make someone feel better. Is that
    wrong? I don’t think so. Not if it started with the truth (let’s say two
    people told you something) and the number increased in your brain,
    processed it and somewhere, somehow it came out of your lips as “six.”

    I don’t like LIARS, truly, if I find out that someone lied to me, I
    get crazy, so from now on, I will look at my own little white lies, even
    if it is to make someone feel better, and just tell the truth.

    As my kids would say “My bad.”

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Yellow Magic Madness #31: Apples Dipped In Honey

Recipes Sweet New Year -- Rosh Hashanah  (5773...

For all those who celebrate, I wish you a Healthy, Happy and Sweet New Year.  (For those who don’t celebrate, I do wish you the same.)

Apples

Apples (Photo credit:

עברית: עוגת דבש

עברית: עוגת דבש (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Enhanced by ZemantaHoney Cake

Kellie Elmore: Free Write Friday, Favorite Childhood Gift

1231698_10151679670688763_1447105361_nFavorite Childhood Gift:

My father bought my favorite stuffed animal, a monkey, in Lamberts, a store in New York City for my second birthday.I imagined Lamberts was a store filled with all kinds of wonderful things: police cars that flashed and made noise, doll babies with small pink bottles, cards for all occasions, all types of medicine including my personal favorite, St. Joseph Aspirin for children that tasted like an orange cream soda. I pictured them also having a formica counter with shiny chrome swirling stools where you could orders snacks and a black and white ice cream soda, or a frosty bright pink strawberry milkshake.

My favorite love object is a stuffed animal whose name is Nokey.I could not pronounce “Monkey” at the time. If you noticed I haven’t used the past tense it’s because I will be 57 in the beginning of October and Nokey will be 55. Yes, I still have him, I will always have him. This special friend of mine, this lovey, has been all over the world with me, wherever my family took me, I took him.

He is so important to me that my husband (and probably my grown-up children) know when I die, I want to be buried with him beside me or cremated with me. Nokey was always such a huge part of my life.

I’m not sure why he was so important but I know he was the one object I could rely on, could trust. He kept my confidences and more importantly, only he could make me feel safe. I slept with him until he was too fragile to sleep with, he went to college for a semester but after that his inner stuffing starting falling out and ungainly wires started poking out. My father, seeing old friends, brought him to a small doll and toy factory in Germany (my father was an airline employee) so that Nokey could get a face and body lift. There was nothing in New York, they only accepted “dolls.” His colors were still the same, a yellow shirt and black pants, with white sneakers but his head was a little too puffy.  In time I forgot how he used to look.

I have always imagined the toy shop high on a cobblestone street, on the second floor. The old, kindly toy maker with white hair and round glasses, looking out the window, smiling; and there would be red flowers on all the window boxes of the white house with brown trim.

Nokey has ruby-red lips upturned in a big, happy smile and I used to swing his arms back and forth because I thought he liked it. His ruby smile faded a tiny bit as he became older just as all of us fade a little with age. It didn’t matter to me, it doesn’t matter to me.I love him for all the love, comfort and warmth he brought to me. I never cared how he looked with his bandaged hand, masking tape, in many places. Shouldn’t old age be treated in the exact same way? Do we really need all these vain people trying to look young forever? Why? Yes, I’m focusing on you, “celebrities. You send such a bad message to people.

Nokey is now lying beside me with his bandaged white sneakers and his hand that was once burnt on the furnace that my dad lovingly wrapped in masking tape. I will not put him in the closet for another day, I will find a place for him where I can see him and smile and remember the comfort he gave me, as a little girl, standing outside, looking within.

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