protection focus

cannot speak the truth in love

it may hurt someone

So last night my brother in law posted something about covid - and how the church should be there to help people with their fear.  The post was a share from one of his pastor-friends, theologically incorrect, and pissed me off with the church-positive crap when we know it's an exclusionary, evil organization.

So I said something.  Not meanly, but thoughtfully, explaining why the theology was a bit off and reminding his brother that the hate the church spews is actually scarier than covid.  Bob's mom made a comment about Jesus commanding us to build his church on the rock - which to me means solid theology and understanding and to her means the first pope, Peter, which I think is beyond ludicrous.  I was not rude, btw, but really don't have any time for an organization that is essentially either a get rich quick scheme or haven for people who are incapable of working in the real world and who profit from hurting and excluding others.

I got a fun little lecture about not commenting on his family's walls and how they might take it personally.  But you know, I hate the organization and it's okay for his family to post stuff about something that has hurt me and friends, because I shouldn't take that personally.

So I essentially said that he's exactly why I hate people that attend church.  So worried about a fucking building and not at all about the people it has hurt, because their god is so big he can't be criticized.  Wipe out indigenous culture, enslave blacks, deny gay people rights, fight against women's reproductive rights.. but heaven forbid bob's wife say anything against it.

*eye roll*

 troubled, i listened

to words, thoughts, not sitting well

dreaming of escape

"If you could choose, " he started, out of the blue, as I puttered in the kitchen before starting work, "would you choose to live in the foothills or along the beach?"

And so started a difficult conversation between my husband and I, because he's desperate to move to Ecuador for winters and I am not even 50 yet and have several more years of work before retiring.

"But what if YOU only had 3 years to live?" he implored, "Wouldn't you be selfish, too?"

This is the anxiety I don't like living with.  Picturing living in a country where I don't speak the language, without my friends and support network, without the kids, just doing nothing but taking care of him and working remotely - likely constantly interrupted.  

 we look back, but not 

forward - would we change the past

if only we knew?

It's been a long week.  My friend's daughter died and this weekend was the celebration of life.  As I spent time looking at her photos and reflecting back on the last 3 decades - I wondered if we would choose to have kids, if we knew what was coming.

Does that sound awful?

Or would we do things differently - knowing now, years later, what moments defined them, and their relationships to us and to others?  Would I have stepped in, or not, knowing what I know now?

I think of one such incident.  It shaped us all - and there were warning signs along the way that I didn't know how to handle or identify, or wrote off either in ignorance or laziness.  I'm almost fifty now - and looking back over time, I see how incidents and moments bore out over time.  Some not nearly as tragic as I might have guessed.  Others, seemingly nothing at the time, causing ripples of trouble over numerous years.

As I sat in the garden yesterday and looked at my friend's daughter's fountain and wondered how a mother carries on after losing her child, I also wondered how we bare the weight of such responsibility.

21 years, gone
my grandmother left us here
her spirit remains


21 years ago my grandmother died.  She was a lovely woman - thoughtful, kind, generous, loving.   I knew she loved me - something that I can't say I felt about my parents - be that their fault or mine.  I've only been to her grave a couple of times - the first time I went it was raining and her flat stone was under water and I had a bit of a panic attack, imagining her drowning.  The second time was a lovely summer day and I looked around at the beauty of nature and was glad she hadn't seen some of what I've seen in the last few years.

I had to crop the original photo for IG - and cut out my younger cousin.  In my mind, and when my mother and my aunts ask, it will be to have only the great-grandchildren in the photo and due to IG's spacing.  But in my mind, it's also because I'm worried my younger cousin is a creep - after some stories I've heard with a close friend who encountered him online - there may be two distinct sides to my cousin that we're not all at liberty to see.  It gives me pause, wondering if I should say something or not, but not saying anything because I know no one will believe me, or her.  He's well off, which is something my family lets cover a multitude of sins.

I should go for a walk.  Instead, I'm staring out the window and thinking of going.  I'm stressing about going.  I don't know why I'm having such trouble today, motivating myself.

exahustion, captive

in a prison i can't see

or find my escape

I'm dead dog tired.  Exhausted.  Tired of everything.  I leave in 9 days for three days away with Tammy - and I'm counting down the days, minutes, seconds.  I can't breathe, some mornings, I'm so exhausted.  With work, with Bob, with caregiving.  I'm at my wits' end.  

Yesterday, we had a new PSW.  She was nice.  Very thorough.  But at the 59 minute mark she'd only bathed Bob and partially got him dressed.  He wasn't fully dressed, the bed wasn't made, his exercises were not done, and his breakfast was not made.  She was looking at her watch, and Bob said, "if you need to go, Chris can finish here" and she left.

I.

Was.

Livid.

At him, at her, at life.  It was 12:45 in the afternoon.  i had mowed my yard, made breakfast, cleaned up.  I was waiting for the shower.  I hadn't slept well.  And now I had to dress my husband and finish his care because he's so nice to others that he continually fucks me over.

Which brings me to my question - if I am granted 1 hour a day - what does that mean?  Because Bob's regular guy leaves at the 30 minute mark because he's "done", and this check left at the one hour mark because she only has an hour.  So is it an hour?  Because if it is, the PSW can fold Bob's laundry or do his dishes or something..  and if it's finish all the tasks, why is the lady leaving Bob half dressed?  Bob says not to complain, but of course he says that - he's the good guy without the consequences.  I called over the office this week to get some additional paid hours while I'm gone and the girl working told me to "call back next week - I'm too busy to deal with this".  

What.

The.

Fuck.

I'm exhausted.  Emotionally.  Spiritually.  Physically.  Mentally.  

changing attitudes
whole wheat breads and stress relief
baking my way sane

Watched a documentary tonight about eating and food.  It can be summed up in seven words:  eat food, not too much, mostly plants.  In other words, don't eat processed crap - eat real food.  Mind your portions.  Stick to things grown.

Quickly had to edit my grocery order - more whole wheat options.  Things to bake bread (I remember loving doing this - why did I stop?).  More vegetables.  Less processed food (although the lemon yogurt pops stayed).    Went to amazon and ordered a mixer - never got one as a wedding gift (either time) and never bought one.

Should be an interesting week.

tired, again, I
drink a cup of coffee, and
continue to hope


I woke at 6:27 this morning.  It's now 7:09.  It's been a busy morning so far:  got Bob up, stripped the beds, started laundry, realized I forgot the wheelchair seat and had to go upstairs and get it and finish some laundry, change the wheelchair seat, and compile Bob's clothes for the day and the new sheets for the PSW.  And because of stripping the bed, also had to fill the vaporizers with pretty smelling oil and re-scent the house.

I'm not complaining.  I'm exhausted.  I was up twice last night changing the bed - he's not incontinent, specifically, but he's falling asleep while holding the urinal and spilling it all over the bed and floor.  A 49 year old wife and caregiver needs her sleep.