So it's like this...

Last week my Niece told me she is wanting to leave her marriage.
I have so many conflicting feelings and thoughts on this. Mostly I'm concerned for her and her two little kids. However it turns out it's going to be a hardship for the kids. I think they will adjust and I think they will be OK, just a new kind of OK. An "OK" that wasn't anticipated for them.
I so wish things could be "fixed" or made better. There used to be a series in the old "Ladies Home Journal" entitled, "Can This Marriage Be Saved?" They would give his side and her side and, then, the therapist's conclusions. Pretty simple on high gloss magazine paper. It's a lot craggier and complicated in reality.
Who's at fault? Nobody and everybody (but the kids). Teen marriage. Growing apart. Wanting different things. Passiveness. Passive-aggressiveness. Depression. Human-ness.
What's left? Sadness.
What's to come? I hope resolution. Reconciliation if possible but resolution, mostly. I hope growth for my Niece as her own person. A way to find her own path in life. Peace for the children. Good things for her spouse. A resettling in the extended-family dynamic to something a little more respectful and functional.

How Long Is It?

In the words of "Monty Python" that's a rather personal question!
I haven't blogged for AGES! Being up early on a lovely Sunday morning, I thought I'd give it a go.
This entry may seem a bit disjointed so forgive me in advance. It's kind of a long way from there to here.
On Thursday, I listened to a sermon that my brother gave for his church. It was about taking care of yourself physically and mentally as well as spiritually. These are areas I've very much neglected in the last years and even decades. Well this sermon really hit home.
Now, I must say that I went through an intense religious phase during my teens and twenties. I was raised Lutheran and then became "born again" at the age of 14. I went to Bible studies, prayer groups, joined young adult groups at church and went to Bible College. During a time of family, personal and societal upheaval religion gave me the rock to stand on while all around was sinking sand.
To make a long story short a lot has gone down since then. Major depressive disorder, deaths, major illnesses, personal struggles of identity and purpose. I've questioned everything. Do I believe at all? What do I believe? Why would I believe? What does it mean if I do and what actions should it take? These questions have worn me down, especially since the death of my Mother. She had faith and she lived like she meant it.
Well, I'm kind of tired of struggling and have decided that I do believe in God. I'm still not sure what that means but I've opened my heart to the possibilities. I have found that I cannot make the necessary changes in my health and outlook without a faith in something larger than myself. So I'm proceeding in that direction.
Understand, that path used to be very narrow, with high fences topped with razor wire for me. It was a very legalistic way of behaving and compressed thoughts. Mostly self-flagellation for my faults and short commings. There wasn't a lot of joy on that path. I think, perhaps, it was more about justification of my survival.
My brother thinks that my return to faith should be in a Gospel Based Church with meetings and structured this and that. Which is fine. It's his way of faith as it is for most middle Americans. I think my new path is going to be a lot more winding and may take me to all sorts of horizons and new views. Backtracking, exploring some caves, climbing some high hills. I hope so. I told him that I want restoration but I didn't mean installation of new razor wire. I'd like to think of it more as opening the sunroof and the doors and stepping outside.
So my first act of faith? Joining a bicycle ride for a Diabetes Association fundraiser. Going way outside my comfort zone in many ways and actually doing instead of rumminating, thinking, brooding, turning the mental hamster wheel. One pedal into something new.

Moving to Sweden (Not True)

Yes, I leave in June. Not really. April Fools!
Personally, I hate April Fools and practical jokes. I don't even want to fool my blog readers. I had to put a spoiler in the heading.
I remember one year when I was a kid my Mom told us all the snow had melted overnight. Ripped open the drapes...snow. Then she gave us forks instead of spoons for our cereal. I think I threw mine across the room. Plus it was first thing in the morning so I had sleepy crabbiness to go along with it. No more April Fools jokes from Mom after that.
I think I don't like them because it's a violation of trust. Nothing says "ha ha" like duping somebody you love. So only with a sly wink-wink, nudge-nudge and an exaggerated vocal inflection should anybody try to fool me and remain in my good graces.
Likewise, I've never been a fan of shows like "Punk'd" or even "Candid Camera." If one wants to call me a stick in the mud go ahead. We are fooled enough by politicians, our own human nature, the weather, the news media. Why make it any worse?
I should mention, however, that I've always loved the BBC's annual fake stories, i.e.;
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=27ugSKW4-QQ

Distracted

I was going to write about something. I can't remember what it was. It's really frustrating when this happens. I can't think of a name or the word I want to use. I couldn't think of "windchimes" this morning when talking to my neighbor. I think parts of hers fell down on the lawn over the winter and they were finally uncovered under the melting snow.
"They" say that this is normal for folks over fifty. I'm not comfortable with that. I saw how my Mom, at 82, could only tell me if she wanted red or yellow pop (Coke or Sunkist) and wanted "Hellmann's Meat Without Beets" on her shopping list (Hormel's Chili without Beans). I know where this could be headed. I don't like it.
I still can't remember what I came here to write about today. Feh.

Haiti and Helplessness

Go to this You Tube clip and advance to about 6minute 30seconds in.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vvJ8MvUeq34
This is the way I feel about disasters such as the earthquake that happened in Haiti this week. It seems there is nothing more I can do than throw money at the problem. I cannot go and lift rubble. I have no needed skills. I don't know what else to do. The scope of the destruction and desperation is too big to comprehend.
I got sucked into some of the streaming coverage on television. Watching and wringing my hands is not going to help. I've stopped watching. I haven't stopped giving. I have exclaimed to my understanding of god that the help sent needs to be received now. That time is of the essence. That I'm helpless to do anymore than watch and demand the earth be unbuckled and the cranes in the Port be untwisted. That the suffering be alleviated.
I can write to my representatives in Washington that we accept refugees. This island, only 750 miles from Key West, Florida has three million people homeless and/or missing. We must provide sustainable shelter for them here if they wish to come. Other nations must also offer to open their doors along with their hearts and wallets. We must welcome them to our communities and support organizations that will assist in this endeavor.
It's been easy to ignore Haiti. The world has done it for centuries. The earthquake has put it in our sight in all it's usual poverty compounded a thousand fold. What else can we see if we'd only take a look? What else could we accomplish if we'd turn off the TV and actually do something?

Denial and Diabetes UPDATED

I was diagnosed with type II diabetes about four years ago. Where does the time fly?
Having a parent with diabetes I was tested quite often for the condition and always came back negative. It just goes to show that you are healthy until you aren't. The body is an evolving organism and who knows what flips a switch in there to go from cells saying "send in the sugar" to "no admittance." Or, "regenerate normally" to "go crazy and make a tumor!"
So one day the cells put up the "you can't unlock me with that crazy insulin to let in sugar" sign and I went all diabetic.
Now, my Dad was a rotten diabetic. He ate anything he wanted and as much as he wanted. He would get a bag of donuts and just up his insulin a few more units. Sure he died young and pretty messed up with cardiovascular complications but those donuts sure were yummy. I, on the other hand, just deny having diabetes altogether. I know in my brain I have been diagnosed and I take my prescribed medication but I don't believe it. Not really. I know my feet tingle and burn from neuropathy but I don't really mind it that much, I guess. I test my blood sugars and see the numbers. I know what the numbers mean. It does register.
So why don't I believe I'm diabetic? Maybe because I don't fall over if I eat candy. I don't turn yellow when there is too much sugar in my blood. I'm spoiled and inconvenienced and complacent. It's an easy disease to ignore until you are losing a limb or going on dialysis.
I'm angry, too, because there is nobody to take care of me or, even more basic, nobody to care for me. High levels of carbohydrates and simple sugars have been my drugs of choice. The trendy way to say it is "comfort foods." I call them corn flakes and pasta and cookies and ice cream. Kit Kat bars and buttered toast and sweet rolls and white rice and Poppycock.
Yes, I've cut out regular soda completely. I don't drink fruit juice. Most everything else, though, is still on my grocery list or in my pantry.
My therapist says I haven't had a crisis yet. This keeps denial a viable option. If only I could get to the crisis without the damage. If only somebody would intervene and make my life all it should be. Wah, wah, wah.
So what do I do? I'm not ignorant, therefore, I have no level of bliss in my denial. It's an argument I lose with myself most every day.
UPDATE: I'm learning to drink my coffee without any sweetening agents. I'm drinking green tea. A book I'm reading (The Chemistry of Joy) describes a Western Medicine/Ayurvedic/Buddhist-mindfulness approach to depression. It all jibes with the DM life. Who'd a thunk it? Hope springs.

Hitting the Canvas

Today I went into an art supply store to pick up a gift for a young artist. I haven't been in an art store for years. They smell neat and have so many fun things to look at and imagine. I pulled out some pre-stretched canvases and looked at the paints and brushes. I felt completely lost.
Years and years ago I used to paint. I liked acrylics because one could have any consistency from palette knife oils to watercolors. They mixed well, dried quickly and cleaned up easily.
Now I stand in the aisles overwhelmed by the tubes and the tools and the idea of creating.