Opened my bank account containing Happiness!

As I sit here with my second cup of coffee, enjoying the sight of the sun burning off the heavy white fog which seems to have silenced the chattering, chirping, and croaking of the critters, I find myself flooded with a sense of wonder at the happiness of some (I believed) long-forgotten memories.

The smell of bread baking in my grand-mother's kitchen - oh my, how my mouth used to water in great expectation of having the "heel" slathered with freshly churned butter as soon as that bread came out of the oven! No matter how many times I made bread over the years, I could never quite get it to taste as good as bread that had been baked in that wood stove.

The first time EVER seeing and using an indoor bathroom was awe inspiring to me. There was a large tank mounted on the wall above the lovely porcelain toilet, on which was a wooden seat. A chain hung down from the tank, which when pulled, flushed the toilet. I must have pulled that chain dozens of times in total amazement of it all! Of course, I was only 9 years old at the time. The bathtub was a glorious claw-footed wonder with fixtures allowing one to run hot and cold water into its depths. How I reveled in that wonderful bathroom, especially since it had a door which could be locked from the inside for the best luxury of all - privacy.

Bundling up with many layers of clothing to tramp through the woods with my uncle tracking deer. Not to kill them, but to photograph them with a Brownie camera so my aunt could turn the pictures into cross-stitch designs for quilts and wall hangings. The first time I was invited to experience this was on my 14th birthday and the beauty of that day is alive and well in my happiness memory bank.

When I saw my first sunset over the Mojave Desert in spring, the beauty of the oranges, purples, pinks, blues, and even greys brought tears of utter joy and awe. A mountain meadow nestled on the banks of the Columbia River made me wish I could build a cabin there and never leave. The beauty of fall foliage in all its glory in upstate New York took my breath away. A mother's joy and relief when she found her lost toddler at an amusement park, sitting on my lap and happily eating ice cream.

It was thrilling to walk along the Apian Way in Italy. When President Kennedy made his "Ich bin ein Berliner" speech, I was there to hear it. Searching out and finding lovely little towns and hamlets in Germany wherein I met wonderful people. Riding a horse-drawn sleigh in Switzerland while viewing the starkness of the mountains heightened by the beauty of the snow and enjoying hot mulled cider in huge hand-crafted steins still makes me feel very small and insignificant with the grandeur of it all.

These are just a few of the happy memories I cherish and hold dear to my heart. It has brought me great joy to share them in this way.

Is there something I've missed?

After five weeks, my fracture is showing SLIGHT changes. One is good, one is not so good. The very top of the fracture is showing faint (very faint) calcium buildup, which thrilled me. The bottom of the fracture has increased by 3.1 mm - which sent me into an immediate funk. Especially when the doctor told me I hadn't been "walking correctly." Once again I had training on the correct way to walk - actually shuffle is the appropriate word.

After my appointment with Mr. Wonderful (the doctor has the personality of a cobra about to inject its venom into me), I absolutely had to have a few things from the grocery store. While shuffling along through the store, two well-intentioned ladies asked me if I knew I was shuffling! Lawsy me, my tongue still has deep impressions of my teeth! However, I (as politely as was possible with a very sore tongue) explained I have to shuffle if I ever want my fractured pelvis to get better. They went merrily upon their way feeling, I am sure, that they had done a GOOD THING.

Once I became comfortably ensconced at home in my favorite night shirt and fuzzy slippers, I had a huge mug of tomato soup and a glass of milk, with a side of crackers slathered with fake butter! Although this is my form of comfort food, I didn't derive much comfort from partaking of it this time.

I couldn't help but wonder what in the world am I doing still here, breathing the air that others probably need much more than me. My days of productivity are limited at best (creating embroidery designs nobody seems to want but me has become rather a limited hobby), it appears my health will continue to decline as my age increases, and my family is in complete denial about the fact that being alone is not exactly a delight to me. No, I'm not suicidal! Heaven forbid I should have to face my Maker and attempt to explain why I murdered myself. It's merely that I seem to have more and more aloneness - not of my choosing. Maybe I've missed some valuable lesson with those attempts to do good for others. Hmmm, will playback and review!

I've been told to get out more often. Yeah, right! With gas so expensive that contemplating whether to buying groceries is all that necessary when I have to put gas in the car to get there surely would be enough to keep anyone with an IQ above that of a moron at home. I've tried the "volunteer" route - at the hospital, nursing home, at the senior citizen center, at schools, the library - you name it, I've volunteered. Arriving home from some of these stints would find me either in a complete state of depression, covered with bruises from miscreant little boys and girls, errant canes, walkers, and lifts, or angry as a wet setting hen at mother's who used me as a long-term babysitter for what should have been a short-term session!

However, every morning I say "Thank you for another day, Lord" and look for something happy to do, say, or think about. And, every night I say "Thank you for another good day, Lord" before I pray for those I've promised prayers. Yet, thoughts like what good am I, why am I still here, and how much longer do I have to be alone cling to my brain like the dust on my swiffer.

Whatever my mission is for my remaining days in this life, I certainly hope I can fulfill it properly and with great passion.

A promise to be yet fulfilled.

I've spent the better part of today thinking about my brothers. My oldest brother lives in Maine and I've probably seen him a maximum of 6 times in the past 45 years or so. Three of those times were meetings at funerals for my father, my mother and my youngest brother - over a period of 20 years. One time, the only time he ever came to my home, he brought my mother to visit with me (for the first time) for a day when I was living in Rhode Island. He and I are as widely different as night and day. He hates everyone, everything, all the time. He always has been the male version of my mother!

I was close to my youngest brother when we were kids and still living at home. I felt very protective of him, for a reason I didn't understand for many years. As he matured, I made mention to him many times how much he looked like "Magnum P I" - right down to the dimples and mustache!

I think I knew my kid brother was "different" before he ever acknowledged it himself. My kid brother was gay - a fact which has never been recognized nor discussed by anyone else in my family. My mother was convinced he had a girlfriend named Carole and they would one day marry. It took me many years to realize my kid bother trusted the fact that I wouldn't think any the less of him for his life style and choice of significant other. We visited each other as often as we could afford to over the years, but talked on the phone at least once every week from the time he left home until he got terribly ill.

The last two or three times I visited him, I couldn't help but notice how much he had come to resemble my father. If I closed my eyes when he was speaking, it was as if my father were doing the speaking. He had many traits just like my father, which seemed odd to me, considering his life style was so widely different from that of my father's.

Both of my brothers were the veritable apples of my mother's eye! They could do no wrong, they were so handsome, they were so perfect! And then there was me! Suffice it to say that getting away from my parents, at a fairly young age, was one of the best things that could have happened to me.

Cancer conquered my kid brother's spirit and soul 4 years ago - I still have his ashes to scatter. Haven't been able to get to Maine to scatter half of his ashes over my mother's grave and the other half in the Atlantic Ocean. I will honor his request as soon as I can, because I promised him I would. My highschool class reunion (50th) is next year - my girlfriend and I have saved our pennies for the trip! MY PROMISE WILL BE KEPT!

If I've ever felt any jealousy in my lifetime, it has been that I've envied those who have had loving and kind parents and a close relationship with family. If you have a family with whom you are close and who love and cherish you, hold on tightly to them with all of your heart, mind, and soul. You don't know how fortunate you are!

Feel better now

I accidentally tuned in to the Oprah show this afternoon. Didn't linger very long - continued clicking with the remote control until I found something interesting to watch. Stayed with the Animal Planet for most of the hour before the evening news came on.

Something happened to me one day as I WAS watching Oprah and the fashion show she highlighted that day. As she exclaimed with obvious delight that a top priced at over $300.00 was "cheap," I couldn't help but wonder what I would do with that same $300.00 other than purchase a so-called designer piece of apparel. As the show continued on with other (in my opinion) very expensive clothing and accessories, I wanted to grab Oprah and shake her until she couldn't stand up any more. How many women who watch her show can afford the items she calls "some of her favorite things," or the designer's fashions she so often touts.

Now, don't misunderstand me, please. I'm always thrilled when someone who came up with nothing makes good. It's the great American dream, after all! What does bother me is that with the bazillions of dollars Oprah is now worth, she makes me feel as if I'm less than I am because I'm on a fixed income and haven't been able to purchase anything - designer or otherwise - for myself in years. Flaunting her wealth with name dropping who designed this, or how much this costs, or how much good she has done for these or those kinda sorta rubs me the wrong way. So, to prevent feeling less than I really am, I don't watch her show anymore! I'm sure if I had more than just barely enough to get by, I wouldn't take umbrage.

I know, I know, it's not my place to judge. Hopefully, I'm not doing that. I really hope that what I'm doing is expressing the way someone makes me feel.

Onward and upward. I read Arc's posting about a cat who mysteriously appeared at her window after her Gram died. It really touched my heart, especially when she went on to say she named the cat Grams and how it likes many of the things that her REAL Gram liked. The spirit of someone Arc loved seems to bring her solace.

When times get especially hard for me, I actually can see and feel my Gram, who has been gone for 60 years. I was with her when she died - I was just a little sprout of a seven-year-old who absolutely adored Gram. While holding on to my hands, the last thing she said before passing away was "remember what I've taught you." I have and I do, Gram.

Phew, don't usually complain like I did about Oprah and hardly ever mention my Gram. Feel better now!