' For By Now...You Must Be Wondering...'

For by now--my dear, dear friends--you must be wondering, ' What is all this shit ? ' A sudden flurry of new posts, in hopes of attracting readers ( for, as you well know, that every musician wants listeners, so, every writer craves readers) and so, a valiant attempt has now been made, to give the breath of life to a once blue, and 'flat-lined' Blog, whose aspirations were an admitted admixture of humility and hubris.

One, tiny Blog among bazillions, with strident entries, penned by a single Voice with noble, lofty intent.

I had--for some long time before--been in an agony of pain, which was, eventually diagnosed as Lupus; Fibromyalgia/ Chronic Pain/ and Chronic Fatique which, as it increased, until the right medications could be stumbled upon, my outlook and my life turned on a dime to become a chore and a bore to simply breathe.

Somewhere I lost my volition, sense of purpose...nearly everything, and with it went my Blog, and gladly did I give it up, ( ' for, one cannot hope to look full upon the Gorgon's face, and live ' ).

With heart as well as hat in hand, I went to MDJunction, a clearing house of illnesses and support groups; and there, cast my tangled nets into a smaller ocean, and, in the fullness of time, began--again--to write 'diary entries', under the pseudonym of 'Zahc', my 'AKA'; my alter ego; meine gutter geist.
For he is, indeed, a fine fellow: a transmogrified sock puppet, who, nevertheless, could speak, and hoped to be a Voice, an Advocate, not like the toothless, weary warrior that I have, by default become.

And so, my dear and sweet followers ( by Christ, THAT sounded so pretentious ), how 'bout I just say 'readers', I will begin to transfer my diary entries from there to here ( like Dr. Seuss ), most everywhere.

To all I freely admit, I have become something of a cheap whore for want of readers; and, why not ?
With often tired and dissapointed peepers, I have beheld far , far worse than this on 'You Tube', and not much better on Yahoo, even though it IS my home page.  Hey...we ALL want to touch the magic and go viral.
We want readers, subscribers, followers, advertisers, and a subsequent bit of filthy lucre; a nano-second of fleeting fame, and at least a cent-a-click, for, as well you know...ALL of us are broke in this suck-ass economy, and yet, I could get accustomed to a life of Barbaric Splendor.  Who couldn't ?

And so to all, I say 'goodnight, goodnight, for parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say again goodnight, 'til it be morrow', or the day after, at least.

With all due love and affection,
Charles/Zahc

"NO one will ever leave my house hungry, or thirsty."

Aug 15 2011

08/15/11
There have now been so many days where I am lost, and clouded both in mind and body, when the pain drowns out even the noise in the neighborhood, and where--while waiting for mywonderful medications to take effect--I stumblingly recall thought and memory traces I grasp for, like lifelines, to retain my sense of self, and to cut through the idle fog of waiting, and the seeming purposelessness of illness and suffering.
My thoughts are often drawn back to the past...many of them of my late mother and father, especially, as this was once 'their' home, which I have since inherited. Hardly is there a glance about or through the rooms that are not full of them, though they are not unwanted ghosts, but silent, friendly reminders of the live we--as a family--once had. Even as an only child, I knew they loved and protected me. Never once, did they 'punish' me with food, makiongme stay at the table half the night because I wouldn't eat my brussel sprouts; nor did they ever, ever, punish me by sending me to bed without supper. Although I am older, and they have gone to whatever reward awaited them...for surely it must, I was always grateful to my mother and father for the values they instilled in me, which have lasted to this day, and probably will do so until I am no longer earth-bound. I both loved, and repected them, and still--I must admit--miss them mightily.
While I was young, and growing up, we never had much money; my father was in the Army, and the salary was always poor. If pressed to define us, I would have to say that we were, perhaps, lower, middle class. My mother sewed, and made her own aprons, and kept immaculate the house, while my father struggled to keep a roof over our heads. But, somehow, he did, and I always had clothes on my back, the aforementioned roof over my head, and enough food to live on; granted it was not an easy life, and if my parents ever argued, it was never in front of me.
Always, towards the end of the month, our dinners became cheaper and cheaper. We NEVER had steak, ever, but we ate a lot of hamburger, chili, and spaghetti. My mom boiled beef ribs ( which, in those days, was a sure sign of poverty ), and served them over rice, which was always cheap.
Oh, and before I forget, when I acted up ( which was not often, as both my mother and father were as Titans ), I was NEVER slapped or hit in the face, or beaten to a pulp, which is so common today and easily fills a thousand Pychiatrist's offices for the latent dammage it does to the child. Rather, my father would explain to me where I had erred, and would get his belt, and 'snap it' which scared me; if he had to, he spanked me once or twice, but never to the point of leaving scars. Actually--LOL--just the sight of that belt was often enough, for although I may acted stupidly, I was not a 'mean' child. BUt, I digress.
In being an only child, I was often quiet, and could sometimes hear my mother and father, heads together, whispering--once--about whether they would have enough money for a roast one Sunday; I think it was then--at nine--that I truly learned about money, value for money, and the real state of our finances really were.
However, every night ( and we used to kid my mother about this ) she made a little extra for supper, in the event someone should visit the house hungry. She also--in those long ago days--would bake our own bread, and often, she would bake an extra loaf, wrap it up in red and white gingham, place it is an basket, and take it--still warm, and heavenly--to a neighbor, or, one who was ill, because that was just the kind of person she was.
It was always my father''s motto that: " NO one will ever leave my house hungry, or thirsty." Rarely, rarely did we ever have such unannounced visitors, but the, 'little extra' my mother cooked never changed. If it wasn't used, it was added to the dinner we had the next night. And this was their philosophy I grew up with, that I find so meaningful, especially in an economy that often leads even friends to miss meals, or to reluctantly dine--if they can--on crakers, or, if they have it, frequent meals of maccaroni-and-cheese in the box dinners; friends and acquaintances who sometime need gas money to get to work, or ( and I am sorry if I offend ), have run out of cigarettes; for smokers out there, you know what an ordeal THAT can be.
So meaningful to me was that motto of my late mom and dad, that I have wholeheartedly adopted it, and maintain--now--that, "NO one will ever leave my house hungry, or thirsty."
It has changed--now--and been added to to also state that, "No one will leave my house tired, sore from the day's trials, unkempt, or, most importantly, without shelter. "
Granted, I am trying--mostly unsuccessfully--to eke out a living on SSDI, which, no doubt, many of you are quite familiar, so, I always have almost no money. But, in attempting to make my home a refuge for myself, my dear dog, and for my friends, and those whom I love, I have vowed to never turn away a frien or associate in need. While I may not have money, I have a bed they can sleep in, witha lock, if they so choose; I have TWO bathrooms, with lots of soap and hot water, for restorative cleanliness; I have acquired furniture which--while nice--is perfect to loll upon. I have A/C that--in Florida--brings a welcome coolness to the house; and while I might not have much, I have a refrigerator with ice, and iced tea, and sufficient food in the cabinets at least to survive on.
As has happened in the past, if my 'guests' wish to kick off their shoes, and curl up on my loveseat with pillows, and a quilt...fine. Should they want to sit on the rug to play with my dog, even better. And while I have no desire to entertain, we can speak openly and honestly, over a great cup of coffee, their fears, their hopes, and their longings. And maybe, in the qiuet of a late night, or, early morning when a tired reality seems most ruthless, we can speak of our dreams, over a huddled, shared cigarette, for reassurance, renewed faith, and restored hope.
And should they need to stay several days longer, I impose but few house rules ( for when a person is 'shellshocked' with uncertainty and fear, I am not about to mistreat them with a 'laundry list ' of 'don'ts' ). I do insist, however, that, 1) any messes that are made are cleaned up, towels are not to be left wet on the bathroom floor; 3) that they respect my personal schedule, for if they want to stay up past my bedtime, fine; 4) and this I never mention, but one that is taken for a 'given', is to never, ever, get into my medication, or, steal from me, for both--I regret to say--will get them shown the door. THis is NOT a flop house; and 4) LOL, I probably have inherited this from my mother: that, if you have get something to drink, kindly use a coaster for the table; and, maybe, now that I think of it, 5) abuse of my dog will also get you 'duck-walked' to the door.
But you know, many of these 'rules' are really non-rules, for they never have to be mentioned, nor inforced. My friends already know my illnesses and my near-constant pain, and know already where my meds are, and never bother with them, and...they--too--love my dog, and would never hurt her...or me.
Though, I still insist upon the coasters ! LOL
I figure if they can endure my snorring, with is truly Herculean, and can be heard for blocks, I figure they can endure everything.
So now, as an adult with my own, humble home, I--too--can proudly proclaim that: " NO one will ever leave my house hungry or thirsty. ", for could not, in good conscience act any other way.
Thanks, mom and dad. I love you, and will always miss you.
sincerely, 'Zahc'

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"When there is so much need, and EVERYONE wants money"

Aug 13 2011

08/13/11
I thought that, while I was still at the computer, I would air a real annoyance !
Once, when I was a little flush, I responded to, and donated to ( in a small way ) a coupleof Charites; one was to a Catholic Order, who promised to say healing masses for a catholic friend of mine, who--in time--died after an heroic fight against cancer, and once, to 'Seeing Eyes For The Blind', whose contributions went to training, and providing companion dogs to the disabled. Both were--to me worthy causes.
However, once you make a contribution, no matter how small, they put you on a list, and forever after, bombard you with pleas for donations. And if that were not bad enough, they sell, or make available that list to countless other 'Charites', who also proceed to bombard you with donation requests.
Aside from bills, fully a third of my incoming mail now consists of this nonsense, and I have, by now, enough address labels, stickers, and notepads to last a lifetime. Now...if I bother at all, it is to peek into the larger envelopes, to see what they've sent me. And part of what really kills me, are the ones that can't even spell my name right.
And while some of these 'Charities' may be legitimate, I certainly have no way of knowing; all I do know is that I can't afford to give to everybody with a cause, and some causes are bizarre in the extreme. And while, on one hand, I generally enjoy looking at various, company catalogues that get sent me, as they require no in-depth thinking, and I now have the attention span of a gnat, these catalogues remain as 'wish books', of things I know I'll never be able to afford.
The constant harranging of unknown , so-called Charites just irk me. As I said, "Everybody has a need, and Everyone wants money". Contest, and, games-of-chance simply get ripped up.
Just yesteday, I received a come-along to fund physicians in foreign countries, to aid those in deserate need of medical care. Never mind the fact that some of these doctors use this as a paid vacation, and an enormous tax write-off. But I was moved to think: what about our own citizens, homeless and hungry, and without ready food, or medical care,who routinely die literally in the streets every day. What about their children ?
And while it may exist, how many doctors do you know who willingly throw open wide their doors, to take care of our sick without charge ? There aren't any that I know of. And with what our Government gladly pays in defence spending, or in supporting countries who truly hate us anyway, frankly, there should be NO homeless, starving people on our streets, who have NO care, and who have lost all hope. People who are in dire need of mental and/or physical care.
To me, every time a homeless person is found dead, lying in the streets, a tiny fragment of our Constitution and Bill of Rights is sadly ripped up, and thrown away. And, while I have yet to see a Charity concerned with them, such a charity WOULD be worth contributing to, even to the dollar or two I could send in.
Frankly, it both hurts my heart, and gives me an outraged Migraine. When I get my 'once-a-month' box of food from Volunteer Way, there are always things which I cannot use...but others can. So I divide up these offeings, keeping--really--very little. I then make a small pile of that which I know I will not use, and--for example--save them for my C.N.A. who is working full time, trying also to go to night school, who has two daughters and others to support. I also save for my dear cousin anything that has hot sauce in it, for I cannot tolerate it. But, HE can. And so, nothing is wasted ( save for those items whose 'sell by' dates have long expired,) These go into the trash, although I know there some who must eat anything that is delivered to them; they have no choice, but to risk food poisioning.
So...to all the supplecations, 'gimme's', and 'come alongs', I say, heal our own first, then, spread your talent out among the world.
Dear friends, as always, your kind remarks, comments, and crticisms as so important to me, for they inspire me to be a better person, and a more caring one. As always, my thanks and love to all, 'Zahc'

 

' I Happened Upon An Angel, Today '

Aug 13 2011

08/13/11
So often, there is really nothing to write about; the days are like memeographs ( for those of you who can rememer them ! Plus....I secretly admit that I actually LIKED the smell of the ink that was left upon the paper ); many of them are so much alike, that one--in fact--loses the sense of what day it is, and only a prolonged look at the calendar, or, reminder from a friend serves to jar one back into place and time. It becomes only lightly distressing as there are so many other things that consume one's attention. It goes quite without saying that unending pain, agony, depression , and aloneness, occupies one's time, with time, subdivided into periods of wakefulness, and of broken sleep, remarked, overall, by when it is time to take mediction, regardless of true clock time. ( I learned that long ago ), and that--often--the magic numbers: q4-6 hours mean nothing. I have long since let my pain dictate my medication regime. Some of the remaining time is spent in doctor's offices, waiting for my number to come up, leading, only, to a begged request for stronger meds, or, something...anything, that will take the pain away forever. But you know, as does your PM, that nothing save unconsciousness or death will truly ever take all the pain away.
Some times are spent on the telephone, in brief conversations with friends you have a sneaking impression that--while they may like or love you, can never, ever understand you, and how much of daily living is compromised, or just plain thrown away in idle, painful boredom. Yes...there is always an occasional 'review' of systems, to see--if possible--where all or most of the pain is; the puzzlement of whether you are mildly hungry, or just too nauseous to even think about food. There is always coffee, and although it will offend some, the ever-present glowing cigarette.
There's time, never enough time, for my dog, and of how much I love her, even as she--too--is beginning to be arthritic, and is slowing down, and her bark is rusty; but she is fourteen, older already than I am at fifty-seven. And, she has her own medication now; it is up to me to see when she silently hurts ( I hurt loudly, and longly ), so I can give her her pills. Thank God they are 'liver flavored', as I cannot bear to grab her, and roughly shove medications down her throat; she look at me in disbelief. Is this the same man who says he loves me and promised to take care of me, even as I promised to take care of him ??? Afterwards, she walks into another room, away from me, avoiding me. Who could blame her ? If someone tried to ram a pill unwanted down my throat, I would be fighting, and pissing mad. I recall being entubated while still awake, when I had to have my appendix removed. I know I would not be as tolerant, nor as forgiving as she, for, after while, I hear her claws as they scratch across the wooden floors, getting louder, and louder, until she finds me, and curls up on the rug beside me; for me, it is a forgiveness I have not earned.
Fourteen years ago, she adopted us, my late mother and myself; she had been severely and unbelievably abused, that it took years before certain things no longer frightented her. I wanted whoever had abused her so to suffer the same abuse, but ten times over. Immediately, she loved my eighty year old mother, and followed her everywhere, sleeping at he foot of mom's bed.
But, in my transient musings, I digress, for today, for, I actually happened upon an Angel. I had telephoned my bank to learn what I already knew: that on this Saturday, August 13, 2001, I had exactly $41.27 in the checking account to last me through the month. Of course, we all know it would never last the month, it couldn't possibly. $41.27 was just a tease, a reminder of major deprevation yet to come. I had borrowed some money from a friend I've had to borrow from before, though, somehow, I have always managed to pay it back, and my friend--too--is something of an Angel.
After listening to the canned voice telling me my balance in an inhuman uncaring, 'matter-of-fact' way, like saying to someone, "Your fly is down." And, I was also reminded that I have exactly #3.13 in savings. I had a few questions to ask of an associate about the hoped for deposit,and spoke with Ruth, at BOA. She was kind, seemed concerned ( well, they are all trained to be, aren't they ? ). We went into my checking account, nothing new; but suddenly she said,"Wait a minute, there's something I think I can do", and with that, she managed to credit my checking account with two, former $25.oo account fees, I had not remembered, nor even considered. But Ruth did. In an 'augen blinck', instead of just having $41.27, I now had $91.27, which I know is not much in the celestial scheme of things, but--incontestably--it bought me more time. If she hadn't bothered to look for it, it would have gone unnoticed.
For many, fifty dollars is as nothing; they routinely carry around more than that in their wallets. It is nothing but pocket change to them. They think nothing of blowing it on a whim, nor do they hesitate a second to spend tripple that at a fancy restaurant, for a fancy meal, served, by a fancy waitstaff, which will-- if you'll please pardon the vulgarity--be forgotten with the next day's flush. A'hem.
But to me, trying desperately to live on SSDI, on an amount well below the national poverity level, with no increase in four+ years, or, ever, $50.00--for me--helps pay a bill, buy some food, helps me pay my co-pays to both doctors and pharmacies; it could mean the difference between having milk in the house, or not, or of--sometimes--having food in the house, or not. $50.00 is an enormous sum, to have all at one time...friends, I can hardly imagine it: fifty, single, dollar bills lined up, or stacked up if you prefer. Suddenly, from Ruth's kindness, I was rich, and most importantly, as it isn't even the middle of the month yet, litterally keeps me one step from being out on the street. Maybe she knew that. Maybe, dear friends, you think I am crazy to carry on thusly. But in an 'hieracrchy of need', there is always a 'Primacy' of need, whether its three cigarettes left in a pack I thought empty, or, of being able to have a little milk with my coffee. This is silly, 'though I hope SOME of you will truly understand, but in that instant Ruth gave that money to me, I was as happy as if I had won the Lottery. Distance and time. Only you who are in like circumstance will understand. I'm always vying for distance, from pain, from memory, from life, and--for me--'time' is but an enemy that seeks to cut me into a million pieces of despair, and, without medical respite, does so with startling success. I unsuccessfully fight the years, and the gradual decline of my health to an extent that I will no longer be able to live in my own house, or to care for myself. I fight how the medications have shortened the hours, making me half-resentful, half-grateful; often I stay up until I fall asleep while sitting out at the kitchen counter.
For except for the 'mytery', and for what wonderment I can still muster, really I know what tomorrow will bring. And the day after that. And the day after that. From waking to sleeping what sleep I can manage, days will follow days of seering, lightening pain, depression, despair, uncertanty, agoraphobia...I needn't list them all; it is posted--already--in my 'profile' for all to see. and should it prove to be a mere 'menu' list of accumulated ailments, illnesses, complaints, none of which I would in conscience wish upon anyone, it is, perhaps a 'menu' where no prices are listed. I cannot imagine a total, 'price due' that I can never hope to pay off; it is like a salad bar a thousand miles long, impossible to conceive, and yet, it is all there, all available, all so ready to be read. I urge you, kind friends to look long upon it. Only the neverending pain, embarrassment, lack of volition and of purpose remain as yet unlimmed; in it there is heartbreak; hopelessnes; weariness of a kind unimaginable. And, yes, at times, a willingness to die, in order to find some, lasting repreive. I assure you, dear, and constant friends, that it is ALL true, for I have pledged to never lie to you. And, as always, your most, and thoughful comments, support AND criticisms are of such meaningful importance to me.
But, as I look back on the samness of today, with more regret than hope, I must tell you that--today--I truly happened upon an Angel, and when I took my usual, overly-tired nap, in order to last the evening, I went to my bed more quietly than usual, it was to a peace that I so needed, but a peace I rarely experience.
And so today, from some far-distant banking center, cluttered with the caccophany of ringing telepones, and an hundred operator's voices, I chanced upon Ruth, who in being an Angel, will always be an Angel to me.
Please to recall, dear friends, that 'Ruth' is a prominent name in the Bible. I fully think that this was not mere chance.
I wish for you, my dear friends at MDJunction, your own respite from pain and suffering, from doubt and despair, from suffering that knows no end; to a night of peaceful, restorative, and unbroken rest, to a day--tomorrow--that brings its own mysteries, and miracles, and marvels, and a spark of hope to your very souls. And, I wish beyond wish, that, you--too--will happen upon your own Angel.
With all my life's breath of love, I remain yours'. 'Zahc'

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I was 'OOC' earlier, and I apologize !'

Aug 08 2011

08/07/11
Alright, friends, and fellow readers, I fully admit to being quite out of control this morning with my diary entry. My 'usual' calm, and dulcet-throated tone was torpedo'd first thing this morning, when I awoke, sitting out at the kitchen counter, where I had earlier fallen asleep; I had been speaking to a friend on the telephone until rather late, and, having taken my full regime of night medications ( including half a sleeping tablet ), I got--I guess--too drowsey to actually get up and go to my bed, where I belonged. Instead, I slept all night, or, most of it, anyway, still sitting at the kitchen counter, which I find I am doing more and more often.
I was exhausted from a minor flare-up of the fibro, and hurt in a zillion places, so it was easy to just put my head on my outstretched arm, and go bye-bye. It was so strange to awake ( with the dawn ) to find lights left on in the house, and getting up and going found me groggy, stiff, and sore. At least I could have maybe made it to the loveseat, where--cramped--I could snooze amid tons of pillows, or, better still, to just lie down on the rug next to my dear dog, and snore-away with her....yes....at 14, she snores too, but would never admit it.
It rained and thundered on and off, today, and in Florida, that meant an heat index of probably 100 degrees, and the dampness makes me hurt, too.
After I had taken my meds, and given my dog her's, and made a cup of strong coffee, I took an increasingly sick look through my checkbook which showed--after all the checks that I recently wrote are cashed, I now have about $78.00 left in the account, and it's only the 8th. So much of the month remains, that I will probably have to borrow money from friends to coast-through 'till the end of the month. At least all the major and minor bills have been paid, except for the unexpected, and I do have food in the house, so, for now, every day that passes during which I don't have to spend a penny, is a day closer to next month's SSDI free-for-all VS my creditors.
So, dear friends, in an attempt to maybe redeem myself before God, and all, I'd like to share a cost-cutting trick I've picked up; possibly, many of you will be familiar with it, but I wasn't, until need/want/and the lack of funds collided almost all at once, forcing me to change tactics, and adopt 'new' survivor skills, especially with my limited income, and in this lousy economy. Had I thought about it long enough, it should have been a ' no-brainer', but old habits run deep.
Well, here goes. With the exception of groceries, I now do all my shopping on-line at different sites, such as KingSize for men; Brylane Homes; 7th Avenue, and, Wards, to name but a few. After having registered at each site, I am routinely notified via e-mail when big sales are coming up. I ingnore all the Hoopla, and go right to the 'clearance section', or sometimes, if they have one, the 'factory seconds' section.
Thus begins guerilla and safari shopping. I have the time to dawdle. Whenever I find something I like and need, I just scan the clearance pages; sure, sometimes these are close-outs, but, who cares. And, often, you will not be able to find the size you need in clothing, for example. But in guerilla shopping, that's the risk you take. If--for example--I see a shirt I like, only to find out that the only remaining sizes are S, or 9 XL ( yes, there are clothes that large...and larger , and I am presently a dumpy, but comfortable 3 XL, of which--frankly--years ago, I never, ever could have conceived, or, foreseen), I just move onward.
In that way, I have managed to really stretch my money; say, being able to buy a $35.00 shirt for $2.99. And this is all new--not thrift shop--merchandise. I also subscribe to their catalogues, which sometimes have killer markdowns. Plus, I try to pair it with an in-house discount promo code, for further savings. Thus, I one was able to purchase a $129.00 leather, double breasted jacket in grey for $24.00 ! And, a $159.00 coat for $37.50 ! And since several of theses clearance sections featured clothing for both men and women, I began to notice something weird: that, often, the shorts and tops for women looked exactly like those for men.
I found out that, in women's clothes these days, 'big shirts', or bf ( boy friend ) shirts are almost identical; they have collars, buttons, pocketsc and cuff as do ours. But....sometimes they are a lot cheaper, and if you like variety, come in more colors and materials than are found in the typical man's shirt. To me, a cardigan is a cardigan is a cardigan. They both look alike; why do you think the loveley ladies in our lives love to wear our sweats, and shirts? Because they are comfortable and roomy. and...yes...I have been known to shop 'across the aisle', but the choice and the savings can be terrific.
Now, guys may need a little instruction on size conversion; every catalogue has within it a size chart. Study it. For example, as I am a 3 XL, I can probably wear a size 30-32. I think a lot of guy's traditional clothes are predictable, and, boring. And I love color, and lots of it. And, don't worry, I'm not a transvestite, nor do I wear bras and panties. I look for bargains.
The best part of catalogue and on-line shopping ( besides the enormous savings ), is that you can shop 24/7 from the comfort of your home, even in your underwear. And, you'll find prices lower than that of 'Wally World', or, 'Slay-Mart'. and you won't have to spend hours ( your precious hours ! ) driving all over town, hot, and in maniac traffic to get to a store, and not be able to find a parking place that isn't out in the nose bleed section; nor will you have to deal with crowds, surly salespersons, invisible floor associates, merchandise thrown everywhere, only to arrive nack home with a few plastic bags full of foreign-made crap that you cannot launder, cannot repair, and often, cannot return for credit or refund.
And while shopping online does involve paying a shipping and handling fee, everything is usually safely delivered to your door by UPS, or Fed-Ex. AND, you probably would have spent more in gasoline, and wear and tear to your vehicle, not to mention your temper. I've gotten some great deals on clothing, furniture, housewares, etc. So, to sum up:
1) When shopping on-line, always go to the 'clearance' section; 2) Pair with discount promos to save even more ! 3) If you are on a strangulation budget as am I, and have a family and children, in this lousy economy, you have to learn to squease every nickel, until it s888s eight pennies. You know what I mean. 4) shop in seasonal reverse, by which I mean, buy such things as coats and jackets in the summer, and shorts, swimsuits in the winter. And--as always--shop wisely, shop well, stay within your means, and....have fun !!!!!!!!!!!!! I hope this helps, love to all......'Zahc'

 

'Surely I MUST have money in the account, I STILL have checks !!!!'

Aug 08 2011

08/08/11
Goodmorning, all !
This is for everyone who has to try to live on a fixed income, such as SSDI--like me, who have no secondary sourc of income, and are too ill to work. While I am so very grateful for my SSDI, which--after all--is a sum arrived at by Social Security who calculate your last, best 40 quarters ( 10 years ! ) of your past emploment, which means, of course, that this limited income is not--as many have said to me--'free money'; no, no, no, it is the sum I would have been given when Iwould have retired at age 65. The fine folks at Social Security calculate this amount by reading tarot cards, or divining sheep entrails, or..most probably, by throwing darts at a target. These wonderful people ( and yes, some of them have been extremely couteous and helpful ), read the Farmer's Almanac, so that they will not only be able to arive at some sum you hopefully will be paid each month; it also tells them the best time to plant soy. For weeks after my disablity, I received SSI, which was $158.00 a month. Granted--then--that our little family unit consisted of myself, my late mother who was 85, and begining to have health problems for which I was her caretaker, and--not to be left out--my best, 'dog-on the planet', who is now 14 yrs old. Financially, we died, as my SSI and my mother's social security was simply not enough to survive on. It was then, that I began to ramp up my Visa card to pay for groceries, utilites...everything beyond which our combined incomes would cover; until....I owed Visa thousands of dollars in unsecured debt. Even so, I did not go on a shopping blitz, and the order of our comfort and living levels still dropped precipitously. When I could no longer make the payments to Visa, good, old BOA closed the account ( even though I had taken out insurance that should have covered debt accured after my disability, and, please keep this in mind, aas it is important ), and let loose the ravening hounds from hell, who are collection agents. I fully believe that these agencies look for, and hire sociopaths and criminal minds to do their dirty work. They proceeded to launch into a campaign Now I realize that people need jobs; however these collection agents seemed to take especial pleasure in being telephone nazis. I was alternately threatened, sworn at, and harrassed at least once, twice, or, three times a day, every day. And, when I once mentioned--as I always did--that although I although I never denied my indebtedness--that was why I had insurance, who often assured me that all would be made right, I was always ignored by these 'sub-humans'. On one occasion, a woman I spoke with stated, " I don't give a goddamn about your insurance...I just want my money"; and, one call that actually made me laugh, when a young man telephoned me, and told me that ," Well, ah...$12,000.00 would make it sweet for me." I mentally composed a picture of a nickel con, with a fifty dollar, slicked back, and greasy haicut; a shirt opened to the waist to display yard, and yards of 'gold'; and pants with dirt cuffs from dragging them on the sidewalk as he stood, flipping a quarter, whilst lounging against a lampost, truly a 'fourth-tier' member of organized crime. LOL. Just the thought still makes me laugh. when I stopped laughing at him I replied, "Honey...if I had $12,000.00, I would make it sweet for ME.", even as I deleted him to the twilight zone on my caller I.D.
After better than three years after BOA closed the account, the indebtedness was passed from collection agency to collection agency, ( and, which each change, the settlement buy-out lowered), and I was weary of playing hide and seek, I finally--although I hated to do so--borrowed the money from a friend, and accepted their settlement amount, after which BOA wrote the account off as paid, but not to the fullest amount. Somewhere along the way, BOA claimed I had missed four, lousy payments, which, as you might know, wrecked my credit.
I did have two savings accounts for my 'old age', but in 2006, my mother ( who stated she didn't want me to bathe her, or dress her, change her, or feed her, which I could understand, as few 88 year old mothers want their past, middle age sons to in any way, cause her to lose her dignity, and she had to be admitted--perforce--to an excellent, though extremely expensive long-term nursing facility.
She had long since run out of Medicare, and Tricare days, and so, from after the first week in June, 2006, I had to pay for her stay there in cash until the end of November of that year, until we could get her on Medicaid. Friends, that was about $395 per day; you count the days, and do the math. What that did ( and I do it without hesitation again should I had to, as I loved my mother dearly, and this facilty was reknowned for its excellent, and compasionate care ), was to vaporize two, savings accounts, our 'join' account, and, anything by way of cash that I could lay ready hands to.
I would have to say without equivocation, that May, and June of 2006 were perhaps the worst years of my life, prior to my subsequent diagnoses of Lupus, diabetes, fibromyalgia, and, you name it...its all on my 'profile', In just those TWO months, my then-shrink took ,e off ALL of my medications, in favor of others whch he thought might work better; I should have know, as had he, that in stopping all the meds abruptly, I went into severe withdrawel; plus--that week--my mother and I were both food poisoned, sent to hospital; I left as there was one one to take care of my dog. You might know, that, had I stayed in hospital, they would have discovered the pneumonia that I had . So flipped out was I, that I very nearly lost P.O.A. of my mother, to a distant cousin, who threatened to take Mom back with her to northern Florida, where I knew I probably would never see her again. I should have been admitted to a psych hospital, for between the withdrals and the pneumonia, I was so delusional, I hardly knew if I was on horseback or on foot. For if--if i happened to pass a mirror, I dared not look, as what I saw was not me, but a monster. I thank God that a dear friend stepped in to right things, dropping the incompetancy hearing against my mother, and transferring her for a psych hospital to an A.L.F., where, during her first night there, she slipped on her way to the bathroom, and broke her hip.
Luckily, my former meds wee restored sufficiently to allow me to go into hospital to be treated for the pneumonia.
I apologize for going on so long, but I will get to the point soom, I promise ! LOL
Fast forward to the present, in which any, or some, or all of my new physical ailments, and, as I hope I have mentioned, I am now on an SSDI that is less than a third of what I used to earn when I was employed. NONE of us--including retirees--have been granted a c.o.l.a, while in almost every aspect of our lives, the prices of everything have almost doubled, or more. To my electric bill hasbeen added not one, but two fuel adjustment increases; my telephone cable bill, which allows me to write this drivel to you ( a dear friend gave methis computer for my last birthday ! ).
Food and gasoline, and insurance has risen into the strosphere; as an example: I was thunderstruck when the price of a pound of butter went from $1.99 to $4.99. And since I am not 'old enough' to be eligible for any 'Senior' programs which still have funding in this County, which, by and large is 'rural/agricultural'. We are in an enormously large County, and it is a poor County, besides.
So I am denied whatever services that might exist just to help me survive now: anytime I need the yard mowed, or my laundry done, or my house straightened up, or groceries, or prescriptions that have to ne pickd up for me, as I no longer can drive, I have to pay people out of my own pocket, to the tune of whatever they tell me the price is. What choice do I have? I HAVE to have my medications, as--frankly ( and not to be assumed dramatic)--often, I think I would rather die, than have to live in unrelieved agony and despair.
Maybe I am weak-willed, or...call it what you like, but, for those of you who know exactly what complete days of unmitigated agony, and of drifting from med time to med time, even pushing the times forward sometimes in order to obtain some semblance of relief is like, even when both the constant pain AND the medications conspire to leave one listless, immobile, bereft of interest or desire, and when a kind of total mind fog, makes one careless and forgetful. And, affects relationships all around you, about which you can do little, if anything.
Gradually, that little, mostly reliable income check beame less and less able to get me through the month. I had to drop my term life insurance policy, and my car insurance, after a neighbor ( who borrowed it for work so that she and he husband could find a home away from having to live with his mother !!!!!, and who returned to car that was a wreck, andnow, one that is rusting in the driveway ), and, worst of all, I had to drop my Humana PPO as my secondary to Medicare, as when I had it, it was a breeze; I could see anyone out of network, and, eveything was paid for. Now all I have is Medicare, and Medicaid ( run by absolute morons ). So once, in going to a visit at my PM doctor ( via the County cab system, which I DO qualify for ), I neglected to bring my wallet along, and even thugh I was in major pain, and on fumes for medications I still had left, the receptionist would not allow me to see the doctor, because I could not pony up the $20.66 co-pay. All they could do for me is to call up a ride to take me home. Although I think I remained to be polite ( as this PM will as likely drop you for any infractions, sort of like elementary school ! ), inside I was seething, sad, depressed, sorry, regretful on top of the pain. While there, I died a thousand times inside, as I asked another patient in the waiting room if--perhaps--she could loan me the money, that I would pay it back; of course, she looked up, and past me, sort of smiled, but said she couldn't. And this was after my PM's assistant said my records showed that I was out of pain medication. He asked me what bank did I use, and I replied, BOA, he said, "...well, there's a BOA branch right across the street. Maybe you can get the money there."
Now...I walked into that office wearing my portable oxygen, and had difficulty walking, even with a cane; AND, I'd have to try to cross six lanes of traffic, in the rain, no less, and besides, ' Tears of Christ ', I hadn't brought my wallet along ( the PM won't take checks ), and they knew my wallet and debit card were at home.
You know, there are teaars of joy, tears of sorrow, tears of sadness, tears of loss; but there are also tears of anger. Think about it, there I was, clearly in need, yet I was turned away at the gate for a lousy $20.66. So from now on, that sum is burned into my brain. For in that brief instant my need and wont of treatment, and of those lousy little pieces of paper that are blessed prescriptions, for the first time, my medications made me beg. And will I know it isn't so, I felt like I was a junkie, pleading for the next fix. and, in a way, I was, I supppose.
Last wek, when my little check came in, I arose early to begin payiong bills, so that, by mid-afternoon of the same day in which I had goten my SSDI, I had already spent more than half of monthly income, well, actually, more than half. And a trip to the grocery store, made for me by my C.N.A. on her off day ( and by then, I was out of everything, and had presriptions to be picked up ),, I now have only about $78.00 in the checking account, and that has to last me the rest of the month ? I've already had to borrow money from a friend, and, in the past, have had to go hat in hand, to borrow money from my cousins, all of which I do sacrifice to pay back.
Several years ago, or, maybe a little longer than that, my SSDI managed to carry me through the month. Then I gradually noticed that I was broke three days from the end of the month; then, five days; then two weeks, until now, my checking account lies lifeless before me easily by the tenth of the month. I've had to ask kind persons to hold my checks until I get more money into the account, and I hat that, too. For when I was younger, and working full time, and making decent money, I had more than enough to survive on; whenever I wrote a check, it was as good as my word.
These days, I could easily use another $1,000.00 ( as..who couldn't ? LOL ) coming into the house each month; but even if it did, I would still be beneath the national poverty level, but can guarantee you that I would still be grateful for, and could use that extra grand a month, and could probably even put a fair amount of it in savings. And for you, my friends at MDJunction who have families and children, the going must be near impossible, and that, on top of your distress, suffering, and pain. To you, you have my utmost respect. You also have what strength I can lend, a ready ear, and--I hope--an open, and honest heart.
And as I most sincerely hope, that pain shared, is pain better understood, and pain better withstood. And I wish with all my heart for more well days, than ill. And I wish you peaceful, and untroubled nights; and whilst I am wishing, I wish for you serenity, strength against adversity, clarity of thought, and purpose, and that you and yours may never have to do without. I know I have gone on overlong, maybe making it impossible to read, but my feelings remain the same. And I hope they always will.
love to all,
'Zahc'

'In order That I May Offer You, My Friends At MDJunction My Thanks !'

Aug 05 2011

Friday, August 5th, 2011

I have met so many wonderful people, and even made new friedships at MDJunction, that if I may--in offer of thanks--submit the lyrics toa song sung by Ginger Rogers to Jack Haley in a now nameless film in about 1932; here goes:

Like a port in a storm...

like a breeze when you're warm....

like sugar in your tea....your such a comfort to me;

Like a coat when you're cold....

like a cane when you're old....

like honey to a bee....you're such a comfort to me.

I know that you're as refreshing, as rain to a fading rose,

a fireside when it snows.

A stroll in a park, a kiss in the dark.

Like a nest to a dove....

like a song when you're in love....for you will always be.

such a comfort...to me.

With all my best wishes for many, many well days for you,

peaceful and untroubled nights,

and--as always--much happiness,

joy, and serenity.

love,

'Zahc'

A short poem to my friends and fellow-sufferers at MDJuction

Aug 02 2011

An Ode To My Friends At MDJunction

Still at my busied desk one close of day,

I wrote--that eve--some small, but telling note to say

that you were fondly figured in my thoughts that day.

As light as cotton wool,

how delicate those fleeting thoughts,

as little cloud-wisp'd lambs arrayed.

So charming was that scene

in which they leapt and played,

that--were I able--would have gladly stayed.

But, as the dreary cares of day would oft intrude,

those gentle, rally'd thoughts raised aloft my mood....

a tonic gratefully accepted, never understood.

It might have been a recollection of your pain,

that called out to my heart again, again,

with offered prayers for wellness,

in fondest dream no suffering remain.

It might have been a recollection of your laugh,

a music lit by twinkling eyes,

your self-effacing humor, comely sighs.

Or more, your kind, forgiving soul, when I would weakest be,

upon your strength rely.

And so, tomorrow when the morning sun

shall herald long night's end,

you will--no doubt--be in my thoughts again.

And I shall then--as now--be pleased to call you, 'Friend !'

love,

'Zahc'

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"Oh, how the body and the mind admixed with suchlike medicine to work their rough magik upon the Sou

Jul 31 2011

07/31/11
Today has been a day most strange; I awoke from sheer nightmare to pain beyond pain, and lumbered out to the kitchen ( a little past 5 AM )to take a Morphine and a Dilaudid with shakinghands, as if I were touching gold. For me, it IS gold, of a kind more rare than genuine gold, for I know, hope and pray that somewhere amid that overlong 'launch window', the major part to the pain will subside, though not completely dissapear, as a Minotaur in its Maze. Instead, I sat at the kitchen counter, with my head in my hands, as I had such pain that induces chills, and a coldness deep within. For a long time, I sat there, really without conscious thought, an amoeba in my own home; the kitchen lights were unusually bright as in a bus station, and my dear dog just would not leave me alone; she kept circling my legs, occasionally scratching me with her paws, or, butting her nose into my crotch as I sat there. In a small voice, I kept begging her to stop scatching at me as it hurt, yes...another pain upon pain. Maybe she was worried, maybe she was concerned; but I tell her to not scratch me, leaving white trails down my calves to my feet. How can I tell her that I have Diabetes, and that a skin wound takes forever to heal ?I was still drowsy, but my old friend Pain would have never let me return to bed. My back was a xylophone of ringing pain, played upon by hellish imps with hammers. Slowly...so slowly did the medication take effect, or the effect that it could, that I was not'one' moment in agony, the next in paradise, but in an agony that, as it slowly ebbed, merely left me limp as if I had lost my spine, and weary, not tired, not exhausted....but weary; there IS a difference. I offered up mumbled prayers as the kettle whistle began to sound. Ah...blessed coffee...and the usual cigarettes. I had to push my dear dog away. No thoughts of any importance came to me, and I think I would have actually enjoyed the early, early quiet of morning, had it not been heralded by lightning bolts of pain. On impulse I telephoned a friend of mine who is a long-distance hauler, who would either be at the wheel, or, asleep; no matter, his cell phone would take my message. However, he did answer, and we spoke for several hours, off and on, as he paused to asnser his C.B.radio, or to stop at weigh stations. His--too--is a lonely existance, for even though he drives with his brother, at any one time, one or the other is asleep; seldom are they awake at the same time, for fueling or bathroom stops, or for food. I almost can imagine being so high of the ground, in a massive truck, driving at 70 m.p.h. at night, alone, and in a darkened cab, lit only by the end of his cigarette, and by the myriad of small blue indicator lights. And always, the susserous of the wheels against the road, that makes the head want to nod, and the eyes to close. So, for a couple of hours, I listen as he talks and sings parts of Country songs. We are both, and all of us just trying to pass the night. To the famous poet who once penned that, "..no man is an island", I would have to disagree; we are all little islands, kept ever separate and apart locked in our own bodies, and in our own minds. In between calls, I made more coffee, smoked more tasteless cigarettes, trying to decide if I was getting hungry, or whether my stomach just hurt. Nothing appealed to me; besides, the pantry is very low, and I am running out of nearly everything, yet, I only have $31.40 in the checking account, and, after I see my 'Pain Management person' with his $20.66 required co-pay just to be seen, I will have about eleven dollars left until my disability check comes through on the 3rd. I finally cooked something with brown rice, canned chicken, and peas in it, and it was fair and sufficient to fill an empty need. At eleven AM or so, I crawled back to bed, and slept off and on until four, this afternoon. Time for pain medications again, they know no timeclock, and then to the bathroom, and out to the kitchen for more coffee. Funny how I can have coffee and cigarettes right away, but the slightest thought of food sickens me for about four or five hours after I awake. I had the coffee in my cup, and the water boiling, and my little packs of sweetener lined up in a row of five, but suddenly, try as I might, I could not tear the tops off the little packs; I had no strength, while my head pounded like some hollow drum of eye-wincing pain. I had to use the scissors to open the sweetener...first time that happened, I think. I guess I should not be surprised anymore with anything weird that involves my mind or body. Granted, all fingertips, and, half of both hands are now numb from neuropathy. As are my 'widdle piddies': my toes, and half of both feet to the ankle. With feet that no longer quite look like feet, but are like a 5 yr old's drawing of feet; edematous, and misshapen, and discolored. I know they belong to me, as they are attached to my legs. I try to not, but cannot help but take the occasional peek, I guess, to see if they are still there; they now explode out of my shoes, even to popping the velcro closures sometimes. This headache will not go away, nor will the pain scattered all over my vastness. Parts of my arms feel as if they are frying off my body; it is NOT like flu, not like uber flu, not like anything I have ever experienced. I want to be feel happy, and, for God's sakes, maybe have a little fun. I want to laugh; I want to feel light and carefree. I want to be transported to Mars...anywhere where there is NO pain. "No pain here !"; 'Pain not allowed !". I want to run. I want to suddenly check myself from head to toe, and astoundingly feel nothing but wellness, gratefully leaving far behind the pain, the despair, the odd days and nights, the constant and unabated weariness and sluggishness of mind, and torture of the soul. I want to throw ALL my medicines away, and take the rest of my life off, playing with my dog. But in my own circus from hell, just how many monsterous clowns can fit into that little clown car ? 'Pain....Management'. Two simple words. How can one 'manage' the unmanageable and the unending ? By tossing and tossing more and more drugs at it to appease the ravening beast ? For it is never truly appeased, and it never truly goes away. What it does most successfully, is to make me tired and stupid, wanting to do nothing more than eat ( if its convenient ! ),and to stay abed in that litttle twilight land of pain and mindlessness. 'PM' is just a business, not a charity, nor a comfort to the soul. Once, upon arrival for my visit, nearly out of blessed meds, I was not allowed to see the doctor as I had left my wallet at home, and could not--therefore--pony up the $20.66 co-pay. I have never forgotten that sum....$20.66 ( which many people carry around on them as pocket change ), for they would not bill me, or let me slide until the next visit, or do anything, except arrange for my transportation home, with NO scripts in hand. I died as I asked a woman in the waiting room if I could borrow the money from her, knowing, knowing, knowing that she would look down and past me saying she could not. My pain had made me beg, and at that moment I hated myself in the knowlege that I was now alligned with "Druggies" who will do anything for a fix. There was no logic, nor promises, nor sympathy, nor...kindness ( ? ); the receptionist avoided eye contact with me, though, she could not have cared less. Why should she ? She was in fine health. It did not matter: she was the 'Sphinx' who posed to me a riddle I could not answer,'tho I already knew the answer: $20.66. It was a magical number, a trifling sum that risked my running out of opiates, and into withdrawel. Ho-ho, I thought, so this is what it comes down to. $20.66. $20.66.$20.66...it still rings in my head; now...I carry my wallet ina pack I can carry over my shoulder. In it is my debit card: my passport to a five-minute visit, a few 'same answer' questions, and the scripts: three, little pieces of paper, innocuos in themselves, papers that awe me, and revulse me, as they--alone--spare me ( almost ) from flying past a '10'on the pain scale, into an insanity of pain, the thought of which frightens me, as--unabated--how would it end ? With me howling at the moon, or clawing up the turf, hurting as only an animal hurts, without reason, without breezy conceptualization, without mind ? Friends, and co-sufferers, I think I would reach for my gun, much as is done to relieve an animal's suffering. I don't know. I hope to never know. All I do know is that for me, $20.66 is the line across the sand that separates a continued--though, lousy--human existence, from a dying, animal's end. Its that simple. But...why should I continue thusly ? I fear I am trying to ' preach to the choir'. No one will read this as it is dreary, and ponderously overlong. And, to what purpose, what end ? To walk my wits at the evening of another day ? And why ? The 'well' will not care, as they cannot care, and to all of us who suffer from Lupus/Fibromyalgia/and Chronic pain...it is already a life many of us lead. I had hoped to nuture, help, support, and with all my heart's blood, to try to alleviate mutual suffering through expostion. And...as I have most grieveously failed in all regard, today, I apologize, and ask for your kind forgiveness. And, for your patience and understanding. ( sigh) No matter really what I say, in time....all dead fish smell alike, and are equally repugnant. As always, your criticisms and comments are most gratefully welcome. I can only wish for you many, many, many 'well' days, and agreeably peaceful, and untroubled nights. And, the sleep of the innocents. And...I wish you happiness in full measure. Please, please, please do take care. With love to all, 'Zahc'

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'For every season...'

03/31/11

Well well well, how quickly have we reached the end of March, which--indeed--'came in like a lamb, and went out as a lion.'
The early days of March were balmy, pleasant; a little humid even.  And, as in all days that too quickly mark the passage of years, time seemed, somehow to have become compressed. 'Tempus Fugit' the watchword of the month.
Here in sunny Florida, Land of the Sponges, the past three days ( including today ) have been remarked by tempestuous storms, heavy all-day rains which the dry earth could not absorb, causing minor flooding, and a general 'dankness' which only encouraged even the 'early risers' to stay safely abed, covers pulled up to their noses.
Earlier today, my driveway to the house was underwater; despite the lousy housing market, maybe I should have sold my home as it featured 'waterfront property'.

The rainy days provide much time to think, and to gather one's thoughts. Some of this thought concerned the nature of, and future of this/my Blog; I had wanted it to be a success.
But, frankly, there are thousands of blogs out there that are better presented, better formatted, better hosted and better posted than mine.
And if I cannot find my voice, how then shall I find an audience ?

I find that audiences are fickle, and fly to this site or that for the sake of self-amusement; the blog or face book that catches fire, drawing--in one week--hundreds of thousands of 'hits', may, a month later, become almost totally forgotten.
In order for this, or any other blog to be successful, it must change and grow, even as its audience changes.

After a few more days on hiatus, look for this blog to be both lean and mean ( though not hurtful...there's a difference ).  Look for shorter posts, sharper posts, with a less strident, more humorous tone, while still keeping to the original premise of the blog.

And whether you happen to stumble across this blog, while looking for something else, or whether you may find--in my posts--some small thing if interest, please detain a moment to write a comment to me; for I want you the reader to feel comfortable, and at home here.
To this end, I hope that both of us are successful.

And so, I wish for you all a peaceful and quiet night, a sound sleep, pleasant dreams, and a renewed spirit for the day ahead.  Charles

'The Fate Of A Nation Is Determined By The Fate Of Its Peoples'

03/30/11
In recent weeks, all responsible eyes have been turned to the Nation of Japan, and to the unstoppable power of Nature which--in all its mindless fury-- has left this Nation in shambles; we witnessed in shock, as the tsunami rolled inexorably onward, sweeping away lives, families, homes, businesses, and, in the process, loosing fatal amounts of radiation in the air from damaged plants, and...in sub-zero weather.
The tsunami almost placidly tossed automobiles about like toys, and leveled houses; entire prefectures were erased from the earth, and countless lives were lost. We may never know how many.
In less than twenty-four hours, an hearty Nation with its growing economy, was reduced to mud and rubble; its automobile industry stalled, while the general, past quality of life of its peoples were thrown backwards into the dark ages. And full recovery will doubtlessly take years.
All of this was changed in a moment, hardly an eye-blink of geologic time.
There is--and will continue to be--grief, loss, and bewilderment at a way of life so drastically altered.
We knew, even as we watched in disbelief that such a titanic event that befell Japan could happen--at any time--to us.
The mighty forces of Nature know no boundaries, no political division, no regard for any religion, nor ideology; it is, in truth, equal in its sudden wrath, equal in the damage it leaves behind, and--in the case of Japan, equal in its disregard for nation states, whether they be democracies, oligarchies, or under tyrannical rule.
It knows not Kings, nor Emperors. It cannot distinguish the well-off from the oppressed.
It mindlessly kills because it has no mind.
Catastrophic natural events neither love, nor hate; it knows no favorites among the world's populace.
There have been posts that imply that this disaster was in some way, due retribution for past events; these 'posters' have small minds, small hearts, and small souls.

But despite the earthquake, the tsunami, the radiation, and the freezing weather that has nearly destroyed the 'body' of the nation of Japan, it has been its peoples--the very heart--of that nation that has thus sustained it, and, over time, will help it to recover.

Even those who cast jaded eyes upon a ruined Japan, could not deny the kindness, the sacrifice, the tenacity of the Japanese people; there were no riots.  No looters. No mayhem in the devastated streets as there might well be in, say, America.  No armed uprisings over lack of water, food, clothing, or warmth. Instead, there was--and is--volubly expressed the nobility of the Japanese, with its purposed, reasoned calm despite the shock, to unite, to self-sacrifice, and to help each other--stranger to stranger--as if part of a larger family, that of Man.
Would workers voluntarily return to make repairs to nuclear power plants, even when they fully knew, that, to do so incontestably meant their deaths from radiation exposure ?  These mostly nameless individuals are nothing less than true heroes.
As were the brave firefighters, and policemen during '9/11/'.
True heroism is not a quality that we are generally disposed to; ; this--in the light of survival of self--is, in itself, not an apportionment of blame.
True heroes are the ones that step away from the fleeing crowds to say, "Don't be afraid...I can help".
One need only to look at history to be moved by Roosevelt's admonition the, "The only thing we have to fear is...fear itself".  Or of Winston Churchill's advise to the English nation to, "..stay calm, and carry on".
And we have seen that demonstrated over and over and over again in Japan.
I am sure that many--while being stunned by the gravity of the disaster--found a few, extra tears to shed over that video that showed one dog protecting another.
While watching the slow, but sure swath of devastation, watching as homes were reduced to matchsticks, and then swept away; watching ( as helplessly as did the Japanese ), as lives were lost, and families hopelessly separated.
What was not lost, although it may have flickered in the face of tradegy, was a culture spanning centuries; one of self-reliance, patience, and a recognition of service to others.
Earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes, typhoons will always exist, to let loose the hounds of Hell upon Man, who cannot but reel helplessly before their might.
The scope of the tradegy in Japan should cause us to examine ourselves, even in all our variety.  And despite our differences in race, religion, or politics, we should be joined in concert to rush to supply relief, aid, and comfort to Japan, and its brave citizens, and to help restore infrastructure that has been effectively wiped away.
Express your concern(s) to your elected officials. Forget for a moment our own ruined economy, ruined not by some fearsome natural disaster, but by unmitigated greed.
Find a legitimate charity ( one that actually uses most of its donations to help those intended ). Give what you can, even if its just a modest sum. Complain about the failed economy to those who drove it there; are we not just a small bit responsible ourselves ?
It is not a time to chest-beat, or to sabre-rattle, or to declare ourselves American, French, Russian, or, Japanese.
But, rather, to stand tall, declaring ourselves to be Human, and as Human, part of the greater Humanity of Man.
I thank you, and wish for you ( and the Japanese ), a night of quiet, warm, secure, and restorative rest.
May the Great Spirit bless and protect you.

'Home Sweet Home'...Part Two

03/28/11

The dream, the need to own one's home, and plot of ground goes back, really, to our ancestors who ventured away from crowded cities into the wilderness, where they claimed their ground, cleared it of trees, rocks, and debris, to build their ramshackle dwellings, and plow the fields.
A review of Wills of some two hundred years, in dividing up property among the beneficiaries, show the importance of having land to pass on, and--in many instances--listed quite elaborately the disposition of furniture, as, many of the items had to be sent from abroad at great cost; these were considered treasured items.  Even prosaic items such as beds were thought important enough to be written down.
These Wills which seem silly today, insured that various family members would have property upon which to build there own lives, with a primary beneficiary given both the house and the land, as well as the disposition of whatever sums of money as may have existed.
There was a continuity there: the hopes that the family would remain intact, and--in time--prosper, a desire uppermost in the minds of the writers.
Of course, properties were sold, and homesteads turned over to strangers.  But, by in large, subsequent generations were planed for, and accounted for well into the first quarter of the last century.
Over the years, this concept has been impacted by smaller families, and by less goods and chattels to be 'passed on'.
Disposition of treasured items is often made before death, children are often allowed to 'number' certain items they want, after their parents have passed away, and things that used to be of importance have faded; even the nature of so-called treasured items has changed somewhat. While furniture is relegated to be disposed of in the Will, no one that I have ever heard of specially wills to anyone a bed, simply because they can be purchased everywhere, as can all household items.
And so, we come to today, where so many younger couples do not think of making a Will, and never make one, though dying intestate, makes of strange beneficiaries, with the State levying huge taxes to Probate nothing of consequence; and you might find your home, as well as other monies, passing to some cousin you personally detest, and wouldn't give the first nickle to in life.

Of course, no one in their forties even think of Revocable Power Of Attorney, and few have life insurance, or other monies in cash, stocks, or bonds. Really, all there is is the unpaid for house, and unpaid for car.  And with singularly unmatched, and hideous furniture, that it can scarcely be justified as being both 'kid-proof', and, comfortable.
Again, it is hardly the fault of the homeowner that actually 'decorating' the house takes little precedent as the daily cost of living ( translate that to, surviving ), and the ever-growing lag between income and expenses, inevitably rules out Luis XIV, in favor of food, and utilities.
And so, dear readers, I shall close for now; it has been raining steadily all day; the house feels damp, and the dog will not go out to pee.
Please take care, all, and try to enjoy a pleasant day.
Regards, Charles

'Home Sweet Home'...where the dream went terribly, terribly wrong'

03/28/11

...."What is it about a Man who chases after that which he can never hope to catch, whilst fleeing from that from which he can never hope to escape"...C.B.

Although I have become rather isolative of late, I still manage to get glimpses of the world, even though it may be as looking through a telescope from the wrong end.
What little I do know alarms, and frightens me, stacking hopeless chaos upon chaos.  How long can this charade continue ?

               After Blake:
                  Every night and every morn, some to misery
                   are born.
                  Every morn and every night, some are born to
                   sweet delight.
                  Some are born to sweet delight; some are born
                    to endless night.

It truly hurts my heart that every day, families--no longer able to pay outlandish mortgage payments--are putting the house keys under the front mat, and are simply walking away from their homes, leaving all hopes of a comfortable life behind them, to have the now empty homes vandalized, and the remains left to be foreclosed on by the their banks ( which are already more than top-heavy with unsellable foreclosures ), adding incalculable monies to the national debt.
These families are the 'new nomads', with no where to go, renting when they can, or, living with relatives when they can't.

There is no use in apportioning blame; in truth, everyone is to blame: couples that--two or so years ago--saw the real estate market soaring to unbelievable and unsustainable heights; and sought to buy homes, and 'flip' them, hoping to make sums of money; frankly, they should have known--at least by historic example--that reckless spirals cannot long continue; eventually, the 'bubble' breaks, and those spirals plummet to become troughs, until, the market eventually rights itself.
The banks and mortgage lenders made it easy for those couples to buy properties quite beyond their means, with easy interest rates, and little, or nothing required as a down payment.
Even couples who intended to keep their homes, bought homes that were priced beyond their means; they wanted the 'American Dream',  but they wanted more than they could possibly hope to pay for.
Suddenly, a fifty-thousand dollar house was not enough ( even if $50,000.00 homes were advertised for sale).
They wanted it now, thereby skipping the example of their mothers and fathers, their grandparents, even, whose willingness to wait, and to 'settle' for more modest accommodations, required savings, first, and a commitment to stay the course for standard thirty-year mortgages, until, at last, the home of their dreams was eventually had, debt free.
Frankly, everybody was greedy.

Two years ago--or so--an acquaintance of mine, decided he had to have a home for himself, his girlfriend, and their two-year-old daughter.
And though the real estate market was in a frenzy, and natural caution should have urged him to wait, he purchased a modest two bedroom, one bath, home with garage, that was built some twenty-five years before--probably at a cost of no more than $32,000.00--for the incredible sum of $102,000.00.
His thirty year mortgage payments cost him about $1,000.00 a month.
He cannot possibly hope to sell it anywhere near that price, and so, he is trapped.
When he says the $1,000.00 payments each month are literally,"...breaking his back", I can readily understand why; he's hoping to refinance the loan with his bank, who--frankly--are not interested in doing so.  Why ?  Because he intends to live there, his bank is making an obscene amount of profit, which they use to help offset their other losses through foreclosure.
The house is rather plain, in fair condition ( rare for its age ), and quite adequate to provide shelter for he and his family.
But for $102,000.00 ?
As the real estate market further declines, he helplessly watches every penny of 'sweat equity', and costs of maintenance and improvements vaporise before his very eyes.
And, what if--in three to five years--the house needs a new roof ?
He is now piling debt upon debt to just remain in place.
And this is not an isolated phenomenon.
He was both incautious and ill-timed. A more politic course of action would, perhaps, have been to rent for two or three years, whilst saving money for a more substantial down payment.
With $20,000.00 to $30,000.00 saved up, he probablyy could have taken advantage of the rogue 'buyer's market' that exists today, and maybe then, have secured an $100,000.00 home at less interest, and less monthly payments.
Part Two to follow.

'Introduction to, 'Postern Of Fate', part two.'

03/26/11 continued....

Dear Readers ( should there actually be any ! ),

Having failed at a number of prescribed goals, such as succinctness and brevity, we must stagger on, pretending to dance as if the orchestra were still playing.

In trying to conclude 'Part One', I will mention only in passing, that, perhaps the very nadir of TeeVee had been reached on a program on MTV, in which a clothed, jock-strapped man sat against a wall while grapefruits, softballs, and other objects were as missiles thrown to hit his testicles; upon being hit, the man would yell in pain, and then laugh like a maniac. Later, during the closing credits, he chased the 'throwers' as if to attack them; That I watched this farrago for--perhaps--five minutes, can only be attributed to my complete disbelief that, a) it was actually happening, and, b) that anyone could possibly find it entertaining.
Mere TeeVee is not the culprit, for as Edward Murrow once said during a filmed documentary of the poor in America, " The fault, dear Brutus, is not in the stars, but in ourselves ".
Endless chatter by 'talking heads' abounds; and bad news is everywhere.  Shocking news. Horrible news.
Is it any wonder--then--that any reasonably sane person would want to run from this onslaught?  And to try to create for themselves some sort of hiding place, outfitted for comfort and designed to be reassuringly the 'same'.?
Those who drag home at days' end from jobs they too often find repellent, are too tired, too used up, too consumed to do more than pop a beer, and flop down on the sofa, kicking their shoes off at the door.  They want a little comfort, a little quiet, a little pampering, and a LOT of peace and detachment from the world.
I once recall a time when there were only three channels, and all went off the air at 11:00PM.  Nobody complained.  Or, really cared.
Now there is--besides the computer, and the 'wild west web'--cable with 900 channels. And there's still nothing to watch.
And so, after supper has plopped out of the microwave, and the children dispensed with and the dogs let out to pee, the evening is wasted in the constant channel surfing up and down the dial.
Though they relax in it, unknowingly, they do not consider for one moment, and, as such, do not revel in it, that, in entering and shutting the front door, they are drawing a palpable line in the sand, intentionally separating themselves from the world outside; it is a retreat to the warmth of the fire in the cave at night, however dearly this 'cave' is costing them.
And so, at this post's end, I wish you all a quiet night, an untroubled sleep, and strength to face tomorrow.  Goodnight all,   Charles

'The Postern Of Fate...':' The introduction that should have come first'

03/26/11
This--alas--is the long-awaited introduction to my blog ( what an odd name ! ), which should have been written first. I have, at once, in candor, rather than coyness revealed a true lack of understanding of computers in general, and this forum, in particular.
I was strongly advised to keep my entries short, and to the point; I was to eshew fancy language ( such as 'eshew' ), and--above all--to try to be interesting, so that once you found me, you would come back, dragging friends, relatives, and co-workers with you, to hark upon my every, ruby-throated word.  And, to--upon occasion--offer up your own impressions/suggestions/and criticisms that might, in all kindness, change incontestably both the tone and direction of this enterprise.
I purposely went overboard on the biography so that I wouldn't have to trot it out here, boring you twice.
There are countless blogs out there already, each with its own voice, its own interests, and its own agenda(s).  What have I to say?
"What shall we give the infant King?"
I have changed the font size so that I could read it better; for you out there in blog-land, it should--at worst--limit the length of my entries, but not the tone of them.
Though I am, at present safely tucked away in my own little world, as I had mentioned in the bio, 'The Postern Of Fate...' refers to all that lies on the other side of your own front door; all the marvels, the mysteries, and the unspeakable terrors, the former of which simply makes us want to stay in bed, covers over the head.
We all try to insulate ourselves, our families, and our friends from the utter madness that waits for us there; for there be monsters run amok that we cannot control, nor hide from, nor escape from, really.
Our homes have become our fortresses, our redoubts, our caves which we leave grudgingly, and return to most gratefully.
Try as we might, the outside world still touches us, as well-evidenced by the schlock and shock offered up nightly on TeeVee, and in the newspapers ( does anyone subscribe to them anymore? ).
After a year or so of dwindling interest, when much of broadcast 'entertainment' devolved into torture of the most hideous kind, I simply stopped watching TeeVee, and, in time, gave away the two sets I had in the house.  And, while I freely admit that it is now with greater slowness that I am informed of events both here and abroad, I could find nothing but distaste at any of the, 'What would you do for $50,000.00 USD ? shows.  Eat worms ? Share a glass coffin teeming with roaches?
First, it beggared the self-answering fact that, 'hell yeah, I could use $50,000.00 !'  We all could.  In point of fact, there have been too many occasions when $500.00 would look good, and would help carry us to the end of the month.
But these shows, for amusement's sake took these hapless contestants and humiliated them; they not only went home penniless, but did so after sharing the glass coffin teeming with roaches.
When the stately, and posing rectitude of 'Jeopardy', was overrun by 'Weakest Link', the boxer's gloves came off to fully reveal the greed and conniving of the contestants, and the unutterable snottiness of the Host.  That its tag line, 'You are the weakest link', was later used as a catch phrase across the nation, culminating in an homicide, shows only too well how cruel, selfish, and mindless such shows can be.
Thankfully, such productions soon--though, often, not quickly enough--burn themselves out, others race to fill the void.
Part One Of Two.

'Home is hardly where the heart is'

03/23/11
What does the term 'home' mean to you ?  Is it a house, a condo, an R.V., a log cabin ( midst the pines ), an apartment, or a piece of tarp hastily lashed with rope to nearby trees ?  Or, does the abstraction of 'home' extend to a couple of shopping carts full of collected dreck, doggedly dragged along the roadside, with newspapers and plastic bags to ward off inclement weather ?
Far distant memories of the fundamental nature of 'home' revealed that the modern home as we know it gathered impetus shortly after WWII, with scores of G.I.'s returning--at last--to their parent's home, though, such compact living arrangements seemed poor payment for four, long years of combat.
Suddenly, nearly every service person wanted a scrap of land to call his own, and an home to put on it; a quiet refuge for newlyweds, and a place to have children, one car, and a dog.
This was their interpretation of the Constitution's mandate of, 'Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness; nothing less, really, than a completely justifiable flight from the horrors of war.
Various government programs made housing and education well within the reach of these returning Veterans.  All to fuel and provide a deep yearning which demanded answers.
For the next ten years or so, 'slipper' communities such as the famous Levittown(s), sprang from the soil as if from sown dragon's teeth.
Whenever there is a need, and available housing was but one, and a great need it was, too, the Military and Industrial machines were more than happy to retool from a war economy to a peacetime one.
These--mostly young--returning Veterans wanted everything at once, and it was given to them at once, which--for industry--made for enormous profits.
In photographs taken of the period, the homes were like little doll houses: two bedrooms, one bath, and a carport or a garage. I once read that in these little houses, the flushing of the toilet could be heard 'all over the house'.
But, many featured hardwood floors, over a grid of piped in hot water, which kept the homes cozy and warm.
'Had to have necessities' included new cars ( whose style had remained unchanged during the war years, from 1939-1945), modern furniture, appliances to an extent unimaginable.
These young men and women had had four+ years of war, during which to think and mold a new, 'American Dream', also--by default--launching the new installment payment plan.
Photographs of the time not only show proud mommy with proud baby, but often included the entire front of the house, making the home a more than integral part of the new family; further, should you care to notice, while many of these tract homes had garages, you find the family car parked in the driveway, so that the viewer could not miss it; it was never meant to be missed; even when the photographs taken reduced the human subjects so they were often unrecognizable, the point--however--was clear: these men, weary of war, were--like their ancestors before them--valiantly striking out to make a new and better life for themselves, and for their families.
Part II to follow in due time.  All regards,  Charles

Hello all...guess what now ?

Why, my dear readers...what in the world; now, I cannot access any of the personal, or bio information that I labored long and hard at.  Where has it gone?  Klingon Space?  Next door ? The 'Pilars Of Hercules' ?  And...can it be retrieved so I won't have to write it all down again ?
Being temperamental ( ninety percent temper, and ten percent mental ), I chafe at the thought of having to again begin at the beginning, as I was s-o-o-o-o clever, butter wouldn't melt in my exposition.
Granted, many blogs are edifying and educational; some--like mine--are strictly ego and desperation both in thought, and in content, but then...aren't they both the same ?
Everyone has--or should have--a life, filled chock-a-block with children, spouses, mortgages, debts, pets, and 'forgets', dinner times and bedtimes, utility bills, and jobs which slowly strangle the soul and paralyze the mind, for ****wages, lousy health care, and no benefits.  It is--in fine--the 'American Way'.
Add to that stultifyingly mindless programs on TeeVee, reprehensible relatives, lunatic neighbors, a Legislature that has always lined their own pockets and interests, quite contrary, Mary, with no regard for the common weal.
For those who have to work ( think indentured servitude rather than career ), and purchase food and gasoline, whatever are they to do for 'fun', or has that word gone out of the English language ?  Dining out means sitting at a picnic table in your backyard.  And movies have of late seemed to become just 'odd'.
What is left, when both parents and children sit in grumpy silence at the dinner table; secretly, I think they loath each other, covered with a fine veneer of love, because--dammit--you're supposed to love each other.  That's what Hallmark cards say, and, who can argue with them ?
That leaves the computer, with all its Hydra heads of locked-out sites so the kiddies can't look at porn ( though the parents can ).  Hours of after school homework with 'spell check', so the teachers can read it.
I did forget most egregiously to mention the cell phone, which, while it can serve a useful purpose, just makes one too available..no mystery here.  Perhaps I shall speak upon that subject another time.
Meanwhile, I have problems of my own.
Are my entries overlong? You betcha.  If you cannot bear to scroll down to the next page ( or two ), lighten up on the caffeine ( do you hear that, Starbucks ?), and/or seek sedation.  Besides...wait until you see my poetry, or other expositions, or, play-lets, only the brave deserve the fair.  Call it a caveat, if you will; I do not whistle as I walk by a graveyard.  I scare myself aplenty whenever I make a mistake, and look at myself in any mirror.  If that sight doesn't scare children and make dogs bark, nothing will.
If anyone out there can find this dratted blog--and--read it, please let me know.
Only, please be gentle as I bruise as does the peach.  Though it is--in the most possible, far outist, abstract concept--still a 'free' country.  Or, should I start learning to speak Chinese ?
Regards to all. Please rest easy and well; today is another day already.  Thanks, Charles