| 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'
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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