'Musings On 'The Inherent Sweetness Of Stuffed Toys', For My Dearest Friend, "Tenar" '

‘ Musings On ‘The Inherent Sweetness Of Stuffed Toys’, For My Dearest Friend, “Tenar”; In Addition To Other, Stray Thoughts re: This Dreaded ‘Valentine’s Day’’

02/02/12

Should you, my dearest friends, and ever-loyal readers consider yourselves as true clock-watchers, and thus in true demarcation, at, now—2:08 PM—to infer that almost half the day has been fully shot, then, for you, Valentine’s Days is scarcely eleven+ days away; which as a free service to my dear friends, pause to yet alert you of the holiday’s soon arrival, at least some mental pre-preparations should be thought of.  And this is true for everyone who observes, or expects to observe this holiday especially, the gentlemen out there, to whom I would advise, “Forget it, and regret it !”,

For after having worked a long night shift, and having to stop by the grocery store on my way home, the day AFTER Valentine’s Day; I watched a score of men run up and down the aisles; desperate, hunted, and wild-eyed, trying to find ANYTHING remotely heart-shaped, that had candy, or an handful of plastic, scented roses ( not even a holiday card, as that required too much time ), as they had quite forgotten the holiday, and—frankly—were in deep shit with their wives or girlfriends, and looking at an indefinite period of having to sleep on the couch…or, on the floor !

For retail florists, Valentine’s Day is without question their most profitable day of the year, followed at a distance by Mother’s Day, and Christmas lagging far behind.

And why not.  Or should I attempt to say, ‘Und wie nicht ?’, since the standard offering of twelve ( why twelve ? ) American Beauty, long-stemmed roses are priced up to $175.00 ??????

And in this horrible economy, with so much joblessness, who can ready, ‘ up the ante’; ‘pay the kitty’ ( gambling terms, which are somehow most appropriate ), to even think of that kind of money.

And, if you are among the true masochists of the world, and want to throw in dinner at a pricier place that you could not afford to go to any time the rest of the year.

I think, as some over-blown proclamation of supposed love and regard, Valentine’s Day has long-surpassed Christmas, or Kwanzaa, or Chanukah, in some weird concoction of fealty mixed with desperation.

Oh…and I happened to forget any gifts of jewelry.

ALL this in homage to a largely forgotten Saint of the fourteenth Century ( ? ), who was arrested by Claudius, for secretly marrying Christian couples, and when stoning did not kill him, nor did a variety of tortures, he was imprisoned, and then beheaded ( ouch! ), but, not before he had fallen in love with his jailor’s daughter, and wrote a love letter to her, signing it…wait for it…” Your Valentine “.

How it subsequently blossomed into the ‘bat-shit-crazy’ frenzy that it has since become, I leave that to wiser heads than mind; mostly, because I just don’t care.

But…and it is here, that I try to go back ‘on topic’, that part of the many oddments that people give to each other are ‘stuffed’ toys; toys of all kinds, representing, somehow, love, viz: ‘Teddy Bears’, whose soft, fake fur, and smile, and little, button eyes have long since been given as gifts to everyone: mates, friends, relatives, and children.  And are offered up at all holidays, birthdays, and hospital visits.

Why bears ? And why are they considered to be SO cute; their ‘real-life nature counterparts’ are anything but; the genuine, ‘live’ ones are huge, fast ( faster than a human can run, BTW ), with long claws, and LOTS of teeth, all of which they will most gladly employ to turn you into lunch.

Maybe we have mid-nineteenth century Britain to blame for the original Teddy Bear.

And, although the antique ones fetch thousands, their current members ARE sort of cute, dammit.

But other wild and wooly, and even dangerous animals have been transmogrified into cutesy, little toys;  think of the “Beanie Baby” craze…I largely rest my case.

And while this is not intended as a plug, or promotion, should you receive a, “ Nature’s Wildlife Fund “, catalogue, you can—at increasing dollar increments help ‘save’ endangered species, and thus, can ‘adopt’ one of its animal members, and with ‘adoption papers’, get a small stuffed toy in its likeness.

And, while the “Snowshoe Hare” stuffed toy, was a harmless, cuddly, soft, and cute representation of an also harmless herbivore, some of these endangered animals—while made to be cute—would, in their real-life forms strive to divest you of your life.

‘  And Now, A Brief Time Of Looking Back   ‘

And, I think that these stuffed toys must be so endearing, that they are kept long after the giving moment has passed.  Long after all the flowers have faded, and been tossed; long after any attendant candy has been eaten; long after any greeting card that remarks upon an event is either lost or, thrown away, these damn things linger on,  and on, and on.

How long, may you ask ?

Despite the transient’s existence imposed on my family and  me from my late father’s life in the Army, during which we moved as nomads for nearly all of my school years until the tenth grade; ALL that packing, moving, unpacking, moving, etc., would cause one to wonder how anything would survive that life intact.

  Currently, in a grocery bag, which previously knew the confines of storage, boxes, and crates, surviving ALL the moving, and almost every possible neglect and/or abuse, I have a medium-sized, stuffed-toy bunny, given to me by my Grandmother when I was a year old, making both it, and me an antique at fifty-seven years !

Also, from my early childhood, I still have a grey, stuffed toy elephant, with red, flapping ears, with little bells inside, and, for those of you old enough to remember them, I—too—have a little, stuffed toy bear, which, when wound, played the theme song to, “Davey Crockett, King of the wild frontier “, whose mechanism has not worked in over fifty-five years.

Actually, all things considered, all of them are in fairly decent shape; worthless as antiques, but priceless as an adjunct to near-forgotten memory.

In addition, since the varied ‘themen’ of my attempts to redecorate my house ( on the cheap !), include Victoriana; Steam Punk; Museum; Asian, and primitive African Art, as well as some Roman; Egyptian; and Greek things, a very, dear friend of mine recently bought for me a medium-sized, stuffed toy zebra, named, appropriately, ‘Zahc’, and a small, little zebra box to hold trinkets, and I have a resin, zebra family in the bathroom, and somewhere in a box, a picture of a zebra.

Both elephants, and zebras are well-represented in my home: elephants, because—to me—they represent longevity; wisdom; and good luck; zebras, because…ah….well, I like them because they are pretty, AND are just mean, little bastards.

And how do I know this?

Because a friend I know has on her property, two zebras, and, in giving them their hay via pitchfork, one has to approach them carefully, and back out, again, with the tines of the pitchfork pointing at them, or they will seriously attack one.

It does raise the question why anyone would want to try to own ‘wild’ animals, which—without one shred of remorse—would seek to try, ever, to both bite and kick one into the Emergency Room.

But then, I wouldn’t want to try to own an elephant, either.

The representations of most of God’s critters are most easily tolerated as stuffed toys.

And, so, to all, I would wish for you happy, healthy days, of lessened, or NO pain; quiet, and contemplative evenings, and nights of blissful slumber, sung quietly to by blessed angels; I also have NO problem if you choose to keep you favorite stuffed toy with you, to protect you through the night !

I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’

' Right Now '

10/06/11
To my very dear friends, and ever faithful readers, I would like to express to you my most sincere gratitude for your continued interest in my diary posts, and for all of your mostkind remarks, and critical comments; those whom I have had the distinct pleasure of meeting at MDJunction; those who suffer even as I suffer; know pain, even as I know pain, yet are shining examplars of courage, hope, coping, and yet, willingness to befriend me, and be as ever loyal readers of my posts, I thank you, thank you from my heart. For you have readily accepted me,and both encourage me and help me through the day...every day. Please do take care.
'Right Now'
1) Sit quietly, with your eyes closed, purposefully slow your breathing, inhalling through your nose, and exhalling--slowly--from your mouth; let your mind play gently over your body to find your spots of pain; try mentally to compartmentalize them, and put them behind you. Medicate as you must, lest the pain completely divert your attention.
'Right Now'
There;s a certain part of the brain that can estimate with credibility, the outward positons of legs, arms, feet, in three-dimensional space. With eyes still closed, try to imagine that physicality, and concentrate on each part, slowly, part by part. Try to imagine a place where all notions of pain, despair, depression, anger, loss will reside, and, in placing them there, close them off; for now, deny their existence.
Listen quietly to the sound of your own breathing, and to the fainter beating of your heart.
Think of joy, of radiance, of bliss; think of the last thing that genuinely made you laugh, and that, which made you cry. Encourage the first, and comfort the second. Forgive yourself, and others. This is called 'Grace'
You may find, that, during this time, you may become a little sleepy; that's perfectly alright as you're letting tensions go.
'Right N0w'
Think of everthing you are grateful for, no matter how large or small, and then, offer up thanks to whatever Deity in which you believe; seek to not blame others, but to acknowledge love. This is 'Forgiveness'.
'Right Now'
Whether you have pets or small children still at home, or both, not matter how much pain you are in, if you can but move one limb at a time, slowly lower yourself to the floor to be with them on their level, at their perpective. As you are able, play with them, hold them, laugh with them, and love them as you love no other; remember amid your pain to notice--suddenly--just how high the dining table is. This is, 'Humility'.
'Right Now'
Without preamble, nor pretence, touch your spouse, your partner, the one who cares for you, no matter how you may treat them when you're in pain. Tell them how important they are to your life; speak of your gratitude to them; tell them how they complete your life, a life which you could not imagine without them being in it. This is 'Love'.
'Right Now'
Pick up the telephone, or write to a friend you've neglected lately; do NOT let your problems try to overshadow their own; tell them how important they are to you, and how very glad you are that they chose you to be their friend. Laugh at happy memories; perpare to cry with them if need be. Renew your bonds of friendship. This is'Hope'.
'Right Now'
With a clear, and quiet mind, leisurely and like an hummingbird visit you Past; understand the choices that were made; the mistakes; the losses as well as the sucesses; admit to being human; admit to being emotional; recognize your faults, your failures, the 'should haves', and the 'could haves'. But leave regret and rancor behind; realize that is this confluence of largely random events is what has brought you to the now, the here, to this plave in time. This is 'Contrition'.
'Right Now',
No matter how badly you may feel, do someting altruistic for another; donate a sweater to someone who's cold; donate canned goods to a church or shelter, for surely your bounty will be somebody's salvation; make up a casserole for an elderly neighbor; invite them into the warmth and closeness of your home for shelter, security, and the tinckling laughter of your children; even if you have but one loaf, it can be cut in two to share.
If you are poor in worldly goods, visit a nursing home; help feed a resident; the staff will not mind...in fact, they will be grateful. Call first. Even if your body screams in pain, remember that you still have a wonderful mind, a strong voice, and still can report observed cruelty to childrenm spouses, or pets. Should you have a cell telephone, use it. Be a warrior, be an Advocate...a Voice. This is 'Redemption'.
'Right Now'
If you can do all these things and more, do it readily, giving from the heart, caring for others, even as others may care for you. Enjoy living in a Country where so many wonderful freedoms are given to you, without charge; if you can still get your hands dirty, you can always wash them.
Please, please, of please my dearest friends, please always remember that it is not your illnesses that define you; it is your mind, heart and soul that defines you. For it is YOU who defines you. Please be always open, honest, reliable, and 'there; for others.
For, this is nothing less than 'Glory To God'.
My very, very dear friends, and gentle readers, please allow me to wish you cool, delightful days, free of pain; quiet and content evenings free from depression or despair or loneliness, and blissful, balmy nights of sweet, and unroubled sleep, keep safe, loved, and secure by the ever-watchful guardianship of angels.

      Love,

      'Zahc'/Charles

or Cancel

 

 

 

 

' T'is The Season, Almost...Gulp ! '

10/01/11
My very, very dearest friends, and ever-loyal readers, please allow me to wellcome you to the first day of October; a time when ( except, of course, in Florida ), the first hints of cooler weather are upon us. Jackets, and coats, are brought out of storage in preparation of Winter.
It is a restful time, before the hoilidays begin to crank up, and before everyone seems--despite this failing economy--falls into the generalized 'zanniness' that now seem so fully intrenched in our culture.
How can it be that Hallowe'en; Thanksgiving; and, Christmas, already pack our stores, until, frankly, they all just run together into a kind of ,' Halgivemas' ?
I guess there is a plane, somewhere, in an alternative dimension, in which ghosts, turkeys, and reindeer all frolic in a time/space continuum from July, until after January 1st.
And while some glady embrase 'Black Friday', and in some kind of adrenanlin rush, glory in the thought of the 'kill', the sight of the ; kill', and of, dragging home what's left of the 'kill', home, only to wrap it all late on Christmas Eve.
When I was younger, more flexible, definitlely more durable, AND working, and could still drive a car, I still tended to be among the flourescently-lit zombies, scurrying about a store at ten o'clock, Christmas Eve, looking for something....anything that might vaguely pass as a present.
So, one year, I decided to be among the fleet of foot, and shop the day AFTER Christmas, hoping to pick up bargains amid the rubble that the stores had become. It just happened, that, that night at work, I took an HUGE fall, cutting my knee, and getting asphalt in my beard, necessitating a trip to the E.R., which--then--I swore--if even I were dying, I would never go into an hospital's E.R.the morning after Christmas.
The placed was packed, and NOBODY knew how to cover their mouthes when they coughed or sneezed; across from my freezing cubicle ( it being thought that sub-zero cold would inhibit the spread of germs ( which it didn't), was a locked security room occupied by a young man, so violent, and out of his mind on drugs, that the police actually delivered to him a pizza, to try to calm him down. That is absolute truth, my friends.
As were surly and indifferent staff members pissed at having to work the holiday, a triage nurse who was sicker than many of the patients. ( and, I may again utter truth, that in my entire adult life, I have NEVER seen a triage nurse who wasn't ill; these--and others--are the ones, BTW, who tend to come down with Lupus, as their immune systems are shot, having been constantly bombarded by germs and viruses ), and, a wandering E.R. physician, who's name tag translated to 'bitch'; when I had showed her my torn trousers and bleeding leg, and asked--perhaps--whether an x-ray might be in order, turned to me and said, "Well...you're walking on it, aren't you ?"
They then put a cervical collar on me...upside down, I might add, and sent me packing back to work.
Now, my dearest friends, I was much younger, and stupid in those days; it in fact might well be argued that today, I am older, and still stupid.
So, come the end of an awful shift, wherein I hurt in a bazillion places, did I just give up and go home ? No..of course not; I was determined to go 'after Christmas Christmas shopping'. And actually went to a couple of stores, leaning heavily on my cart, as I carefully tried to navagate store aisles that were strewn with merchandise.
Nothing was in any shape or order, stuff was thrown everywhere, on racks, on shelves, and on each other; you literally had to dig to find something, anything that was left over...but so marked down, it was irresitable. I filled my cart with a metric ton of stuff, bought with hardly any rhyme nor reason to it, only vaguely thinking for whom it was to be for.
While I dawdled, wading through mountains of dreck, and older woman, who looked as though she had been weened on a pickle, kept running her cart into my ankles, as if trying to bump me out of the way. After one stare from me, one dirty look, one, "hey lady !", and one, "stop it, dammit !", I gave a gargantuan bump back with my rear end, and sent her into the, 'everything's a nickle' pile.
Oh, I managed to get quite a lot of stuff, but then had to keep it in bags in my bedroom, until I decided to wrap everything in July, and then--finaly--maile everything off the first week in November, I vowed upon the grave of J. C. Penny, that I would never, never, never, never, EVER, shop again that early.
And, after the pure debacle that was last Christmas, when I still overspent myself, but this time ( since I can't drive ), with catalogues, instead. Since few of my acquiantances failed to muster 1/1,000,000 th the reaction anywhere equal to my anticipation, and longs hours of choosing just the 'right' thing, this year...with the blessings of Emily Post, I shall be sending out $25.00 checks...let's face it, I'm on SSDI, after all. I WILL try, I hope, to write a little, individual sentiment in every Christmas card I write.
Geez...no crowded stores, no lack of places to park, no blaring carols, or flashing lights, no screaming kids, nor screaming adults, for that matter, no traffic, no honking, or being cursed at, no surly salespersons, no mad rushs, no..."Oh damn, looks like I'm gonna half to go to the Mall."
I can enjoy a most pleasant, relaxing, and more meaningful holiday season safely tucked away at home with Daisy, the 'best-dog-on-the-planet'. I can put up my little tree ( which is already fully decorated, thank you), put on my Christmas jammies with the redi and white piping at the collar, cuffs, and ankles, sing to Daisy, maybe listen to a few, old favorite hymn, treat myself and the 'Daister' to a nice dinner, and few rare 'eatables' during the evening, if they be only the small, assorted flavor milkbone dog biscuits for Daisy, and possibly, the biggest bowl I have in the house full of ice cream, or even, just cereal; it will be the greatest holiday ever !
I'll stay up as late as I want, and go to bed, with all the little Christmas lights on, which actually, seem more beautiful, without glasses on, and then, with Dais on the carpet by my bed, consider, and give thanks for the real reason for the holiday, take a sleeping pill, and then conk out, until whenever I feel like getting up !
Same with New Year's.
Same with Epiphany.
And, having given thanks, will sincerely try to go to bed happy, and wake up happy !
So, to all my dearest friends here at MDJunction; you who have made such a positive impact on my life, and to whom I am ever grateful for your friendship, and kind readership, please allow me to wish you first, an happy 1st of October, a day of wonders, 'pain-free' and happy, and, nights of blissful, restorative sleep, gently quiet, without distress of any kind, and, as always, kept safe by ministering angels.

   Love,

   'Zahc'/Charles

or Cancel

 

' My Rhodesian Family Of Four '

09/12/11
My very dear friends, and loyal readers,
I must first apologize to you, as--today--not, unlike so many days, now--I found myself quite trapped between 'Lupus/Fibromyalgia/DeepestDepression and pain', and the mindless fog, frankly, a grateful fog of lassitude upon feeling the medication take effect; I went from pain and despair ( and, anger ! ) until I had chills of pain, waves of pain, to feeling 'thick-headed', and unable to plan, or to even make sound decisions.
I wanted to sleep--actually--and to readily give myself over to that resultant fog, even though I despise it; there is no 'steady state' for me, as while the pain or the fog exists as separate entities, yet, one or the other is either on the ascendency or decline, and only meet for the time it takes the medication to take effect. Inevitably, in trying ever to escape the pain ( which is in and of itself, a natural thing to do ), the medications rob from the mind what they return to the body. The pain, when it is severe enough, steals from both, as then, all conscious thoughts turn toward remedy.
At that point, dear friends, ther are NO clear 'winners' in this situation, except--perhaps--for that weary concession to pain, by taking strong medications.
It would seem to me, then, that in the equation of 'Pain + Pain Relief', the probable answer is zero. And that is precisely the moment that fear, depression, and regret come by to sat hello; and this scenario happens over and over and over again, day in, day out causing anger and resentment. In Pain Management, it is not whether the 'glass is half full, or half empty; the quantity contained, therein, simply occours because the glass itself is too large.
But I digress, my poor readers.
We seem to be a Society much given over to comparison: 'Who looks the best ?; 'Who has the better clothes ?'; "Who has the nicer home ?'; "Who drives the better car ?'. And on and on it goes. Everyone is considered, everyone judged, and we make our own 'value statements', and often use them to define ourselves, our status, our worth, our meaning in life.
These are but shallow observations, when a clear perception could be had by simply looking in a mirror. How do WE compare to ourselves ? Are we more kind ? More truthful ? Better, as humjan beings ? Mostly, if we look into a mirror, it is not to catalogue our faults and our strengths, but, rather, how do we 'appear to others'. Almost entirely as outward markers of success, of possession, of the accumulations of things 'wanted', rather than 'needed'.
We then take only casual stock of not who we are, nut of what we have. And THAT becomes the benchmark in how we judge ourselves.
Granted, I am in almost constant, and unrelieved pain; so are many of you, my dear readers.
Granted, I have to try to live on SSDI, as so many of you have to.
Granted, that in my inculturation, there seem to be so many things that I 'want', but simply cannot afford them; that is why, among other reasons, I am trying to purchase a pony. Do I NEED a pony ? Can I even take care of a pony ? Does my owning a pony ( or, not, depending on how this all proceeds ) improve Society, or in fact, help any of my fellow sufferers and citizens ? The resounding answer is NO.
Some time ago, when I was still being visited by the grief councilor at Hospice ( when my dear mother was still alive ), and I happened to complain about how low my pantry was getting, he looked at me, cocked his head, and asked me, " How many meals have you missed ?" I really could not think of any.
One day, some weeks hence, while I was looing through my pantry and cupboards for something to fix for dinner.....and could not make up my mind....I realized that I had choices, not many, but choices nonetheless.
It was then--I think--that I created an imaginary Rhodesian family of four: a mother, a father, and two children. I created them especially for me, for, while it is a given, that, in any one day, perhaps at least a third of the globe's population would go to bed that night, hungry, and with no shelter, I needed something, someone to bring the point home with certainly more effectively. And, then, there they were; a quiet family, with quiet children.
Looking around my home, I began to wonder what my 'new' family would think of it. And my thought both stratled and surprised me into speachlessness.
For imagine if you will, TWO rooms designed for no other reason than sleeping ?!!! TWO inside, and private bathrooms, with running water, hot AND cold; a livingroom to house furniture for the most part ?!!! A kitchen ? What is that ? A refridgerator with FOOD in it; a stove ? a sink ? A 'dishwasher' ?!!! A spacious, and green yard ? Electricity ?!!!! What can this be, but some palace, and on a street, in a neighborhood, a County, a State, and a Nation not overrun by armed troops, random, and widespread murder, no slavery, no endless war ????!!!!!! NO worry that in the night, you might be herded out and shot, or have your children mutilated, or sold into slavery ????!!!!!!
What place IS this ? Is it an Heaven? Is it real, can it possible be?!!!
Somewhere along the way, I found that I opened my doors, and...my heart to my Rhodesion family, and, at the same time, caused me to look around me with 'new' eyes.
And while 'my' pain may be different, it could never hope to compare with the thought of seeing your family butchered before your very eyes. And to know relentless fear, and terror, and hunger, and need for water, and the need for love, and for Peace.
Suddenly, I knew not for whim I was crying most for. Perhaps us both.
But, I also knew in that instant, just how grateful I was for quiet, friendly neighbors; a quite street, and for all that I had. The home that I inherited; sufficient food on which to survive; a wonderful dog, the 'best on the planet'.
But, most importantly, I was grateful to be an American, ( with all our remaining freedoms ) still freedom that eclipsed all tryanny, and grateful to live in America ( for these are two, different gratitudes ), to relish my freedon, and lack of the daily threat of harm, injury, or....death.
As guaranteed by our Constitution, and Bill Of Rights, the most important part of Freedom, is of being free. And , of having choices.
And while our Society has its own faults, they are due primarily to our own indiffence, and apathy to them. We cannot hope to change it, unless we first change ourselves.
If you find yourself having to eat hamburger, but dream--instead--of steak ( and...who hasn't ? ), you are still able to have that which is fully denied to so very, very many. Every day. Week after week. Month after month. Without ceasing.
As so, gentle friends and readers, on my way to have super,tonight, I will stop to pet my dog, open a refrigerator for a dinner that I in no way prepared, and, later, hope to climb into a welcome bed, with clean and cool sheets.
I shall pray to my God for my Rhodesian family of four, fully as much as I will offer up thanks for myself, for my friends, and friends at MDJunction, for my late parents, and, as the medictions make me drowsy enough to try to sleep, I will--at last whisper thanks to those who gave their very lives to protect us,and to keep us Free. And, who are doing so, even as you, my dear and gentle readers read this entry.
To all, I wish 'pain-free' days, quiet evenings, and blessed, and peaceful nights of sweet, dream-filled, and restorative sleep.

  Love,

 'Zahc'/Charles

or Cancel

 

' The Continuing ' Tail ' Of The Pony, Part III '

09/11/11
To my very dear friends, and loyal readers, who have been following the antics and aggravations of my finally being able to actually own a little, 43" high, chocolate Shetlandpony, whose name--at least--has been more or less settled upon, "Charlie Brown", is--perhaps--a slower amd more involved process that I had ever imagined, never having before ever owned an horse in my life.
First....the 'mysterios lady' who owned them was finally successfully contacted. As both of the Shetlands cost $500.00 ( Cydi, my nurse wants the little female, while I want the cute, chocolate gelding ), this 'person; will accept, as payment, $100.00 a month, but at the $250.00 mark, a piece ( which math I still cannot figure out ), said she would give both the ponies to Cyndi, who will then keep them on her farm; copies of 'papers' will be sent, until the balance is paid off, which by my reckoning, will take until about January of 2012.
In exchange for stall, feed, vitamins, and vet care, Cyndi will be ableto train both ponies to pull carts, and give chidren rides upon. And, perhaps 'show'.
And, since I will be sole owner of 'Charlie Brown', I will have to be first introduce to, and then become invvolved with pedegrees, bloodlines, papers, and official registration, during which I will have to come up with an appropriate name to horse, 'Officialdom'. "Charlie Brown" will just be its stable name.
And so, since overall money is short, I was questioned not once, not twice, but thrice about whether I really wanted to ' go through with it '. And, although I am on SSDI, and will have to do some necessary belt-tightening, every 'YES !!!' I uttered only made me more convinvced that I really and truly DO want this little chocolate pony, about whom I was told, that it has 'the disposition of an angel'. I imagine that having had it gelded has a lot to do with its disposition ( Hell...even I get 'shooting' pains 'down there', just thinking about it. Yikes !).
I find that about every other day or so, I think about 'Charlie Brown', and of how very much I want to go see it, feed it treats, pet it, talk to it, getting to know it, and....maybe go on a little cart ride once in a while.
It did finally dawn on me, so much did it make me laugh, that at 58, I will have every, little girl's dream come true ! LOL. A pony of my own. It'llbe my little holiday gift to myself ! With no need for wrapping paper, although,I might ask Cyndi to at least tie a little bow in its mane for me.
And...just how wonderful is that, my dear friends, and readers ?

Love to all, whether 'two-footed', or 'four footed' !!! 

'Zahc'/Charles

' The Continuing Saga Of The Pony, Part II '

09/08/11
My very dear friends and readers, for those of you, my dear readers, who have been following the twisting course of my diary entries, you will doubtless recall that, several days ago--quite on impulse, sight unseen--I had become aware that a 43" high, chocolate Shetland gelding'might' be for sale, and that, suddenly, I both needed and wanted that pony, and why, and that arrangements for its care had already been agreed upon, the news--today--is anti-climatic: while my psych nurse ( who has fourteen horses ) has my signed, but blank check for $100.00 as a down payment to give this 'lady' ( about whom I know nothing ), the both of them seemed locked in a game of 'phone-tag'.
Messages are left, but not retrieved in time, phone messages are received, but not conveyed; confusion has been the watchword of the day, the week, practically, and all I can do, really...is nothing, 'til I get the word, one way or the other.
And while I fully realize that the purchasing of a Shetland pony is not like casually slipping into a WalMart for a couple pairs of socks ( which, BTW, I could use ), still...the absolute stopped enertia of not knowing is driving me only slightly nutz. Intentionally, spelled, with a 'z'.
When I spoke with Cyndi, I told her that--should it be necessary--I would gladly empty out both of my little savings accounts, and promise to be a good boy, and maybe not eat for the rest of the month, but that I m-i-g-h-t just be able to scrape together another $250.00. And that's only provided this unknown person will, a) even entertain the idea of selling me the pony, b) that the price will still be $500.00, and c) she accepts holding the note, so to speak, until I can rustle-up the remaining $150.00
Its just all in so much limbo, now. And....I would really, and truly hate to have my heart set upon a thing, only to have it broken, though...all of us at MDJunction live with broken hearts, in one way or another.
And so, gentle readers and friends, what appeared as a dream, and is passing as a dream, may well end, as do dreams, by waking to an often cruel reality.
I wish for all of you, 'pain-free' days, 'Me Days', even, if you can, happy evenings, and nights of utterly blissful, and undisturbed sleep.

love,

'Zahc'/Charles
 

or Cancel

'A Response To A Letter From My Friend Of Thirty-six Years, " Tenar " '

'

01/25/12

As always to my dear, dear friends, and gentle readers, I must continue to ask your most kind pardon; not only am in compete pain, with a sick stomach, and '5-'alarm' headache, which nothing will touch, I fear--because of lately mounting stress, that I now am so depressed, and washed-out. In addition, I have begun to experience tiny--yet noticable--panic attacks, that I did explain to my 'Shrink'.

I feel as if I'm being cornered--trapped--in situations quite above and beyond my control.

Thus, in finding no safe place to be, I now can with more more clarity understand my dear, dear friend's 'Strenuba's' latest poem, which I urge all to read, as it is both powerful AND true.

Forgive me, please, dearest friends, for I'd rather be 'helper', than 'helpless'.

But please NEVER forget, how very grateful I am for your most kind friendships, and your supportive, and encourageing PM's, and hug, and comments, for, sometimes, that is the thread of hope to which I cling.

I love you dearly.

'Zahc'

01/25/12

My dearest 'Tenar', or, dearest Boops, if you prefer,

Including former hospital stays, I think--but, today, as I have a monster 5-alarm headache, and am unusually depressed--, by my estimation, my current 'Shrink', is number seven.

Although I would disllike to qualify the breed, I am afraid that I would have to side with Agatha Christie, as, in, " All Tigers breed true."

For, in my checkered past, I have had a couple who were not so much 'pill machines', though, one was, these sattraps are more like ' pill guessers ', always reaching into their Pandora's box of samples, about which they knew nothing save what the pharmaceutical rep. had told them. These Shrinks are among the dangerous ones, as I was made to be a guinea pig in an experitment run by the pharmaceutical house, as, any untoward side-effects were to be reported only to the pharmaceuticals first, instead of the CDC.

I have had ( in hospital ) two, who spent maybe two minutes with me, once, barely pausing at my table as I had my lunch.

I had one, who was a complete ego-driven bastard, who laughed at me, even as he tried to increase in the number of drugs that I was taking, until I was on seven; on one occasion, he went down a twenty drug list, to see which ones 'I' thought might help best; and when I gainsayed all, he got pissed and said, " How do you expect me to help you when you are non-compliant ?"
He was the one who--in having sloppily-written a script, when called by the pharmacy, he accused me of altering the script, and then, he dismissed me from his practice; what a prick ! I have since heard from others that he is a dick. Still.

I then had one who--as some test--took me off ALL my meds, declaring that withdrawal would be but a minor thing, and placed me on new meds ( none of which worked ) and that was in June of 2006, quite possiby the worse time of my life. I went to pieces, went into withdrawal, and nearly lost care of my mother. ( I also had pneumonia at the time, on top of food poisoning ).
Frankly, dear, only God, and pure tennacity kept me out of the hospital; when he again saw me, he took me off the new shit, and placed me back on my old meds., that had proven to be as reliable as really any of them can be. Just in time, for me to go into the regular hospital for advanced pneumonia,( left, lower lobe, and pneumothorax ), which required an eleven-day stay, and chest tubes. I had to remain in bed sitting up, and since the staff was always on the run, my pain medications were often hours late.
And then ( pardon me, as it STILL riles me ), the fuck ( and his co-psychiatrist wife, abruptly up, and jettisoned their practices after 8 and 1/2 years, with less than two weeks' notice; so quickly, that not even their reception staff knew whether they'd get paid, or have jobs.

That brings me to my present Shrink, one I feel is about like the rest of them, but, I can tolerate him better, and he won't up and screw with my meds.

There are but few other Shrinks in this County, and, I really don't know their reputations; only that, as a 'new patient status' first visit, the waiting time is about six months to a year and a half.

In many ways, I may have inherited a mutt, but, overall, he's probably the best of the litter. At least--in his own way--he listens to me, and we've made some positive medication changes fairly recently; and, he gives me at least 20-30 minutes for a session, rather than the five he is supposed to do for, ' medical management '. Part of that is because he's the only therapist I see, and, I complained about wanting more time.

So, there you have it.

I suppose that if I lived in a larger, metropolitan area, there would be more choices to sellect from; but, in verity, trying to find ANY Provider that one can establish the necessary rapport with is a pain in the ass.

Actually, dear, to be candid, whenever I hurt at this level, AND slide into a huge bout of depression, as I seem to have done since I am feeling cornered, AND stressed-out, and anxious, with little panic attacks filtering in, everything's a colossal pain in the ass.

And about all I can do, is try to keep distracted, dose up, or try to sleep it off, or, to paraphrase Winston Churchill's: [ try to }, " Keep Calm, And Carry On"; though, I much prefer, " When in danger, or in doubt, scream and yell, and run about !" I think that is from Edward Gorey.

As always, dear 'Tenar', I thank you for a most dear friendship that has lasted centuries, and ever for your kind concern, care, and love.

My dear, please, please do take care.

I love you,

Charles ('Zahc').

'While The 'Pit' Is So Easy To Fall Into, Crawling Out IS Most Difficult '

'

01/27/12

As always, to my very, very special, and wonderful friends, and constant loyal readers,

Although my heart is always full, in gratitudefor all your demonstrated caring, kindness, and support, without which, I think I truly would be lost, I know I can never thank you in near-full measure.

You cannot know how much your PM's; hugs; and comments to my diary mean to me, for I am quite unused to such caring, although I treasure it.

My entry--today--will be a composite one, based upon a letter I earlier wrote to my dear friend, 'mabri', and of things I wish to speak to you about.

For some time, now, in addition to the ususal allotment of often unbearable pain ( from which there is no escape, save for pain pills, and praying, and--of course--no little regard to YOU, for how wonderful you have been to me ), I have also been gripped by small panic attacks that unsettle me, and a giant cloud of blackest depression that saps all my will, and further very much limits the scope of my endeavor.

I think I come by these depressive states naturally, as eveidently passed-down through the maternal, famial line; to wit: my grandmother in her youth, required two stays at what they then referred to as a 'rest home' ; my dear mother, AND her older sister were pagued by bouts of deepest depresion; my mother--at one time--was hospitalized for it for six weeks in 1970; and, mom also had a cousin, who was so depressive, that--for weeks--as I've been told, he could not even get out of bed. And so, I would not doubt that genetics play a sigificant part to this, and many other illnesses.

However...having thus said that, I must tell you that these 'blackest' of depressions are not so easily resolved; sometimes, it just takes time for me to cycle out if it...slowly, and then, I have to work at it.

And..having crawled by often bleeding hands up and out of this endless abyss, this may no doubt sound odd, but I then experience a period of what I cannot but describe as 'depression hangover', as the depression does not leave all at once, and along with 'insipient, Migraine hangovers', they are not--in fact unlike severe, alcohol-inspired hangovers, as I still feel weak, with motivation lacking, and with a mind fog so intense, that it feels as if my very brain is full of cotton, and is--in consequence--very sluggish to respond to thoughts, and ideation.

The title of this entry should probably be:

' While The 'Pit' ( Or Abyss ), Is So Easily Fallen Into, Crawling-Out Is Most Difficult '

There are, of course, 'triggers' that compel one to become so depressed; and while I throughly dislike the use of the phrase, " It IS What It IS', because it has become a catch-phrase, much over-used these days, perhaps, if I insert that portion of the letter I sent, it might help explain those externalaties over which one has little, or no control.

I would have to say, my dear friend, that I am completely unaccustomed to such kind generosity, without implied, or direct expectation of reciprocity; too many of my neighbors ( and, some of my ' friends ', alas ), come to me, with both hands stretched out; for what they would often want to 'do' for me, comes with it an implicit price tag; many times, this is so transparently craven, that, it still amazes me. I think, because I get SSDI, but hardly go anywhere, and do not work, nor punch a time-clock, that my SSDI is as 'free money', and that I am a convenient ( and, apparently, bottomless ) 'bank' to them, whenever they need cash.

For example, my neighbor will go shoppping for groceries for me ( when she does plan to go to the store ), but, in tacit payment for her services, I usually tell her to buy what she might serve her family for dinner that night, my treat. And yesterday, while my grocery tab came to something like #125.00, $22.00 of it, were for things for her. It is something I am used to; as it is the 'price' that must always be paid. In verity, dear Becky, I would not expect her to shop for me for free; there must--the equivalent--of gasoline, and time involved to be accounted for. And...at least, if I DO pay for her trip is lke goods, then I do not feel guilty in asking her to shop for me, when she goes.

Then, there are the more blatant offers of 'services-for-cash'; although I have put it off, as its too early in the year, already, a neighbor has been bothering me to come and mow my yard for $30.00. Funny, but, this was the SAME neighbor who 'cooks' one hot meal for me a day for $100.00 a month; and yet, to take, and later pick up Daisy to the vet's ( about, perhaps, 4 miles away, each way, she would not take her for any less than $20.00, which of course, is 'highway robbery', and paid--in part--her gasoline for the coming week. We BOTH know that.
Sometimes...her conception of a 'hot meal' has been, two double cheeseburgers from McDonald's, or, two burritos for Taco Bell, or ( should they have gone to a restaurant the night before, and I am serious, dear 1 ), I get the contents of their 'doggie bags', or--and I shudder to think of it-- whatever remained on their plates.

And, sometimes, when she's too 'tired', or had a 'rough day', she brings nothing to me, telephoning, instead, to see if I can 'get by' for that night. Of course I can, dear, and do subtract that from the $100.00 I give her for the month. We have roughly reckoned up abut $3.30, a day, for one meal.

And yet...some time ago, when she was $200.00 short of her mortgage payment ( and, noneof her three sons would gie or loan it to her, guess what ? It was to me she came. Of course I loaned it to her, with the proviso that the next two months of meals would cost me nothing.

And, while, dear Becky, I fully expect to pay for services that I can no longer, or no longer want to do, as I understand that this is how the world works, the more insidious, blatant, 'fox-in-the-henhouse', bright-button-eyed look of purest greed does set me back; and to most of these prospects, I just say no.

And so, dearest friend, I am humbled, and surprised, being quite unaccustomed to kind generosity that does not come with a price tag attached to it.

That was why that absolutely beautiful gift basket sent to me from the 'Agoraphobia Group' at holiday time, made me cry; it was completely unexpected, demanded mo payment, and,for a long while, I could hardly believe that such caring did exist...that I truly did not feel worthy of, yet, I shall treasure that gift in my sweetest memories for as long as I draw breath.

Since ever I was first declared disabled in 2002, my life has--perforce--been filled by a succession of 'takers' and 'users', and while the scope of their ususery sometimes floored me with its base greediness, I realized that I would have to pay for all those things I could no longer do myself.

Last night, I went to bed much earlier than my want, and slept patchily, with interrupted wakenings to let Daisy out, or, being roughly dragged to the surface of consciousness by dreams of nightmare that went on, and on. Or, bathroom calls.

And--of course--woke early, still in a world of pain, with a continued headache as a spike through my left eye, and beyond, across the side, and top of my head.

Though my dear friend, the black depression that has gripped me for this long time, now, is lightening--as last--I do believe.

Let us be in accord: sometimes Life gangs up on me, and I feel most helpless bfore its inexorable onslaught; much of it revolves around things that I cannot change, or things quite beyond my wishes, or control.

And since I have a maternal familial tendency towards black depression, I cannot vouchsafe that I will not always be cut-off at the knees by it; what I CAN do, is think about the scale and scope of genuine caring, and support from all my friends at MDJunction; step-up my prayer of true grateful thanksgiving; remember the love my mother and father had/have for me; hope with in heart, that, somehow, I may thus help another; consentrate onmaking my diary entries less about me, and my pain,and more about things that might prove to be of some help; give thanks for the few, 'outside' genuine friends that I have left; and give my dearst Daisy some extra, needed attention.

So I am particularly happy to say that--I think--that long spell of helpless depression is slowly lifting from me.

And it is to YOU, my most dear friends and readers to whom I attribute at least 90% of my assent.

In closing, please allow me to wish for YOU days of lessened, or of 'no pain'; wonderful days of rare finds and sweet surprises; quiet afternoons of healing thought and comtemplation; and, of course, balmy nights of blissful, restorative, and undisturbed rest, for sleep, as Whitman said is, " Nature's soft nurse ".

Your most kind readership, and comments remain--as ever--an unalloyed joy for me, for which I also thank you.

I love you,

'Zahc'/Charles

'Welcome Back, Oh Sad, And Deep Sweet Melancholy, My Old, Old, Friend '

' Welcome Back, Oh Sad, And Deep Sweet Melancholy, My Old, Old Friend '

Jan 29 2012

01/29/12

In grateful dedication to, among others: 'River'; 'mabri'; 1magicman'; and, 'DenverCowboy'

My dear, and wonderful friends, and ever kind, and loyal readers, for you are as one in the same, I cannot ever thank you for befriending me, and pausingto read and contemplate oft times, my illnesses, complaints, and selfish sadness; for in my heart, I know that you hurt as much as I, and often more.

And were I able, I would you have no pain, sickness, or despair. I would that you become much as you were before such dire ailments had changed you, limiting your actions, and disrrupting all the aspects of your daily life.

I often pray, and wish for you, my dearest friends no pain, and a return to ancient normalcy, when illness was unknown, and never thought of; and that you and your families know no need or want, or sleepless nights of worry and concern.

And, were I so able, I would erase from your minds and faces, all the lines of care, mind fog, and dissapointment.

Would that you be strong, again, and free to frollick with your children, ( or, grandchildren ! ) laughing, running, playing games of 'hide-and-seek', and to further enjoy more quality time with your understanding spouses.

Of getting out, without fear, or dreaded anxiety, to go where e'er you so desired, free from the strangulated, and unnatural limitations of Agoraphobia, so that you never would feel trapped, nor compelled to stay at home.

To rise from the cold couch, to find new energy to further make of each day, a gladdened, new-found puzzle piece to add to that mystery of a Future filled--not with fear--but of satisfied anticipation, instead, as Life inexorably, yet fleeting passes.

To my dear friends who are Bipolar, I would ever seek to take the sine wave that peaks with mania, and bottoms out with depression, some better median find; perhaps, not at just 50%, but at a more pleasant 75%, and so, have your shifts and cycles level off.

And, of my friends who cannot breath on their own, I wish a calmness, and an end to labored breath, to find some ease of spirit, there; with lungs that thus reject the infiltrete, and fuction as they were supposed to do. For it is truly fearful, having such labored breathing; that it--alone--exhausts, and makes sleep difficult.

And if I could someway work my will, my heart would hold carefully to itself, all who have PTSD, and have been abused, for that is an evil thing, and I would ever stand by you, in complete safety and protection, help slay ALL your monsters, sending them ( and I am not afraid to say this, for fear of censure ) to the deepest spots of Hell, there to remain, to never, ever, ever hurt you, again.

Forgive me, my dearest friends, for I still hurt in a thousand places, and have been--most lately--in a phase of darkest depression. Even as it slowly lifts, a bubbled-up, and oily black remains, as some heart-ache's debris, and, even as I work my way back to the surface, a sadness, and sweet melancholy fills my empty shell.

By now, I know it well, for this has happened over and over again, choreographed like some mechanical ballet.

And for a time, this 'depression hangover' leaves me listless, and bereft of higher intellect; so routine it has become, yet possessing such a lingering power, that I can actually feel this stage of depression settle o're me, like a cloud, that fully takes its time to disperse, in leaving me.

During it, for it lasts some days, into a week or more, I feel a deep, and sweet melancholy; a sighed tiredness, and a looking back to all that might have been.

Sometimes, this phase causes me to become angry, distant, easy to made angry, and with a grumpy disssatisfaction for all things; I am often glad that I am--perforce-- alone, so as to not inflict my choler on someone--perhaps--who does not merit it.

And, in passing, I am left weakened, just a little more than last time, as it seems to take so much from me.

And all happiness has fled, reluctant in its return.

And I am duly made aware of that which I can no longer accomplish, or even care to try, if that makes sense. I see my part-remodeled home change to an almost unrecognizable pit of dirt, and dust, and accumulated trash, and dishes in the sink; of whisps of shed Daisy fur...everywhere.

And so, I asked my dear C.N.A. to come out on her day off, for two hours, just to try to return the house to one of human habitation. I thank God for her, and for her kindness, as she's a wonder, and knows my habits. And can--in two hours--take at least the rougher edges off the house; of course, I cannot pay her now, but she has agreed to wait until I have my two showers this week, plus the laundry, so I can write her one check that then can be safely cashed, although, it will shudder my frail SSDI.

This depression 'aftershock', is so severe, my friends, and makes me tired, that today, while though it is a quiet Sunday, with absolutely beautiful weather, outside, I shall--again--stay in, and soon will try to lie down for a much hoped for nap.

For, now matter how strong, and durable the cup, should it develope but one crack, then it is, in whole, made useless, no matter how intricate the design, or pretty, the colored glaze.

And so, my dear, dear friends, and loyal readers, I shall close for now; my entire body aches with a dullness, and all I want to do is nap, wherein, hopefully I will sleep.

I am sure that--as I lie there--trying to compose myself, mind and body to relax--that I shall think of you, and of your aggregate kindness and support; your caring, and...your love.

And as I close my tired, and blurry eyes, I shall say a prayer for you for a day of lessened, or of no pain; of quiet, free from consternation, free from want; as I would most willingly awake, and rouse myself, to dry your honest tears.

Please always know, that I love you dearly,

'Zahc'/Charles

or Cancel

' Thoughts For January 31st,; A Title Too Long To Print '

 

‘ February; Computers...;A Final Clean-up Of The Tired Remains Of January's Indifference; And A Hint Of-Pre-Spring Love; Juvenile, But Effective, With Flowers Echoing A PromisedSpring; And The Inherent Sweetness Of Stuffed Toys, And All That '

01/31/12

My very, very dear, and constant friends, and ever-loyal readers,
A few, quick observations, before all traces of January are filed, and put up in already dusty boxes; as the weather-still cold in most climes-does show signs of renewal: our friend, the Crocus manages to bloom through still drifting snow, quite two months earlier, did the Lenten Rose.
For all who make some fulsome plans for Valentine's Day, they are aware that NOW the clock is ticking off the days before such celebrations as are called for; and, within the next ten days, it almost will be too late to order anything appropriate by mail.
I somehow recall some decades-now-ritual at school, wherein the construction paper envelopes that we affixed to the side of our desks; upon the teacher's ‘whistle blow', all raced around, to hand deliver little cards, or homemade substitutes, or, among the more affluent, those tiny bags of little, pastel hearts, which said such bromides as ‘ Please be mine'; or simply ‘Love'; or some such drivel. These mints, to me, always tasted more like chalk.
The night or two before this ‘diaspora' of assorted, little cards, was supervised by my mother, to ensure that every classmate got one, so no one would feel left out.
However, even in an elementary school classroom, there was a social rank and order, as, when we raced around to deliver our cards into each other's hastily-made envelope, I hardly need mention that the more popular children got the most cards, until their envelopes were filled to overflowing; and even at this early age, a pecking order had been unconsciously established,
While the foreign, odd, or alienated children got few to none; I was lucky to get one or two, and sometimes I got none, and was ashamed when the teacher had to intervene, so that no child's envelope was empty.
And this was the way it always went, from about second or third grade, until sixth; each year, I took my piteous envelope home, as my dearest mom and dad wanted to see it.
A hushed, and pained exhalation followed, when, in turning my envelope over, only two, or three cards fell out upon the dining table.
Second grade is not too early to know the hurt that came from that, especially when those with bulging envelopes had several duplicates from their cadre of well-wishers.
Of course, now at fifty-eight, I hardly care, except I had early learned that those who were attractive, and popular always won.
And so, the template was created early, one that would follow me down the years ‘till now.
It was they, who almost always got the better jobs, despite their skills. And although I did not seem to be a monster, nor an outcast, I know that I was clearly perceived as being one.
Whenever the teacher asked a question, and for a show of hands, I was rarely called upon...unless no one else knew the answer. I was actually looked at, and passed over, as if the teacher hoped that someone else would have the right answer.
And in recess, or-later-in gym, the ‘choosing-up of sides' often meant that NO one chose me, and that the ‘Captain' of the team gave out a disgusted sigh, and later, curse, when the instructor finally assigned me to a side.
It happened so often, you'd think that I would be used to it, and, in some oblique way I was; but, still...while early names were being chosen, I always had some small thrill of anticipation that I actually might be picked; I guess the baseball bat was not long-enough to measure by hand's breadth to ever get to me.
In those long-ago days, no one even knew of A.D.D., but all I know is that school bored me; I couldn't seem to concentrate on silliness, and found the sights outside the windows of more interest.
I hated every bit of school, and was-at last-so glad when-upon my graduation-that it was done. The ‘popular and pretty' could now go to hell.
I had my few friends...all losers, too.
What helped, was that I harbored some secret thought ( shared-perhaps-by some, more enlightened teachers ), to wit:
1) That I was clearly runaway more intelligent than they.
2) ( And this I gradually learned as Life took over ) that exterior ( only ) beauty did not, nor could not last; for if they did not radiate a beauty from within...a kinder soul,; a more forgiving heart, etc., that they, in time, would resemble no less than crumpled shells of plain ugliness.

3) And that popularity is a most inconstant thing; and while money and power do help, in general, without a sense of self-effacing humor, nor joy within, the same crowds who would carry you on their shoulders one day, might willingly trample you beneath their feet the next.

I probably spent a large portion of my adult, working life, in pitched battles with these bastards; you know them, even as adults: the supervisor's pet; the ones who slide effortlessly into promotions they neither deserved, nor earned.
And I survived in that atmosphere of trench warfare by being on time, keeping busy, ‘listening' for every bit of extra information I could glean, by insisting on excellent evaluations, and by going that old quote: ‘extra mile'.

For, while there really is no true egalitarianism in the classroom, there also in none in the adult, business world.

Please, please always remember that, and do not despair, for, in surviving, you have developed ( inside ), an arsenal of ways to cope, and to succeed.
It also never hurts to smile, and to be polite, giving authority the base respect that the position deserves, not necessarily the person who has it.

Now, my dearest friends, I must close for now, having gone on too long, as usual, and try to save this document to file, a new experiment for me.
As always, I wish for you a day or lessened, or of ‘no pain', heartache, or despair; I wish a quite afternoon for you, and-especially-a night of blissful rest, watched over, and attended to by hosts of sweet angels...just because you deserve it.

Please also know I love you dearly,

‘Zahc'/Charles