August 27, 2000
"Just A Few Natural Pretties"
August 28, 2000 - A
"Not Feeling Brave"
Last evening, Laura, Serena and I sat outside on the porch from sunset until the sky turned dark as ink. The night air was cool relief after the heat of the day. We discussed all manner of things. One of those things, as she sipped whisky over frozen strawberries, was advice for my journal writing. It's not the first time she's done this. "You have good skill with words, what you need to focus on is SUBJECT MATTER. You would be 'great' if you could really show your life and those of the people you love." Some of the things she said did trigger my imagination. We've all been caught up in the Harry Potter phenomenom. I've started reading the third book in the series. This is quite an unusual thing for me, as I rarely read fiction. But there's just something engaging about that world the author creates. Each character is clearly defined. Am I doing that with all the characters in my real life? Can you, dear reader, visualize them the same way you can visualize a Harry Potter or a Hermione Granger? I don't know, and that's something to strive for.
But 'greatness'? Well, that's something awfully hard to measure up against, isn't it? I have fun here, I like to keep growing in my craft, but I've put most of that high mindedness behind me. Except for the fancies I occasionally entertain about a few of the poems. Can't let loose entirely of the dream fluff.
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I am not this brave thing,
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While I'm not feeling up to those lofty expectations of me, I'm glad I have a spouse who believes in me. Some journal writers aren't so lucky. I think of some authors whose children are drawn so vividly, I almost feel I know them. But their spouse is only a gray name. Obviously they were told, "Don't you dare bring me into that foolishness of yours. I don't want my life plastered on the web for all to see." And they comply, keeping any details about their spouse out of their writing. Yes, it's much better to have a spouse that complains they aren't in it enough, than to have one like that. How sad to have this record of the passing years without tales of their adventures together to relive later. THIS here humble thing is my scrapbook of memories, as well as my 'letter to the world', and I'm grateful I have that freedom.
August 28, 2000 - B
"Going To Have To Be 'Brave' Anyway"
When I got home, Laura was still outside, nailing the porch boards down. I handed the envelope to her, ''I'm too scared to look.'' Laura wasn't, and tore the envelope open. After a minute of scanning the pages, she simply said ''I'm sorry, Joan, '' as she handed the papers back to me. Laura had urged me to apply back in April, when it had become too painful to sew for any length of time. Painful it is, and all my joints snap and crack, but nothing shows up in the X-rays, not in the ones of the hands and wrists that Dr Eichler had ordered, nor in the ones of the knees that the Social Security doctor had taken. Now Eichler said this is often the way of arthritis. You can have it for years with nothing showing up in the tests, then one day all those aches and pains and audible cracking get officially verified in one or another exam.
Meanwhile, ''While you may have some problems, records show you are able to move in most directions, walk without assistance and use your arms and legs in a satisfactory manner. You are able to perform ordinary daily activities . . . We have determined your condition is not severe enough . . .''
Implied words:
''Get off yer lazy ass and get to work, you whiner!''
Sigh. Well, at least the long wait is over. I asked a lawyer what the chances were, if I were to appeal it. With nothing showing up in any of the tests, there's nothing they can do.
Needless to say, I'll be looking for work.
'Future me' has been making little comments all along this path. If you haven't read my other future comments, they're at the bottom of this entry.
One thing I must say about 'past me' (and now 'present me', to you, dear readers), is that I'm proud of the way I reacted. I could have sulked about it, and refused to seek work. But I didn't. I realized that whining was counterproductive and got off my duff. Even when, and if, that day comes when the arthritis does show up in the tests, etc., whining is useless.
Now I know some people who are legitimately disabled from arthritis. Laura's Mother is one. She can't open doors unless they have a special device on them. The keys to her car have a special device. She can't pull those little rings out of the lids on half gallon milk containers. But she doesn't give up. She uses the devices as she needs to, but she keeps on doing. SHE DOESN'T LET THE PAIN STOP HER.
Present me is just about to learn that lesson. Triumphant, she becomes. You'll see.
August 29, 2000 - B
"Tickled"
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If now is not what we think it is, we would laugh at our fears, we would. Even so, the fears, they almost tickle. Have you ever felt a fear like that, that almost tickled?
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Okay, these poems can be downright mystifying, I know. ''What in the heck caused THAT?", you may wonder.
Well, I'll explain this one. Earlier this day, I'd been having small waves of fear wash over me over and over, each with a weird tickling sensation. It's nothing odd for skittish me to be having waves of fear, but TICKLISH ones?
<!Note of August 30: The following comments were made hidden yesterday because I thought they would make this journal too much of a downer! In the chilly morning hour, I see that was a silly thing to do. Of course I don't want to depress you readers with all these sad thoughts. But this is my journal and this is what's in my head.>Later in the day, I was enjoying Clannad's early album Crann Ull. One of the songs called ''Last Rose Of Summer'' made me cry a lot with the fearful tears. ''What if this is the last summer I have with Laura?'' Her health is getting worse. I wish I'd have spent more time with her through out the years.
The shivering, quivering voice says this is it - the last summer. I wish it would shut up!
I am probably (heck I know I am) more fearful than the average person. If 'now is not what I think it is', I might indeed in some future day, look back on these fears of mine and smile the way an adult often smiles at a child.
August 30, 2000
"Doorway To Success"
No, I was not able to save Laura the labor of making a screen door. To better learn how to make one, she decided she'd do a 'practice' door. Serena's small cottage cabin lacked a screen door, and her door was even odder in size than ours, only 31in by 78in. Serena's door is now done, successfully. We all had a bit of effort in this door for Julia and I spray painted it, and Serena and I helped hold it while Laura put it up. I, of course, brought my camera along:
working on the lower hinge . . .
checking the overall fit . . .
Maybe I do get 'bored', if bored=tired. I'm tired of feeling sorry for myself. I really need to get something I'm more proficient at than feeling sorry for myself. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if you're all hastily clicking your little mousies on out of here. I wish I could. But this is my brain, and I can't leave it.
I need an Attitudinal Transformation:
When everything has changed, though nothing is different.How do I get this? How do I get off the 'pity pot', and get out there and face the world? I guess I should first stand up. There. That's a start.-Barry Neil Kaufman (Outsmarting your Karma & Other Preordained Conditions)
"Now get moving, you whiner!"
My conscience is relentless.
