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Bountiful -> Musings and Stuff (6/1/2009 11:25:03 PM)

I guess this is the "Great Adventure" - starting my own blog. For someone who usually avoids "adventure," this is definitely out of my comfort zone. I have read pretty much all of the blogs in Blog Towne and have been blessed and moved by many of them.

I'm not sure what this is really meant to be. I suppose that will be part of the adventure. Musings on my life, the world around me, my spiritual journey? Perhaps a little about the books I read, Scriptures that touch my heart, God's presence in my life? Time will tell.

I suppose I should say a little something about myself for start off, so here goes:

I'm a 58 years old female, long divorced with two adult children. I worked for 25 years as a paralegal, however, for the last six years I have been on disability and it is unlikely that I will be able to work again. My religious background is conservative Baptist (read legalistic) and I consider myself in recovery from "religion." Depression has been a constant companion in my life and I have had a number of breakdowns, the most serious of which took place approximately six years ago.

It has been noted that life must be lived forwards but can only be understood backwards. I agree with this whole heartedly. Upon becoming suicidal, my wonderful Christian doctor (who is also my counselor) suggested "Why don't you give God another chance? What have you got to lose?" While I was chewing on that suggestion, I came across a study Bible that really attracted me, so I bought it and the journey began. It took about six months of intense Bible study and reading all sorts of study helps until I finally rededicated my life to the Lord.

Has the journey been easy? No. I don't think it ever will be for me. I have trust issues and they are not easy to lay down. Do I get discouraged? You bet. Quite often actually. Is it worth it? Definitely. Thank you, Lord Jesus, for never letting me go.



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (6/2/2009 11:20:45 PM)

One of those "lost" days for me. Weary from the ends of my hair to the tips of my toenails. Thank you, Lord, for the lovely oblivion of sleep.

Good to reminder myself how blessed I really am, especially when I'm having a less than stellar day.

The following are the Beatitudes taken from Eugene Peterson's "The Message":


“You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope.
With less of you there is more of God and his rule.

You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you.
Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.

You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are – no more, no less.
That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.

You’re blessed when you’ve worked up a good appetite for God.
He’s food and drink in the best meal you’ll ever eat.

You’re blessed when you care.
At the moment of being ‘care-ful’, you find yourselves cared for.

You’re blessed when you get your inside world – your mind and heart – put right.
Then you can see God in the outside world.

You’re blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight.
That’s when you discover who you really are, and your place in God’s family.

You’re blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution.
The persecution drives you even deeper into God’s kingdom.

Not only that – count yourselves blessed every time people put
you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me.
What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort
and they are uncomfortable.
You can be glad when that happens – give a cheer even! – for though they don’t like it, I do!
And all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company.
My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble.”



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (6/3/2009 11:11:17 PM)

It's rather ironic; before I qualified for a blog, I felt like I had all sorts of things I wanted to say. Now that I have one, the well seems dry. But I've always been so pleased when I find things, written things, that seem to say the things I want to say, but for whatever reason, can't. Here's a poem/prayer that often speaks to where I am:

His Part, My Part

Lord,
You want me to trust You so totally
That I am unmoved by any circumstances;
Then work in me that steadfast trust.
You want me to choose to do the right,
Then turn me from wanting any plan but Yours.
You want me to revere and honor You;
Then refresh and revive me.
You want me to obey You uninterruptedly,
Then make Your Word my Guide.
You want me to depend upon You increasingly;
Then reassure me that Your promises are mine.
You want Your will to be my will,
Then help me to love Your every wish.

I expect your help, dear Lord
For You’ve never broken a single promise
And You’re not going to start with me.



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (6/4/2009 11:21:12 PM)

C. and the kids dropped by for a visit. It's always so good to see them. We sat outside so the kids could play. Thank you, Lord, for bringing her into my life.

Dd is getting ready for her trip to North Dakota. I pray that all goes well.

Still feeing so wiped out all the time. Definitely gets discouraging after a while. I'll just keep singing praise and worship songs (I love the old gospel hymns) and mining the Psalms (how I love them!).



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (6/6/2009 11:27:29 PM)

Still rather cool here - cool enough to think about putting the heat back on! Not so good for June.

I've been reading "Evidence for Christianity - Historical Evidences for The Christian Faith" by Josh McDowell. Very interesting. There is more historical evidence for the Christian faith then there is for most historical things that we take for granted. It's really very amazing.

I was "lurking" in the Mormon thread in the Church forum last night and I find it rather amazing how their so-called doctrine is constantly changing. How can you have faith in something that is constantly shifting? Reading "Evidence" today, I came across the following, speaking of Jesus: "His teaching were ultimate, final - above those of Moses and the prophets. He never aded any afterthoughts or revisions; He never retracted or changed; He never guessed, 'supposed,' or spoke with any uncertainty. This is all so contrary to human teachers and teachings" (Meldau, PDC, 5).

Our God is constant; He is always true to Himself. Praise the Lord.

In recent weeks I read the whole WOF thread in the Church forum. Wow! I was really impressed with the scholarship of many of the posters. But I find it so sad that people are falling for the "name and claim it stuff." Yet nothing really changes. Man has always liked to have his ears tickled.

During my time reading these threads, I've been studying in Ezekiel and this passage about false prophets really stood out:

“This is what the Almighty Lord says: In my fury I’ll cause a storm to break out. In my anger rain will pour down, and hailstones will destroy the wall. I will tear down the wall that the prophets covered up with paint. I will level it and expose its foundation. When the wall falls, they will be destroyed by it. Then you will know that I am the Lord. I will unleash my fury on the wall and on those who covered it up with paint. Then I will say to you, “The wall is gone, and so are those who painted it. The prophets of Israel who prophesied to Jersualem are gone. Those who said that everything was alright, when it wasn’t alright, are gone, declares the Almighty Lord.” (Ezekiel 13:13-16; God’s Word)

There are many false prophets and false teachers out there and lots of walls are being whitewashed. But those false prophets and teachers should study their Bibles a little more. It has much to say on what God is going to do.

I always get so excited when different things I'm reading or studying come together like this!! That's why I say that God is always my Librarian. [:)]



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (6/9/2009 11:28:46 PM)

Finally! After acting like a faucet yesterday, I feel a little better today (thank you, Lord). Still pretty cool here, but I'm not complaining. I won't be happy when it gets really warm.

Tomorrow W. is coming over. It's been quite a while since we met. I thank the Lord for her; someone who really encourages me spiritually, who seems to understand the places I need to go in order to grow in my walk with the Lord.

Then tomorrow evening, G. will be giving me a ride to the pharmacy as I have to refill a bunch of medications.

This little prayer seemed appropriate today:

Missing Chapter

Often, Lord
I feel achingly incomplete
Like the missing chapter
Of a book.
But then I remember
You have not yet finished
The manuscript.
Forgive me
If I seem presumptuous
But have You set
A publication date?



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (6/11/2009 11:17:12 PM)

God is good! Praise His Holy Name! I thank the Lord often for W. We had our visit on Wednesday afternoon. God blessed us both. It's strange how difficult it can be to find people who truly want to share their spiritual journey with others, help each other grow, to acknowledge that it's not always easy, but it is through those periods that we are made stronger.

I'm making notes on a book I read recently called "Messy Faith." Perhaps I'll share some passages here in due time.

Don't think I've really made up my mind what it is I want to do with this blog, but I'm not going to stress myself out about it. As I said in the beginning, it's an adventure of sorts, so it doesn't have to BE anything in particular.

Here are some verses from II Samuel 22 from "The Message":

God made my life complete
When I placed all the pieces before him.
When I cleaned up my act,
He gave me a fresh start.
Indeed, I’ve kept alert to God’s ways;
I haven’t taken God for granted.
Every day I review the way he works,
I try not to miss a trick.
I feel put back together,
And I’m watching my step.
God rewrote the text of my life
When I opened the book of my heart to his eyes.



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (6/12/2009 11:17:31 PM)

As I look back on my life, I wonder about how we perceive things, how different seasons of our life alter our perceptions (hopefully with more depth and understanding, but sadly, not always so). When I hear or read other people's stories, I'm often left feeling almost ashamed. Nothing really traumatic has happened to me; I've never been beaten, abused, lacked food or a roof over my head. Sure, I've had my tough times. Everybody does. Then I wonder what was it that broke me, that battered me, that left me so shattered? Perhaps it's just life that does that to us. Everybody's pain is real.

Ideas, thoughts, impressions, perceptions, many from childhood are formed based on seemingly minor incidents, many of which were never intended to hurt us.

As I've tried to leave behind the life-sapping "religion" of my childhood and enter into a life-giving relationship with my Lord and Savior, it never ceases to amaze me how deep some of this stuff goes. Again, I don't think my childhood church or anyone in it intended any damage or hurt, it never ceases to amaze me how hard it is to get rid of some of this "stuff."

One thing that frustrated and hurt me beyond description was not being allowed to ask questions. I was just supposed to absorb whatever was fed me and never think twice about it. I felt like I had to leave my brain at the church door. I don't know if it's a gift or a burden, but I pick up a lot from what's not said. In those days people visited much more, especially for Sunday dinner, or coffee after the evening service. We children were expected to sit quietly and behave, so there was nothing better to do than listen to conversations taking place. When I was still working, I sat in a place that many people walked by all day long. I was generally too busy to people watch, but it was amazing what I seemed to pick up by osmosis as the day went by. I came to the conclusion that I'm an emotional sponge. So sadly to say I often felt burdened by things I wan't always conscious of. Believe me, I didn't need the extra baggage.

Okay, enough babbling. What I was trying to get at (in an obviously round about way) is that I've always had a need to ask the question, even if there was no answer. This is what ultimately made me put aside what I was seemingly being taught about God and living the Christian life. All I seemed to get was "do's," don't's," and "just becauses." I felt like I was being put into increasingly smaller boxes and that ultimately "I" would be extinguished. Don't get me wrong - I know that we have to let go of the "old man" and put on the "new man" as we grow in our walk with God, but these things are tough to grasp in your early teens. I don't know if it wasn't taught or I just missed it, but I definitely didn't get the whole "relationship with God" thing. So eventually I just threw up my hands and said "I give up; this just doesn't work!" I never doubted that God existed and supposedly he loved us. But all I ended up with was a large, stern, frowning, arms crossed being.

I am so very glad that I now know Jesus as my Lord and Savior and he is everything to me - my Savior, Physician, Friend, Comforter, Defender, Redeemer and so much more.

I would just to share like to share a few notes from "Messy Faith" by A.J. Gregory. Jacob's wrestling match with God gives me hope and faith that God cares enough to stick with us as we fight our way through the tough times in our journey:

"…We are all human beings who are born with weaknesses and splattered with flaws and messy experiences as we continue to blow out our birthday candles. Through our odysseys in valleys and mountains and in sunlight and shadows, most of us acquire cracks on our superficial surface. What are most of us? Simple: we are broken. …

God, recognizing Jacob as a natural fighter with some serious don’t-mess-with-me ability, knows what he has to do to put Jacob where he belongs. Jacob must be broken. Not in a pathetic way to rob him of self-esteem. Not in a mean way to punish his wrongs. But in a way that would prompt Jacob to realize how seriously he was in need of God and how his strengths were no match for God. So God puts Jacob’s hip out of joint. And Jacob does what God has hoped (and knew) he would do. He stops grappling and fighting and starts clinging in utter desperation. Jacob is not fighting anymore; he is holding on for dear life.

Finally god says, “Let me go.” Was this a challenge, perhaps? A test of sorts to see whether Jacob would timidly throw his hands up in surrender or grip the flesh of his heavenly Father even tighter? “I will not let you go,” a tormented Jacob cries as he sucks in sharp, painful breaths, and his stance weakens from his broken hip and debilitating muscle cramps. “Not until you bless me.”

Jacob is stripped at that moment of everything that had created and multiplied his confidence. I believe he needed, in his own particular way, to fight for what he wanted, which was the manifestation and blessing of his Maker, with genuine sweat, blood and tears – the hunger of true desperation. A blessed man as he crawls away from the mat, Jacob takes with him a souvenir…..He has a limp that is impossible for him not to feel and for others not to notice. He is broken. Broken, but a living illustration that he is better of leaning on a staff for the rest of his life knowing God is on his side than standing on his own merit. Each wobbly step he took, Jacob knew God was with him. His brokenness had to have preceded the blessing. God wouldn’t have had it any other way.

If you live life long enough, you’ll endure at least one traumatic experience that leaves you somewhat broken….As a Christian, especially, you may come face-to-face with a mediocre or weakening faith. Prayers seem useless. Scriptures once used to empower and encourage are seemingly rendered ineffective or even confusing. God’s presence, which was once as real as the touch of your own flesh, will seem to have wandered into oblivion. Doubt comes waltzing into the mind, maybe as little as faint drops of rain or as powerful as a hurricane. …

The strength of our self-made spirituality, our self-controlled behavior, and the talents that we may have relied upon has vanished. Perhaps we even want to give up on life, on God, on ourselves. Broken people sometimes have a hard time finding a comfortable resting place in a church. It’s no wonder the Bible defines the church as the body of Christ, not a magnificently built four-walled structure filled with seemingly perfect people. It’s no wonder, reading through the Gospels, that the forlorn, the lonely, the weary, and the almost faithless people found Jesus so approachable. …

Christ met people in the strangest places, in the deepest parts of who they were. In these deepest parts, however messed up, struggling, hurting, falling or doubting, is where the truth of who we are lies….Our hearts, our honesty, our trust selves is what Jesus deems our Sunday best…..When God seems so far away, as a result of whatever it is we are going through, it doesn’t mean he has left us. It doesn’t mean that we are unworthy, or that we have lost our Christian faith, or that we are “bad” Christians. The broken shouldn’t feel left behind, although that is most often the case. I don’t want them to be ignored or slighted. Broken Christians exist. I know; I’ve got my own battle scars. …

Our sufferings are as individual and as unique as we are. We are fortunate enough to be able to be in relationship with One whose purpose on earth was to suffer so he could understand our brokenness."



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (6/13/2009 11:12:03 PM)

I don't remember much from my early childhood. Some people say they can remember something from when they were still in their cribs. I can't say the same. Oh there are little pictures here and there, but nothing really definite. I don't even remember my little brother being born (he's about 3 1/2 years younger than me). I don't really have any memory of him until after I was in school.

I can't remember how old I was when I decided that I didn't belong in my family. I thought they had taken the wrong baby home from the hospital. It wasn't that I wanted to be anywhere else really, I just didn't seem to "fit" where I was. That has stayed with me for most of my life.

My mother has told me that my father doted on me when I was a baby. This is something I have to take her word for. All I knew was that when my brother was born, I was relegated to the same secondary position my mother held. I was aware of this very early.

I loved going to church when I was little; loved the songs, Sunday School, loved Jesus, Bible stories, etc.

When I started school my Mom had a talk with me about being a Christian. We lived in the world but were not to be "of" the world. This meant that I was to be nice and friendly to everyone, work hard in school and obey the teacher. But I should choose my "real" friends from the children at church. The result was that I again felt I didn't belong. I only saw my church friends once or twice a week at church so that left me kind of confused. There were a few people who seemed to be more accepted than others ie. our neighbors next door, a Christian family across the street. But generally speaking my school friends were always treated slightly cooler than my Christian friends. I asked my Mom why that was and she said because their parents smoked and drank, partied, danced, went to movies and clubs, all of which were "bad" in the Christian book apparently. I didn't get to go to the homes of very many of my school friends, but did go to a few birthday parties. I was allowed to invite a couple of school friends to a couple of my own birthday parties, but I was usually encouraged to have a church friend over for a sleep over instead.

So even at a young age I developed two concurrent lives - home/church and school. I loved school, loved to learn, loved to read and I was very good at it. My only drawback was I stuttered as a young child and was always afraid to speak out in class. But I knew that asking questions at school was a good thing and that made me very happy.

My brother was the favored child, a not uncommon occurrence in families of eastern european slavic background. Both my parents came from a farming background with not much schooling, but very hard workers. I was expected to always be satisfied with whatever I received while my brother could whine and wheedle and get whatever he wanted. In him this was considered cute (at least to my father), but from me it produced a rebuke and a turning away. Nothing earth shattering, but very hurtful all the same. I think I tried so hard in school because I thought that would get me the affirmation I wanted so much from my dad. I used to get up at 4 in the morning in grades 4 and 5 to study for exams! Totally crazy. By the time I was 11 I was a nervous wreck and had to miss many weeks of school. I remember the doctor coming to our house and telling my mother it was probably just the onset of puberty, to make sure I got a lot of rest and it would go away. I was always better in school than my brother, but we always got the same rewards. I just wanted my dad to come to me once, after my brother was asleep and acknowledge that I had done really well, but it never happened. I would cry to my mom about it but she would just say it wasn't worth making a fuss over it. It used to drive me crazy that she never stood up for herself or for me.

Even as I write all this, I know that no one was going out of their way to hurt me, that in the big picture these were minor things. But it goes back to how we perceive things and why we perceive them the way we do. It's always bothered me that these things bothered me so much (now isn't that a mouthful!). But a time was coming when I would step out of the shadows and start to be me (and to this day I don't know if that was a good thing or not).

In the course of my usual reading and note making today, I came across the words to this lovely old hymn which makes my heart soar.

The Love of God

The love of God is greater far
Than tongue or pen can ever tell.
It goes beyond the highest star
And reaches to the lowest hell.
The guilty pair, bowed down with care,
God gave his Son to win.
His erring child He reconciled
And pardoned from his sin.

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade,
To write the love of God above
Would drain the oceans dry.
Nor could the scroll contain the whole
Though stretched from sky to sky.

O love of God, how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure
The saints’ and angels’ song.



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (6/14/2009 11:08:37 PM)

I asked Jesus into my heart at the age of 11 and was baptized at the age of 12. We had a girl's group at church, similar to Brownies/CGIT, which I attended and enjoyed. There was also Bible camp every summer which was something I always looked forward to. Occasionally my friends from church and I would visit at one another's homes for sleep overs, or to spend Sunday afternoon together, but this didn't happen too often as we lived on different sides of the city.

I don't know if this is true of all schools, but my elementary school had a teacher who everbody was afraid of. Rumors abounded about what a "witch" she was; how mean she was, etc. Being the uptight child that I was, I probably started to worry about this shortly after starting school, even though this "dragon" was a grade six teacher. Sure enough, she ended up being my grade six teacher. She wasn't quite as bad as everyone said, but she was never going to be a "favorite." She was very artistic, hence somewhat flamboyant, large in her gestures and quite loud. She used to hound me because I was too quiet, I was too uptight. So I spent alot of time being embarrassed. Amazingly enough I came out of grade 6 with a 93% average. However, one day she was going on about whatever (can't remember the topic) and then started asking us our opinions (meaning, of course, we were supposed to parrot back her opinion). I don't know what got into me that day, but I expressed my opinion and wouldn't concede. When she argued with me, I pointed out that she had asked for OUR opinion and that was what she was getting. Needless to say, the class sat with baited breath. She finally sent me out of the room to stand in the hall (minor punishment, but the first I had ever received in school). At recess, everybody was so proud of me and kept congratulating me. I was in a daze; I didn't know where that had come from. Apparently my stutter didn't affect me that day.

While this was a start, I didn't turn into an actual rebel, but I learned to relax a lot more. I was still a well behaved student, but she didn't bother me so much after that. Perhaps I should have thanked her; maybe that was what she hoped I would do some day.

As I look back on this incident, I'm amazed at the changes it made in my life. While I still wanted and needed affirmation, as we all do, I suddenly realized that even that would have to be on my terms from now on and not everybody elses terms. Yes, I was still a child, but I was a person in my own right and it became important that I try to stay true to myself (even though I doubt I knew what that really meant). To this day, I don't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but it seemed to be a necessary thing.

This poem/prayer is often one from my heart:

It’s Your Move

All through the long dreary hours
Of this rough toilsome day
I have struggled to believe
That Your plan is good
That the blows and bruises
Will establish me.
That the staggering changes
Will settle me.
I have struggled to believe
That Your way is perfect.

But waiting here alone,
Shrouded in thick loneliness,
I confess I don’t see it.
Frankly, I just don’t see
That Your way is perfect.
And now I hear You say
I didn’t say you’d see it –
I only said – it is.

So, Lord, it’s Your move.

Good-Night.



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (6/16/2009 11:27:36 PM)

Even though I grew up in a Christian home, it's amazing to me now how much I got wrong or didn't understand. From an adult perspective I know now that my questions were avoided because there were often no easy answers or they made people uncomfortable because they didn't know how to answer. I would ask my Mom, "How do you get more faith?" She would say, "Do you believe?" I would say "Yes, but sometimes I feel like I don't have enough faith." She would just tell me to pray about it. Which was a good answer as far as it went. To be honest, I probably wasn't expressing very well what I wanted to know and while her faith was and is very strong, she just wasn't someone who seemed to be bothered by such questions. She just believed. I envied that in her but it frustrated me and made me feel bad because I had these questions.

In those days all I had available was a Kings James Bible and while I could understand it fairly well, it was tough going sometimes. During the time I was 11-14 years old, I would pray and pray that God would make me a better person; that he would help me be "nicer," not to have angry or bad thoughts about people (i.e. my brother, my dad), to be more willing to help my Mom. I would try so hard, but of course I think I was trying in my own strength and after a few weeks or months I would get frustrated and give up. I would going around muttering prayers for forgiveness for every "unChristian" thought I had (which kept me pretty busy!). It's not that I thought I was such a terrible person, but I was always aware that my motives and my thoughts were often contrary to my actions. So it felt like I carried a bad secret about how horrible I really was. I knew that God loved me, but I don't know how well I understood "grace." I guess I didn't see much of it or didn't recognize it. Even then I realized I could drive myself crazy with this kind of thinking so I would back of for a bit and just live my life as best I could. Then it would start all over again with the same disappointing results.

Was I just trying to get some acknowledgement from God or perhaps my parents for my effort? On the one hand I knew that no one was perfect, but I didn't understand how come nobody else seemed to question themselves so much. It was actually me being legalistic and hard on myself (although I doubt I understood the term back then). I also don't think I understood about the Holy Spirit (or in KJV terms, the "Holy Ghost"). "Holy" and "Ghost" were words that just didn't seem to go together. I knew he was part of the Trinity but the whole concept was too hard for me to grasp. Actually that was another stumper when I asked my Mom or my Sunday school teachers. They tried, but it didn't come across very well. After a while, I just gave up, concluding it was probably my fault I didn't get it.

The next few years (junior high or "middle school" to some) were very important in my life. During this time "me" became "me." Yes, I've changed with time as we all do, but somehow that's when I felt I was taking form, becoming something definite and solid, leaving behind that time where it seemed I was whatever others wanted me to be, where I seemed to be formless, somewhat ephemeral, like jelly that hasn't set, not sure of what I was supposed to be.

I have to say here that I've never felt that the teen years are easy. They are some of the most difficult times you will go through. You are neither fish nor fowl. Half the time your parents are telling you to grow up and act your age, the other half they are telling you that you can't do whatever because you're still just a child. I realize that both are true. Having raised my own children through these years, it's equally difficult to be a parent at that time. I used to think it would be a good idea to freeze dry your kids until they're 21; thaw them out and send them on their way. [:D] Now that would definitely be "cool!" [8D]

This prayer speaks to me when I am trying to be a friend to myself:

Forgiving Lord

Forgiving Lord
I long for her release
My friend who churns
With memories of failure and guilt.
She needs to feel sure and serene
Knowing You are holding her fast.
She needs to understand
That her continual remorse
Is a sheer waste of energy and time.
In no way can she change the past
Or relive it
Or rectify it.
Lord, she is torturing herself
In her circle of regret.

Please speak to her, Lord
May she no longer censure herself
For what once happened.
Rather direct her attention
To what is happening now.
May she stop berating herself
For her mismanaged past.
Empower her to concentrate
On managing the present.
Heal her, Lord.
She is so occupied
With morbid introspection.
Give her a fresh breathtaking glimpse
Of the joy that can be hers
When she is totally occupied with You.



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (6/18/2009 11:22:45 PM)

The beginning of junior high was like starting school again - being at the bottom of the heap. It was a readjustment, exciting, different. School continued to be important to me and I retained honor level marks. Still reading voraciously. I was so excited when I could get an adult library card. I remember gobbling up Allen Drury's Washington political series (this surprised me too!), loved anything by Herman Wouk. I would often reread favorite books; it was like saying "hello again" to old friends. Managed to be in the "groups" I was comfortable and happy in. My stuttering was receding so made life easier.

I continued to live a parallel life - home/church on one hand and school on the other. They weren't necessarily that far apart, but I always felt the separation.

I honestly cannot remember what sex eduction I received. Some was learned at school (at that time, I would suspect, in rather broad and vague terms). Can't remember having "the conversation" with my Mom. I remember in the years prior to puberty having the normal "yuck, who would want to do that!" reaction so obviously I was told something by someone. But of course the "yuck" factor diminished as puberty attacked. [:)]

Went through the usual "crushes" that changed bi-weekly or monthly. The was usually more a matter of palling around in groups, holding hands. Sometimes this progressed to a little necking. Attempts were sometimes made for "more" but it was pretty much understood that we were "good" girls and that would NOT be allowed. Some parents allowed "mixed" groups in their homes. Obviously mine wasn't one of them. In order to continue being with my friends on these occasions, a certain amount of artifice was required.

My girlfriends didn't come over to my house much. My Mom was friendly, but somewhat reserved and muted with them. If they came for a sleepover, she would insist on everyone having evening devotions and prayer, even though we didn't normally have that at home (it was usually in the morning or just after supper). Of course they found this rather odd so weren't overly eager to repeat the experience. My best friends Mom was much friendlier. When I stayed over she would sit with us while we watched a late night movie, sharing a big bowl of popcorn. She just seemed interested in us. You could talk to her about clothes, and hair styles and boys and school. I wished that I had more of that with my Mom.

The opportunities for mixed teenage opportunities at church were rather slim. There was a definite lack of males in the appropriate age group. Other than summer Bible Camp and one or two Youth Retreats during the year, it was pretty bleak.

While it's common for Christian parents to want their children's friends to be children of other Christians, this certainly didn't guarantee "innocent" behavior. My girlfriends at church were certainly into more mischief than I was and it was at a Youth Retreat that I had to fight off some very determined advances that exceeded anything I had experienced with my school friends. Even at the time I rather sardonically assumed it had something to do with being a country boy, all those animals procreating. [:D] Strangely enough the boy in question seemed to think this was going to impress me because despite my anger, because he kept calling me long distance for months afterwards. He didn't seem to get the hint until I showed up at another Retreat about a year and a half later with my future husband to be.

Towards the end of grade 8 or the beginning of grade 9, a young couple started coming to our church and took on Sunday school for the teens and occasional evenings of fun. We really liked them both. They were still in University, going for advanced degrees. What we really enjoyed was being able to talk about things, including spiritual things. It really awakened in us an excitement that had been missing for a very long time. I never knew what really happened, but it was rumored they had been asked to leave the church. Most of us still kept in contact with them and visited with them frequently. Our pastor at the time was rather "severe". For many years a boy named Billy from a smaller town had been attending Bible camp and various Retreats. It was after the banquet at the final Retreat that I attended. We were all standing around in the foyer waiting for cars to warm up (it was in the dead of winter) when suddenly my pastor came out yelling that we are all supposed to stay away from Billy, he was bad and on on and on. We all stood there astounded, as we had no idea where this was coming from. No matter what, if anything, Billy had done, that was no way to handle it. I was so ashamed to be from the pastor's church. I couldn't believe this was happening. I realize pastors are only human and everybody makes mistakes, but there just didn't seem to be anything Christian about that scene. This incident, following the youth group's leader leaving the church, put a real damper on my feelings about the church. Rather childish I suppose, but together with not seeing much "love one another" going on in the church in general, this just kind of did me in. My barriers and defenses were up and would take a very long time in coming down.



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (6/19/2009 11:07:45 PM)

Talked to C. yesterday. We've both been feeling a little disconnected spiritually so we decided that we're going to do a Bible study of some sort starting next week. We always have such a good time together when we do these. I pray for God's leading as to what we should do and to bless our study time. We certainly have enough materials here. I get the monthly stuff from Turning Point so have lots of study guides and books to choose from.

G. was kind enough to pick up some things from the store for me yesterday. God bless her kindness. She's going to come over tomorrow evening and we're going to watch a movie.

DD is home safely from her trip to North Dakota - Thank you, Lord.

DS dropped by for a while this evening. It's always good to see him.

My life was in no way terrible. The usual status of family members continued to be the same. DB got new sports equipment; I got used. He could tell Dad he had put his allowance in the bank, could he have some spending money? It worked for him. I just got a dirty look when I tried. I believe in working for what you want. My brother and I were supposed to do supper dishes together. He didn't want to wash so I did. But then he would take like ten minutes to dry two items and then I was expected to help him finish drying when I was done washing. I guess I could have just slowed down with the washing, but that seemed like a stupid waste of time. Another ripoff. I'd complain like any other kid; Mom would just say his name in a disappointed way and that was that. I remember wanting a dress for a special occasion. My girlfriend's mom said she would sew it for me, all I had to do was buy the material. It took a lot of talking to get Dad to loan me the ten dollars so I could buy the material. I spent a month of Saturdays typing up papers for university students. In the end it was probably good I worked for it, but it was just so discouraging when this wasn't true of my sibling.

My grandmother came to live with us when I was about twelve and I was so excited that I could my bedroom downstairs. I was quite at home down there, reading, doing my homework. Sometimes Mom would ask how come I didn't stay upstairs with them, but everybody was doing their own thing so why bother. Sometimes I would do homework at the kitchen table, but it wasn't like we had anything to say to each other. Sometimes it would be OK but that was not the norm.

My life outside of home was what kept me going. It's a time where everything is lived on a high level. Relationships come and go and there are often many tears and much joy.

I didn't really know what I wanted to be. For a long time I had the usual desire to be a teacher. But one day in junior high when the class was giving the teacher grief, it dawned on me - why would I want to be on the receiving end of this ****? Well, that took care of that one. Then I had grandiose dreams of being a doctor but I soon realized that was unlikely as the sciences were definitely not my strong point. Thank goodness I ended up taking typing for four years and ended up very good at it. I also took piano lessons for seven years and I think that really helped me catch on with the typing. So I knew I at least had a fallback for office work if I couldn't think of anything else to do.

The next big change was coming - high school.



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (6/21/2009 11:04:59 PM)

Good day today. Felt very sleepy though. Probably because it cooled down a little so it's nice to sleep. G. didn't make it yesterday to come over watch the movie. Started to work on the project for P. and M. Looks like it's going to take a fair bit of work to get it set up, but it should be interesting. DS came over today for supper; nice visit.

Have been spending quite a bit of time in some of the topic forums. I may be getting brave enough to actually post in some of them. I find myself thinking about certain threads alot and kind of posting "in my head." That's kind of useless - guess I might as well actually post!!

Well, may not get to post in here very much until I get the project set up, but will try and keep it going.



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (6/23/2009 11:05:36 PM)

Beautiful weather again! (meaning sunny and moderate [:)]. Had a hard time getting going though today. I have no idea why. Spent a few hours working on the project, so don't really feel like a long post today. C is supposed to come over tomorrow evening and we will choose something for a Bible study. Looking forward to it.

Was very pleased with a nice comment I received on a rather long post I did in one of the forums. It was very encouraging since I had never done that before. Perhaps I won't hold back so much anymore.



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (6/25/2009 10:42:10 PM)

C. didn't make it yesterday. The contract for the sale of their house was finalized yesterday and her car had broken down to it wasn't a good day for her at all. I'm sure we'll get together soon.

I've really been putting in the hours on this project I've been working on so I guess "high school" will have to wait a while.

Nice big wind came up today and cooled things off again, so I'm smiling.



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (6/29/2009 10:48:01 PM)

Wonderful weekend. DD dropped by Saturday for a nice long visit. Showed me the pictures from her North Dakota trip.

Sunday DS had me over for supper. BBQ steak, baked potatoes and a huge salad. The weather was so nice we sat outside the whole time. Even the mosquitos didn't bother me and usually I'm supper to them.

Hopefully I'll finish the project this week.



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (7/2/2009 11:03:50 PM)

Hurrah!! The project is finished. At least this part of it. Maybe I can get back to this blog a bit more.

G came over last night and we watched a movie. It was a nice visit.

Lovely rain this evening. Temperatures still moderate - I'm enjoying it.



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (7/3/2009 11:18:29 PM)

Well, hopefully I can get back into this again. It's funny when you get side-tracked it can take a while to get back to what you were doing.

High school was full of new changes again. Much bigger school, different teachers for every course. I started to have problems in math and science. These were never my strong suit anyway but now I was having real problems with them. I'm great as long as its adding subtracting, multiplying and dividing, but once we start with algebra and stuff, it's like my brain gets numb [:D]. In addition, the match teacher was an older fellow, clearly close to retirement. He no doubt was good in math, but he spent most of his time with four or five students who were whizzes and pretty much ignored the rest of us. When you asked a question, he very impatiently rattled off an answer but wasn't receptive to taking some time to explain things. So I ended up doing homework for other classes in math. Science (I think it was chemistry) was also a joke. The teacher was a young preppy guy who drove a sports car which he happened to park right outside of the classroom. Most of the time he and the boys in the class were outside talking about his car while the girls chatted. I tried to get by with memorization, but can't claim I really understood much.

I also met by future husband my first year in high school. My best friend was dating his friend and thus we kind of got "encouraged" to get together. He was a little older than me, tall (while I'm short), dark, and in my opinion, good looking. Of course my life became focused on him. My mother seemed to like him enough, but my father was about as friendly as a porcupine. Needless to say over the course of a year, things got pretty hot and heavy, so it was no surprise what the future held.

The summer after grade 10, I got a job at a large health insurance company. The pay was very good (better than many older than me were making) and I really enjoyed it. All the typing classes were finally put to good use. I decided not to go back to school and got no static from my parents about it. I insisted on paying room and board as a way to express my independence.

The next spring I got pregnant. When I asked my mother what my father had said, she replied "Is she knocked up?" We ended up getting married at G's church, as we often attended there on Sunday evenings for their youth group. My best friend was my maid of honor. Actually, I find the whole thing very funny now. My girlfriend cried like I was dying. G, who is quite soft spoken, was so nervous, said his vows very loudly. It was quite surreal. But we were stupid enough to think we were happy. I had just turned seventeen and DH was eighteen and a half. We moved into a basement suite of an old big victorian house not far from where I worked. G was finishing up his high school and working on the weekends with an uncle. We were managing quite well.

Unfortunately I had a tough pregnancy - morning sickness for 7 months, spending time in the hospital because of the dehydration. But when you don't know any better, you just figure that's the way it is. I suppose it was hardly pleasant for G with me spending most of my time with my head over the toilet. And I had this thing for popsicles. Must have eaten a ton of them that summer. But since I couldn't seem to keep much else down, I was happy to find something that tasted good and stayed in my stomach.

We had a lovely daughter. Watching DH watching his daughter was beautiful. I breast fed her until she went on a cup.

By the time DD was born, DH was working as a porter in a hospital. We moved a few times over the next few years. Mostly to basement suites in houses. It was nice because we had access to the yard and we were in residential areas. I stayed home with the baby. Things seemed to be going OK. I got pregnant again DD was five months old. She was very sick for quite some time about the time she was a year old. I was very pregnant then and I often had the nurses say "I'm not sure who to put to bed first, you or her." She had been in and out of the hospital numerous times over that fall and finally came home to stay just before Christmas.

One New Years Day that year I went into labor and landed in hospital. I didn't give birth though until three weeks later. It was so hard. DD had just been home for a few days and here I was in the hospital. Our second child, a son was born. We were very happy.

I suffered from post-partem depression after my son was born and this ended up being the first time I was on medication for it. I couldn't breast feed my son (too worn out), so the medication didn't affect him at all. And of course, I had my hands full with two little ones just fourteen months apart.

I got pregnant again a year after my DS was born, but I miscarried. It was actually a relief. I was starting to think that pregnancy was a chronic condition [:)].

One surprise was that my dad just loved my kids. He played with them by the hour. Of course the kids loved to go see grandma and grandpa. I finally saw what he must have been like with me when I was little.

My dad helped us buy a little house for which I have always been grateful. It's something he did for both my brother and me. I guess he had no words to say what he felt but tried to show it this way.

The years went buy. The kids were soon going to be in school. I think my husband thought I would go back to work, but I never thought about it. We were making it OK financially; I didn't expect alot of material things. I wanted to be a stay at home Mom. It may have been different if the marriage had lasted a little longer, if the kids were in school. But I wasn't ready for that yet.



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (7/4/2009 10:12:13 PM)

I've been thinking alot about things today, but it's been kind of all over the place so this might be a little disjointed.

When I was about fifteen or sixteen, I spent a spent a winter weekend in the mountains. It was an unforgettable experience. I mentioned T and S earlier, the couple who taught our youth Sunday School class and led the youth group at our church. T's dad was the manager of a beautiful mountain lodge resort. At that time, it wasn't open during the winter. T and S invited me and one of my girlfriends from church to come to the lodge for the weekend. We got there quite late on Friday night, so didn't do much more than get settled and go to sleep. During the night it snowed, beautiful light fluffy snow. I remember looking out the window in the morning and gasping at the beauty. Clear skies, sun, mountain peaks and everything covered with glistening snow. I can't really explain how beautiful it was. What really overwhelmed me was the silence. You could hear the silence (I know that doesn't make much sense, but that's how it felt). In the afternoon we got a couple of ski-do's and a couple of toboggans. My friend and I sat on the toboggans while being slowly pulled by the ski-do's. It was just glorious. We would stop occasionally and just look and listen. It was such a God moment. I don't know why this has stayed with me, but I can see it and hear as clearly today as I did then, over forty years ago. This was truly a blessed moment.

I hurt my back when I was sixteen and it has been a problem ever since. We had gone roller-skated (had never done it before and I was NOT good at it [8D]. Some 250 pound guy ran me over and fell on me. I walked around with my back out of whack for about four months and then finally went and had it popped back in. A couple of fairly minor car accidents over the next few years and two pregnancies close together continued to do a number on me.

I also remember how right working felt to me. Somehow I came into my own somehow. Somehow it validated me as a person, not because I was earning money, but because I was doing something that "fit." Maybe because it was totally mine. No one helped me get the job and I was kept on the job because I was good at it. It didn't have anything to do with anyone else.

One winter, when the kids were both small, I got so sick with bronchitis and pneumonia I could hardly stand. My parents were away and there was no one to help. We had to hire someone to look after the kids for a few days. I just remember how awful it felt not to be able to look after my children. DH did as much as he could but he had to work. Don't know why this stands out in my mind so much but it does.

One of our friends decided to go back to school so he moved into the basement (that was the start of my room and board career). F was really good with the kids. My brother also came to stay for about a year. At the time I only had ringer washer and of course with two little ones I was doing laundry every day. I had wash lines hung up all over the basement in the winter time. After we got a washer and dryer F and my brother used to joke that they were so used to ducking when they went downstairs that they still did it even after the lines were down. F also said he was learning some strange habits living with us. When he went out and was pouring drinks, he only filled the glassed about halfway (he was used to pouring for the kids so didn't over fill the glasses). His friends wondered why he was being so stingy. He also said when he went out for dinner he had this terrible urge to reach over and cut up other people's meat (he would often do this for the kids).

Many years later I wondered whether Mom and Dad had gotten grief from the church when I got married. It was somewhat ironic that within the year both my friends from church both got pregnant and married as well. We used to visit back and forth for quite a while; left our kids at home one weekend and went camping.

After working for about six months I started to look for a place of my own. Found a nice little basement suite and was planning to move. My Mom got really upset at this so we talked and I said I'd stay. Looking back, I don't know if that was the right decision or not.

Somehow going out was easy with one child. I suppose breastfeeding also made it easy. But I found it more difficult to haul around stuff for two kids. It wasn't always easy to get babysitters so I started to stay home and DH would go out on his own. Can't say this really bothered me that much, but I suppose it should have.



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (7/4/2009 11:10:10 PM)

Looking back, it's hard to pinpoint exactly where the marriage started to fall apart. We had the usual arguments now and again, but I didn't think they were that important. No doubt I used marriage as a way to escape home. Between the two of us, I was the stronger personality. No doubt this had been important to me, even though it wasn't a conscious thing on my part at the time. I see now how selfish I was. DH wasn't comfortable talking about alot of things (shades of my Dad - how Freudian is that?!). But he was never a bad person. Still isn't. I think part of the problem was that I was twenty four going on thirty six and at twenty six he suddenly felt like he had lost his youth. Can't really blame him for that. He was a good provider and a good father.

It didn't end over night. He told me in January that he would be leaving but it was a few months before he actually left. When I asked him once why he was leaving he said "You've changed and I'm getting nervous." I have a strange sense of humor. I burst out laughing and said "If this is the first time in twenty six years that you've been nervous, you've been getting away with murder." I think we just grew apart. I think we always cared about each other, we should couldn't live together.

He moved in with some girl he met. But oddly enough, he ended up spending more time at home over the next few months than he had during the previous year. Everytime I turned around it seemed he was there. For quite some time I played the role of the "other woman" which was rather strange but somehow empowering.

Over the next few years we still did quite a few things together. For instance we attended weddings together of mutual friends, he was the photographer for my brother's wedding and we attended as a family.

He managed to support us for the first year. Then he took a job that was on commission so I had to go apply for welfare. That was a very humbling experience. I just wasn't ready to go to work yet. It was more important to me that the kids were well settled in school and I felt stronger. Applying for welfare was very humiliating for me, but I was grateful that I qualified for it. I was taking in room and board students from a nearby technical college so the amount welfare gave me was minimal. I was only on it for about a year. When I started to work full time I phoned to tell them I no longer needed help. The agent I dealt with was very kind. She said they could continue to help me with school supplies or things like that for the kids, but I declined. She said it had been a pleasure to help me and if I ever needed anything I was to call her. I thought that was pretty nice.

The feeling stronger in the paragraph above refers to the breakdown I had about six months after DH left. I think I had been trying so hard to be strong (and at least on the surface as doing a good job). It was so silly how it happened. We had a while picket fence around the front of the house and the first summer after he left, I spent weeks scraping and painting that fence. Got a great tan that year, that's for sure. One evening I went over to a neighbors for coffee. Her husband made some comment over some paint on my shoe and I burst into tears. I cried for days and couldn't stop. I finally went to the doctor and was put on some pills which helped. I also found a counselor to meet with. The counselor would come to play an important role in my life over the years. It was a difficult time but also a time of growth for me. DH (hereinafter called G.) had the kids every other weekend so I timed my sessions for the Friday of those weeks. Counseling took alot out of me and many weekends I would just sleep. Overall I would say that going for counseling was one of the best things I have ever done.

One of my friends at the time had a very strange reaction to my going for counseling. It was almost like she was angry about it. I couldn't understand this reaction. I said there was nothing wrong with getting help when you needed it. But she still was very upset about it. I think she felt threatened in some way but I still don't understand it. A few years later she asked my advice about it as she felt the need for some help and I was very glad to be of assistance.

I used to attend bingo at our community league twice a week. It was just a small community hall and it was just a way to get out once in a while. No big money. On one occasion though, I won $160 which was really exciting for me. I was still on welfare at the time. Mom agreed to take the kids and I had my first real holiday. I took a plane to another city in the province (only a couple of hundred miles away). Went camping with my brother and his wife and spent some time with girlfriend I had gone to school with. I was only gone for about a week or ten days. Then I got a phone call saying I had to come home. I asked why. Apparently G's parents were in town and were visiting my parents. I said "So?" I don't know if they thought they could still save our marriage or what. So I reluctantly came back. G met me at the bus station (couldn't afford the plane both ways) and went to my parents house. I can't even remember the conversation. I don't know why I had to cut my vacation short and neither did G.

The one thing that some people had a real hard time with was the fact that G and I remained friends. I know that it's not unusual for hard feelings to go along with the breakup of a marriage. I'm not saying breaking up was easy. It was devastating. In some ways, I don't think I ever got over it. But what would be the point in being mad all the time? I'm just so grateful that we were able to get along, mostly for the kids' sake but also for our sake. I suppose people thought if we could get along, why not stay married. Which is a valid point I suppose, but it wasn't likely to happen. No doubt whenever you do something outside of people's expectations, it makes them uncomfortable. It wasn't always easy; there were times that things came up that put us at odds, but overall we respected each other and I think truly cared about each other.

All of the stress I had been experiencing finally caught up to my body. I started having painful muscle spasms in my back and neck. It finally got so bad that I had to wear a collar around my neck because I couldn't hold up my head and I lost the strength in my right arm. The doctor's couldn't seem to figure out what was causing it. This went on for about three months. I swallowed pain killer like they were going out of style. They barely touched the pain. About all they did was make me start to go deaf. The kids had to pull me out of bed in the morning and help me dress. Somehow I managed to do what had to be done. Finally one doctor decided that my nerve endings were starving (whatever that means). We tried one last prescription and it finally went away. I was working part time through some of this (see below). I remember one night calling G to come and take me to the hospital because I couldn't stand the pain. As I lay in the emergency room behind the usual curtains, I had a hard time trying not to laugh. The fellow in the next bed and his friend were talking. There was no doubt that they were both either drunk or high. Every other word was a swear word and it was the most ridiculous conversation I had ever heard. I wanted to chuckle so badly but it hurt too much. What a silly evening. They gave me a shot and I went back to work the next day. After this first round of this went away I was all right until it hit me again about six months later. This next time wasn't quite so severe. I was working full time by then but managed to get through it. For years after that I would get really paranoid if I started to feel any kind of spasms coming on. While I would get these things off and on in the future. they were never as bad or as long as before

How I got that first job after G left was kind of interesting. His girlfriend worked at this big agency that oversaw a multitude of charitable organizations and they had big campaigns every year. She suggested that I might want to work part time when they needed help. So I took up the offer. After a few months they offered me a full time job and I took it. There were not problems with us both working at the same place and I enjoyed the work.



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (7/5/2009 11:13:53 PM)

Guess I'm not a very organized blogger. Oh well. My mind seems to be all over the place, remembering here, there and everyone.

It was interesting being pregnant. It was good that I didn't know any better. I had morning sickness all day long. Don't know how I managed to work until my eighth month. I landed in hospital a few times for dehydration. The worst episode I was in for quite a while. I remember going through processing - some resident asking a bunch of questions, then finally into bed. Then this poor terrified person came in. He was kind of nerdy looking and he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but where he was. If I remember right, he was there to get the IV inserted into my arm. He was sooooo nervous. He dropped the whole kit n' caboodle and had to start all over again. Meanwhile, I was just so tired I wanted everyone to go away. But I had to smile at the poor fellow because he was so uptight. I don't know if he was a male nurse, or some blood work technician or an intern and at that point it didn't really matter. Another day a female technician came in to set things up for the IV drip. She inserted the needle in wrong. After a while I could see my arm was swelling up and was getting sore. I called a nurse who in turn called this girl back. Boy was she mad!! She yanked it all out and did it over. I told her not to take it out on me - it was my arm, after all, she was poking at. She sure was a grouch. Another day I was on a six person ward. This nurse comes in with about 10 IV bottles. I figured we were all going to get a few. Nope!! They were all for me. What a lucky girl I was [8|].

As the baby got more active inside me, DH and I would watch in fascination as my stomach would go through these weird gyrations; caving in on one side and being all big on the other side; watching her foot pressing on my stomach. One night she kicked so hard she woke DH up!

I remember being in labor with my first child. DH said beside me telling jokes to keep my mind occupied. Trouble was, the punchline came the same time the next contraction did! It's hard to laugh and do your breathing at the same time. [:D]

In those days, they kept you in the hospital for a week after giving birth, which to me makes sense. I think its nuts the way they go home on the same day or the next day now. Especially if they have young ones at home. You need that time to recover. Oh well, guess I'm showing my age.

It had been months since I had seen my feet so I was looking forward to seeing them again. However, because I was breastfeeding I suddenly had this very large breastage. In those days the nurses would give you these thick pads to stick into your bra to take of leakage. So again, I couldn't see my feet. They had something called a sitz bath that was supposed to help the stitches heal. Unfortunately I'm very short. I could get myself properly set up, but because my feet weren't touching the ground I had real problems getting out. It seemed my doctor often chose to make his rounds then so he would stand outside yelling at me, asking how I was doing with me yelling back. Then after a while I would have to holler for someone to help me get out of there. Oh, the joys! They also had this big warm light thing that they stuck under the sheets on the bed and basically tanned your bottom (this was also supposed to hurry healing). I gather these things are no longer the norm. I know I was still sitting on a rubber donut and many pillows after I went home.

DD was a pretty good baby. She had a little colic but not too bad. But her regular crying time was from 5 to 7 PM. Music to eat by. After supper we would often take her for a ride. For some reason the sound of the car would instantly put her to sleep. We had a little volkswagen that was NOT very warm. So while Mom and Dad froze, DD was all bundled up and having a lovely sleep. She also loved to go shopping. We would put her seat in a shopping cart and just walk around. She was born in November so stores already had Christmas lights and decorations up. She was just fascinated with all the lights and shiny things. She also enjoyed the sound of the vacuum cleaner - if I turned it on, she would stop crying. Go figure[:D] We had about a 20 gallon fish tank and she also loved to watch the multicolored fish swimming around.

By the time she was three weeks old she was pretty much sleeping through the night. She would have bad nights now and again but overall she was a pretty easy baby.

I breastfed her until she was nine months old even though I was five months pregnant with my second. So much for the old wives's tale that you're less likely to get pregnant when you breast feed. I had some morning sickness this time too, but not nearly as bad as the first time. This time it only lasted for a couple of months. She had a whole bunch of ear infections and colds the following fall. All the antibiotics affected her stomach so she ended up the hospital with gastro-enteritis (spelling?) She was in and out steadily over a period of two or three months. It was very difficult to see her so sick. I was so upset. One day I came in and found this large nurse trying to hold her down on her lap to feed her with a bottle. I had filled out numerous papers each time she was admitted stating that she DID NOT take a bottle. She was on a cup. Poor baby was crying and fighting it; she didn't know what she was supposed to to with the bottle. Believe me, they didn't try that again. Whenever they had to take blood from her, they would make me leave the room. She had a pretty good set of lungs, that's for sure! It usually took three of them to hold her still. But once it was over, she was all smiles again. I kind of felt sorry for her pediatrician. She would take one look at him and start to cry. He felt so bad. But I'm so glad I was able to spend the days and part of the evening with her.

Finally, abour four days before Christmas, she came home for good. We had a wonderful Christmas, then on New Years Eve I started false labor. I was in the hospital for the whole month of January. Mom took care of her so I knew she was in good hands, but I missed her so much. We didn't dare bring her back to the hospital to visit in case she picked something up again.

They finally induced labor on January 20th. While I was just lying around waiting for things to get going, a number of women were in the delivery rooms. One in particular was a real yeller. One of the older nurses came in to ask whether this was upsetting me. I looked like any young girl in those days - long straight hair and of course, small in stature. I said no, I was fine; I had been here before. She got somewhat offended because of course I looked very young (and was very young). I guess she could forgive me one child but not two.

They got me all set up and I fell asleep. So then the nurses got upset because it wasn't working properly. So we start over again. This time it worked. My beautiful son was born at about ten that evening. They finally got me back to my room and a nurse asked if I would like some tea and toast. I said sure, but I asked if I could get up and to the bathroom. I was feeling pretty good. She kind of hemmed and hawed and then said it was OK. Next thing I know, I'm waking up lying on the floor with a pillow under my head, with the nurse leaning over me, shaking her finger at me saying "Don't you tell anyone I let you get out of bed so soon...!" So we got me back into bed, I had my tea and toast and went to sleep. The next morning the usual array of people came in and out; all nicely asked how I was feeling and I said fine. Then while waiting for breakfast, I pulled up the section of the bed table that has a mirror in it and got quite a shock. I had pushed so hard during labor that I had broken all the blood vessels in my eyes and all the way down my face and into my throat. I looked a real mess. No wonder everybody seemed to be so concerned about how I was feeling. [:D]

It was good to get home to my family again. Unfortunately one of us must have been carrying some of the germs from when DD was sick, because DS ended up with gastro as well. He didn't have to go to hospital but it was hard having him sick, poor little guy. Unfortunately I was too worn out to breastfeed him and I've always felt bad about that. But once he got going he grew to be a happy little fellow.

DD was still recovering and eating like a horse. Twice a day she polished off three cans of baby food and lunch and dinner. One with potatoes, one with spinach and one with LIVER. She had a huge bowl of baby poridge for breakfast and fruit and pudding for snacks. She had lost so much weight being sick, but she didn't lose any time putting it back on.

I ended up having postpartem depression after my second child. I took medication for it and things evened out. They had some strange prescriptions back then. I wasn't supposed to eat cheese while taking these pills. One day I forgot and had a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch and cried the rest of the day. [:)] Didn't do that again while I was on the medication. It was a real sacrifice, because I LOVE cheese. [:)]



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (7/7/2009 11:04:21 PM)

You sure learn alot when you have your second child. You have your first, get pregnant again and think, OK, I've done this before, I should be able to do this. And of course, you do. What I meant was that you learn how different your children are. DS was a pretty good baby too. But his personality was totally different. While DD was a little morel laid back like her daddy, DS was more like me (poor little guy [:)]); a little more uptight. His sister was always looking out for him. He actually had her pretty well trained. All he had to do was make some noises at her and off she'd go to get whatever he wanted. I tried to tell her he had to learn to get things himself, but I suppose he bugged her less if she just did it.

Some days got a little hairy with two little ones. I remember a day which wasn't going too well. I sat at the top of the stairs, heading down for more laundry, and just cried. The kids just cheerfully came over, gave me a hug and said "Dat's OK Mommy." So what can you do but hug them back, laugh a little and keep on going. There were days when they didn't like each other much and, ready to pull my hair out, I would grab one under each arm and put each one in their room, doors closed with gusto with me saying "and you're not coming out until you're ready to get along." Before you knew it they were sneaking into each others room and I was downstairs chuckling. I think I enforced nap times and regular bed times more for my sake than theirs [:D].

I was very fortunate when it came to child care when I went back to work. A young lady whom I had gotten to know in the neighborhood (just down the block actually) loved kids. Because of certain health problems, she found it difficult to work full time. So she basically stationed herself at my house and made lunch for the kids when they came home at noon and also watched them until I got home. She also babysat for a couple of other ladies who worked and whose children went to school with mine. Because of some family problems, she actually moved in with me for a while which was really great for me.

I stayed at the charitable organization for perhaps a year and a half. G was working as a mortgage broker at the time and he kept telling me how he thought I would enjoy working as a legal secretary. There was one firm in particular that he dealt with and was quite friendly with one of the younger lawyers there. Out of boredom more than anything, I submitted a resume. I didn't really think I would get the job as I had no experience in the field at all. A couple of months went by and I forgot about it. Then one day I got a call to go for an interview. Again, some time passed and I didn't really think about it much, but eventually I got a call saying I had the job. Then I really started to get nervous, wondering what I had got myself into.

This young lawyer had been without a secretary for some time, so his whole filing cabinet was filled with backlogged tapes that needed to be done. Yikes! I had never used a dictaphone before! Oh well, I had managed to take minutes at meetings at the other place and I didn't have shorthand either, so what can you do but fly by the seat of your pants? I never thought of myself as being adventuresome, but I must have had at least a little bit of a wild streak. Luckily my boss was a very patient man and he was also willing to train someone and I was definitely willing to learn.

G was good when I had to work late. He took the kids to doctor's appointments as I didn't drive and it was harder for me to get away from the job. He pretty much made his own hours then. If I was working late he would go and fix them supper and stay with them until I got home. I appreciated this more than having child support.

I had kind of walked into a lion's den at the law office. It wasn't very large; half a dozen lawyers and perhaps eight staff. All the secretaries/paralegals were made at them because there raises had been really lousy. The old story of wanting a lot but not wanting to pay for it. They kind of took it out on my by not wanting to answer my questions, not being particularly helpful about how the office worked, etc. I was able to ignore this because my boss was very accessible. As the months passed we all became pretty good friends.

One evening when I was working late, trying to get through some of the backlog, I received a nasty phone call from a realtor who was all uptight because he hadn't received his commissions yet. I was too ignorant at that point to be of much help to him. He phoned back the next day and apologized. In the meantime I had found out what I could do about the problem. I told him he was lucky that I was still learning the business because normally when someone took a strip out of me, I returned the favor. He chuckled and we ended on a better note.

The work was very interesting to me because while there are similarities on all real estate files, there are always little quirks you have to learn about and it certainly keeps your mind on alert. I seemed to catch on very quickly and within a few months we were closing deals left and right. This was during the heyday of the late 70's. We also did the mortgages for different lenders and believe me, they all have slightly different requirements. During the summer, which is when most people move (after the kids are out of school), the work was unrelenting. On the 15th of the month and the end of the month, I would clear off my desk and spend the day on the phone, trying to keep brokers, banks, realtors, buyers and purchasers calm and everybody into or out of their homes as the situation required. We would have people coming in to sign documents until 10:00 PM. It was a wild time. But like life in general, the stress and pressure got to me in the end. For the first two years I worked in law I was sick every holiday I took.

I think at that point in my life, I needed to feel like I was good at something. A marriage break down takes a big chunk out of any self esteem you may have had. Being good at my job gave me a little of that back. And I don't think I would have been able to stay at a job that was totally boring and repetitious. My brain would have been fried. I needed the mental challenge.

April fools the second year I worked there, we girls played a (not very nice) trick on the lawyers. One of the girls made up a mass resignation form. I think it stated a number of things we weren't happy about. We all signed the document. The office was kind of long and narrow with all the lawyers offices down one side. The girl who had made the form up was the paralegal to the senior partner (very daring lady [:D]. She took the form to her boss and then we waited. It was hilarious (at least for us). Doors were opening and closing, lawyers going in and out of each other's offices. We, of course, kept on working, trying to pretend nothing was happening. Finally, once all the doors had had a workout, we popped up with "April Fool's Day." Actually, raises were pretty good that year. Got to give the lawyers credit, they took the joke pretty well. [:D]

It was a pretty young group of people, with the oldest lawyer no more than 40 (if that), so we had some fun times as well. Friday after work, most of us met at a nice bar and lounge nearby. They called it "happy hour" back then and they served delicious munchies, almost good enough to be called supper. We'd go for a few drinks to end the week, nothing out of hand. While there was lots of work, stress and pressure, it was nice to have a little fun.

Of course the market changed, as it always does. so then I learned how to do foreclosures. Again it was a baptism by fire - we started off with fifty and didn't have a clue! For a few years I was doing both residential real estate and forclosures and the load got pretty heavy. But again, the challenge was there.



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (7/8/2009 8:37:45 PM)

I'm so grateful for the childhood my children had. By this I mean the sense of community and caring where I live. All my block and the block behind me was like one big yard. In reality it was only 4 families on these two blocks that had children, but we all looked out for each other and for each other's kids. There were eight children who all played together, each one year a part, starting at two all the way to ten. They went from house to house, playing in sandboxes, running around yards, playing in wading pools, had sleepovers. You never worried about them because you knew that where ever they were, someone was looking out for them. If they were at your house, you kissed the boo-boos and provided the class of milk and if somebody fell at your house you would do the same. When you wanted your children home for supper, you generally just hollered out the back door and someone would hear and pass it on.

The children used their imagination to play; they would share their toys and make a little town. As they got older, some got involved in hockey, or soccer or music lessons. But there wasn't this need that seems so prevalent now to have them signed up for something every night of the week. I realized the world has changed in the last thirty to thirty five years but I find it kind of sad that everybody has to be somewhere ALL the time. I think children now don't really know what to do with themselves; they have to constantly be AT something or doing stuff that costs money all the time. Well enough for my rant. I guess my age is showing.

Children were also taught responsibility much earlier. The school my children attended to grade nine was only a couple of blocks away. Across the street from the school was a little "mom & pop" store. When the kids were pre-school age, we would often walk over to the store and buy some penny candy (they still had the cases where you could get five for a penny, or ten for a nickel). By the time they were ready for kindergarten we would let them lead the way to the store, teaching them how to cross streets properly. In time they would go in a group, the oldest in the bunch looking out for the little ones. No one drove their kids to school although you might take a walk and meet them on the way home sometimes. Of course in those days you didn't have much choice where your children went to school; you went to whatever school was the closest. You're only choice was Catholic or Protestant. Teachers were still pretty much respected. Sure, they might have a teacher they didn't like very much one year, but someday they would have to work with people they don't particularly like either. I think some of those lessons were just as important as the subjects they learned.

My children are almost middle-aged now and it's enjoyable to hear them talking about the "old days," how it used to be when they were kids. They are grateful for the rules they had, that they weren't spoiled, that they were expected to do their part. It was not idyllic by any means. We had the usual ups and downs. The teen years definitely had their rough spots, but we came through it all right. As a parent you don't like to see your child make mistakes that may hurt them, but in the end all you can do is pray that they learn something from the fall, pick themselves up and keep going. I'm so grateful that they are both hard workers and neither had a sense of entitlement. They were both welcome to stay at home if they were pursuing their education and even when they worked. However, if they were working, they were required to pay room and board. It was a nominal amount (I certainly didn't make any money to speak of from it [:)], but it was the principle that mattered. DS moved out a couple of times before finally getting settled. DD didn't move out until she was twenty four. She moved to a townhouse with a girlfriend from work. Sadly, shortly after they moved, the friend was diagnosed with leukemia and in the spring she passed away. This really shook my DD so she moved back home for a little while before getting a place by herself.

Don't know why my thoughts were so fixed on my children so much today. But I'm just blogging with whatever happens on my mind. My Mom is coming over for a couple of days. Plan to just have fund and fellowship. Looking at beautiful pictures I've received in e-mails, singing some old hymns and having a few laughs. I pray that God will bless this time together.



Bountiful -> RE: Musings and Stuff (7/9/2009 11:10:18 PM)

Well, I don't know what to say. Mom came over last night and went home this evening. I'm so upset I don't know what to say. We had our moments, but I guess it just wasn't meant to be. A part of me wants to vent, but I'm afraid if I get started I'll never quit. I'm afraid I'll cry until I choke. I prayed so hard that this would be good for both of us. Have to leave this for now. Can't deal with it. It's too painful.



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