It is the little things that get me. Rolando, Miss Universe, and I decided to cook supper at their house tonight and play a game of Sequence. It is the one game we can all agree on right now. Rolando wanted to know what kind of potatoes we should make to go with the bbq beef sandwiches. I was excited, it doesn't take much, about making French fries. I don't do much frying, so it always seems festive when I do. As I watched everybody coming in for plate after plate of fries my chest tightened and I had trouble catching my breath.
I knew if Jason were alive we would be doing this at my house. He was also one of those people who is easily pleased. Whenever I cooked his favorite foods he would act as if I had just built him a house. Sandwiches and fries were one of his favorite meals.  He would eat enough fries for 3 people. If there were any left he would eat them at two in the morning. A year ago, when he was healthy, he would have had several of his friends over. I would fry enough for all of them. The house would be full of noise and laughter.
Instead I am at home in a silent house. If not for this baby sleeping in my bed I would be all alone. I managed to calm myself several times this evening. By eleven thirty though I was ready to come home and cry myself to sleep.
I probably should explain why I have a baby in my bed, but that is a story for tomorrow.

Grief is a funny creature. For several hours a day it is a shadow lurking behind you. Then suddenly for no noticeable reason it springs, covering you to a point of near smothering. Sometimes during the day I can be distracted to the point of enjoying myself. Then the overwhelming guilt takes over.

There are moments of clarity. Yesterday a woman came in and was complaining about her day. She casually said that she shouldn't complain because there was always somebody having a worse day than you. Feeling sorry for myself I thought, "No, I'm pretty sure I'm having the worst fucking day imaginable." The next customer is a lady I know well. Her daughter was born with a serious disease that for eight years has kept her confined to a bed, or a stroller on outings. She is not expected to live much past her childhood. Yet I have never seen this woman sit around feeling sorry for herself. It hit me that I have so much to be thankful for.

I loved watching Jason during his childhood. He ran, climbed, jumped. I watched him play football, baseball, basketball. He had girlfriends. He had fathers chasing him out of houses. I sat with him all night after his first broken heart.

Jason was one of those people who was honest to the point of embarrassing people. He would tell stories of his late night escapades at the breakfast table. My mom would say, "You just said that to your grandma!" One evening, after visiting his girlfriend, he came home and pulled off his shirt. He asked me if he had scratches down his back. Lee is watching television and says wryly, "We get it; your getting laid."

There are tons of things Jason is going to miss out on. There are moments that as his mother I am going to feel as if my heart is getting ripped out. Much like Prometheus I am going to constantly be healed only to be opened up again. This will continue for the rest of my life. Happy moments are going to be as bad as the sad ones, because he won't be there to share them with us. However, I do have many beautiful memories of my son enjoying life. I realize things like this in moments of clarity.

Then, while in a crowd, watching Lanes basketball games tears spring to my eyes. The thought that my boys will never all three be together again crushes me. All of the best days of my life are behind me.

living

The board secretary, who is who answered the phone when I called the school, arrived first. She sat on the freezing ground with her arms around me. I watched Rolando's work pick up pull away from his mom's house. For the past two months he has been in the habit of getting coffee at his mom's then driving slowly by my house to see is Jason is outside smoking. If Jason is outside Rolando will stop and talk to him, keep him company in the morning.
He stops in front of me and asks if everything is ok. I shake my head and motion for him to get out and come to me. I tell him what has happened. I point to Jason. From the street we can see him through the doorway. "Ah shit" Rolando said. He wants to cut him down. I am not sure we should disturb him before the police and coroner arrive. Miss Universe comes, Rolando must have called her.  She asks who would like coffee or tea. Everybody declined except for me. I asked for tea. At this instant I realized I was still living. The police arrive. He hangs a blanket on the doorway. Rolando goes to the school to pick up the kids. The ambulance arrives, but we all have to wait for the coroner. I don't know why this takes over an hour, but it does.
After much crying and hugging the kids decide to walk back to the school and pick up their belongings. I am glad they leave. I do not want them to watch the body be cut down and leave in the ambulance. As they load up his body it strikes me that this is the last time I will be with my son. I follow the ambulance as it pulls away.
We all go to Rolando's and Miss Universe's house to call the rest of the family. While out on the street I keep thinking about the funeral. I cannot imagine having somebody who does not know Jason doing the service. Since it has been years since we have associated with a church, so I decide a preacher is unlikely. Then I remember that one of Jason's favorite teachers has retired and took a position as a Methodist minister. The high school gym seems a fitting place to say goodbye to our baby.
I realize that after three cups of tea I really need to use the bathroom. This one act seems pivotal to me. If I go that means I am moving on. I have always thought that if anything happened to one of my children I would just lie in bed and waste away. Suddenly it is time to make that decision. I go to the bathroom. I am moving on. Every mundane thing I do means I am living in a world in which my son is dead.

12/12/13

When I wake the next day Jason still is not home. Lane goes to school. I am glad I have the day off. Jason is always a mess the day after a relapse. I don't expect him till around noon so I take a nap. The phone rings at 11:30. Not recognizing the number I answer it. It is Valley Hope, the rehab center that would not take him back. The person on the phone asked how Jason is doing. She said that she had been wondering about him. I try to give the generic answer that he is fine. She keeps talking. I start to cry. I tell her that Jason disappeared the night before and I do not know where he is. She tells me she will keep us in her prayers. I'm sure you know what I was thinking I need not type it out.
I had already planned to have a few friends over that evening. I have a friend that I have not seen since Jason's overdose. My time had been focused on Jason. I did get out some for Lane's ballgames but not much else. I had invited her over along with some other friends who she had not seen either. I am thinking about cancelling just in case Jason needs me to sit with him.
As it gets closer and closer to five and I still have not heard from my son I decide to clean up the house and go ahead with my get together. While picking up the house I find his phone. No wonder he has not answered my texts. He has always been the best of my sons about answering me. Even at his worst times he will at least tell me he loves me. People start showing up at 4:30. My friends bring pizza and wine. We laugh and talk for a few hours before everybody bundles back up to go home.
I wake at three in the morning and am worried about Jason. It is extremely cold out. I am worried that whoever he is with could not deal with him and kicked him out. He could freeze to death outside. Without his phone he will have no way to call me. I fall back to sleep around 5:00 am.
When I wake up at eight I decide I will call all of his friends today and see if anyone has seen him. I am also going to put out a missing person report. Oh yes, it is my ex's, his dad's, birthday today I will send him a text to wish him a happy birthday. I am not sure what I will tell him about Jason.
I put on my coat to walk to work.
As I walk down the driveway I look into an outbuilding window. There is Jason. My heart leaps in excitement and relief. "Jason is home." I say out loud. I yell his name. He does not answer me. He is staring at the wall. This is typical for the day after a relapse. After his last relapse I found him in an empty apartment my sister was moving out of. He stood and talked to me while looking straight at the wall not even turning his head towards me. He was hungry. I told him I would bring him biscuits and gravy. As I turned to leave he said, "What no hug?"
He still does not answer me as I turn towards the doorway. I decide I will be a little late to work so I can get him inside and fed. Then I see the rope. I drop everything and run to him. I spin him around to see his face. It is rested and peaceful. His eyes are closed. His lips and tongue are dark purple almost black.  I run back out screaming. There is a pickup driving by. I run across my yard to stop it. I stop myself. Run back to where I dropped my phone. I call 911 and tell them my son is dead. I call in a replacement to work for me. I call his dad. I call the school. I do not want Lane to hear about this on Facebook or through a text. I call a good friend who I know will come sit through this with me. I wait for the ambulance.

Jason is lying on the couch when I get home. I sit down next to him. The skin around his eyes is tight. I can tell he is struggling. We talk about his day. He spent the day with friends and smoked pot. I ask him if he thinks the pot made him worse. Normally I would agree that pot is better than meth, but it can also cause schizophrenia in young people. Given what Jason is already dealing with I have not thought it is a good idea for him. The one time since his overdose that he has tried pot it definitely made him worse.

The day after that first time we were driving to a doctors appointment. He was irritable and told me not to talk if I would not tell him what was going on. He was convinced there was a global conspiracy against him. He was sure I knew about it, but could not tell him on fear of death. I broached the idea that pot smoking had worsened his psychosis. I was using phrases like 'do you think' and 'have you noticed' trying to be gentle. Finally he looked at me and said, "Should I smoke pot? Yes or no?" "No." I answered. "Ok, then I won't." He said as he laid his head back and closed his eyes. As far as I know this is the first time since then.

He thinks it is the nutmeg making him worse. The website had said it could take a while to see the effects. I mention that maybe he should be googling ways to get better instead of ways to get high. He shakes his head and laughs gently. "Mama, I'm going to have these voices in my head the rest of my life. I might as well have some fun too." I disagree. I tell him the medicine is starting to work. He just needs to give it time. It was not one night of meth that changed his brain. He asks me to read to him. I say yes, but can I get something to eat first. I have been out all day and know that lying down reading will put me to sleep. I would like a cup of tea and some cookies before bed.

I am eating my cookies, that I dunk in my tea, when he walks by. He has been in his room. He has a resolute look on his face. "Never mind mom." He says as he walks by. "I am going out to smoke a cigarette." I sit on the couch and flip through channels while I wait for him to come back inside. Lane walks in about thirty minutes later. I ask if he noticed his brother outside. He did not, but his car is still there. I wait another fifteen minutes. It is midnight. I am exhausted. I walk outside and yell his name. I look in his car. I cannot find him. There had been a couple of cars come by while I was inside waiting. I assume he has called a friend to pick him up. I go to bed and sleep fitfully.

Heading for relapse?

With the drive being so far I knew I would only be able to visit Jason on Sundays. I sent Lee a text telling him I would be in Newton on Sunday and that we should meet for lunch. I feel bad that I don't see my oldest son often enough. Jason had wanted me to drive to Lawrence a few weeks before this to visit Lee with him. He had picked a week that I could not take off of work. I seem to have too many of those.

Wednesday I get a call from Prairie View. They are releasing Jason the next day. I need to be there to transfer him to a rehab facility, which they are still trying to find one to take him, or to drive him home with me. The social worker is trying hard to place him in a dual facility that can deal with his mental illness as well as his addiction problem. She called Valley Hope and tried to talk them into taking him back but they refused. This irritated me. No mom likes to hear that somebody does not want their son. If they only knew how lovely he could be.

When I get there I meet with Jason and the social worker. One look at his eyes and know he is having a bad day. I mention how fidgety he is to her. I was really encouraged on Monday, but now I am having second thoughts. Maybe he should stay a bit longer. I never imagined they would let him out so soon. I had expected to be visiting him at least two more Sundays. The doctor had signed off on him being no longer a danger to himself or others.

On the drive home he crawled in the backseat to finish a short story he had started writing. I think this is a good sign. I had been encouraging him to keep a journal and do something creative. When we finish we listen to Nirvana. It is cold and snowy for the last half of the drive. On road trips like this I always appreciate my children. All three of them are good travelling partners. Jason and I like much of the same music and have several things to talk about. He tells me about going to the gym and playing basketball. He is excited about the fact that he can run now. Despite the cold he has me drop him off a block from home so he can show me how fast he can run. His enthusiasm makes me laugh. In so many ways he is still my baby boy.

He seems better that weekend. In the nights to follow he does not climb in to bed with me. I take this as a sign that his medication is starting to work. On Saturday I decide to go out with some friends for drinks. I have not done this is months. I was afraid I would overdo it and I was right. To many tequila shots land me in bed sick by midnight. My sister, Miss Universe, came over and spent the night talking to Jason. Her, Lane, and Jason take some adorable selfies. The next day Jason sleeps in; they were up most of the night. I go have lunch with some friends.

That evening Jason is rummaging through the cabinets. He asks where I keep the nutmeg. I ask him what he is doing as I look for it. Cooking is his answer. What are you cooking I say as I look around the kitchen at zero other ingredients. I read online that two tablespoons of nutmeg will get you high he tells me. I look in the jar. There is maybe two teaspoons left. What does it do I ask. It causes auditory hallucinations is his answer. That is what we are trying to cure! I am glad I do not have more for him to take.

After work on Monday he is excited to show me that he has found a way to get high with tabasco sauce. It is a complicated procedure that includes putting some in his eye. I shake my head. I have a school board meeting that night. I make him a couple of sandwiches before I leave. I warn him that the tabasco sauce cannot possibly be good for his eye. I fear he is headed for another relapse. I am frustrated that I do not know how to stop it.

The next morning I call and remind him he has a psychiatrist appointment that afternoon. I arrange for my sister, Fria Chica, to take him. Later when I get home from work he still is not home. I had talked to Jason's dad earlier in the day and had learned from him that Jason had went to Hugoton and hung out with a couple of friends that morning. He talked to his dad on the phone and was cheerful. It really does seem like he is getting back to being himself. I leave for Lane's out of town ball game.

On the way to the game Jason calls me he asks for $20. For what I ask. Oh, you know I just want to buy stuff. I tell him it will be a couple of hours before I am back in town. He wants to drive to me and get it. I tell him I do not want to give him money for anything he wants that bad. Crap, now I am sure he is heading for relapse.

Turning point?

Saturday morning I was at work. My cell rang. I usually do not answer it at work, but since Jason has been sick I have been breaking the rules more often. It was Valley Hope. They apologized but said they were not able to handle someone with Jason's level of psychosis. He refused to go to class and just sat in his room all day. I had noticed when I dropped him off, and on the phone, that nobody seemed to bat an eye when I mentioned his psychosis. When the admitting nurse asked why he wanted to come to rehab he told her he needed to get rid of the voices in his head. She just went on to the next question. I thought this meant they were used to dealing with meth addicts. Now I think they did not understand what we were talking about. They wanted me to come pick him up. They were going to recommend he go to Prairie View. I had no idea what that meant. I told them I would come, but that it would be evening before I arrived. They seemed relieved.

I was on my way when they called again. Jason had tried to escape so they were transporting him to Prairie View themselves. I called my sister who is a nurse in the Wichita area. She looked up Prairie View and told me it looked like a good option. I called the facility. They told the visiting hours for Saturday and Sunday. I was not going to make it in time for that night. I stayed the night in Wichita and came as soon as I could on Sunday.

The minute they told Jason his mom was there he smiled and put on his jacket. He knew I was coming to rescue him. I told him we should talk about what was best for him. This place may be a good idea. He showed me his room, before we realized that was against the rules. He was mad when I suggested he stay. He told me to leave and went to his room to lie down. Knowing him as well as I do I sat down and read a magazine. The staff seemed nice. I liked the way they interacted with the patients. I had been surprised to see that he was in the psych ward instead of in the rehab portion of the building, not because he did not need it, but because I did not know it existed. I thought this was just another rehab facility.  The patients here all seemed to like the place. I talked to some of them and did not here any complaints.

Jason came out two more times to talk to me. He was pissed each time I suggested he stay and give the place a try. Finally, I told him what I had just been told a few minutes before, I did not have a choice. He had been committed and could not leave without being released by doctor. I made sure they would not let him leave without contacting me. I was worried about him being lost outside in the cold without a heavy coat, money, or cell phone. After several hours in the waiting room I decided to drive back home. It broke my heart to leave him while he was still angry with me.

I was still driving home when Jason's father called me. Upon leaving the facility I had called him with Jason's contact information. He had called Jason and he was not angry anymore. Several times during the phone call he had made his dad promise to call me and apologize for how he had treated me. It lightened my heart a little, but I knew he was still hurt. I also knew this was probably the best place for him. Monday morning he would meet with a doctor. This could be the turning point.

Monday evening I called him. He had liked his doctor. His medicine had been changed to a faster acting anti-psychotic. My son was cheerful. There was yelling in the background. He told me he needed to go because he was watching a football game with his friends. This is what it is supposed to be like when you call your 19 year old son I thought as I hung up. That night I slept better than I had in months.

getting into rehab

Monday came, our family doctor would not be in until the afternoon. He is a man casually approaching retirement. I talked to him in the afternoon. He refused to write a script for the meds. I was surprised because when we had first talked at the beginning of October he agreed that I needed to Jason on anti-psychotic drugs to stop the hallucinations. I did see his point. These are serious drugs with serious side effects. They should be monitored by a psychiatrist. The problem was finding one who was not too overloaded to book new patients in a timely manner. We had another appointment with the psychologist the next day.

She gave me a list of family doctors who she thought might prescribe him the meds. Jason told her of his plan to go into rehab. She was happy with the plan and volunteered to make some calls to help him get in.

The next morning I decided to try again to get him in to see our local psychiatrist. One of the reasons I had not been too pushy before on this is that she has a reputation as a pill pusher. I knew Jason needed more than just medication. We were getting desperate. I was willing to try anything. Instead of calling the office and trying to make an appointment again. I went to the hospital, where I knew she was working, and stood in the hallway talking to the nurses. I cried and explained my fears for my son. They went into the psych unit and came out with the verdict. She would see my son the next morning.

I had to work, but he assured me he could handle this on his own. He stopped by the office on his way out of town to drop off the scripts for me to fill. He was cheerful and smiling. His boyish charm and great smile charmed my co-workers. He said it had worked on the doctor too. She, an older woman, had told him how handsome he was. She had told him he could do anything he wanted in this life. Later, after I was home, he told me he was going to be a millionaire and buy me new house. When he was happy like this you could not help but absolutely love him. Not just me, I'm his mother, but everybody he met adored him.

I started calling around to rehab clinics again. I made an appointment for a drug and alcohol screening, which most of them required to let him in. The appointment was in Wichita, a four hour drive. The problem was that none of these clinics are in our half of the state. There was one facility that told him he could come tonight. He started packing. I was transferred to the detox unit he was entering through. I mentioned that I did not think his detox would be too hard on them, since he had been clean for over a week. I was then informed he had to have a dirty u.a. to enter through detox, and there were no other openings except for in detox. He suggested we start the drive over, stop by some friends in Liberal, and he could have a dirty u.a. by the time we arrived. While it was the logical solution I could not do it.

Finally I found that he could do a video screening in Liberal that would work for all of the clinics. With so many of our plans falling through I had learned that once I had a appointment I kept it until I was absolutely sure we would not be needing it. Our screening was for Wednesday. The day before Thanksgiving. I had scheduled to have that day off over a month before so I could spend it at home with the kids.

At the screening I sat back, but still on camera while Jason talked. He did not paint a really clear picture of his drug use. Not because he was trying to hide anything, but he was just answering the direct questions they asked. Being young and unsure of the process he did not realize he was interviewing. The lady doing the interview told him he did not do enough drugs to qualify for rehab. Without missing a beat he smiled and told her he could come back next week.

I asked if I could talk. I filled her in on his recent overdose, and explained that was the reason he is clean. If he were in better health physically he would be having a much harder time staying away from the drugs. She called around the state to find a bed for him. The soonest she could get him in was January 21st. She booked him for that time, but told him to call on a weekly basis and they may get him in sooner if somebody else left early or canceled. I asked her about my other options. She suggested I call a private facility such as Valley Hope.

I called. They could get him in that day. She gave me a list of what he should pack. While I was doing his laundry and trying to make sure he had everything we needed he was rushing me to just take him right away. I laughed at his enthusiasm, but told him to calm down so we could do this right.  Moundridge is roughly a five hour drive, so we needed to think ahead. The closer we got to our destination the more nervous he became. He explained that he thought getting away from home might make his mind better, but it was getting worse. Stress, lack of sleep, new situations were all things that made him worse. This was going to be rough at first.

While checking him in it was explained to me that since he was only 19 he would be treated as a minor and unable to leave the grounds. I was happy to hear this. He would be given his two medications, both an anti-psychotic and an anti-depressant by the staff. Everybody was nice. The residents looked cheerful. I felt good about the place, but nervous about leaving my son somewhere so far away.  I tried to be cheerful as I hugged him goodbye.

It turns out that getting a person into rehab is much harder than I expected. I do not know what I imagined it would be like exactly, but easier than it was. Jason has another appointment with his psychologist on Tuesday. I wondered if it might be better for him to get on the medication before he went to rehab, on the other hand they probably had psychiatrists at most facilities that could prescribe him medication. I really did not know enough about the system to know what to do. I called my insurance company to talk about benefits. We are lucky that my employer provides one of the best insurance plans available. They gave me a list of preferred providers.

One of the EMTs that worked the night Jason attempted suicide had given me a number for a rehab that he had heard was good. They were the new kind of rehab. One of the 'not an addict for life' places. Having never been to rehab I did not know which was the best kind. I did a bit of reading online. One person said that what mattered was only how affective it is for your child. It is only 0% or 100% that matters. I did not know what would work best for Jason. He did not know either. With his brain functioning the way it was he had trouble with any decisions, big or small. When asked his opinion on most things he would say 'you're in a better position to know what's best. I'll do whatever you decide."

looking at the website this place looked like a high dollar summer camp. I wanted Jason to go there. My biggest hope was that he would learn to enjoy life again. He was still Jason, still funny, but he had too many anxieties to get out of the house much. Going to his brother's football games was out because of the crowds. When he occasionally walked down the streets of our town, a place of 400 people where he had lived his entire childhood, he was nervous because he knew everybody here wanted to kill him. I called.

First the man had me watch a video on the website about meth abuse while we were on the phone. I could not figure out while we had to stay on the line while I watched a video. There was not any new information on the video. I do not know, but I imagine most parents of meth addicts have already learned much of this on their own way before their child is ready to go to rehab, like I had done. The man, a counselor, seemed so enthusiastic about it that I told him it was interesting. He asked me to tell him about Jason. I assumed counselor meant therapist and was relieved somebody was finally going to help us.

I started telling him about Jason in high school. He was smart, funny, athletic. He graduated valedictorian of his class. He loved football. Then in October he had started doing meth, now he was suffering from extreme psychosis, has lost 30 pounds of muscle overnight from an intentional overdose. He is still Jason though. When I read stories online about extreme addicts he does not fit that profile. He had never stolen from me, made me afraid of violence, or been manipulative.

He stopped me there. In a sneering voice he said, "He's not manipulative? What, is he smoking meth at the kitchen table?" I was shocked and immediately on the defensive. "You asked me to tell you about my son and I was." My tone showed my irritation. "Yes, but do not fool yourself." He said. "Your son is not better than any of these other addicts. He just is not as far down the road as they are."

He then moved into a high pressure sales pitch. Throwing our phrases like "The cost is worth it to keep your son alive." He through in things I had told him before in the 'describe your son' part to guide me. I felt I was being manipulated. They would not try billing insurance first. I needed to come up with thirty thousand dollars. Not to worry though they would admit him while I tried to get a loan through my home equity. He pointed out that if I looked at their website I could see that their clientele was mostly upper middle class. He talked some more; I hung up.

When my ex-husband and I split up I felt lucky to have a great job. I know many single moms who had to go out and find work. I have been able to provide for my children. Sure we go on less vacations and I spend less on their school clothes, but we are doing alright. However, we are not living extravagantly. There is no bank around that will loan me thirty thousand on a run down double wide. Something about this whole phone call made me understand how desperate parents are to save their children and how easy we are to manipulate.

By the next week when his psychologist appointment rolled around again he was doing much better. I was not sure what to expect and was surprised when he seemed to only be set back a couple of days. We both had been doing a lot of reading about meth and its affect on the brain. We talked about the fact that after enough meth use this psychosis might never go away. I was angry at his friend who had offered him meth again. They all knew about his overdose and how close he had came to death. My brother reminded me that this boy was also using meth so his mental state was probably not much better than Jason's. He was right. I made myself forgive both of the boys and let go of the anger.

This time I did get a chance to talk to the psychologist. She asked me about our family's mental health history. Specifically she asked about depression and bipolar disorder. I am honest with her. There has been a lot of undiagnosed mental illnesses in my family. My diagnosis on my father is bipolar disorder. Drug and alcohol abuse has also been common in our family. She tells Jason that she will do everything she can to help him. She warns him that she cannot promise medication will simply take away the psychosis like he hopes. There is a chance that there is an underlying problem that led to the drug use.

My reading had led me to wonder the same thing. Jason had suffered from depression his senior year of high school. He refused to admit it. When I brought it up that day he brushed it off and said, "that was just me being a pussy." He had come out of it quickly. At the time I could not swear that it had been chemical rather than situational. During his second month at college he had started sleeping too much. He was having trouble staying awake and going to class. I broached the subject of depression. I suggested going to a doctor to have other causes looked at. Suddenly it was not a problem anymore. I did not know it at the time, but October was his first month of meth. He got a job, attended classes, he seemed to be adjusting to college life.

Now that I knew more about the problem I was doing endless research on different illnesses. Looking back over his childhood, every parent of an addict spends hours doing this, I could see what looked like early warning signs of bipolar disorder. Could this be what made doing drugs so attractive?  She did recommend an anti-psychotic to help with the psychosis. She told me to call my family doctor to ask him to prescribe it. I was disappointed because I had understood she would be talking with our family doctor, not using me as a go between.

The week before it had really upset Jason when the psychologist had called him an addict. He would not admit that he was at this point. Now in the car I realized how shook up he was at the thought of being 'crazy'. For him there was a real stigma associated with mental illness. He relapsed again that night.

He called me early in the morning to ask me to stay home for a few hours to try to get him into a rehab. He was ready to admit to being an addict. I couldn't stay home. We were short handed at work, there was no one to cover for me. I told him we could work on it when I came home. Fria Chica called in and stayed with him. He slept while she called around to try and get him in. It was not the work of one morning like they had expected.

 I tried calling our doctor. I had forgot he did not work on Fridays. The psych appointment had ended at 6 the night before, too late to call. It looked like we were waiting until Monday for a script.

I was angry that day. Rational or not I was angry that he would not just accept that there may be problems and try to deal with them. I was mad at Fria Chica for staying home. She was a single mother working at a new job. Being new she was still in the probationary period. What if she lost her job? I was mad that Jason had refused to admit he was an addict until there was a scarier proposition on the table. I was angry that he had left the house the night before knowing he was going to get high, yet expected us to all just rearrange our days to pick up the pieces. By going to rehab I felt he was running away from facing up to a possible mental illness.

After work I sat down with him. I promised to do whatever I could to help him. If he felt rehab was the best choice I would get him into one. However, I told him that he could do everything, rehab, medicine, therapy, but until he was going to commit to being sober none of it would work. I told him he needed to grow up and take responsibility for his recovery. My mom came into the house to pick something up. As she started for the door Jason said, "Don't leave me alone with her Grandma; she's scary."

Relapse

After supper Jason told me he was going to Liberal to see some friends. He had seemed hesitant about going. It seemed like he was not sure if he really wanted to. He made up his mind to go. I said, "Don't do meth." "Not planning on it." He replied. His answer worried me. It sounded rather vague.
 While he was still having delusions and bad days they were twenty times better than they had been a month ago. I did not want to go back to that.
Early in the morning I got a phone call. It was my sister. She is nine years younger than me; only eleven years older than Jason. He had called her to come to Liberal. He was thinking about smoking meth. Her and her then boyfriend went over to the party he was at. The friend who he had followed into the meth lifestyle was going to jail the next day. He wanted Jason to smoke one last bowl with him. Jason had been declining the offer, but he wanted to accept. He liked meth. He had told me before that he liked the drug, just not the voices it caused in his head.
 He described it to me once. He said that the first time he took it he felt like Superman. There was this confidence that made him feel like he could do anything he wanted. He could save the world. Then after a while he needed the drug to feel confidant at all. Without it he just sat in a room full of people afraid to talk. I had witnessed him like this.
Before he moved back in with me he had come to town to take me to lunch. I had to lean in with my ear next to his mouth to hear him speak. It had broke my heart. Now that he was off the drug he still was not his former self, but he could speak at a normal volume.
Fria Chica arrived at the party. Jason's friend sat her out a line too. She is also a recovering addict. She and her boyfriend both refused. Jason did end up smoking a bowl that night. Just the one. We were sure that he would have done much more had she not went to help him. She called to tell me what had happened. I thanked her, hung up the phone, and cried. I prayed that he would come home and continue trying to get help. She brought me a chocolate bar to eat at work that morning. It is good to be surrounded by family who know my vices.
A friend, who is also a recovering addict, sent a text to remind me that relapse is the thirteenth step. He reminded me to tell my son I loved him and that he needed to forgive himself and focus on recovery.
When I went home for lunch Jason was home. I sighed in relief. I felt as long as he kept coming home we could get through this together. He was a mess. I was afraid to leave him, but had to go. I had planned a birthday party that evening for Fria Chica at my house. I was not sure if I should cancel it or not. One of my personality traits, not sure if it is a good or bad one, is that I always think I can do everything. I rarely turn down people who ask for my time, even when it is stretched thin. I hate to call in to work. I never cancel things. I just plow ahead and expect things to work out. They usually do.
I walked into the yard and noticed Jason standing outside smoking. I stopped to sit and talk to him, all the time thinking about the cooking I needed to be doing. Jason needed to talk. His brain was tormenting him too much to leave him alone. I talked to him a few minutes then ran in to put a pan of water on to boil. I ran back out to him only to notice that my aforementioned friend was sitting down talking to him. They had a few things in common. Things like speed addiction, the depression associated with the addiction, and an attempted suicide.
Each time I ran outside to talk to him they were still talking. The house was filling up with family. It was too many people for Jason to handle in this state. Having one person sitting in the calm outdoors talking to him was what he needed. I will forever be grateful for friends who help me out when I need them. Later after everybody had went home Jason started a movie, climbed into my bed, put a pillow over his head and listened to me read. We were back on track. We needed help.

We had has a great day, but the truth was that we still needed help. I made a new list of people to call. The next day I called the place in Liberal back. They answered the phone. The lady was nice and helpful. She said that they would do everything they could to help Jason. She started taking our information. What is your zip code she asked. I told her and she apologized. We were out of there service area she explained. She recommended that I call Garden City Area Mental Health. We were in their service area.  I could not comprehend. We live 55 miles from Liberal and 86 miles from Garden. I explained that we had trouble getting in to see a psychiatrist in Garden. She gave me the name of a private psychologist in Liberal.
I made him an appointment. We could get in later in the week. We spent most nights lying in my bed with me reading to him. Sometimes at two in the morning he would charm me into making him a sandwich. We read Dorothy Sayers stories, Murder in Mesopotamia by Agatha Christie. I talked him into letting me read one of my favorites, The Dark Is Rising. He laughed when I was the one who had a bad dream about The Walker. When I was too tired to read he would watch one of the Indiana Jones movies while I slept.
I wasn't sure what to think of the psychologist. Jason was having a bad day. On the drive over he told me not to talk to him. If I was not going to tell him about what was going on, why everybody in the world was fucking with him, then he did want to hear anything I had to say.  We had been over all of this so many times in the past months that it no longer phased me. I turned up the radio; he closed his eyes and laid his head back.
 We arrived in town with ten minutes to make it to the office. He was hungry and I had scheduled him an hour and a half session. At his insistence I drove through Taco Bell's drive through. He looked at the board and decided what he wanted. What do you want? he asked me. Nothing I told him, I ate before we left the house. He insisted I get something. No, I was not hungry. As I pulled forward to order we were still arguing. I yelled I DON'T WANT ANYTHING! "Oh, ok," came a voice from the speaker.
We pulled up to the address and were puzzled. It was a house. We had both expected an office building. There was a wheel chair ramp, which made me think this could be the right place. Jason refused to go in unless I checked first. I am not walking in on some family eating supper, he explained.
I went to the door and was greeted by three large dogs. Another large dog growled from underneath a desk. I waved at Jason to come up. I am not a pet owner myself, but find that pet owners often are more kind and less selfish people than I am. I petted the dogs and sat on a sofa. Jason sat beside me and played with the dogs while we waited. Even with the lightened mood, caused by food and laughter, Jason would not let me go into the psychologist office with him. I wanted to talk to her because I was afraid Jason would not explain what was going on. He had a tendency to make light of it when talking to anyone else.
He went in while I read a book. At one point I was alone in the room when the 6 month old great dane came running into the room, skidded to a stop, and peed a huge puddle in the middle of the floor. This kind of behavior is why I am not a pet owner. I looked around for paper towels. Not seeing any I settled back down to my book.
At the end of the meeting Jason and the psychologist walked into the room. Thankfully another psychologist in the office had already came through and cleaned up the puddle. I asked about medication and asked if he had mentioned his trouble sleeping. She said they had discussed his sleep problem and she had given him some pointers. She said she would like to see him again before recommending medication. She could not prescribe them herself, but would work with his family doctor to get them for him.
It worried me that she seemed dismissive of his lack of sleep. I was sure he had not explained the problem fully to her. Lack of sleep made his delusions much worse. Some days he was only able to sleep for a couple of hours a day. After several days of this he would usually crash for a whole day. I was convinced that he needed anti-psychotics to help him get over the delusions. He had been meth free for a month now, but his delusions were not diminishing much. Going a whole week more before even talking about medication worried me. Maybe she was right though. I am not a professional.

She said that next time she would like to talk to both of us. She noticed my skeptical look at Jason and assured me that Jason had already agreed to this. In the car Jason said that he did not want anyone he knew talking to her. He explained. She may be able to help me, he said, and he did not want anyone roping her into the conspiracy too. He needed to be able to trust her.

In the care

Best day ever

In the parking lot Jason held me as I cried. Suddenly we had flipped. I was the fragile one and he was in charge. He took the car keys and told me to get in. We drove to Freddy's Frozen Custard where he ordered us both cheeseburgers and fries. Often I avoid such food, but today it tasted so good. I cried as we sat and ate. He smiled at the workers and acted like it was perfectly normal for me to just cry in public. He ordered us a sundae to share. He told me it would be fine. He explained that he had made a choice to do drugs and that now he was paying the price, but that he would get better. We talked about the importance of finding little things to smile about when life got hard. He cracked jokes and made me laugh.
In the car again he said we were going to the zoo. What is your favorite animal he asked. The big cats I replied. Especially the panthers. He took me to the zoo. He was able to walk better now, but a block or two still wore him out. We went to the map and found the most direct route to the large cats. It was quite a walk. He was wore out by the time we got there. Of course the cats had been moved. They had been placed in a new exhibit on the other side of the zoo. I suggested we just go, I had seen enough great animals already. He had made me laugh all through our walk. We stopped and played with the monkeys. I was in a great mood. No, he insisted we see the cats. By the time we arrived there he was tired, pale, and sweating. He sat and rested for the walk back to the car.
My day had been a roller coaster of emotion. Much like my life seemed to be becoming. Jason had some good days when we could laugh and talk and then some days when he was too tortured internally to concentrate. I came to appreciate a few hours of sleep as much as a parent of a newborn child does.

Getting help turned out to be much harder than I expected. We still had the appointment for the 28th, but that was too far away. I rescheduled the Monday one we had missed while Jason was in the hospital. They were able to get us in that following Monday. We live close to the Oklahoma state line. His appointment was in the closest large town to us Guymon Oklahoma.
Jason had been lucky. The nearly two grams of meth he had swallowed had not caused any permanent damage. He had had kidney failure and liver damage, but they were both functioning when we left the hospital and expected to be healed in a few weeks time. He had experienced a severe case of Rhabdomyolysis which left him unable to walk long distances or jump, but this too was expected to heal. He slept through the weekend while we waited for the appointment. His psychosis was just as bad as before.
On Monday he was cranky. Walking to the car exhausted him. He was irritated that I was lying to him about my part in the conspiracy against him. In the waiting room we filled out pages of paperwork. He was polite to everybody. He was always polite, even in his worst moods. We could walk into any building and he would try to make the workers smile.
In the counselors office we were told they could not help us. We were out of state. Out of their service area. They advised us to call Liberal Ks. It is not far from us either. I started crying. I could tell they felt bad, but I could not stop crying. Jason went outside to wait for me while I wrote down the phone numbers they gave me.
On the drive home I called the Liberal office several times. There was no answer. I called Area Mental Health in Garden City. Which is where we had our appointment for the 28th. They would not move his appointment up. I cried some more. Jason told me it would be fine. He could wait.
The next day I tried making him an appointment with a private psychiatrist in a town near us. She could not see him until December.
We decided to wait for the Area Mental Health appointment. He was still hearing the voices in his head, but everyday he seemed to improve a bit in how he handled them. He began to smile and make jokes during the day. At night he had trouble falling asleep. I read to him most nights, while Indiana Jones played loudly in the dvd player. I had always liked it dark and quiet while I slept. I learned to sleep with the movie playing loudly and a lamp on, because that is what was best for him. If he woke in the middle on the night and could not fall back to sleep he would wake me to read to him. I tried to take a nap after work to make up for some of the sleep I was missing.
They had told me on the 4th when I made the appointment that I would need to confirm it 24hrs in advance. They said they would call the day before that to remind me. I remembered that 24 hour bit. Unfortunately, I believe because I was sleep deprived and stressed out, I did not think that 24 hours before a Monday appointment is actually Friday. I picked up to call Sunday morning. That is when I realized I had fucked up.
I called early Monday morning to see what could be done. They had cancelled his appointment, and we would have to reschedule for next month. I stood in the parking lot and cried as I spoke to them. I insisted they see him. The receptionist told me that if I had him there at 2, and we could not be late, they would see him today. I was relieved.
We walked in at 1:55. For some reason, and I still do not understand why, they would not see him. He did not have an appointment. There had been two Jason's on the list. The young girl explained. I clicked the wrong one. I cried some more. I insisted. Jason sat on a chair with his head in his hands. There was nothing to do. I stood there in front of them and cried.
Finally Jason put his arms around me and told me it would be ok. He thanked the staff and we left.

The search begins

My life became focused on Jason when he moved back in with me in July. He was sick, very sick. The drug had caused serious psychosis. It took months to gain his trust and convince him to seek help. He was afraid of doctors. He did not want to quit the drug. Even though he said he did. He wanted to find a way to be well mentally without having to give up the drug or his lifestyle. This was not possible.

He cut back to using about once a week. This did not give his mind time to heal. He would get more and more irritable until he would go out and use again. Some days it would almost be a relief, because I knew we would have at least one good day. I made sure he ate. I would read to him when he could not sleep, which was often. His brain tortured him. He was sure everybody could read his mind. This is a common delusion with meth addicts. He would hide under the house some nights. He was tortured and scared. He needed help.

On October 4th I convinced him to see somebody. I made two appointments. One, the place our family doctor had recommended, could not see him until the 28th. The other place could see him on Monday. It was Friday. We only had to make it through the weekend.  Saturday he packed a bag and left. He told me he would be back in a week or two. I made him promise to be home in time for his appointment Monday. Sunday I went to the movie with a friend.

My phone went crazy when I turned it on after the movie. Jason had swallowed almost two grams of meth in an attempt to kill himself. He would have succeeded had my sister not found him. After a week in a hospital in Amarillo. We were home. I had tried to convince the doctor to keep him longer, to bring in a psychiatrist, anything but just release him. To everybody's shock he said that Jason was fine, he just needed to stay away from drugs, and sent him home with me. Now the search for help began.

Otherness

    This summer I have been taking the fiction course The Fiction Of Relationships offered by Coursera. One of my few regrets in life has been that I missed out on the college experience, not the degree, or the drinking, or sleeping around, the actual classroom lectures and discussions. When I discovered free online courses I was more than excited. This is the first one I signed up for and I love it.
    Having moved several times in my childhood there are large holes in my English/Literature education. Every state has different requirements and every school a different curriculum. I have tried on my own to fill in those gaps by reading many classics over the years, but many of them are still there. This summer I have read Kafka, Melville, and Borges for the first time. Reading the books caused me to set them down and think deeply about life, but Prof. Weinstein's lectures have taken that to a new level.
     Reading Kafka gave me chance to structure my thoughts on otherness. His stories provided a framework to fit them on. Otherness in society is something I have thought a lot about over the years, but without calling it just that. I was born other. Not by genetics, but by circumstance was I placed slightly outside of society's pale. My childhood, along with my many siblings, was a result of a woman with some neurosis marrying and procreating with a man with a growing psychosis. As a result they were never good providers. We moved a lot. Teachers unintentionally didn't invest much time or energy in us. Friends came and went too quickly. We started most school years as the new kids. I'm not complaining, for the most part I enjoyed my childhood. I am simply explaining that I do understand what it means to be the other.
     My graduation day is mostly a blur, but the one clear memory I have is of watching the students who had graduated from kindergarten together, and now high school too, group up to take a photo. I understood in that moment what roots were. I vowed that my children would have them.
    In that quest to give my children roots I quit being other. That scared feeling that filled me every time I walked into a bank slowly dissolved. I became the mother who talked to her children's teachers, being open and honest, never needing to hide a family secret. Honesty was something which was foreign to me before; we always had secrets. I taught Sunday School, baked cupcakes for school, went to work full time, got elected to the school board, all things that seemed to belong to a different world when I was a child. By the time my children graduated I had fully integrated myself into society. A part of me wanted out.
    Borges suggests that we can take both forks of a path when we come to them. That life is a labyrinth which we can explore fully. Coming from the outside it is easy to see the falseness of society. Why is a long marriage good and teenage pregnancy bad? One is natural and the other is usually forged on sacrifice and lies. How come people get to feel superior to others as if their faults are not as bad? Who made this scale that deems lying a lighter fault than drinking too much? Does driving a nice car and living in a nice house really make you more successful?
     Slowly and without realizing it I have been reclaiming a bit of my otherness. There are rumors that I am wild now. They are not true, but I like that they exist. I am not going out more, or even as much as some single women do. It is simply that it is not what people expect of me. I am not staying inside lines they have drawn for me. The problem is trying to take both roads at the same time. I realized just recently that I have started to feel like I don't belong again. In this small town where I have lived for over twenty years, where I know everybody, I have a feeling of not being good enough. I do not know where this came from. I just realized it was there. That is not a part of the otherness I want back. I am stepping away from society, just a bit, because I want to, not because they will not have me. That should give me a sense of pride. Somehow I need to find my center and balance.

   

distractions

     Friday night I cooked a large meal because Jason was coming home to have supper with me. I knew that this was likely not to happen. He rarely makes it home, even when he has assured me he will be here. While the chicken was in the oven I set an alarm and laid down for a quick nap. As I was drifting off to sleep I was thankful that I was born with a cheerful disposition. I have been able to survive in this world with very few scars. Suddenly,and without me asking for such a sight, a vision of a skinless body appeared in my head. It was similar to the type in science textbooks, only more flesh and blood. The body was covered with silvery white scars, covered. The sight shocked me awake. There would be no nap.
     We were planning to eat at eight. Hour by hour the time was pushed back until Jason was going to be here late and only stay for ten minutes or so. Several people had called me through the day and invited me out that night. The thought of sitting at home waiting for him to drop by seemed an act of desperation, so I called him and told him I was going out and we could make it another night.
    While I was calling around to get a group together Lane came home. He asked me if I was okay. Not just with tonight but with everything.  I assured him I was, and truly believed it. I have always been good at compartmentalizing emotions so they can be dealt with at more convenient times. Having made plans for the night I called Sofia to invite her. Of course she was concerned that Jason did not come home. She asked me the wrong/right question. "Don't you want to grab him and....and... do something?" "Of course," I replied. "I want to grab him and bring him home and make him be my baby again." She understood immediately. "Wrap him in a blanket and hold him all day." She added. Tears were streaming down my face. My red, wet eyes made putting eyeliner on difficult. This uncontrollable balling was going to make going out difficult. I told her the truth. "You are no fun; I can't talk to you right now."  My weekend was then filled with distractions; drinking, dancing, eating, and very little sleep.

A supper date

I had a texting conversation with Jason today. Sadly I probably would not have texted him except for that his father called me at work today. He was concerned since he had not talked to Jason since Sunday. I too had not talked to my son since Sunday, but not being a worrier I had not felt any concern about the time-span. I sent a text instructing Jason to answer me so I could set his father's mind at ease, which I knew was full of death, jail, and hospitalization scenes. Jason responded quickly, and with good humor, to remind me he was both busy and an adult. We sent a few amusing texts back and forth which ended in him suggesting we get together soon. We have agreed on supper at my house on Friday. I really hope he comes. His brother Lane spent time with him last weekend and reports that he is looking healthier. I want to see this with my own eyes. I would not trade my offspring for anybody on this earth. Even during the trying times they are three of the most interesting, entertaining people on earth.

Beautiful Boy

It has been almost a year since I have wrote a new post. Part of the problem has been Facebook. It is easier to share a quick meme, or write a funny quip than to search my soul for something to say here. The interaction, although more immediate, is superficial. It is the McBlog of the Internet. The other part of the problem is that my life doesn't change much. I looked at the date on my last post and wondered what is different today. I am only a few months away from forty now, but those numbers never have meant much to me. The only time I cringe is when a I meet interesting twenty something men and know I am going to have to say the number eventually. The actual saying of it never means much to either of us in the end.

Waking up this morning my thoughts went immediately to the vegetable bars on my table. I had eaten two of them before going to bed at 3:30 this morning and I wanted another one. I have become addicted to them. After eating a couple I started to search out my copy of Jane Eyre. While searching shelves and piles of books I kept coming across other books I wanted to read. I found a book I picked up cheap at at used book store called "Beautiful Boy a father's journey through his son's addiction" I don't remember my motivation for buying it, but now it seems relevant to my life. I carry it over to the table beside my bed which serves as a holding space for books I'm going to read. With my original goal ending in despair I lay down to start this book. It is a bad idea because I am nowhere near finished with my book club book and our meeting is next week. Right away my tears start rolling down the sides of my face while I read. The father describes his son and the physical changes he notices. That is the hardest part, looking at your son so full of potential, seeing his thin face while your mind automatically overlays it with the full, youthful face of a year ago. I put the book down soon after I start. The similarities in our stories end quickly. I am jealous of the active role these parents play in their adult son's addiction. They have curfews and drug tests, confrontations about whether he has started using again. Our story is a rural Midwestern story. My son dropped out of school, lives with roommates living the same lifestyle as he is. There is no denial, no missed AA meetings, and my role is to pray every night that my son will not end up in prison or dead. These are not the sort of thoughts I can post on Facebook.

Hemmingway

I have been reading about Hemminway, again. As a liberal woman with a distaste for overly masculine, domineering men I spend more time defending him than I should. The thing about Hemmingstein is that he is complex. I wonder if we are all this complex or are most of us simple beings? Would I have thought him complex if I had known him, or is it being able to look at his life as a whole that makes his conflicting thoughts and actions stand out. I do know that I would not have been one of the women who fell for him. I have problem with authority too. He would have soon referred to me as 'that bitch'.

shopping

Okay, so after thinking about it for several years I am finally shopping for a sex toy. Tonight I am starting the research process. After just five minutes I realize there is so much I don't know. A vulva pump, who would have thought those existed? ...Most of these pages have a like on facebook option at the bottom. What would my kids, or their teachers, think of that. ...$175 for a wand? I don't even think Olivander's would have charged that much. ...   Dual function, as a multitasker I like the sound of that. ...Oh boy a video on usage. I haven't watched porn in 20 years, not sure I'm up to it. ...

changes

Jason moved out on Sunday and is officially in college. Last night the girls left to visit their mom. The house was so quiet I couldn't sleep. I have secretly always thought I might enjoy an empty nest, thank God I am not there yet, but now I know it will take a lot of getting used to. Lane is gone tonight so I am here all alone. Fria Chica and my mom came over and drank a bottle of pomagranate wine with me. It was delicous.

I have been single for over a year now, and I have to say it has been a great year. Dh has made it clear he would like to reconcile and move back in, but I don't think I could take it. Life is so peaceful without him. Also he would frown on me continuing to take lovers. I am between right now. It seems like men want either too much or too little, so it is easy to move on to the next one. I am becoming a right slut.

life

My list of projects that need completed just keeps growing. Jason stepped through the bathroom floor, that need fixed. Ramona and Beezus need their room painted. The front door frame needs fixed. My cob hot tub is getting so close to being finished, I am starting to imagine it will work. Throw the house cleaning, gardening, and cob house building on to the list and I feel like I am moving backwards. No I am moving backwards. The list just keeps growing.

On a more interesting note I have noticed something odd. I only seem to date men who are inappropriate for a long term relationship. I think it must be a defense mechanism. Not that I am dating much, it seems that men I find interesting don't come along often. The comedian I spent a couple of days with in March lives too far away. The boy who I have been spending time with for the last two weeks is 14 years younger than me. I think someday I will be ready for a relationship and start dating more appropriate men, but until then I am going to just enjoy life as it comes.

Baking bread

I posted these without any words because I wasn't feeling talkative that day. The top picture is of bread inside my cob oven, which I love. The second is of a finished loaf and the rhubarb-strawberry jam I also made that day. I will add a funny story about the rhubarb in a minute. First I want to talk about making bread. Years ago I received a bread machine for Christmas. I loved it. The only problem I had with it was that I could only make one loaf at a time, not being Jesus, one loaf was never enough. The next December my bread machine quit. I talked to a friend and hers had lasted only one year also. My mom had one she never used so I went and borrowed it on a long term plan. In one year it also quit. I know people who have had better luck, but for me they only last one year. I could not stand the thought of filling up the landfill by buying a new one every year so I went without for a few weeks. Then I found an amazing book at a library book sale for $.10. It was called Bake Your Own Bread And Be Healthier. Since day one I have enjoyed bread making so much more manually then I ever did with a machine. With the machine the end product was the important part. With my hands the best parts are the feel of the dough, the connection to women who have been kneading bread for centuries, and making several loaves at once. Bread has become more than just a food I love, it is a lifelong endeavor.

Now the rhubarb. For a couple of years now an older man has been coming into the office to talk every week or so. In the summer he brings me rhubarb and other vegetable from his garden. He sustained injuries during WW2 that make his speech slow and slurred, but if you listen he is easy to understand. A few days before this picture was taken he came in and laid a bag of rhubarb on the counter. I thanked him and we talked for a few more minutes. I needed to get back to work so I picked up the bag and thanked him again. He then said, "can I have a kiss for that?" I turned my head towards him, and I'm sure I looked puzzled, and asked, "What?" He replied, "Can I have a hug for that?" I thought what the hell and leaned in for a shoulder touching embrace. He put his hand on the small of my back and pulled me to him. The old guy was stronger than he looked so it took quite a bit of struggling to get away from him. He seemed to enjoy the struggling. I ran back into my office area, looked at my coworker, and announced, "I think the price of rhubarb has went up."

spring

I have been enjoying the hell out of spring. We are already eating green onions and asparagus out of the garden. Yesterday I baked bread in the cob oven and made strawberry-rhubarb jam to go with it. I have been truly experiencing domestic bliss. While watching t.v. with a couple of friends, it was my first experience with Desperate Housewives, a character mentioned how hard divorce was. I must be the exception because this has been a great year for me. I feel goofy some days about how cheerful I am.

cruise

Last week I was a sponsor on Jason's senior trip. We flew to Charleston S.C. and boarded a Carnival cruise ship bound for the Bahamas. It was a great time. I have always scorned cruises as a vacation. They are the for the type of vacationers who spend most of their time around the resort pool and eat at American food chains avoiding local food. After having been on a cruise I have to say I was right, but that did not make it any less fun. Yes I came home with only the vague idea that I had been to the Bahamas, but I also brought some great stories about the fun we had. The staff was unbelievable accommodating. One of the fly on entertainers was even nice enough to give me a foot-rub while we talked. Being on a ship with 2000 other guests did make me notice how introverted I still am. Discounting the people I talked to because Cole, a special needs student who was with us, is the opposite of me and wanted to meet everybody I only had conversations with around 10 people.When I travel I have to take extroverted people with me otherwise I may just alternate between staring at the horizon, reading, and eating. One nice point was that I had several long conversations with Cole's mother. We have been friends for years, but rarely sit and talk.

I. need. sleep.

Monday night was a overlong school board meeting; we are dealing with major budget cuts, which means some positions may have to go. That is not the subject of this post though, that is just to set up why I am so damn tired and cranky. After working the next day I drove 45 miles to watch Jason and Lane play basketball, picked up groceries and pizza and drove home. It was 11:00 and I was ready for bed. A friend was at my house waiting for me. Her and her husband had been in a fight. I wanted her to stay with me, but she knew this was the first place her husband would look. I drove her 17 miles, that is the closest hotel, and bought her a room. I climbed into bed at 1:30 in the morning. At 5:30 her husband called. At 6:30 my alarm went off, I didn't have to work today but Jason wanted woke up early. He didn't get up. At 7:00 my alarm went off again. I tried to rouse the troupe, I hit snooze just in case. Ten minutes later half of them were up. At 7:35 I was screaming "Get out of your fucking beds and go to school." I drove everybody but Jason to school.
It turns out Jason was actually feeling terrible and needed to see a doctor. He has bronchitis. I picked my friend up while we out and drove her to her house. I am not sure if she is gathering her stuff to move back to Miami or if she has decided to stay. After dropping her off I came home for a shower, cup of tea, and time to watch the newest Daily Show and Cobert Report. I need to get dressed and walk over to check on her. Jason has an awards banquet tonight so I will drive 45 minutes there, but the food is supposed to be great, I doubt they serve wine, which is what I want.

Happiness

Last night I decided to start a book I have been planning to read for years, A Tale Of Two Cities.
I did not make it very far, Mr Lorry had not yet made it off the mail coach before I fell asleep. I woke this morning and resumed reading over a cup of Earl Grey and toast with jam. There is a lot to say for the restorative powers of literature. I climbed out of bed turned on a alt music station and was overcome with a desire to dance. Dance I did. I am here in my house with my children and happy. What more can girl ask for? Oh, as a bonus I have won $4 dollars on a powerball ticket. I rarely buy lottery tickets, on an impulse yesterday I picked one up, and am officially a winner.

Two weeks seems to be the amount of time it takes me to get over a man. It doesn't matter if it is a husband of many years of a boyfriend of a few months, two weeks will do it every time.
I broke up with the Cuban last Monday. Today I woke up early did some reading, and had tea with a bagel before I took stock of myself at the one week point. I am right on track. My first weekend single again was nice. It was beautiful outside. I replaced some weak boards on my porch, I burned tumble weeds, read my book for book club. The whole thing left me feeling energized and alert. On a short walk yesterday evening I ran into him. We had a pleasant conversation, you know the whole' como estas?' and  'como es Anna?'*. No riveting conversation and afterwards I had no regrets.
It was an amicable break-up. I knew going in to the relationship we were at different points in our life. I would have felt guilty beginning something I was sure was going to end if I had thought he truly loved me, but I suspected a love that started that fast would cool off quickly too. It ended before it cooled enough to cause fights and pain. In fact the only problem with the whole thing is that after having him around for three months, and I mean constantly around, I became used to him being here. I am a bit addicted to him.The first three days were rough, but I am getting better every day.
We never were in love. What we had was great chemistry. As a matter of fact after this two week period I am going to give serious thought to presenting the friends with benefits package.

*My neighbor and great friend Anna has been diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer. We are starting some serious wine therapy.

Books in 2011

• Selpuchre
• The Big Over Easy
• The Glass Castle
• The Art Of Racing In The Rain
• One Of Our Thursdays is Missing
• The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo
• Light A Penny Candle
• *Winter Solstice
• The Unexpected Mrs. Polliflax
• Tender Is The Night
• What Is The What
• The Blind Assasin
• Fool's Puzzle
• The Lord Of The Flies
• Lost In Translation
• Of Mice and Men
• To Kill A Mockingbird
• The Boy Who Loved Ann Frank
• Number The Stars
• Spoken From The Heart
• The Stormy Night
• Sarah's Key
• Fool
• Flowers In The Rain
• The Secret Life Of Bees
• *The Secret Garden
• *Me Talk Pretty Some Day
• The Shack
• *Dreams from my father
• September

* Re-reads

These are the 30 books I read in 2011. Not a big reading year for me. I started well, but life kept getting in the way.

Blessings

Well I never did really commit to Nanowrimo this year, so while I did do a bit of playing around with it I came nowhere near finishing, or starting for that matter.

People who spend time with me may be shocked to find out how strong my faith is. That is because my faith is personal not something I go on about; I certainly don't need the President to help me thank God, that is my job. Today I have been reflecting back on my life and how blessed I am. Through out my lifetime there has always been an abundance of happiness. I was about to write sunshine, but I deleted the word, not because it is an overused cliche. I deleted it because the picture of a lovely rainy day flashed through my mind and made me smile. Rainy days make me smile, as do sunny days. I really love a thick foggy day, or a great snow storm. Oops I am off topic again.  When I look back on my life I realize how lucky I am to have been give three of the best children in existence. Then two beautiful girls, who make me laugh, have come into my life. My family, while slightly insane, is a close knit group. I have always been able to provide for my children, and whenever I need help it appears. I do feel like God has been constantly blessing me, even when I forget to be thankful. It is hard to believe that there can be any more blessings in store for me, surely I am getting close to my quota, but then just when I needed it there is more. After having been in a loveless relationship for many years a man has been sent my way who makes me feel completely adored. Now we are all adults here and know that these kinds of things don't always last forever, but for now when I need it, it is a blessing.

A day off, just what I needed

When I am at work and it is warm and sunny outside I wish I could be at home in my yard. On cold days I wish I could be at home in a sweater with a cup of tea in my hands. Today I have one of my wishes. It is the first cold day we have had this fall and I have a day  off. My list of things to get done today keeps growing, but first I am enjoying a warm cup of chai tea and browsing a few places online.
November is coming fast and until this morning I wasn't sure if I was going to try Nano again this year. My life has been busier than usual this year and I wasn't sure if I wanted to try and fail. This morning a zombie story I have been lugging around in my head for three years came to the forefront and asked to be wrote. Well, I never have been good at saying no, so here we go.
Today though is a costume making day. One Red Heart Queen coming up.

life at home

The Cuban is trying to walk too quickly into my personal space. Undying love is great two or three nights a week, but I am by nature a solitary person. I spent all day yesterday hanging out with my boys. Lee is home for the weekend and it was nice to just sit around and do nothing. This morning I started reading The Glass Castle. It is a good book, well written, but it is hitting close to home. I am still not sure if that makes it better or worse.
 Walls is thirteen years older than me so we were living nomadic lives in some of the same places more than a decade apart.  We both had alcoholic fathers that made running from trouble, debt, or police a habit. This habit transforms a childhood, making it both exciting a wearisome. I could not help but feel a little jealous. My parents did not have the imagination, and/or concern, to make this lifestyle more adventurous. We children were often squished in the back seat in the middle of the night, but no reason such as running from the gestapo was ever given to us. We were not doing a skedaddle, we were just moving again. We picked up details from conversations we were not supposed to hear to explain the sudden flight. The individual personalities and details of the book were different, but the overall experience in the book was similar to my childhood. While I felt jealous about the start of the book I did have the advantage of having a much better state of squalor to live in when the nomadic lifestyle came to an end. My mother did snap out of her denial, get a job, and try to make a life for her children. 
It is a good book, but I am not sure how much I want to discuss it with my book club.

I just realized how bad it is, I haven't read a book in over a week, almost two. Hopefully this will blow over soon and I can get something done. Now I must go sleep.

My Kryptonite is a lovely Cuban

When DH and I split I decided I would start dating, because at 38 I don't have many years to waste, but that I would not enter into any serious relationships for 3 years. I still think that is the best idea. However, I am addicted to an earnest Cuban. Today I practiced my lecture to him, in Spanish, to tell him that this was not long term. I explained that we are at two different places in our lives. He is in a spot where he is looking forward to settling down and having babies. I could easily become a grandmother in the next five years. I think I told him, it is hard to know exactly what I said, that we could be happy now, but when he found a woman that also wanted what he wanted he should go with her.  Now remember I have just had three conversations with this man, yet he expressed his undying love for me in Spanish, in English, in Spanish again. This should be enough to scare me off, but I can't stay away.

Cuban date

Last Wednesday I was asked out on a date. Since he is from Cuba and speaks no English and I speak very little Spanish it went something like this. Comida? Si. Cuando? Sabado. Tiempe? Siete. The date itself went much better than that. I spent as much time as I could in the interim refreshing my Spanish, it paid off because we were able to converse; we used a lot of hand signs. After dinner I went with him to visit some friends. It was one of the most interesting nights of my life. It was a quick immersion into a Cuban Saturday night. At five-thirty in the morning I took a shower, climbed into bed and wondered how I had stumbled into this fascinating world.

A random update

I did finally get all of my water leaks fixed. Six leaks happened in one week, fixed them all once, but two of them twice. It was a learning experience that I feel pretty damn good about now.

Being divorced still feels pretty damn good too. Financially I am in a bit of a pickle but I expected that. Besides I do believe in the saying if all of your problems are money problems you don't have problems, unless you are uninsured in the U.S. then your money problems could make living a problem.  

Who am I?

Sometimes I don't even know who I am. When I do things completely out of character there is a voice yelling don't do that, yet sometimes I still do. Usually in that case I end up looking like an ass. When will I ever learn to listen to my own instincts?

plumbing sucks, but not too much

I am in the middle of facing my biggest fear when it comes to not having a husband--Plumbing. I am the proud owner of an older double wide; not excellent but it, along with the two lots, is paid off.  The problem is the polybutylene tubes used for plumbing. If I ever run into the guys who invented this shit I am going to kick them square in the nuts. It turns brittle and breaks easily over time. This means too many water leaks for me to pay a plumber to fix. The plan is to get it all replaced, but that is not near done yet. 


I do not usually care for gender roles in a marriage, but I have been quiet about this one. DH, like most men, felt that plumbing fell under his job description. Several times over the years I have quietly wondered why I did not have to crawl under the house and work on my back while laying in mud. Never did I utter this kind of question. I did not want to do it. Now though there is no one else. two months into my single life and we have four leaks. Jason did one while I was at work, but now school has started and it really should be my job. Surprisingly I don't mind it as much as I thought I would, of course it is still warm outside. The frustrating part is not having the right parts.


On my lunch hour I picked up what I thought I needed. After work I drank a cup of tea and then cheerfully went out to work on the house. I had not realized that the tubing had switched from 1/2 to 3/8 so I had picked up the wrong adapters.I live 17 miles from a hardware store and it is not open in the evenings.  This is when rural living is not convenient.  I did as much as I could, but we are still without water. Hopefully I will finish tomorrow.

Bliss

     My household income has been cut by 55% while the population has only been decreased by 14.29%. This should make me nervous, but instead I have found myself blissfully happy. My lifestyle hasn't changed too much since dh moved out; for the most part I do the same things on a daily basis that I always have. I just get to do them with so much less stress.
    Dh has been asking me out on dates and expressing his unending love for me lately.  I have been trying to respond politely while walking a line between not hurting his feelings and not leading him on with false expectations.  The truth is that after being called a liar, a bitch, and a whore for 19 years it is nice to be called nothing. Earlier this year our book club read the book Sarah's Key. While reading the book I noticed that one of the character's talked to his wife much like dh talked to me. During the discussion somebody called his behavior emotional abuse. As everyone agreed I felt my breath draining from me. I had never thought of myself as a victim of abuse, and did not like the thought of being one. Even now my brain insists that I was not. Sure he was abusive but I lived above it. I did not let it affect me. Except that I am not as friendly to men as I used to be, to make things smoother, and I don't warmly invite people over as much as I once did, for fear of a scene, but I am not timid. After the book club I was talking to Fria Chica, who also attends, she brought up the subject and said that when somebody mentioned the character's abusive behavior she thought "poor Lynn" for she too had related that character with dh.  Unlike in the book though my husband is not a handsome, accomplished lover, so I didn't even have the benefits.
     My kids are all out for the evening. I have been reading a light biography of Elizabeth II, dancing with myself, writing, and drinking tea. It has been lovely so far, and who knows what will happen next?

Where to start

I do not think it has been obvious, but my marriage has not been a happy one for years. My life has been happy. I am usually in a good mood, and enjoy myself, but my marriage is usually only adequate and/or miserable depending on the day. Instead of using to dh to mean dear husband or damn husband, as per current internet usage, I have I always used it to mean dickhead. An example of one of the many problems is that right now I keep looking over my shoulder to make sure he is not coming through the door. I have never been allowed any privacy. If I kept a paper journal he found it and read it, same with e-mail. Any information gleaned was later used against me in an argument. If I am not home he calls all of my relatives until he finds me. He ran through the caller id in the evening and asked me what every number wanted when they called. This is not horrible behavior, but I could not stand it. Being the type of person who needs some personal space this felt suffocating. He was steadily growing ruder which meant the number of friends and relatives who would spend time at my house was dwindling. Despite all of this I was shocked when moved out last week. It felt like a slap in the face after all the crap I had put up with for years.
Now  a week later I am still jumpy, but I am starting to get used to the freedom again. Today somebody suggested that this my be temporary, that we may get back together. No I am sure that is not going to happen; this feels too good. I had wanted to stay married for three more years. Lane and Jason will both have graduated by then and I wanted to be able to provide for them financially as much as they were used to. That is probably what hurt the most. I had expected to have more control over the time frame of the divorce. It is too early to say for sure, but I think this is for the best.

Summer

Summer is here. For me that means less time spent inside, except for at work when I spend all day in an office that feels like a cave. I have planted tomatoes, peppers, strawberries and herbs, not a big garden, but it is enough for now. I have been working on the cob house I am building. To be honest, at this point it is a cob room. I am plastering the inside. There is something peaceful about smoothing mud onto a wall. Solitary bees have been making nests inside the wall. I haven't it made it to that area yet, so for now we are not disturbing each other. They make a beautiful buzzing noise that fills the room while I work.

The one where I place too much importance on myself

The irritation on President Obama's face was easy to read as he displayed his birth certificate. It was easy to assume I knew the depth of his feeling, I too thought we as a nation had better discussions to spend our time on. Sunday night as I was driving my son, Lee, to the train station I heard the news about Bin Laden. As it became clear that he had been watching this closely for a week I knew his frustration level with the birthers was both deeper than his face had showed and was completely justified. He really did have better things to do.

At this point I am going to compare my small problems with those of the U.S. President. Bear with me. During my April board meeting we discussed teacher evaluations. It became clear that a man who I feel to be a great teacher was about to lose his job and their was not a damn thing I could do to stop it. Another teacher, who is not the best teacher, was also going to be asked to leave, not unusual, except that we all knew he was also going through a serious personal issue that his job loss would compound. We also discussed several minor issues such as the buying a new vehicle and alleged drinking on the senior trip.
Our meeting lasted until 1:30 in the morning. Afterward I showered and lay in bed thinking about the families of the two men we had discussed. This is a small community. Everybody knows everybody and their families. The great teacher and his wife are friends of ours. We have talked over supper, laughed over drinks, shared clothes, parenting tips, and inside jokes. His children would have to change schools. The community was going to lose a good worker and organizer when his wife moved. I really felt that as a board we were making a big mistake for the community and an even bigger one for the school. Great teachers are hard to find.

When I woke at 6:30 I had gotten little sleep. No one would know about the teachers for a while. All day at work I carried around my worries. At home I looked at the clock and decided I had time for a short nap. I curled up on the sofa by Beezus and closed my eyes. Twenty minutes later the phone rang. It was a friend, who also happens to be a teacher, she disagreed with our decision on the senior trip. I tried to stay calm. The conversation was heated, at one point I mentioned that we had more important things to worry about. After the phone call I was irritated, angry, and more than a little hurt. Being exhausted amplified these feeling. The phone rang. It was Drama Queen. She started yelling curse words at me. Apparently I am not raising her children up to her standards. I was also allowing them to have visits with their father, which he has legal rights to, and she was angry. Usually I just stay calm when she is like this and wait for her too calm down too. This night I yelled into the phone "I am not in the fucking mood" and hung up. She called back apologized then started screaming again. I hung up. She sent several texts which I ignored. She called again. Jason answered I could hear his quiet voice talking to her,saying that I was not coming to the phone. I was laying with Lane on his bed. My children are used to me being on an even keel, not laying on a bed crying. Jason came back to the room and both boys lay with me while I cried. I have great children.

Later I went to the local office to do a bit of work.  I had decided that there seemed to be a split between what the school board should be focused on and what everybody else wanted us to focus on. My time on the board is donated, my sleepless nights ate given with little reward. I was willing to donate this time for the sake of the school, however, I was not willing to give up this time for stupid arguments that mostly stemmed from previous arguments and hurt feelings.  I wrote my resignation letter and sent it out to the board and administration.

I was concerned that when the emotions cleared I would regret leaving the board. A week later I felt pretty good about my decision. There had been a flood of positive responses to my letter asking me to reconsider. I had talked to two of the administration members, who I have respect for, and agreed to give my resignation more thought. After two weeks of thought, and several more conversations, with that same friend I had fought with, I still felt happy with my decision. The friend had called me when the great teacher put in his resignation. She apologized, she knew then what I had alluded too, and agreed that this was a much bigger problem.  I was happy to be off of the board and have this weight lifted from me.

Then one evening dh came home and mentioned the two men who were vying for my position. Not two men really, but two douche bags. A phrase I mean in the strongest possible way. My mind played forward what meetings would be like with either of these two in attendance. I thought of the what this would mean for the teachers, it would not be good, and the students. I rescinded my resignation. In two years when my term is up I will rethink my position again. If either of these two are to be on the board they will be there because they were elected, not because I handed it to them.

All of this to say that our president has important decisions to make. Could we please insist that the media educate us on these things? Could we talk about our future as a nation and not every stupid thing that some idiot throws out as a talking point?

American Workers Vs Multi-Billionaires

I will beat you creme brulee, someday.

Creme brulee is kicking my ass. Of course I have promised to present said dessert at 12:50. The recipe calls for cooling before it is served, and my ramekins are still in the oven. Having nudged the heat slightly I still have hopes for something edible. After all, they have never had creme brulee, maybe they won't notice. I will them they misunderstood, brulee means soup. The tiramisu looks good. The extra one I made for breakfast tasted good also. Let them eat cake.

A childhood friend found me on facebook. That simple thing has made me ridiculously happy. I had not realized how much I missed my friends until they started finding me. Life is great, so is social networking, just when I need friends they start showing up.

Books, year in review

• *A Study In Scarlet
• *Living Dead In Dallas
• *A Long Way Gone
• *A Thousand Splendid Suns
• *Mort
• *Have His Carcass
• *The Woman He Loved
• *The Duchess of Windsor
• *The Help
• *The Atonement Child
• *Across the River and Into the Trees
• *Dead Until Dark
• *Islands in the Stream
• *The Nine Tailors
• *In The Presence of My Enemies
• *The Documents In The Case
• *Look Again
• *Persuasion
• *The Survivors Club
• *The Empty House
• *Shades of Grey
• *The Joy Luck Club
• *Summer Island
• *Hangover square
• *Dreams from my father
• *Brighton Rock
• *Nineteen Minutes
• *Wicked
• *Infidel
• *Come, Tell Me How You Live
• *Hour of Gold,Hour of Lead:Diaries of Anne Morrow Lindbergh
• *Ursula Under
• *Slam
• *Spud

These are the books I read in 2010. It was not a productive year in the reading category.  The only one I did not care for was The Atonement Child. The first half was good, but it went to shit after that. I would recommend Hangover Square to anyone, good book.

My life

Most days I look at this empty screen and think 'I have nothing to say' So I say nothing. Today, I have nothing to say, so I thought I would just catch up on what have I been doing. Beezus and Ramona have moved back in with me, and Lee is here for Christmas break. That makes me happy. What else? Working mostly, having lived for several years as a stay-at-home mom I have perspective on both sides and I can say that working sucks. It has its good points, like a paycheck and health insurance. It was always scary to take a child to the doctor and wonder if this was going to be your whole food budget for the week, and I most certainly never wanted to go the doctor myself. That would be a total waste of money. Adult interaction is another good point. I enjoy my job, and feel I am good at it, but it still sucks to wake to the sound of an alarm, drive, spend eight hours working for everybody else, then be too tired to work towards my own dreams in the evening. It is not that I am always too tired. That energy that I do have is spent on my children. It has become apparent to me lately that I do not have much time left with them at home, so spending time with them has become a real priority, whether they like it or not. What are these dreams, or projects, that I am pushing back?

I want to build my house. The picture of it is stored in my head and I walk through it at nights. It is beautiful. I want to write a few books. There are stories in my mind that I would like to commit to paper, before paper is archaic. I would like to be a more healthy me. I have plans that include more yoga and belly dancing, I am trying to fit those in to my schedule. I have trouble sticking to schedules. Creating an actual prolific garden would be nice, I play at in now, but it does not produce much. These are all things I am trying to fit into my life. Hopefully I will do a better job of it than I did last year.

What did I do last year. I joined a book club that I have enjoyed. I sent my first child off to college. I remember the day I sat at a red light in Lawrence and it hit me that I had done it. The day Lee was born I pledged to give him a stable childhood. One where he would start preschool and graduate in the same place. One where college was not some foreign world where he would feel he did not belong, but a place he was planning on going some day. Financially I wanted to be able to help him get started. That moment at the stop light, the same day I had cosigned his lease, and enrolled him in school, was a moment of sheer giddiness. I have been through a roller coaster with my sister. We have not agreed on rehab for her or where the girls should live. I am not saying the ride is over, but we are in a nice steady spot right now. Lane and Jason are becoming young men and most days I am proud of them. I have always tried to create an open relationship in the family. That started with answering any question they asked me honestly. It may now have gone a bit too far. I am not sure it is normal to know how Jason's sex life is going. Normal or not he will say things like 'Hey do I have scratch marks on my back?' Who are these men I am raising? The fun is in watching them find out.