Showing posts with label Cie's family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cie's family. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 7, 2022

Insecure Writers Support Group 7 December 2022

 

Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay

It's holiday time! Are the holidays a time to catch up or fall behind on writer goals?

Neither. The holidays are business as usual for me. I run a 365-day-per-year writing operation. Falling behind really bothers me so I would never do it deliberately.

I don’t have young kids—don’t have much in the way of family at all, really. I do have family, but I’m estranged from most of them. My son and I will do a day trip to see my mother, who lives about 125 miles from us, before Christmas. My brother lives in Arizona and my mother, son, and I live in Colorado. I’ll send my brother a holiday message. Maybe I’ll make some cookies to send him this year.

Sometimes it’s kind of sad not having friends I can communicate with, but the truth is, I’m not that good at being a friend. I’ve got a lot of trust issues and they tend to ooze their way in and ruin things. I’m a lone wolf with very few connections.

Happy holidays if you celebrate them. If not, have a good day not celebrating.  

~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~







Thursday, April 29, 2021

Worditude: THE SURVIVOR

Worditude: THE SURVIVOR: Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United, and to dVerse   April 25, 2021 ****************** THE SURVIVOR She left in disarray, thoughts ...

I've been thinking a lot about my late maternal aunt and the abuse she endured at her first husband's hands. To describe him, he sounds like a work of fiction because he is that intensely awful. But he was very, very real.

I'm glad my aunt's second marriage was to someone much better. She made my Uncle Fred wait 13 years before she was finally able to trust him enough to say "yes." He took care of her up to the end of her life when she developed dementia and needed round-the-clock care that was more than he could provide because she would go wandering.

Wednesday, April 28, 2021

Dark Hearts Love Too: Late April Thoughts

Dark Hearts Love Too: Late April Thoughts:   Image source: NASA https://unsplash.com/photos/B7Q0Rv9jTkU It’s around the time of my son’s birthday My soul, restless The first rain ...

A brief poem about the way that I'm feeling.
Fortunately, the cyst that was causing my son a fair bit of rather debilitating pain seems to have ruptured on its own, so he may not have to have any surgery for it.

Thursday, March 18, 2021

Rainbow Lyrics and Mellow Mushrooms: Rainbow Snippet 3/13/2021

Rainbow Lyrics and Mellow Mushrooms: Rainbow Snippet 3/13/2021:   Rainbow Snippets gives writers a chance to share six sentences (and sometimes a little more) of LGBTQ+ fiction every weekend. Check out th...

His siblings are right. Hard though it might be to know the truth, he needs to listen to them if he wants to know the full story.

My parents didn't like my ex-husband. Back in 1984 when I told them that we were getting an apartment together, my mother accused me of having sex with both him and our roommate, a guy whom I couldn't have been less attracted to, even if I was inclined to sleep around, which I wasn't.

They also turned my brother against me and our relationship has never recovered. 

I try not to use past harms as an excuse to be hateful now. My mother wouldn't even remember these events, not because she has dementia (she doesn't) but because she has selective amnesia and, like the rest of my family, is utterly incapable of wrongdoing. (Yes, that's sarcasm.) 

Also, it's not as though I'm innocent of saying completely horrific shit at times. I grew up listening to my parents shout at each other and at me and my brother. It was "normal" to shout horrible shit when you were angry. When it bothered me, I was admonished to stop being so sensitive. My frustration at being unheard and dismissed, particularly when it came to the trauma I'd endured, made me angry. I became quite deft at slinging my words like projectiles. 

I promised myself that I wouldn't ever yell at my son the way my parents yelled at me. My efforts weren't perfect, and my tendency to scold and lecture damaged my relationship with him. When he was fourteen, I started turning things around. Sometimes I probably take things too far in the other direction, but sometimes the less said, the better.

Parents aren't perfect and I do forgive my parents, but I wish I could patch this shit up with my mother. I know I'll never be able to. She'd only get defensive and I'd end up even angrier. As Stephen King said, sometimes dead is better, but in this case, it's buried in an unquiet grave.

~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~



Free use image by Open Clipart Vectors on Pixabay


Wednesday, October 14, 2020

What It Is Wednesday: Tempered Truth

 

Image copyright John Hain

A response to this poem:

https://ladyleemanilablog.wordpress.com/2020/10/14/octpowrimo-day-14-a-pinch-of-purpose

I tend to temper the truths I tell my mother. It's easier to get along with her if she doesn't have reason to criticize me. Sometimes I think the fact that I'm breathing is enough reason for her to criticize me, but if I weren't breathing, she'd criticize me for that too. We have a difficult relationship.

Sunday, May 10, 2020

Come as You Are Party + Sunday Dinner at the Grover Hotel: Watergate Cake + Poke Cake Hybrid

Free use image by Pexels

It's been an age since I did a Sunday Dinner post. I've been concentrating on my literary projects, and I am horrible at taking breaks. I did take a couple breaks to research making my own cake, cookie, and pudding mixes, but that's a post for another time!

My son's 30th birthday was May 8th. Physically, I was feeling much better this year than the year he was born. I wasn't conscious when he was born, and I certainly didn't make a cake.

My son doesn't like people making a fuss over his birthday, so I didn't put candles on the cake, and I didn't traumatize him by singing. My singing causes birds to drop dead and airplanes to fall from the sky, so there was none of that.

This year, I did make a cake. The cake was a modification of the following recipe for Watergate Cake.

1 box white cake mix
1 small pistachio instant pudding
3/4 cup oil
3/4 cup + 1 tablespoon water
4 eggs

Beat ingredients together and pour into 9x13 baking pan, greased. Sprinkle 1/2 cup chopped nuts on top and bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes.

Topping--combine:
2 cups powdered sugar
2 tablespoons butter, melted
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 cup water
Poke holes in cake and pour topping over. Put back in oven for 5 minutes.

I am unsure why it's called Watergate Cake. Maybe President Nixon enjoyed a slice while listening to the infamous tapes. 

I didn't have pistachio pudding mix, so I opted to make a poke cake with Jello instead. I used a box of vanilla pudding mix instead of pistachio, I used 3/4 cups of melted butter instead of oil, and I added four tablespoons of dry milk to the water. The result was a very smooth, rich, tasty batter.

I let the cake cool for a couple of hours and then poked holes in it with a fork at approximately 1/2 inch intervals. I didn't measure, so who knows? Then I mixed a small box of pomegranate blueberry Jello into 1 cup of boiling water, stirred until the Jello was dissolved, added a cup of cold water, stirred a little more, and poured it over the cake. We had to let this sit for another couple of hours.

I didn't frost the cake. My son isn't big on frosting. I'm the sort of person who likes a little cake with my frosting. In any case, the Jello makes the cake very sweet, so the frosting would probably be a step too far. I would use whipped cream or whipped topping rather than regular frosting.

I am going to try the Watergate cake at some point. It sounds really tasty! However, the recipe is very adaptable. Use what you have on hand and make it your own!

~Your Ornery Old Aunt Cie~


Win free vanilla + $100 worth of good stuff from Watkins

The Inevitable Legalese and Other Blah-Blah

Content copyright 2020 by Cara Hartley

Please do not repost

Reblogging is acceptable on platforms that allow it.

Sharing a link to the post is acceptable.

Quoting portions of the post for educational or review purposes is acceptable if proper credit is given.

This post is cross-posted to:




Sharing with these blog hops:

Busy Monday

Come as you Are Party (my mental health blog. Tends to be sweary and ranty.)

Grammy's Grid

Hearth and Soul

Inspire Me Monday

Lou Lou Girls Fabulous Party

Senior Salon

Share the Kindness

What's for Dinner?

Friday, May 8, 2020

Flashing Back and Forth: Wisteria & A Birthday

Image copyright Vũ Đỗ

In the moonlight,
The color and scent of the wisteria
Seems far away.
As far away I think as
My sense of belonging here

Buson & Cie


Join Friday Flashback at:


Join Haiku My Heart at:
http://corazon.typepad.com

http://chevrefeuillescarpediem.blogspot.com/2019/05/carpe-diem-1660-tan-renga-challenge.html

New Notes:
This will be a long post, so if you only came for the poetry, this is your stop!

Today is my son's thirtieth birthday. It is also Friday Flashback day. So I am leaving the notes from last year when I wrote the post.

Last year at this time, my son, his dad, and I were in the process of trying to get things in order to purchase the property that my son says is his literal dream house. I often say that I'm a pretty useless excuse for a person and pretty much a waste of oxygen and skin cells, but I am the one who found the house, so I have done two good things in this life. I brought my son into the world, which he sometimes may not think is such a great thing as it has been a bit of an uphill fight for him given that he lives with anxiety, high-functioning autism, and major depression in a society that demands a very rigid degree of impossible perfection and an ability to play by certain rigid rules.


This is the house, and you can well believe that I nearly peed myself when I saw that this property was being sold for $90,000. We had just finished looking at a very "meh" three-bedroom townhome in southeast Denver that cost $240,000 and kicking the worst real estate agent ever to the curb. Thanks for sucking, Matt. You did us a huge favor.

If you're interested in seeing just what this clown did, you can read this post.


I'd like to thank Xenia, the real estate agent we had prior to Matt, for sucking too. Rather than being a professional and telling us that she wasn't the right real estate agent for us, she did the bad high school break-up thing, hung up on me, and refused to return my calls. It was very unprofessional. Note that we didn't do anything wrong to her, we were always polite. We were looking for land, and she only wanted to sell upscale properties in Denver. Also, note that she approached us first, touting her abilities as a real estate agent. 

We instead ended up with Jason Wadsworth, who is a fantastic real estate agent. If you are ever interested in buying a property in Northern Colorado, Jason is your go-to guy. He can be reached at jwadsworth@remax.net

I am glad that my son's dream house is now a reality. There has been a lot of work done on it, and more still needs to be done. We are also still tackling the nightmare that is my old mobile home and hope to have it on the market this summer. I will be extremely happy when it's gone.

I couldn't end this post without giving a shout-out to Ghost Town Grover and Cactus Clem. I hope to be giving more attention to their adventures once the whole trailer mess has been wrangled.


Ghost Town Grover

Cactus Clem

Ye Olde Notes:
The Hokku (Haiku) stanza of the poem was written by Yosa Buson (1716 - 1784). The Akegu (closing) stanza was written by me.

I have never felt that I belonged in this world. When I was younger, I always hoped I'd find people I belonged with. There have been a few where I feel like they put up with me to a degree or felt sympathy for me, but I have never had a sense of finding my "tribe." The only person I'm really at all close with is my son. I tend to form only very superficial relationships with other people.

Dinners with my mother are perilous and fraught with small talk. She has never approved of any of my choices, and she knows almost nothing about what is really transpiring in my life.

I am not at all close with the other members of my family. I would not recognize most of them if I passed them in the street.

At this point in my life, I do not wish to party and socialize. I have one friend whom I confide in via email, and that means a lot. This friend lives a few thousand miles away from me, so it isn't as if we could get together for coffee.

I have felt a degree of understanding and acceptance from the people participating in this little Tan Renga challenge, which I usually don't get a sense of during such challenges.

I usually feel as if I am an outsider who has crashed a party when participating in blog hops, and the general sense is "what is that freak doing here at our exclusive soiree?" Some of the blog hops I participate in are very focused on clothing and fashion although other sorts of posts are allowed, and if you don't think I'm an absolute outlier when it comes to fashion, you don't know me at all. I can't afford nice clothes or even new clothes, and I look like an unmade bed most of the time.
One would think that I would feel more at home with creative blog hops, but I usually don't. I've been surprised by the feeling of peace I've gained participating in this one. Maybe it's just that no-one has attacked me yet. Hopefully, we can do without that happening this time.

The Inevitable Legalese and Other Blah-Blah

Content copyright 2019 - 2020 by Cara Hartley

Please do not repost

Reblogging is acceptable on platforms that allow it.

Sharing a link to the post is acceptable.

Quoting portions of the post for educational or review purposes is acceptable if proper credit is given.

This post is published on the following sites:

http://poetryofthenetherworld.blogspot.com

http://www.goodstufffromgrover.com

http://publish0x.com/naughty-netherworld-press

https://bitpatron.co/orneryowl.id.blockstack

http://ko-fi.com/naughtynetherworldpress

http://patreon.com/naughtynetherworldpress

Tuesday, April 14, 2020

NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 14 + April PAD Challenge 2020 Day 14: Your Legacy

Image by Barbara Bonanno from Pixabay

I
am not
what you hoped
but I am, nonetheless
the legacy that you created
I am your Frankenstein monster
built from the things
that made your life
worth living
I am a
twisted
sorry
awful
mockery
a failure
of a person
I am not 
what you hoped
but I am, nonetheless
the gifts you gave me

~cie~



NaPoWriMo: write a poem about the people who inspired you to write poems

April PAD Challenge: write a form poem

notes
I think the shape above is a chess pawn. It started out as a simple diamante but turned into what you see. It is what it is.

This poem addresses my late father. He was a professor of literature and humanities who also taught technical writing. I was a precocious little skidmark who learned to read and write by the time I was four years old. I think my father believed that this prodigious spark meant that I was destined for greatness. He read poetry to me. I started reading Edgar Allan Poe's works when I was six years old.

My father wound up tremendously disappointed in me. I was a fuckup who could never do anything right and I had a slew of psychological problems. I was singled out and abused by my peers. I married too young. I had one abusive relationship after another. I engaged in self-harm. Possibly, worst of all, between a fucked endocrine system and years of yo-yo dieting, I ended up fat. My father believed that being fat was a sign of failure. He always went to great lengths to prevent himself from being fat. He ran six miles a day for many years. However, his vascular system was a disaster. He had a major hemorrhagic stroke at 68 years old. At the time of his death at age 74, he had suffered several more strokes, had congestive heart failure and vascular dementia, and was confined to a wheelchair.

If anyone's first inclination is to tell me "cHeEr Up, U cAn StiLLL LUz3 tEh WaTeZ!!111!!!" my suggestion to you is to check the ever-loving fuck out of yourself. Preferably on ice during a hockey game. I tried to hate myself thin for 33 years. With my endocrine problems, it is highly unlikely that I will ever be thin unless I do what my great-grandmother did. She developed acute myelogenous leukemia, dropped from 300 pounds to 95 in the space of a year, and dropped dead. But hey, she cut a svelte figure in her coffin, and, apparently, that's the only fucking thing that counts. Never mind that she was now, you know, DEAD.

In any case, I'm not going to waste another goddamn minute of my time trying to hate myself into the body that other people think I'm supposed to have. Thirty-three years of that shit is long enough. People who think I, or anyone else should do that, can slam down a hot, steaming cup of STFU, read the following fine books, and fuck off forever. Or if you're not a brainwashed, narrow-minded asswipe and you simply think: "say, those books look like they have some good information," you can read them while drinking what you want and omit the fucking off part. I'd think that was pretty cool.


Wednesday, April 1, 2020

NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 1 + April PAD Challenge 2020 Day 1: Escape on the Asphalt Sea

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

on an asphalt sea my son and I ride
as long as the weather is on our side
we make a journey to retrieve
items from a place that we must leave
on an asphalt sea

as the earth turned, so did the tide
fortune has not been on my side
I search for reasons to believe
on an asphalt sea

some days I do not mind the ride
other days I wish to escape inside
over the years there have been reasons to grieve
I examine the dreams that my mind may conceive
on an asphalt sea

~cie~



notes
I combined the NaPoWriMo prompt with the April PAD Chapbook Challenge prompt AND the April PAD Challenge Countdown prompt. Go me!

Sunday, March 15, 2020

Come as You Are Party: Meet the Critters of the Grover Hotel


There are 3 cats here at the Grover Hotel. Giorgio is the oldest. He is 17. His former human family were jerks who had him declawed and then dropped him at the shelter when they got a new cat and Giorgio behaved like a normal cat and hissed at the newcomer.


Tara is 10 years old. She was born on 9 September 2009. I adopted her and her little half-brother or cousin at the same time. Sadly, he had to be put to sleep due to kidney failure on his 6th birthday, 17 July 2015. 


I've never gotten over losing him and I have a tattoo in his memory on my left shoulder.


Bart is 9 years old. He was adopted after Giorgio's housemate got out of the apartment that my son was living in at the time and we were never able to find her. 

Giorgio was lonely and we had seen Bart at the shelter while looking for Tori. Since Bart and Tara became housemates they have enjoyed playing together. They are evenly matched and love to roughhouse and chase each other.

For those who haven't had the displeasure of virtually meeting me previously, I'm Cie, AKA the Ornery Old Lady. I'm a former home health nurse, and caregiver, now disabled. I live here at the Grover Hotel with my son Michael, who will be 30 in May. 


My son is a creative person who enjoys working with his hands. He does woodcarving, primarily chip carving, which is a relief style. If you have a design in mind, you can email me at chartley65@gmail.com and I'll put you in touch with him.



Ghost Town Grover may seem gruff at first, but he's just protective of the ole Grover Hotel. Don't tell him, but he's just about the un-scariest ghost you'll ever meet.


Cactus Clem is one of a kind. He's a mutant cactus man. He doesn't eat solid food, but he sure does love to drink, and he ain't picky about what he's drinking. Beer, ditch water, lemonade, whiskey, white lightning, more beer, it's all the same to Clem!

Do not challenge Clem to a drinking contest. You will lose. Alcohol doesn't get Clem drunk. He just likes the taste.

I hope you've enjoyed meeting the people and critters that reside here at the Grover Hotel. Feel free to stop by anytime. Our virtual home is open 24-7!

~Cie the Ornery Old Lady~


Ornery Owl
Free use image from Open Clipart Vectors on Pixabay


Wednesday, March 4, 2020

Insecure Writers' Support Group 4 March 2020

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Other than the obvious holiday traditions, have you ever included any personal or family traditions/customs in your stories?

My family is extremely dysfunctional. They have ended up in various stories in various situations. I'm not trying to paint them as bad. I'm trying to understand things that happened in my youth through much older eyes.

I'm too tired and my health is too precarious to be angry anymore. Mostly I'm sad for what could have been when I have the energy to feel much of anything.

~Cie the Ornery Old Lady~
(yes, I am)



Sunday, February 23, 2020

Come As You Are Party: Wired Differently or Just a Flake?

Image by Wolfgang Eckert from Pixabay


It is my hope to back away from apologizing for who I am and instead explain about myself so that those I interact with might develop an understanding of those of us who are wired differently.

I have type 2 bipolar disorder and ADD as well as complex PTSD and OCD. I wasn't properly diagnosed with bipolar disorder or OCD until I was almost 40. I didn't know I had ADD until I was in my 50s. I was just always scolded for being forgetful and distracted. I have always vacillated between being Ms. Wonderful and being that flakey a-hole that everyone hates. I understand why it happens now, but I can't change the past. I wish people would try to understand me a little better, but I'm not going to hold my breath.

My son will be 30 this year. He is high-functioning autistic and has ADHD as well as anxiety issues and major depression. He is very intelligent and has read the entire Amber series (Roger Zelazny), much of Tolkien's writing, The Count of Monte Cristo, the works of C.S. Lewis, and the list goes on, but he can't learn from a textbook to save his life. I think the current educational system does a very poor job of addressing the needs of those who are not neurotypical. 

I technically also have a diagnosis of borderline personality disorder, but it is my opinion that borderline personality disorder is actually a form of complex PTSD and is an outdated and sexist diagnosis. It is almost exclusively applied to girls and women. Everyone who has it has endured some form of trauma, whether physical, psychological, sexual or a combination thereof. 

~Cie the Ornery Old Lady~



Image copyright Open Clipart Vectors

Sunday, December 22, 2019

The Crazy Creatives Cheerleading Camp Come As You Are Party + Inner Champion Workbook Chapter 7: Find Your Why



Disclosure: If readers purchase a copy of the book through the preview link, I earn a small commission from Amazon.

Five things that make me happy:
1. My son
2. Writing
3. Doing crafts, i.e. loom knitting
4. Exploring nature
5. Learning new things

Identify why each of the above makes you happy. For example, if vacations make you happy, ask yourself why. Are they relaxing? Are they a hassle or expensive, but worth every penny because of what you learn about the world? Is it the time spent with loved ones?

Why these things bring my happiness:
1. My son is simply one of those people who was born with a desire to be kind. He wants to make the world a better place. He doesn't care about being showy or flashy. He just wants to be able to do his own thing. He is very good at working with his hands and has a great artistic eye. 

At times, I have not been as supportive of him as I should have because I misunderstood him. My parents also misunderstood him and scolded him for not "trying harder" when he would withdraw. 

Neither my son nor I were aware until he was an adult that he is on the autism spectrum. He hid a lot of his distress from overstimulation. He was born in 1990, and at that time, most people believed that autism was identified by the pronounced behaviors in people who are more severely affected, i.e. rocking and screaming. Most people believed that everyone with autism is non-verbal.

My son has since been able to reveal such characteristics as extreme sensitivity to sounds. He turns on rain sounds because otherwise, the humming from his phone charger disturbs him. I can't hear the phone charger at all. He is very aware of the sounds of water running through pipes. One time when the washing machine hose was dripping and causing water to run down the laundry room wall into the basement, he heard it all the way up on the second floor of the house and went to check it out. I was completely unaware of the problem.

I first started to suspect that my son might be autistic when he would turn the air conditioner in his room down to the coldest level while he was sleeping in order to be able to sleep under his heavy comforter even in the hottest days of summer. Weighted blankets have been shown to be very helpful in calming people with autism. Fortunately, at this point, the knowledge about the condition has increased exponentially.

However, society is often very slow to catch up. People with autism still tend to be treated as if they are retarded. People with autism are intellectually diverse. Some have severe intellectual disabilities while some have higher than average intellectual capabilities. People with autism are often pigeonholed as having lower than average intelligence because they tend not to learn well using traditional methods. 

My son, for instance, has trouble learning anything at all from a textbook. He does not have problems reading long novels that hold his interest. The best way for him to learn a new skill, however, is by observing and doing, not by reading a boring textbook and attempting to answer a long roster of meaningless questions. For instance, when he was in the EMS program, he would become extremely frustrated by trying to read and answer questions in the textbook. It did not matter if I read the text to him, he didn't absorb it and trying to just upset him. However, he took a lot away from his clinical experiences, and he did well with the medical terminology and even the pharmacy calculations which were always a sticking point for me.

Unfortunately, at that point, the community college EMS programs were hell-bent on passing no more than 75% of their participants because they wanted to prove how "tough" their standards were. I was astounded by the amount of information that students were being expected to learn in the space of one semester. I had gone through the EMS program six years prior to when my son was in it, and at the point when he entered the program, the students were expected to learn skills that were previously part of the paramedic program. 

When my son opted to drop out of the program, I fully supported him. I was aghast at the changes that had taken place. It's a damn shame too because I think that my son would have made a good EMT. However, he probably would have opted to work in an emergency room rather than on an ambulance because, like many autistic people, driving is a skill that is problematic for him.

2. Writing has always been my main way to survive. I do not think that I would last long if I didn't write. If I go for several days without writing, I start to become clinically depressed. It helps me work through problems and provides me an escape from a world that I've always found hostile to my very being.

3. Unlike writing, there is no impetus for me to have a certain level of "success" when it comes to my crafts. I just do them because I like to.

4. Exploring takes me out of my everyday environment, away from civilization, to a place that does not judge me. Connecting to the natural world renews the spirit.

5. One should not cease learning simply because one is not in school. Without new knowledge, a person stagnates. Learning because I want to learn just feels good. 

How my goals connect to the things in life that bring me joy:

1. I want to succeed because I want to be able to support my son in his own goals and give him the best life possible. He deserves this.

2. I would like to earn my living writing. However, I doubt this will ever transpire. So, I intend to write as if I were earning my living doing so, but not as if I MUST earn my living doing so. I never want it to be a chore, and I never want it to become a duty or a means to seek acceptance. When I start doing any of those things, I know I'm on the wrong track.

3. I want to be able to have enough money to do my crafts anytime I want and not have to worry that I should be doing something that's earning money instead.

4. I want to have enough money to have the time and resources to explore and take care of nature.

5. Learning is necessary to find new avenues to obtaining my goal of multiple income streams. Also, without learning, life stagnates.


Free use image from Pixabay
Will work for tips and links

Saturday, December 21, 2019

Blow Your Stack Saturday + Inner Champion Workbook Chapter 6: Don't Give Up



Disclosure: If readers purchase a copy of the book through the above link, I will earn a small commission from Amazon.

How can I break this goal into smaller, achievable steps?
With the publishing goal, I'm already doing this.

I think I'm actually already doing it with the Goat Yoga Studio goal as well.

I've also been thinking about purchasing condos in the Denver area (single condos, not an entire building) to use as Air BnB/rental properties. 

I've become better within the past five years about breaking my bigger goals down into smaller, achievable goals. Which would have made me about eighteen when I gained this sage wisdom in my life.

Nah, I'm just messing with you. I'll be 55 in less than two months. I honestly still wasn't very good at breaking things down into smaller goals when I was fifty. Or fifty-one. Or fifty-two. It probably started to sink in when I was 53, although I was still recovering psychologically from the fact that I could no longer do the kinds of physically demanding work that I had done all my life.

Okay, I really didn't learn the lesson until this year. I'm kind of slow on the uptake sometimes.

How will I celebrate my accomplishments along the way?
With my son. Other than him, my family has never been supportive of my dreams. I could count my real friends on one hand if you chopped off half that hand. None of them live close to me and I've never met any of them in person.

Who will I turn to for help and encouragement?
See above.

If my first attempt does not work, what is the next approach I will try?
I'll just keep going at it with the publishing. However, as I previously mentioned, I'm not doing that to try and become The Next Big Thing. I'm just doing it because I want to.

With the goat yoga studio, if the property across the way is sold, I'll switch gears and move the idea to the fall-back property, which currently has a decaying structure on the land. The basic premise is the same but the execution is somewhat different.

The Air BnB/rentals in Denver thing is something that I've been considering and doing research on for a while now. It isn't a burning desire, so if it doesn't happen it doesn't happen. It's a potential income stream, but I have to be careful not to fall into a money pit.

Tuesday, December 17, 2019

Tackle It Tuesday + Inner Champion Workbook Chapter 3: Staying on Track



Disclosure: If readers purchase a copy of the book through the preview link, I will earn a small commission from Amazon.

In Chapter 3 of her autobiography, Lauren reveals how her tendency to jump into situations both feet first without thinking led to a detrimental lifestyle of nonstop partying and drugs. One day she woke up and realized that if she kept on the same path, she was going to die. She successfully went through a rehabilitation program and has been sober ever since.

I am often surprised that I didn't end up either an addict or dead. I have an addictive personality and a self-destructive streak six miles wide. Which, to hear some people talk, is approximately the same width as my ass. These people are incorrect. My ass is, in fact, seven miles wide.

Butt-related jokes aside, I am an adrenaline junkie at heart, but my body won't allow me to indulge my addiction. I also have very low self-esteem. The ravenous hunger for acceptance combined with an addiction to excitement led me into some bad situations in my youth.

When I was younger I was infamous for trying any substance that didn't need to be snorted or injected. It's a good thing that I have a strong aversion to things in my nose. As I discovered when I was in the hospital 25 years ago after having an emergency Cesarean section, I really, really, really like opiates. Not the kind you swallow, those make me nauseous as all fuck. Codeine makes me projectile vomit. But morphine coming through an I.V.? That's the shit! I knew I would be addicted quick if I had a steady supply of that, and I was pretty sure that I would have been addicted to cocaine with the first sniff if I had ever tried it. 

Cocaine has similar effects to drugs like morphine. Fortunately, crack wasn't a thing in the area where I lived back in the day, and the crowd I ran with was too plebian to have access to coke. Also, there was the aversion to putting things in my nose. Much though I liked alcohol (and I liked it a lot), I never became addicted although I was a very heavy drinker and hard partier well into my thirties. I stopped drinking when I got pregnant but picked it back up once I was done nursing.

And now you know that part of my story.

Here are today's Inner Champion Workbook questions:

Wrong direction/action:
Equating excitement with happiness and lust with love. I partied hard and allowed guys who didn't care about me to take a piece of my heart in the hopes that if I was good to them they'd fall in love with me. It doesn't work that way.

How it didn’t match my values or goals:
I was destroying my body and going against my belief that a person should have to earn my trust in order to obtain intimacy, especially that degree of intimacy. I was disrespecting myself and it was destroying not only my body but my will to live.

How I got myself back on track:
It didn't happen until I was finally diagnosed with type 2 bipolar disorder at nearly 40 years old. I was at last able to see a pattern in my behaviors. I learned about hypomania and hypersexuality. I was able to start treating the physical component of my condition and understanding some of my psychological motivations. 

It took me a while to heal the most important relationship in my life, the relationship with my son. I am forever sorry about the chaos my untreated illness and my lack of self-respect introduced into his life until he was 14 years old. It took a while for him to forgive me. When I think back on how broken our relationship was, it fills me with sadness.

Wrong direction/action:
I equate my value as a person with money or lack thereof.

How it doesn’t match my values or goals:
I know that money doesn't make the person. Case in point: the rich but rank shitgibbon who holds the title President of the United States. Or, in my case, Mr. Not My President. However, my family always equated wealth with personal worth, and that is something that has stuck with me on a very deep level. 

I do not personally believe that a person's wealth has anything to do with their personal worth. If they don't do anything worthwhile with their wealth, if they squander and flaunt it, they're nothing but a giant walking rhinestone-encrusted asshole. Yet although I don't believe that wealth reveals anything about a person's true value, I believe on a deeply ingrained level that my lack of it defines mine.

How I’m going to get myself back on track:
I don't really know. I'm going to keep striving both to improve my position in life and my own self-respect. That's really all I can do.



Free Use Image from Pixabay
Will work for tips and links

Sunday, December 1, 2019

We're back!

What Lunch Looked Like

How y'all am are? I was not expecting to be back so soon, but, as fate would have it, I'm here and so are you! So, let's do this!

After spending a freezing night without power in the old Grover Hotel, the Ornery Old Lady (that's me) and Sonny Boy headed to Greeley to gather up some supplies in case we were looking at another night to a week or more of this. We stopped at Taco John's, a place I haven't been to in some 35 years. In fact, that's where I made my last post from!

I was glad to find that Taco John's still tastes the same, but the price about knocked me out of the ballpark. Twenty bucks for a chicken quesadilla, a stuffed taco, Potato Ole's, drinks, and some guacamole, queso, and sour cream. Honestly, it's not that bad for today's prices, but I can remember when I was in high school and would go to Taco John's instead of eating the cafeteria swill. I'd have five bucks on me and get a whole meal and still get change back. Well, so it goes.

We went to Home Depot and bought a propane-powered space heater and looked into getting a backup generator. We picked up a snow shovel, which I thought was steel. It was aluminum and it bent easily. Not a winner there. We got a flashlight and a mini lantern. Then we headed to visit my son's second cousins on his father's side. They said that if the power was going to be out for a while, we could bring the cats and stay with them.

We hit the King Soopers to get some nonperishables like crackers and tinned kippers and then headed for home.

My son was reading the instructions for the space heater and I was getting the snow shovel out of the car when he came running out in an excited mood. The power was back on! I looked down the street to see the blinking red light just beyond the general store, and it never looked so beautiful!

It's still colder than a well-digger's ass in the old Hotel, but the furnace is back on and the temperature is rising. I've got salmon, potatoes, and corn in the oven. I also have (I hope) a fun opportunity.

I am going to need help deciding which poems to put in my manuscript for the November PAD Chapbook Challenge. So, for the next month, I will be having a Battle of the Poems. I will put up two poems, and I would like readers to decide which of the two they prefer. You can give me a reason, or just say "I like number (one or two) best." 

There will be a prize as an incentive for helping me. 

The person who comments on the most poems will receive a $5 Amazon gift card in their email. In the event that there is a tie, I will use a coin, dice, or Random Number Generator to help me choose.

I think this will be fun, and I hope I can get a few people to play along.

The first Battle of the Poems will appear tomorrow!

~Cie~


Thursday, November 28, 2019

November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2019: Day 28: Grateful

Image by Matthias Cooper from Pixabay

grateful for what's here
a town far from everything
life in an old house
impossible dreams fade out
bittersweet acceptance in

~Cie~

Notes:
Today's November PAD Chapbook Challenge prompt asked for a Gratitude poem.

People, you know me. I am not the sort to write heartwarming, Chicken Soup for the Soul, grateful for God and family and Better Homes and Gardens type poetry. I am an agnostic curmudgeon, and the only miracle here is that I'm still alive. They ain't found a way to kill me yet, and neither have I. I believe there is something that survives the death of the corporeal body, and I believe there are advanced spiritual forces which could be termed higher powers. I don't like the Church God, and although I'm willing to judge his followers on a case by case basis, I tend to be mightily skeptical of them.

I was raised Catholic and am the black sheep of a family that tried way too hard to keep up appearances. Today is the ninth anniversary of my father's passing. Although we had a sometimes contentious relationship and he passed his own insecurities down to me, he was a devoted father and I love him. I am glad he isn't suffering anymore. The last five years of his life were increasingly difficult. In the end, he really wasn't himself anymore.

I want to call my mother today. My mother is a loyal person who is too wrapped up in keeping up appearances to see the damage that mindset does. She has no idea who I actually am or what I'm really doing because anytime I have tried to tell her, she shuts me down and criticizes me, so I just let her think what she wants.

My brother and I were once the greatest of friends but now have a civil but distant relationship. 

I love my son with all my heart and soul. There are some hurts from the past from when my mental illness was as yet undiagnosed and my behavior was chaotic.

Leonard Cohen wrote the line "It's Father's Day and everybody's wounded."

I think the same could be said for most holidays.

If you're having a Better Homes and Gardens Thanksgiving, that's great, and I hope you enjoy it. I would just ask that you realize that this is not the case for everyone, and those of us who are unable to have Shiny Happy Holidays are not bad people or just feeling sorry for ourselves for attention. The hurt is real.



Just to lighten the load a bit, here's one of my favorites: