Taking Wall Street by Storm

People are angry. It is a harsh economy, an expensive world, and it feels hopeless that any change will take root in our lifetime. We hear dour predictions on the news, reflected painfully in our bank accounts, and somehow it insights anger. I saw reports of people gathering on Wall Street, holding up banners about the great division between the haves and the have nots, the inequality of the "American Caste System",

Maybe I am misguided, or under-educated, or uninformed, but I am afraid that the 99%, those masses of people who have only known what it means to be a "have-not", aren't considering the true implications of "sharing the wealth". I like having choices. I would like the government to stay out of my head, my wallet, and my choices as much as possible. We cannot legislate compassion or love, we cannot legislate principles. I think we are on a slow moving teeter-totter and that eventually it will swing back, we just don't have the patience because we are living in a society that needs instant gratification. I think if we don't let it swing back naturally, we are all going to topple down to the bottom into an abyss of (label it something pretty like "blissful cooperatives") socialism.

Post Note - Just saw this sitting here as a draft from last October...figured I'd hit the publish button just for fun.

This is the first year in as many fingers as I have to count on that I am not working in the garden. Last year was a bit like this, but not by choice. A year ago today, I was recovering from Colostomy reversal surgery. I look at today -a year ago, on my calendar, and the only thing on my schedule is how often I can take a Vicodin and whether or not I've used the rest room. I'd just arrived home from 4 days in the hospital, and the surgery was much easier to recover from then the surgery I'd had in December of 2010, and the reason I'd had the colostomy to begin with. I hadn't really considered either of the surgeries having as long of an impact on my life as they have had. I have some impressive scars, and apparently I'm missing a foot or two of my colon, but I'm talking about that stuff inside that you can't quite put your finger on. The stuff that you feel silly trying to tell your doc about. I know when I was talking to an old friend, I described it as "I've lost my super powers" and although she was quick to laugh and nod, I'm not quite sure she had a clue what I was talking about. I feel as though I've lost a part of me that I considered essential in my being. I had a quick intuitiveness that seemed to lead me before I even had a chance to think. I could keep track of 10 things at once without any thought. I could find my way home from almost anywhere and manage to take the shortest path without GPS or getting friendly neighborhood directions. I felt as though I was lucky enough to have been born with a photographic memory, quick wit, high IQ and best yet some sense of street smarts that kept me from getting myself into precarious situations. Now I feel jumbled. I know some of all of those things are still in there, yet I feel I'm still fighting every step of the way to rediscover them. My brain feels muddied. My body feels achy, out of my control, weak. My brain fog is even more complicated because I've managed to develop a large hole in my left ear drum, so I strain to make sense out of much of what I hear, lacking that stereo hearing that I'd taken so much for granted. I keep hoping that this is just a longer term effect of being anesthetized into a deep dark place 3 times in a few months, spending hours in that near death place that allows them to repair your body, but I worry that somehow it has changed me in a bigger way. I've tried to talk to the Doctor about it, but they are so very quick to assume that I am describing whatever easy diagnosis fits the path of least resistance that I think they miss the mark, repeatedly. One said I was depressed, which is likely that I am to a degree, since there is a long sordid family history of it, and since I feel so lost within myself, this shell of who I think I used to be, But I don't think that is what this is. One Doctor told me that there are long term consequences to any surgery, but I think she meant the physical scars, the muscles relearning to work where they've been re-appropriated, the general recovery of the body...but not so much the mind. I've read a bit here and there about people having some difficulty after surgery, and apparently there is some ongoing research for postoperative cognitive dysfunction (POCD) but it seems that it is focused mainly on the elderly. I wonder if there are others like me out there that just feel a little different, a little muddled, but they, too, are just disregarded when they mention it to their family Doctor.
I guess I will continue my quest to figure out if there is something more to this then just being tired, or mildly depressed, or just getting older? It's something that you really don't mention in day to day conversations, as it's hard to find a way to say "Oh, by the way, I don't feel like I used to feel but can't really explain it and am not mentioning it for any reason other then to see if anyone else feels the same" during an average conversation. Maybe I will try harder to have more frequent non-average conversations....of course, that could lead to more trouble.
Oh, and the reason I'm not working in the garden this spring? We are moving. It should be an interesting year, indeed!

Rebellious child

I believe in God. Unfortunately, in all that is good and wonderful, I also question, doubt, and challenge that faith frequently. I do not deny it, but there are days that go by that I forget that my purpose on this planet isn't just to be a wife and mother, but it is also to be a child of God.

I have found that my faith is strongest, my relationship the closest, when I am walking in darkness. I am a rebellious child who pushes the parent away over and over again, insisting on doing it myself, choosing my own path, until that moment of terror strikes and I realize it is ALL beyond my control, and then I am on my knees holding tightly to my heavenly fathers hand and counting on him to guide me. I am human enough to continue this cycle over and over in my life, but God has sent me an "aha" moment today. You see, he is worried about my eternity, something that is too big for me to contemplate most days. He is worried about the bigger picture that I just cannot wrap my head around because I am too caught up in each stressful little moment. He see's who I was, who I am, and who I need to be, but even better then that, he knows all of the why's behind those past and future choices I made and will make. In his eternal omniscience, he sees that I am on a righteous and faithful path when I am fearful and when I am broken, and being the loving eternal father that he is, he is doing his best to set me on that path by keeping me fearful and broken.

All of the times that I have cried out to him for help, he has granted it a thousand-fold by gently pushing me back down into the abyss of fear, knowing that my eternity hinged on my suffering. I am a foolish child, feeling ignored and chastised while my dear heavenly father was doing exactly what he needed to for me.

My lesson, my "aha" moment? I need to practice being faithful in good times. I need to first thank God for all gifts he has freely given me that I am undeserving of. "Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to his mercy he saved us, by the washing of regeneration, and renewing of the Holy Ghost;" Titus 3:5 I need him all of the time, not just in the hard times. God embraces me when I am dancing in the rain, laughing with my family, or crying out in pain. He has given me the free will and ability to reject that embrace, or to acknowlegde it in good times and in bad, and he allows me to make mistakes, forgives them, and does whatever it takes to get me on the path to eternity. Sometimes he allows pain, because he knows it is worth every tear. I am blessed to have a father that is willing to let me suffer for the greater good rather then give in to the momentary ease of answering prayers that will bring comfort in the moment and an eternity of pain.

I must walk more cautiously through the garden of my life, and pay more attention to the hand that guides me through the beauty instead of only asking for guidance in the storms.

A Frugal Future

I am trying to find ways to save money. Lots of money. I have never been a good saver, and I think I might have some money=happiness=worthiness=what the heck am I thinking issues. I am not sure how to deal with the issues, but know that paying a therapist $55 per visit isn't on my priority list right now, so I'm hoping to work the kinks out "on the fly".

We are currently upside down on our home. Yep, so are about 8 bizillion other Americans. Thanks Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, and everyone else who got the millions of dollars in tax payer bailout money. I am a little bitter about it. We didn't refinance and get a handful of money to burn like I watched so many other families do. New cars, vacations, new furniture all stemming from the "funny money" the banks were handing out like candy just a few years ago. I watched many people around me sign up for that new mortgage, since their home was suddenly worth more then...well...more then they thought it was and way more then they paid for it. My husband and I didn't sign up for the funny money plan. We tried to be smart. We supported the Nancy Reagan plan of action and "just said no" to what we looked on to be poor financial planning (ok, I was envious and thought about getting on the band wagon a few times but once we ran the numbers, we knew it just didn't make sense). So we kept struggling to make our house payments as we always had, knowing that in about 26 years it would have all paid off. Ah. Would have. In all of our fiscal responsibility vs. funny money, we really didn't consider the long term effects of all that funny money and how it was changing the market. We didn't know that there was going to be some bailouts in the future that ranged in size from a teaspoon trickle bailing to the whole damn titanic sinking bail out failure. We also didn't know that these kind of things would put our fiscally responsible decisions into the lovely status of being "upside-down". So, we now owe about 3 times what it appears our home is worth. There are multiple homes on more acreage, with better improvements (and less wear and tear) selling for 1/3 to 1/2 the amount we currently owe on our mortgage. We are screwed. We can keep scraping together the house payment every month and maybe, if we are really lucky, it's value will catch up in 10, 15, maybe 20 years. Or we can bail. Not the kind of good bailout that everyone got- I'm talking the we bail out and let our house go. I am scared. This means we will have one year to save as much money as we possibly can before we are without a home. Where will we go? Is this the right thing to do?

I am not emotionally attached to this house, at least I don't think I am. My mind may change when I am living out of a card board box. I have been hoping for change, praying for God to guide us, wanting something different in our lives. Is this it? We have been tied to this house, tied to this mortgage, tied to this little town that I've never wanted to live it. Is this going to be what frees us?

So I have been trying to figure out how to save. Scrimp. Coupons. Turn off lights. Turn down the heat. In short, I think I am slowly becoming my mother. Oddly enough- I am embracing this new role and it is giving me a sense of control that I haven't had before. Perhaps we just trade one psychological crutch for another. I kind of like this cheap second hand duct taped crutch as opposed to the "old" shiny keeping up with the Jones' model. I'm hoping I can peel back some layers of who and how I am and find that the things I have surrounded myself with are much less important then I'd once believed, and that the security I crave comes from my family, my faith, and my newfound frugality.

Another day another dollar?

The moon must be full or gone or whatever happens when everything seems to align to make life difficult. Please tell me that mom's across America were equally impatient and terrible today.
I didn't sleep very well last night, worried about our mortgage (too high), our income (too low), our resolve to fix it (not enough) and my health (which pretty much sucks). Not sure how to get out of this in between place we seem to be stuck in, and I think my frustrations with life carried over into places they shouldn't have. Like frustration with my kids and husband. Day 8 million and 50 of being trapped at home, on medical leave, unable to drive, feeling frustrated. Scheduled for tomorrow day 8 million and 51....pretty much the same.

There must be darkness to appreciate the light.

It's been a long winter. I can barely remember the sunshine and the green grass, and every day seems to blend into a hazy gray snow bank drizzled in dog pee. I am still recovering from surgery, and feeling even more trapped because of it I am sure.
Every day that is above freezing, I open the widows just a crack to feel that wonderful fresh stream of air that smells crisp and clean. I'm sure I'll regret it when we get the natural gas bill, but those few minutes of sanity are worth it.
I am slowly trying to find value in myself again. I have realized that for many years, I have found my value in that little slip of paper with my name and a dollar value on it, yep, my pay check. Since I was a mom and wife first, and an employee second, I wasn't worth much most of the time. But I had my "own" money, I had a little financial freedom, I didn't have to talk to my husband about every penny spent and balancing joint accounts, and I liked it. This surgical recover, this winter of my life, has had so many lessons, and a big one for me is that my value is not determined by my paycheck. My value is in my children's smiles, it is in the dog that curls up at my feet at night no matter how many times I accidentally kick her. My worth is in my husbands lop sided grin when I say something dumb when we are out on our "date night". My value is enumerated each time I smile at a stranger, or put a dollar in the collection jar for the animal shelter. When I hold the door for the elderly man, or help the woman at the grocery store pick up everything that has fallen from her diaper bag, I am infinitely human and eternally valued on a scale that really means something.
My credit score sucks right now. I am not positive what it is, I even went to one of those "free credit report" sites to try and find out, to face my fear, and it said my score wasn't available. Maybe because it is currently lower then dirt, or maybe the site was just having problems, I am opting for the first. I wish it were different, but I'm gonna just have to be ok with it for right now, because I have a medical debt of around $75,000 right now and it's gonna only go up before it goes down. I need to remember that this life is short, and my credit score certainly won't follow me into the afterlife, God forbid I hope it doesn't! But there is something much more important that will. Who am I to the stranger? Who am I to those that have hurt me? Who do I want to become and how will I get there? Those are the things I want to focus on.....I can change my phone number so the bill collectors will have a harder time bothering me for now, but God's got my permanent number, and I need to change the things I can for his purpose so I can find that value I have been seeking. When will I learn to trust Him?

Recovering (AKA Humor is Everything)

It seems to be a long and dark road back to health, and I really regret now not fully understanding how lucky I was to have good health for the most part of my life until now. I had surgery on December 21, 2010, yep 4 days before Christmas. I had a gracilus muscle flap procedure, sphincterplasty, and now have a temporary colostomy that has haunted my days and nights for the last 2 months. I went into the hospital on Dec 14, fully prepared to have a 3-7 day hospital stay and a 2-3 month recovery. I had been on a liquid only diet for two days, and drank bottles of nasty juice that caused all of my insides to cramp while I lived on the toilet. I barely made it to the hospital without multiple accidents of the Depends variety. I cracked jokes with the nurses as they put the lovely compression fitting thigh high stockings on, and got to experience the humiliation of sitting off the edge of the gurney, letting my 41 year old tummy that had carried 5 babies to term "all hang out" so the colostomy nurse could put an x on a "good spot" just in case it was decided I needed a colostomy. It was a 50/50 thing at that point. I was in favor of the 50% that said there was no way I could wake up and have my colon coming out of my stomach and draining into a bag. I met with everyone that was on my surgical team, kissed my hubby goodbye, and had a very Que Sera Sera attitude at that point, I'd already prayed, contemplated death, been full of fear, wished I'd done everything differently, celebrated everything I'd accomplished, longed for a vacation, the whole gamut of emotions and I figured if anything, at least when I woke up, it was going to be over, one way or the other, and I could focus on recovering at that point, (or haunting everyone I loved if the good Lord had decided in that direction.)
I recall the anesthesiologist telling me about his recent vacation to South America, telling me it was a great adventure, and that I wouldn't remember a thing he was saying when I woke up. He said he would have me count down from 100, but I'd never get past 95 so I might as well start with 7, so I began the count down "7, 6, 5..."
I woke up in the brightly light operating room. The clock on the wall showed that either 13 hours had gone by, or only 1. The surgery was scheduled to take around 7 hours, so something was up. I didn't feel woozy at all, I turned and asked the anesthesiologist what was going on, he seemed surprised that I was awake enough to speak. He said the Doctor would be in to talk to me in a few minutes, she had gone to talk to my husband first because they didn't think I'd be awake this quickly. I did an assessment as I waited. No pain anywhere. Could move all my parts, and squeeze the cheeks. Either the surgery was way easier and less complicated then planned, or there was trouble.
It was trouble of course. "So once I could finally get in there and get a good look at everything, it was a lot more complicated then we'd planned on. I'm going to need a microsurgeron here with me to do the surgery." The Dr. said, still wearing her full surgical attire. "We are looking at worse case scenario now, and you will definitely have a temporary colostomy." I tried to think of questions but really couldn't. I had time off from work starting, my husband had his vacation days planned around when I would get home from the hospital and need the most help. I couldn't believe I had gone through so much fear, planning, praying, and finally resolve to wake up to....nothing? They wheeled me to a recovery room, I drank some apple juice, got dressed, was told to call to reschedule something tomorrow, put a big piece of tape over the stoma mark in my stomach and went home.
As we drove away, I felt the kind of let down you experience when you leave the casino empty handed, reeking of strange smells and disappointed. I tried to wrap my head around it as my husband Jeremy was fielding calls from friends and relatives all asking if I was out of surgery yet. His explanation starting with "Actually....and ending with "yes, well let you know as soon as we know more"