Forgotten History

I won't talk about the fiasco at ChaseChat last night. I'll just sum it all up with a quote from Mahatma Ghandi:

That about sums it up, don't ya think?

Anyway, I woke up a little early for a Saturday and on the American Heroes Channel is one of my favorite new shows: America's Most Badass. One of the Presidential experts is Daniel O'Brien, from one of my favorite websites and YouTube channels, Cracked.com. Another is an author of a book called Forgotten History.

The episode I'm watching now pits Andrew Jackson, Howard Hughes, Evel Knievel, General Patton against each other for the title of Most Badass. Right now Evel Knievel is in the lead because he tried to rocket cycle over the Snake River Canyon in Idaho. I'm not sure that qualifies as bad ass or crazy, but I'll go along with bad ass. Howard Hughes is coming in dead last--I guess even a show about bad asses has  to have a scapegoat.

I like this show because it makes history fun, and gives us a side of history not generally talked about in the classroom. And I can't help it, I love Daniel O'Brien. He's smart and hilarious--a winning combination! He also hates cats and his dog is named Jackson President O'Brien. He also wrote a book called How to Fight Presidents, and was investigated by the Secret Service for it! How can you not love this guy?

I thought I'd dedicate this post to some badass women in history, and I'm not going to limit it to America. This could end up being a really long list, so we'll just say this episode one. In this episode, we'll feature some ancient female badasses: Boudica, Joan of Arc, and Lady Jane Gray.

Today, we'll take a look at Boudica (or Boudicca).

Boudica was married to a Celtic Iceni King, Prasutagus. Not much is known about him, except that he was an ally of Rome, yet independent of Rome and was allowed to retain his status of king over his traditional lands. 

When Prasutagus died, the greedy Romans decided they wanted all of what Prasutagus had, and they took it in the nastiest way possible. They publicly flogged Boudica, and raped her two young daughters. 

That's not somethin' you should do to a Celtic queen, or any mother who's badass enough to fight for her family. Boudica decided she wasn't going to mewl like a weak little mouse and willingly surrender everything that was rightfully hers, and she was going to personally make sure the Romans would pay for what they did to her daughters. Man, I love Boudica. She also loved her lands and people so much that she did everything in her power to keep from losing them and becoming slaves (or worse) to the brutal Romans.

I would have loved to hear her address her tribe as she rallied an army to resist the Roman forces, who greatly outmatched Boudica's army in training, arms, and numbers. I'm sure it was inspirational and charismatic. They had to know they wouldn't win in the end, but they sure weren't going down without a fight for what they believed in--freedom.

The historian Tacitus wrote the following paragraph about Boudica, and you can almost hear the admiration in his voice. And Tacitus was a Roman, and generally the Romans skewed their details of history to make themselves look better.

"Prasutagus, king of the Iceni, after a life of long and renownded prosperity, had made the emperor co-heir with his own two daughters. Prasutagus hoped by this submissiveness to preserve his kingdom and household from attack. But it turned out otherwise. [After his death] kingdom and household alike were plundered like prizes of war, the one by Roman officers, the other by Roman slaves. As a beginning, his widow Boudicca was flogged and their daughters raped. The Icenian chiefs were deprived of their hereditary estates as if the Romans had been given the whole country. The king's own relatives were treated like slaves. And the humiliated Iceni feared still worse, now that they had been reduced to provincial status. So they rebelled." (Eyewitness to Ancient Rome, 197).

Here are a couple of the only known quotes of Boudica:

"If you weigh well the strengths of our armies you will see that in this battle we must conquer or die. This is a woman's resolve. As for the men, they may live or be slaves."

"I am not fighting for my kingdom and wealth now. I am fighting as an ordinary person for my lost freedom, my bruised body, and my outraged daughters."

And Boudica showed what an ordinary woman fighting for her freedom and family can do. She mounted an army and like a Valkyrie, bravely charged into battle. 

She first struck the Roman city of Camulodunum, and the people there appealed to Governor Suetonius for help. He was like, "Aw, she's just a woman and her army is a bunch of woad-tattooed barbarian Iceni. Let's see, a force of about 200 soldiers should take care of this gnat. And arm my forces lightly--they won't need much to put this lowly woman in her place."

Yeah, you can guess what happened. BOOM! Boudica destroyed them all, and leveled the city.

I wish I could have seen the look on Suetonius's face! 

Then, with that victory, Boudica rode on to London. Suetonius was there, but when he saw that Boudica had more soldiers than he had anticipated, fled the city, leaving it to be demolished by Boudica, who did just that.

She then moved on to another city and destroyed it, too. She seemed unstoppable, although she had to know in her mind she would eventually find her army far outnumbered, and that it was only a matter of time before she fell. What makes Boudica badass is that she didn't care. She was fighting for her family and her freedom, and even if she fell, she'd made her statement. She did her best, and that was all she could do. She was badass because she faced her certain fate bravely. She had decided she would rather die fighting for what she believed in rather than let an enemy make them into slaves.

While Boudica was laying waste to Verulamium, Suetonius decided she was an enemy to be taken seriously. He brought in a small force of his best soldiers, and his best advisors, and they formed a plan of defense and attack at Boudica's next target. They assembled in an area where the woods were behind them, and open country in the front. That put them with the advantage because they couldn't be attacked from behind.

Boudica eventually arrived, and the two armies faced each other. Tacitus says both leaders gave their armies inspirational speeches.

Unfortunately, Suetonius's advantageous position proved fatal for Boudica's army, and the Romans began to slaughter the Britons. The remaining Britons saw the battle was hopeless, and fled. Boudica and her daughters also escaped, but they knew their time was short as Roman soldiers were hot on her heels.

Instead of being killed or taken as slaves by the enemy, Boudica and her daughters performed one last badass feat; they drank poison and took their own lives.

So, Boudica is near the top of my list of badass women in history. In my book, a badass woman is one who stands for what she believes in, no matter what the danger or risk, or ultimate cost. She battles for those things that are important to her, and doesn't let anyone take those things from her without a fight. For Boudica, those things were freedom and family, a just and honorable cause.

Next time, Joan of Arc...

To wrap up, I'll also end with a quote from Mahatma Ghandi:

Noise

Sometimes the world is too loud for me.

I'v e never really thought about it before, but there are different kinds of "loud" that affect me in different ways.

Too loud are the cats at 4:30 or 5:00 am in the morning, desperately meowing for their kibbles and stinky clumps of soggy brown clumps. Their meowing just makes me want it to stop, so I hurry to get them fed. I guess they have me trained pretty well.

Here they are, happy again.

Too loud is when coworkers complain about "don't sweat the small stuff" stuff. I think I've mentioned before that my office seems to be neutral territory, where both factions of staff feel safe to vent. And although I like being neutral, sometimes the complaining gets to be too trivial, and just too loud. I wish I could just shut my door on those days.

Fire alarms are always too loud. Although I guess it's good that they are.

But there are also seemingly quiet things that are too loud, like the rehab my mom was in before the one she's at now. Loud doesn't always have to be an audible noise, and I realize that now more than ever. When things are too loud, I have an overwhelming urge to get away. Crowded places do that to me. At my mom's old rehab, I think that somehow the stress in that place from residents not being treated very nicely can manifest itself as an inaudible sound for a sensitive person. I really believe that. I think that's why I had the overwhelming urge to get out of there. I had thought that it was because it was cramped, and maybe that was part of it. I also thought it could be a subconscious awareness of death and hopelessness, and that could be part of it, too.

But I remember as a teenager and college kid, I belonged to a church who would go and visit the nursing home in Merritt Island, and we'd sing to, play games with, and just talk to the people who lived there. I didn't feel it was too loud there, and I don't feel like its too loud where my mom is now. So, I think Port Orange was too loud because of some not very nice things going on behind the scenes.

There have been studies that seem to prove that strong emotion in one person can be physically felt by others. Maybe to me, the resident's strong emotion was felt as a loud yet inaudible "noise."

But sometimes loud can be comforting. I remember when I used to go surfing "Dawn Patrol" and be one of the only ones out in the water, sitting on my board as the sun rose higher in the sky. The sound of the ocean is one of the most calming, most soothing loud noises in the world to me, and it's part of what made being in the water so special. I remember the distinct, unique sound of the water lapping against the sides of the surfboard, and sometimes while waiting for the next set, I'd lift the nose a little and slap the board down just to make that noise a little louder.

Here's the path to one of my favorite secret surfing spots:

Rain and thunder, to me, are also an enjoyable loud noise. Until the power goes out, anyway. Lol. I love really rainy, stormy days, because then I have an excuse to stay inside.

Here's Callie and Aidan outside on our balcony in Merritt Island during Tropical Storm Fay in 2008.

Birds singing can sometimes be too loud in a bad way, if they start before the sun rises and I'm trying to sleep. I remember when we lived in Albuquerque, springtime meant the birds would start way too early. Lol. However, if I'm awake, and the birds outside are singing, I enjoy it.

In my neighborhood we have several families of Sandhill Cranes, and they have a very distinctive call that I can sometimes hear at odd times outside my bedroom window. Here's one little happy family:

The sound of leaves crunching under my feet as I walk on a forest trail are loud in the silence, and soothing. I like that sound very much. Raking leaves in the Fall (when I lived in states that actually had a Fall), was also a soothing sound.

Fire crackling is a nice loud sound. Unless it's my house burning down, I suppose. Lol.

Loud can be more than the physical sense of hearing. It can be colors, or even noise in photographic images or drawings. A busy photograph is not often very appealing to the eyes, and sometimes can be too loud.

Here's a picture I took at Megacon in Orlando. Holy cow, that event was WAY too loud.

Which brings me to my solve, and why it's taking a long time. Yoda mentioned that my solve must not be as 100% as I claim because it's taking so long. To that, I say he or she is partly correct. I know I'm solving it the hard way, and I know there's an easier way, but I just don't have it yet. However, I can still solve it, and am making progress that CAN be measured. There are eight corners. I've found the trail through four of the corners now. Two days ago, I had just one corner done. Today, I have four. That's measurable progress. It's like following the instructions when your putting together that IKEA dresser. You're making progress as you finish each step. It's measurable, contrary to what someone says on ChaseChat.

And honestly, I can't say how long it will take me to make it to the end. Life happens. As much as I'd like to get to the end and head West to pick up the treasure, there are things that are way more important than a bronze chest, even if its contents were worth ten million dollars. I've got things going on in my life that take priority over riches and glory. So, Not-Very-Wise Yoda, that is why I'm not dropping everything and rushing out to grab it. You might think wealth is everything, but I don't. My family will always come first.

And Forrest, if you're reading this, you know what I mean by "noise." I'm slowly adapting my focus to see through the noise, but it is difficult the way I'm doing it. But if the same results can be reached by doing it the hard way, I'll keep plugging along until it's done. I really enjoyed your lion, by the way--very cute. I like discovering your art. It's fun. :)

The Whine of Monday

Weekends need to be loooonnnggger.

So much I want to do, but not enough time to do everything. I did get a lot done this weekend, though. Of course, I waited until the last minute for school shopping, but I'm glad I did because Old Navy had everything for cheap. And since Volusia County made the switch to "uniforms" (really just orange, black, or white polo shirts and jeans, or tan or black shorts), it made shopping a breeze. Just two of everything. Lol.

This is the last week before school starts. Then, back to the rigorous morning schedule of waking up earlier, getting Joe up and going, and taking him to school. Next year, he'll be able to drive. Woohoo!

I didn't get to paint this weekend, though, and I really wanted to. But I forgot what I wanted to paint, so I have to wait for that memory to come back. I still haven't finished my Pokemon/Little Pony style "Love Story" painting with the girl and the dragon. And I think it's time to start painting some chase related things. I have some ideas that you'll only get if you have a weird sense of humor.

The bad thing about oil paints is they take SO long to dry. Now I know why they use "waiting for the paint to dry." Because it takes a long freaking time! How the heck did Eric Sloane finish a painting a day, when he could only put two colors on at a time? I know, I know, because he probably had ten paintings going at once. That's what I need to do too, I spose. I need bigger canvases, though. My little 8 x 10 ones are sort of small, and some of the things I want to paint demand more space.

I am closer to the point where I will be able to head to an exact location to retrieve the treasure. I found some very interesting, non-deniable things last night, and it's very, very exciting. I'm not going to talk much about it, though, because I've said way too much already. However, I also believe I could lay out EVERYTHING I've found and still have a host of unbelievers who can't believe that Forrest would do something so whimsical. Those are the same people who can't reconcile his seeming contradictions. I can reconcile every single one of them, because they aren't contradictions if you know what he's talking about. And the only way you'll know what he's talking about is if you know how to solve the poem.

I see some other glimpses of what I have discovered in a few other's posts, but I still don't think they have the precision yet. I could be wrong, though.

Anyway, I had a pretty decent weekend. I'm glad my mom is in a place where she can feel safe. There are a couple of quickly approaching hurdles I have to figure out some way to jump, but I think everything will work out. One thing I think I need to consider, though, is a smaller, easier to maintain, house.

Here's a pic of my mom and Monet from this weekend...

The New Place

Wow, my mom's new rehab is like night and day from Port Orange. She has a huge private room, a nice view out the window, attentive and compassionate staff, and she said she progressed more in one day in physical therapy than she did in six weeks at Port Orange.

Monet and I went for a visit yesterday, and unlike Port Orange, I didn't have the urge to get out of there as  fast as possible. It was a completely different vibe. I'd mentioned to James that while visiting my mom at Port Orange, from the minute I stepped inside, my anxiety level escalated until I had the urge to flee as fast as I could. I had attributed that feeling to the somewhat cramped space, but now I think it was more than that.

In the new rehab, I feel completely relaxed, and my mom's severe confusion has pretty much totally resolved, although she still can't remember what happened on that Friday. I got a comment yesterday saying that if it were the commenter's mom, she would have taken her out and kept her at home until she could take her to a new place. I just want to say that would have been impossible for me, for a number of reasons. The most important is that if I had checked her out of rehab, it would have been very hard to get her placed in a new one. It was hard enough with changing rehabs when she was in the hospital. And I'm not qualified to provide the kind of care my mom needed at the time, even for one night. Bringing her home was just as risky as leaving her in Port Orange for one more day.

Anyway, the only traces left of her confusion is her recall of the name of Port Orange Rehab. Yesterday, when we talked about it, the only part of the name she could recall was "orange." She called it "Red Orange," "Orange Peel," and "Real Orange." Lol.

She was very happy to see Monet, though. Monet was happy to see her, too, although she had to check out every inch of the room.

After the visit, I went home and just relaxed. I played a little Dragon Age Inquisition, and just basked in the calming of my mind. Here's a video of a scene in Dragon Age that I found pretty funny, although sorta stupid. I know, my comments are juvenile and silly, but that was the mood yesterday, so I don't care. :)

Today, I will manage to do a little cleaning, as well as ordering Joe's school clothes (Voluisa county made the switch to uniforms this year--makes it easy). Hopefully, I'll make some time to work on my poem solve.

Have a great weekend.

Breathing time

Wooowhee, the last couple days have been off the charts stressful.

As I said in a previous post, my mom has been really, REALLY confused since whatever happened last Friday. The week has been full of police reports, DCF investigations, an admission into the hospital for that strange bout of confusion, and struggling to get her placed somewhere else.

I've got a real problem with Port Orange Rehab. Not only did they threaten an employee with termination of she told me what she witnessed, but they also blatantly lied to the DCF investigator, who says they said that absolutely nothing (not even bullying or verbal abuse) happened last Friday. They explained the ripped off fingernail by saying my mom had ripped it herself. They explained the black eye by saying my mom has a bait of rubbing that eye and "resting her hand" against that eye. What a bunch of bull.

So, anyway, DCF apparently leans toward believing the bullies over the victim. And apparently, the two law firms I've called so far think it's okay for the elderly to be pushed down, emotionally abused, and ignored to the point of getting recurrent UTI's is just fine as long as they weren't visibly injured with more than a black eye and ripped fingernail. So, nursing home employees can get away with ANYTHING as long as they don't leave serious visible injury. I guess emotional trauma and assault and battery don't mean anything.

Not this time. I'm POSITIVE something happened to my mom. I've been advised to contact the nursing home ombudsman to see what help they can offer. I know it looks bad that my mom changed her story many times in her confusion. However, I feel her confusion was a result of whatever trauma she endured. She wasn't confused before this happened. And now that she's in a new safe place, she's no longer confused, but still can't remember what happened to her.

I would also like to get a psychiatrist's opinion about all this and see if it's possible that a traumatic event could cause confusion and memory loss.

But it's not over yet. If this has happened to my mom, I'm sure it has happened to others. And will happen in the future. I want it to stop, and will do everything I can to make sure it doesn't happen again.

And wouldn't you know? The person who allegedly did this to my mom has quite the rap sheet. You can find a list of her offenses here. Wow, everything from drugs to DUI to domestic battery. Makes you wonder why a nursing home for the elderly would hire someone with so many arrests, especially ones that involve injury to someone else!

Oh no, this isn't over by a long shot.

Anyway, after a couple rehab facilities refused to take her because of her allegations and confusion about what happened, I finally got a call from a nice place in Daytona, and my mom was transferred there yesterday. She was very sad, not talking, and not eating. I finally got her to talk to me when I got there and asked her why she was so sad. Her room was MUCH larger, and private, with a nice big window, nice view, and the TV was big and got a lot more channels than the other rehab. She also has a nice recliner and more places to put personal items like photos.

She said, "I'll never see Monet again."

Shattered heart, again. I got up and went to the nurse's station, and asked if I could bring Monet to visit. They said yes, and when I told my mom, she instantly sat up straight and squealed with joy. It was like watching a little girl when she holds a puppy for the first time. My mom literally started to cry with joy. She asked when I will bring Monet to see her. I said, "Tomorrow," and another squeal of pure, unadulterated joy.

That made me really happy and instantly relieved. I asked a stupid question then. "So, you're happy now?"

And she said, "Oh, yes! I can't wait to see my whittle baby girl!" Lol. She then ate a whole grilled cheese, some soup and some Milano cookies.

So all is working out on that front, and I forgot to mention the staff at the new place seem very nice and have been extremely helpful.

Anyway, sorry about the lack of pics lately...but I do have a couple I guess I can post...

This is Monet and Hermione (formerly Crappy, formerly Trappy), snuggling after an hour of play...

Then Monet notices I'm like the Paparazzi, sneaking photos of a secret love affair:

Then, the Bieber-like paw blocking the shot...I had to use evasive manuevers to keep her from wrestling the phone out of my hand. Lol.

But then I guess she really didn't care...because she went back to sleep. :)

And here's a pic from Mindquest, where James and I took the kids last Saturday. It's an escape room place, and we did "The Haunting," which was their second hardest room. We didn't escape in time (it was HARD), but we did have a happy time. When I saw the aviator hat with goggles, I had to have a pic, because my PlayStation aviator is a girl with an aviator hat and goggles.

And, for the record, I am NOT pigeon-toed. I only sit that way sometimes. :)

Behind the Scenes

In TTOTC, Forrest quotes a little of Shakespeare's As You Like It when he references the many parts a person plays in life.

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts..."

Forrest also said, "Movies Lie to You."

I look at it like this. In a movie, actors are often larger than life, beautiful Scarlett Johansson's and Chris Hemworth's with zero flaws, living perfect lives, and riding into ever perfect sunsets. Most stories follow an arc, and when I was an editor, part of my job was to make sure the story arc was there. I see the story arc in TTOTC. You have the protagonist actors-- Forrest, his family and friends. The antagonists-- John Charles Whatever, the Kachina store owners, the Alpha teachers. You have seemingly larger than life events in My War for Me. And you have what editors and writers call "The Black Moment," when Forrest receives the diagnosis of cancer, when all seems lost and when hope is pinched out like the flame on a match. And then, in the end, hope is restored when the heroes and heroines (Forrest's surgeon and home team) save the day and everyone lives contently ever after.

But, while the world and even TTOTC is a stage, there's always a different world behind the scenes.

Every day, at some time, even the most glamorous actors exit the stage to live "off camera." It's only then that they're real. The masks and makeup come off, and they slip out of the part they've played all day long.

Sometimes, it can be tragic. Take Robin Williams, for example. Some people were aware of the deep bouts of depression he'd go through. But most of us, including me, were oblivious. On camera, he was so funny, so outrageous, and seemed to always be smiling and laughing. When I look at pictures of him now, although in them he was smiling with his mouth, his eyes held such a huge sadness that I hadn't noticed before, and I'm usually really good at reading eyes, and that's why I still have trouble looking people in the eyes. There's too much to see, and contrary to popular belief, people with Aspergers are empathetic almost to an extreme.

One of my PA's went to San Francisco for vacation, and brought us all back these little coin purses from Chinatown. Inside was a piece of chocolate and a little trinket with Chinese letters on one side and the meaning on the other. He held out the box and asked me to pick one. I looked at them like they were fortune cookies, and I picked a black one. This is what I got:

Sorry for that little tangent, but I wanted to fit it in somewhere, because I liked it and thought it was the perfect word to describe me. Other coworkers seemed to get perfect descriptors, too.

Anyway, behind the scenes, Robin Williams struggled with a darkness no amount of makeup or spotlight could hide. And the result was tragedy. How sad our society has become that we are so focused on the stage that we ignore, forget, or dismiss what goes on behind the scenes.

Our world has become almost a false reality, a false Facebook reality. I have friends on Facebook who post inspirational quotes, about a billion smiling selfies, and another five thousand little snippets of their seemingly perfect days in their seemingly perfect lives. Yet, behind the scenes, their lives are falling apart. I know some people who do this, as though posting a perfect moment on Facebook will magically make their lives behind the scenes match the one on camera.

Unfortunately, life, and Facebook, doesn't work that way. Facebook has become a competition, a keeping up with the Jones's, a "my life is better than your life" battle of perfection. It's like the movies. It's a lie.

There's something inherently prideful about the human race that strives to show the world only "an actor in character." By that, I mean we all strive to remain "in character" when others are around to see. When women put on their makeup, get dressed, then plaster on a smile when they walk out the front door, they're immediately in character, and "on stage." We're inherently afraid of rejection and judgment, so we strive for a perfection that only movies and magazine covers can realistically obtain.

To me, that's a rapidly blooming flaw in our society. When the average person reads the Facebook posts of their friends with their perfect husbands, perfect kids, new cars, and flawless lives, they tend to believe what is portrayed "on stage" is reality. The result is a lot of depressed people who think their lives just plain old suck in comparison. As a result, there are those on Facebook who are part of the always negative "FML" crowd.

Now I'm not saying Facebook is all bad. I think it's a great way to network, a great way to keep up with old friends, and a great place to brag a little about the good things, as well as a great place to ask for support and prayer. I believe balance is the key. Like Shakespeare said, we all play many parts in life. I'm a mother, daughter, medical professional, tomboy, niece, aunt, sister, and many others. Our scripts are full of ourselves playing all the parts.

But at the end of the day, when we're alone in the solitude of our minds, we are simply "Me." The art of life, to me, is incorporating "me" in all the parts I play. To play each part with as much honesty and "me-ness" as I can. I strive to be genuine. Most of the time, it's hard for me to hide my feelings. If I'm feeling overwhelmed, I tend to withdraw. People notice. If I'm excited or happy, I tend to be more talkative, and laugh and smile a lot. People notice. In other words, I don't own many masks. And I guess that's probably an Asperger's trait. My motto has always been "what you see is what you get."

There are variations, of course. Sometimes, if I'm feeling overwhelmed, I can't afford to withdraw. Exiting the stage isn't an option, so I play the part, and remain "in character."

I don't think that's a big deal. Who doesn't want others to see them at their best? And some professions require that you remain "in character" in order to be successful. Maybe then (and probably only then) the phrase, "It's not who you are, but who they think you are," matters. Sometimes, when your life is falling apart behind the scenes, you have to step up the acting while on stage for the benefit of others.

But don't we all want people who are genuine? Don't we all get sick of those people who seem to be plastered with smiles and positive sayings and happiness every minute of every day? Sort of like Rob Lowe's character in Parks and Rec, where everything is "literally" the greatest thing EVER? It makes me wonder what happens when they finally exit the stage at the end of a day and drop the character they've been playing. It makes me not really want to be there to see it, because you know it can't be pretty.

And don't get me wrong--a positive outlook on life, and an inner contentment and underlying happy disposition is awesome, and many people are blessed with that. But at the same time, suppressing any negative feeling without dealing with it is unhealthy, and becomes transparent enough to mar the beauty of those "always positive no matter what" people.

Sometimes life is hard. Sometimes things happen that genuinely suck. Sometimes things happen that make you sad, or angry, or disgusted. And you know what? It's okay to express the feelings that come as a result. What's not okay is to let those things best you. What's not okay is becoming one of those FML people on Facebook who seem to attract lightning strikes like a metal rod on a skyscraper. Those people even have a "wet" sort of countenance to me, soggy and weighed down by the rain that continually pours down on them.

There's a balance to be found, both on the world stage and behind the scenes. A balance that makes you genuine. That's hard to find these days, and it's one reason I strive for transparency on my blog, and in everyday "on stage" life. I don't like pretending to feel something I don't. I don't like pretending to be someone I'm not. I think people need that transparency. One of the problems in society today is there isn't enough "behind the scenes" exposed to the public. So people read those Facebook posts and become depressed and jealous and bitter--over a lie (or at least an exaggeration)-- because they think it's reality, and their own reality is not nearly so glamorous.

And I'm not saying it's wrong to post positive things on Facebook, but I think it's also important to abandon being "in character" sometimes, if only to show that you're genuine.

In fact, behind the scenes, where the spotlight is dim and the microphones are off, life is hard. Bills have to be paid, kids have to be fed and clothed and diapers changed. Nothing is accomplished without effort. And sometimes, happy endings don't naturally happen just because movies tell us they do.

One of my goals in blogging is to share my behind the scenes struggles of life with the hope that it touches someone by showing them they aren't alone in their problems or their feelings. We all share common human emotions, and not all of them are positive, and it's okay to express hurt, and anger, and sadness sometimes. It shows that we're human, and we have common misfortunes, and that we aren't the only ones walking through a storm at one time or another. It shows us that the reality is not Facebook. And with my posts, I hope that something I say matters to someone. I hope something I say gives hope to someone.

I know there are people out there who feel hopeless, and alone, and desperate. And my goal is to show them that they aren't alone, and that while it may seem at times like there's no hope, there is always hope. My hope is that by telling my story, it helps someone else who may be going through similar trials.

Our emotions are there for a reason. They shouldn't be swept under a rug, or scoffed at, or suppressed simply to hide our life behind the scenes. Expressing our emotions in a healthy way is important to our well-being. And by learning to express our emotions in a healthy way, we are more apt to adopt a positive outlook. The problem is that society is being shaped to believe that expressing any strong emotion, or showing any depth of feeling, is "abnormal," and therefore "weak" or "dramatic."

I guess what I'm trying to say is that maybe people need to shed the masks sometimes, and live behind the scenes while on stage...

What Matters and Where it Matters

Yesterday was a crazy day. Since I took Monday off, and my boss starts her vacation today, I couldn't miss work yesterday (and couldn't afford to even if I wanted to).

Before work, I went to the police station to see if any of the police reports were ready from Friday and Monday. Friday's was ready, but Monday's won't be complete until this afternoon. I picked up what they had so far.

When I got to work, an investigator for Department of Family Services called and said she was going to go to the nursing room and speak to my mom, but she wanted my take on what had happened first. I told her the story as it was told to me.

Then, I started making arrangements for my mom to be transferred to another facility, and deciding to wait until the investigator was finished with her interview before we actually made the transfer.

Then, around 10:00 am, my mom called, and started talking crazy. At the same time, Aidan started calling. She'd gone to visit my mom, and was scared of the way she was talking. She told Aidan the boss of the nursing home took my mom to her house, to a party, and pushed her down in the pool, among other things. I asked my mom about it, and she just grew more and more confused. She stated she now couldn't remember what happened on Friday.

She called every ten minutes after that, and the stories grew more convoluted and confused. I didn't know what was happening, but I knew she had another UTI, and UTI's can make people, especially the elderly, very confused. The nurse had done her job (for once) and informed me a physician had seen her in the morning and increased her antibiotic. So, I thought maybe the confusion had a simple answer.

But, it just kept getting even weirder.

She called and whispered: I made the whole thing up.
Me: What? About Friday?
Mom: Yes.
Me: Why would you do that? And why would Kelly tell me something happened to you?
Mom: I don't know, but I dreamed it all. They said so.
Me: Who said so?
Mom: I don't know, but I made the whole thing up because I love you and I didn't want you to be mad at me.
Me: Mom, I do love you, and I'm not mad at you. Why would you make something like that up? If that's true, you may have cost two people their jobs. The police came out twice. I sure hope I didn't raise hell for a lie.
Mom: I don't know what happened Friday.
Me: Did you make it up or not? I sorta need to know the truth here, Mom.
Mom: I can't remember, but I must have imagined it.
Me: I'm totally lost. Why would Kelly say that she had been threatened that she would be fired if she told the truth? How did you break your nail and get the black eye? Something happened, but now I have no idea what. I've really got to know what happened, Mom. The truth is really important.
Mom: What do you want me to say?
Me: Just the truth.
Mom: I don't know. I just want you to love me and I want to go home.

Well, that pretty much shattered my heart. I assured her I loved her, and that although it would be nice if she could come home, I didn't know if she would be able. I remember on Saturday when we were having her party, she looked especially frail, and tired, and just not really there. My sister-in-law is very blunt (she's a hospice nurse), and told my mom she would probably never be able to go back "home" again, because she was just too frail and would need round the clock care.

Shortly after that conversation, a nurse called and said that the results of her urinalysis came back, and they thought it was best to EVAC her to the emergency room because of her "altered mental status." So, I called Aidan and asked if she could meet my mom there to give the ER doctor her history, because I couldn't get away right then from work (I was working with a patient).

Once I finished at work, I headed to the hospital and visited with her for a few minutes before they took her away for a CT scan. At that time, they were concerned about a stroke or sepsis. She didn't look good. As I waited, I kept picturing how she looked in my mind, so to take my mind off it for a minute, I checked in on the blogs, and the two haters were still spouting their usual hate, so I lost it and in all caps, told them to give it a rest for a few days. It was then I realized that they weren't just trolls, they were real life evil. I think I'm done with ChaseChat; there are some seriously mentally ill and/or evil people there. Oh, I'm not bowing out of the chase--no way--but I am refusing to associate or interact with idiots who also happen to be evil. So, see ya, ChaseChat. I understand Stephanie letting some things go in the spirit of free speech, but some things get carried too far. The Wolf sent me an email expressing his disgust, and he's also done with ChaseChat. If I don't find the treasure, I sure hope he does.

Anyway, there's nothing left for anyone to offer there, or on Dal's for that matter. I have the method to solve the poem. And why try to feed anything that's just going to bite your hand?

So, anyway, the CT scan looked good, and although her bloodwork was a little off, it wasn't critical. They did want to keep her overnight, and then transfer her to a new facility tomorrow. Unfortunately, the diagnosis will most likely be dementia, and she will go to what they call the "Sundowner's Beach" wing at Oceanview. I don't think she'll like that very much, and before I left last night, she was begging to come home for "just one day," to see Monet. That shattered my heart, too. I told her I would bring Monet to the nursing home as soon as I could.

The drive home from the hospital was somber. I sort of felt alone, but at the same time, I could feel God's love drawing me in. I felt a certain kind of solitary peace, and knew that no matter what people thought, or how misunderstood I was, I was doing my best, and there's just One who really knows my heart. Only He can judge me. And that One who can judge me also loves me, and loves my mom, unconditionally. I knew He would watch over her, and hopefully, give her the peace I was feeling at that moment.

At the end of the day, it doesn't matter who they think you are. It matters who you are. And I am a child of God, striving to be a light in the lives of those I love, and striving to make a difference in the world.

Who are you?