Donkey's Butt

I always get a little disappointed when a Christian friend of mine "likes" something clearly hostile towards our leadership. 

What does the Bible say?  I always go on the Bible. 

Romans 13

Some highlights:  (Romans 13:1-2) "the authorities that exist are appointed by God. ² Therefore whoever resists the authority resists the ordinance of God, and those who resist will bring judgment on themselves." 

Let's look at that.  God put the president in his place, literally.  So he is God's appointed.  You really want to put the face of God's appointed on a donkey butt?   You want to "like" it? 

[My pastor covered this today in church and I thought it would make a good blog as well]

What do we do, then? 

We do this:  1 Timothy Chapter 2:1-3

Therefore I exhort first of all that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and giving of thanks be made for all men, ² for kings and all who are in authority, that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and reverence. ³ For this is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Savior,

We pray for them.  Even if, and especially if, we don't like their policies. 

Video Blog

It is

It's not about teaching, or even preaching. 

What makes a good Christian? 

A lot of people think it's about educating others, the believers and the unreached - preaching their interpretation of things to a willing, or unwilling crowd.  They value their appearance to others "I am a teacher of the Word". 

So, what is a Christian? 

It's not the guy telling me my recipients will go to hell unless I hand out a KJV. 

It's not the cults that only share their gospel in the good neighborhood. 

It's not the guy expositing to me, against my will, about some obscure Biblical point as we go to work. 

It is the lady in the ghetto, who brings Ron and I cold bottles of water during every handout.  I don't know how she finds us, but she does, every time. 

It is the gang at Grace and Truth, who send me tracts even when I can't afford the shipping, much less the cost of printing. 

It is the internet friend, who spends hard earned money on Bibles so I can share Him in the ghetto. 

It's the believer, who stops during the handout and tells me they already have a Bible.  When I ask, they're delighted to "Pray for everyone who gets a Bible today".

It's my friend Jane, who just had a heart attack.  She is caregiving for a husband with many health issues and now she has her own; yet all she does is praise God and trust in His provision.  She has taught me more than any book I've read. 

It's the old lady, with a scooter lift on the back of her beat-up car, praising God with me as she waits for the light to change. 

It's the scary looking guy in a car, giving me a slow perusal at the light and a thumbs up, as I notice his cross tattoo. 

It's the people who literally beg me for Bibles for their kids and grandkids, which I am always happy to provide. 

It's the people who grin as they see me with the Free Bibles sign. 

They're the Christians.

Rush Hour Handout

Well, I am o-u-t OUT of New Testaments. 

It was a good handout, but a little wierd.  We got up early and got to the handout location, in Acres Homes, during morning rush hour.  Ron says about 7:45. 

One lady approached me as I rolled everything (signs, case of done-up Bibles, etc).  I offered her a Bible. She left and went halfway across the street, then came back and asked for some more "For my grandchildren".  I will never say no to that. 

I had some large quantity distribution. Two women riding in a car, wanted some for themselves.  When I mentioned children they asked for 8 additional Bibles.  Happy to help. 

Moving along, a carload of young adults/teens. I made sure everyone got one. 

One lady had a ferocious rat terrier in the back of the car.  It kept barking at me as I gave the owner some Bibles.  After she left, I told Ron "I'm glad that wasn't a pit bull!" 

Ron heard some yelling at the gas station.  "Stop leaning in that direction" I told Ron "A guy's yelling at his drug dealer."  I saw a young woman approaching several cars for a period of about half an hour.  Then she came over to me, got a Bible, and waited on the bus. 

I didn't see as many gang members; I guess they like to sleep in. 

I did have two young men drive by.  I had a really good feeling about them, even though they "appeared" scary.  They came back and got some Bibles. 

I had a lot of people who drove by and then come back for Bibles.  I had people going the other direction who saw Ron's sign and stopped for Bibles. 

I only almost got run over once.  I'm doing better. 

I saw a very tired looking young mother, carrying a baby in a sling, and holding a young child and a toddler by their hands as they walked.  When they came by, I asked the lady if she'd like a Bible.  She nodded, and I gave it to the older child "Can you hold this for Mommy?"  The little girl nodded somberly and took it.  

I had a nice mix of all sorts of people; but I did find some sad.  So many of the people who rejected  Bibles seemed so weary and sad.  They so desperately needed Jesus (even the guy in the sports car), yet they continued to reject Him.  It's like watching someone bleed to death as they scream at paramedics to leave them alone. 

I don't take it personally.  I'm a distributor.  I distribute.  God saves.  I distribute (and pray).  Important differential there. 

But it is sad. 

I decided to wrap it up.  I still had about 20 Bibles left and I wasn't moving them.  I figured if God wanted them distributed, He'd send people. 

I forget I am really highly visible, even without the sign, in my neon orange t-shirt. 

3 different recipients approached me (after the Handout, as I saw it) and asked for Bibles.  Pretty soon I was breaking down an empty cardboard box. 

Now I was finished. 

It's hot, so what?

Well, I have tomorrow off. 

However, I slept really badly last night, and when I took a nap today, was awakened twice by salesmen.  I count JW'S as salesmen.  I ran them off, told them I was saved. 

I thought it was interesting they sent 2 men, and not the woman who had come by before. 

I tried to go back to sleep, but Ron's talking watch has the hourly report on.  So, it loudly announced the time, every hour, on the hour. 

The second guy was selling cable, not a very good deal, God love him.  I did give him and his cohort some Bibles. 

First, of course, we went to 2 different stores, got supplies for work, and stocked them.  I noticed the warehouse club, which had been out of all flavor mix chips after Father's day, had some, but they were going out of code in 2 weeks.  That would be fine for a family event.  Not fine for my machines. 

I ended up getting a different product mix than I wanted, but at least the machines are full.  After that, I went outside and waited for our pickup. 

God help me change my attitude, I get so sick of people whining about the heat.  They take photos of their dashboard thermometers and whine about the trials of walking from an air conditioned building to the air conditioned car. 

I sit outside, for up to an hour every time, waiting on my rides.  In the heat.  You never hear me whining.  I walk and run during my Bible Handouts, in the heat.  I don't whine. 

I get really tired of people complaining about the "difficulty" of living in Houston in the summer, the "miserable heat" when they probably only experience the heat for 5 minutes a day.  10 if you count the time it takes for the air conditioner to chill the car. 

I read a book set a thousand years in the future.  3001 by Arthur Clarke.  It wasn't very good, but one feature was the extreme wimpiness of the future generations.  They couldn't take care of themselves or live independently off the land; they were completely dependent on technology and society. 

I see that evolving in our culture.  It's unusual to find someone who actually chooses to enjoy the heat.  Someone who appreciates the challenge of battling the elements; rain or heat.  Someone who can spend a night in the woods without a huge backpack full of junk. 

Am I going to live off the land?  No.  I am dependent on infrastructure.  Ron would never even consider it. 

But I'd like to see myself as one of my cats, running free and wild during the hot weather. 

Cheese ball

Once I got to sleep, I slept great.  My anxiety level (clearly I was having issues) went way down, too. 

I'm still having trouble but I'm pretty functional so I'm not too worried. 

Doc told me once "I don't care how you take your medication, as long as you take it every day".  Since I tend to have a lot of digestive trouble after taking the Depakote (which I will not relate); and a bad headache yesterday, I decided to take everything altogether yesterday. 

I ate a fettuccine TV dinner with some yogurt and I was fine.  Yesterday. 

Today, after work, I tried 2 hotdogs. Epic fail.  I didn't vomit but oh, the nausea. 

We had a trip to go to Walmart.  It was pretty easy to say "No" to most of the junk food when I felt so bad. 

Ron's wishing he got nuts.  I did get him some Babybels and a cheese ball.  You know, the ball of cheese rolled in nuts?  I think he'll love that when he tries it.  I did warn him not to consume any dairy within 3 hours of his antibiotic. 

The odd thing, with the Depakote, is the persistent taste of onions.  I hate onions, so that's a problem.  Last week, at the doctor's office, I told Ron "Everything tastes like onions, even my Dr Pepper"  UGH.  It's enough to turn me off Dr Pepper for life. 

I'm hoping it's a hydration issue, if I get enough fluids on board I won't taste the onions anymore.  I hope. 

I'm sure asking God for a good night's sleep tonight.  I have tomorrow off, we work Wednesday, and Thursday I take him to the doctor. 

Other ideas

I think, about 90% of my neighbor "problems" stem from my illness.  Things that wouldn't bother an "average" person, I think, really affect me a lot more than I'd like. 

Some examples:
Neighbor kids or strangers in the yard.
Barking dogs. 
Music, played at night. 

Some things I think would bother most people.  The people in #6 like to put their garbage cans up against the side of my house.  They throw the lid open at all hours of the day and night (they have at least one kid in diapers, so I get that), hitting the side of my house and waking me up.  Not to mention the large garbage can full of dirty diapers, right up against my bedroom wall - that would make anyone a little twitchy. 

I cannot stress this enough, do not buy a home with a zero property line.  The side of my house, for 40 feet, is the property line.  That includes my bedroom wall; and it's caused plenty of hassles.  The neighbors treat it as a fence, not a house.

So, like I said, I think a lot of people would be a little annoyed by that, and overall, I am a little annoyed.  If I could get them to stop my snapping my fingers, you bet I would.  But I've never felt like I had to go over there and talk to them. 

Something like people looking in the windows - yeah, anyone's going to have major issues with that.  And I do. 

I just wish that things didn't bother me so much.  I don't see other people just tormented by some of the issues I battle.  I don't want to think about this crap, ever.  I don't want to stress.  I just want to live my life. 

My illness has other ideas, and this is properly medicated.  I can only imagine what I'd be like, off my meds.

Don't show your belly

Certain issues, for me, are a lot more triggering than I'd like to admit.  Neighbor children in my yard.  Music, played at night.  Either issue can provoke a ton of anxiety. 

Neighbor kids (and this is embarrasing for me to admit, because I know it makes me look like a "mean woman") - I was OK with them in my yard, until a legal person told me "If kids get hurt in your yard, and they had permission, you are liable for the injuries".  That led to a swift revocaction of all permissions. 

Frustratingly, one day when I had a day out, Ron told the kids next door to "go get their ball" which opened the door to years of home invasions, loud screaming groups of children running wild in my yard.  Most alarmingly, I caught the then-2-year-old on more than one occasion, in my yard, unsupervised.  He liked to run around in our driveway, too, when his Mom would take him out of the yard (separate driveways).  I would hear him banging on the garage door, opening the cat door, etc.  Then Mom would catch him, yell at him, and drag him back onto her property. 

They have 4 other kids, not one of them is as "naughty" as this little boy.  I was not surprised to see him sporting a cast recently. 

Regarding any implied permission, I wrote the father a letter, explaining I had large groups of children running around in my yard, unsupervised, during his party.  Including the 2 year old on 2 occasions, completely unsupervised, and he ran away when I went up to him so he knew it was wrong.  I explained, "Due to safety issues" I could no longer allow any children in my yard.  And I started locking the gate. 

The kids had been coming over "For the soccer ball" - a lot of blogs on this, including the fact that the ball only ever went over my fence, one of the shortest on their property lines.  When I went over to inspect my siding, pretty destroyed by the kids and his sprinkler system, I noticed 2 of his big windows were cracked.  He replaced them last winter. 

That explained the lack of soccer games.  I don't know if the boys (the oldest and his cousin, I think) even had permission to play soccer in the side yard.  I heard some pretty heated spanish at the end of their game, from an adult, and then the kids were dragged into the house. 

Anyway, they had played "Throw the ball on the roof and try to catch it when it rolls down" on my roof, and the ball had gone onto my back porch.  I told the boys "I'll get it" because I am not going down the road of the screaming children in my yard again. 

If I allowed children onto my property, I would only allow one child, an older one, quiet, open and close the gate quietly, lock the gate when he left.  No other children allowed; but in his culture, or at least the next door culture, when the ball goes over the fence every child on the property has to "come get it".  I don't think they can do what I'd want; if I gave any kind of conditional permission it would just lead to more drama. 

I also had issues with the children on the other side coming over without permission, looking in my windows, and even making comments "You have a lot of books" (they looked through venitian blinds and curtains to see that).  I often wonder if one of the older kids may have been involved in the burglary.

So, I've got all this running through my head: how many more ball retrievals will I have?  Will I have to speak to the father?  All this, and a lot of anxiety I would I could lose. 

Ron doesn't want to hear this.  He would just tell me it was illogical, use my logic, make judgemental statements, yell at God for a while, etc.  So, I don't tell him. 

Sometimes I think it's very sad that we aren't married in Heaven.  Other times, it makes perfect sense.   [sigh] 

Ron, I think, is just one of those people who thinks things just revolve around him - a lot of that goes to his upbringing.  Some of that stems from my desire to be attentive and a good caregiver.  I don't ask for much. 

I think Ron is pretty happy with the status quo.  I really try to be objective, at least lately.  I don't want to be shrill and histrionic. 

So, Ron doesn't like it when things don't go according to his plan.  Recently he has been on a kick about the cat door. 

He says the driveway concrete gets hot, and he doesn't want to hurt the cats' paws when they come through the door.  He worries the hot concrete will dissuade them from coming in as desired. 

I understand.  The concrete does get hot. 

When I got up this morning, I checked his blood sugar.  It was fine, in the 90's.  He went back to sleep. 

I did not.  I slept horribly all night and woke up with a bad headache.  I had to get up at 7 and take a dose of Excedrin.  It made my hands shake, but I could still do the blood sugars, thank you God. 

I did my God Time and watched some TV.  Ron woke up about 2 hours later and shared his great idea.  He would cut a new pet door.  In the side of the house.  On the "rowdy children" side.  In the side of the house. 

One, cutting a hole in the house like that is just an all around terrible idea.  I don't even need my handyman friends to tell me.  Second, putting a cat door, facing little michief, is just begging for trouble.  That kid is going to be all over the cat door, teaching his little brother and sister to mess with it, sticking his head and arms in, trying to crawl in, putting things in... like running hoses... I don't need a crystal ball to see a lot of trouble. 

We won't even mention the sprinklers on the side of the house.  How they hit the side of my house 4 feet up and then run down the siding?  That's what damaged my siding? 

I conveyed this to Ron.  He saw me as a fun-killer.  I told him, put it anywhere else on the house but that side.  Put a sliding glass door cat door on my backdoor.  We can put some carpeting down to cover the concrete out back. 

No, he was going to do it and do it his way.  Then he relented and said it wasn't going to happen for a while, anyway.  He was very upset I had rejected his idea, and it would take a while to forgive me. 

I was reading about borderline personality disorder one day, and a lot made sense, especially his reactions when he feels rejected.  He goes nuclear. 

I remember his utter shock when I told him I would leave him for verbal abuse.  It took him days to realize I was serious.  Then we had drama for a while, but I kept calling him on the verbal abuse and letting him know I was serious.  Then he accepted it... but a lot of grumbling for a while afterward.  He still thinks I "over-reacted". 

Anyways, I was just overwhelmed.  Sadly, I tend to have the attitude "Don't show your belly".  Showing weakness, like crying, doesn't generally end well.  I don't get sympathy. 

Anyway, Ron started playing police "Are you crying, did you forget your pill?  What is wrong with you (judgemental tone)".  I told him, I slept horribly.  I woke up with a headache.  Then I didn't even get any input on the cat door issues.  I was tired.  I was sad and sometimes I needed to cry. 

Ron and I have had ongoing debates about his depressing choices in music.  It's all "Go kill yourself" totally depressing blues and soul stuff.  Can you imagine battling a severe depression and being forced to listen to that crap?  Happens on a regular basis.  When I've had enough, I ask him to put on his headphones because "It's too depressing". 

Ron tried to take my statement "Sometimes I need to cry" and turn it around as validation of his music choices.  I said no, this wasn't about music.  I wasn't playing music and I didn't want to (side note, Ron hates my music and I don't force him to listen to it).   I was SAD. 

I cried for a minute or two, and then blew up, as much as I do these days.  Ron kept going on about what was *wrong* like my tears were offensive to him.  I told him "I'm sick of your negative attitude, I'm sick of you yelling at God!  You have no idea how good you have it!  I wish you could live in my head for a while, you'd be a lot more grateful!  I can't even tell you when I'm hurting because you make it all about you, and then yell at God again" (without even consoling me, I would have continued). 

Part of this, unspoken, I need to grieve over all his new health problems and the fact that he is, yet again, seriously ill. 

So, having just heard the reason for my tears, he starts ranting about God again.  [facepalm]  Called me a "Torch-lover".  Ron considers God "Torture Man", "Torch" for short.  So anyone who loves God is a "Torch Lover".  Going to Ron for comfort and reassurance is like sticking your hand in a running garbage disposal for a candy bar.  You'll just get chewed up, and feel a lot worse at the end.

So, we agreed to "be quiet".  Which meant Ron ranted for an additional 5 minutes while I told him "I thought we agreed to be quiet."  I ignored the ranting and he finally went away. 

Like I said, confiding in Ron seems to end badly, every time.  I feel like I can't show my belly or he'll rip it open. 

Paint chips

Oh, it was such a long day. 

I got up at 3.  The vacuum still sat on the curb, next to my driveway.  I tested Ron's sugars, cleaned his legs, and ate some breakfast. 

You know, if they didn't need me to drive, I could probably get a homecare job.  God knows I have plenty of experience. 

Anyway, off to work.  I had about 25 pounds of unopened cat food.  The girls love this, in the adult chicken flavor.  They gobble it up.  They've hardly touched the other food since we got this, so it's staying. 

I gave the cat food to Mike, who has 2 cats.  They'll love it. 

I gave him some cat food after Frosty died.  Bubba was always a picky eater and he refused to eat any more after Frosty died.  I had to buy another brand. 

The girls are picky and don't like Bubba's brand, but I found it a new home.  Good. 

Our delivery was due around 5.  We had a 9 AM pickup.  We got home at 1.  That kind of says it all. 

Exhausted, I ate a microwaved hamburger and took my meds, then collapsed in bed.  I slept for a couple of hours. 

I looked out the window and happily noted the vacuum cleaner was gone.  Good. 

We got a letter from the homeowner's assocation.  Now, I have to say, I like them.  No home based business, which means no halfway house or group home.  No day care.  No autobody paint shops or aggressive dog breeders.  All good.  No jacked up cars in the driveway.  Take care of your yard.  Maintain your home.  Don't hoard.  You get the idea. 

However, they don't like "Clear Blue Sky" as a paint color.  Nope.  The letter said: ""Earth tones" "A palette that draws from beige, brown, tan, grey, and green. The colors are *not bold* [snicker] but muted and flat simulating colors found in dirt, moss, trees, and rocks."  On my copy of the form I submitted for approval, they handwrote: "Beige, tan, gray, brown". 

Ick. 

I'm going to need some quality time with the paint chips.

Do I consider?

I have had to set some boundaries with a person I know.  I finally had to block her when she asked "Do you consider yourself mentally ill?"  How, in the correspondence, talking about my medication, seeing my posts in a group for months..how could she not understand: I am crazy.

I didn't much care for the tone of the question, either. 

I am only as good as my next dose.  I understand that, accept that, manage it, and have a good life.  Anyone can.  Understand it.  Accept it.  Manage it = take your medication as directed.  Have a good life. 

But our correspondence got me thinking about some things:  I like to see myself as a woman of action. 

When I am confronted with a problem, I educate myself.  I analyze the situation, pray on it, and then act.  I like that about myself; I think it's a wonderful asset. 

Ron has freaky sores?  Let's go look it up. 

Ron has bad circulation?  The minute I got home I looked up remedies and gave Ron suggestions.  His feet are already looking better (they had that nasty reddish mottled look). 

I'm crazy?  OK, let's go do the research, find out what worked for my bipolar family, and get it from Doc. 

That's who I am, how I operate, and I love that about myself. 

Do I consider myself mentally ill?  Yes.  But not very often.  I'm busy living my life. 

Hoarders and Doctors

Well, Medicare still pays most of the bills. 

I took Ron to the doctor.  I checked his sugar at home, and then he asked me to check it again in the waiting room.  I thought it was funny, the first time I actually had a biohazard sharps container. 

I felt the doc took Ron seriously, a good exam.  Every doctor wants to give Ron Bactrim, but he's allergic.  We have another antibiotic now, which reminds me, I need to clean his legs again. 

I have always considered homecare/caregiver as one of my jobs - well, it sure is now. 

Doc saw us an hour late, so I was pretty hungry.  Fortunately I had a nice can of vienna sausage in my backpack.  Normally I find the idea of canned sausage revolting, but I was that hungry.  I made a mess and ate them, barehanded, like an animal while the medical assistant ran various tests on Ron. 

Ron and I were "cutting up", cracking jokes and all.  A good example, Ron had to urinate.  I found the medical assistant and asked her if they needed some urine.  Yes, she told me, but the bathroom was occupied. 

"That's OK" Ron replied, pretending to fumble with his waistband "I can use the sink".  Her expression was priceless. 

We finally got all the testing, the prescription, etc.  We made our follow up appointment and headed out to wait for Metrolift - a pretty short wait. 

When we came home, I was annoyed to see the vacuum cleaner still in my yard.  There's an old Spanish guy who picks junk.  We save our aluminum cans for him, mainly because I don't want him pawing around in my trash.  One time my new workboots (cost about $12) hurt my feet so badly I left them out with the cans.  He took them happily. 

Now and then, he leaves a find in my yard.  I'm OK with that, if it's a one day thing.  It has been a one day thing, I'll find something in the sideyard or on the porch, but it's gone in a few hours.  This time, it's still there, a day later, a huge, heavy vacuum cleaner. 

I dragged it out to the curb.  I don't want the thing in my yard, and my yard will not be come a hoarded repository of junk.  Unfortunately, I don't speak Spanish and he doesn't speak English.  Actually, that might be a good thing. 

I just wrote a letter ranting about hoarders - I'm not going to be a hypocrite and allow my yard to be hoarded, and only a hoarder would want a broken vacuum cleaner after it had been out in the rain for days. 

I just hope he, or some other hoarder, comes along and takes it before heavy trash next month.  I really don't want that thing on my curb for a month. 

We went to Walmart after that and got his prescription.  Not cheap, not awful.  About 2 months of MY pills.  It's a good thing I already got my refills. 

Ron ate a value burger with half the bun, and it had a minimal impact on his blood sugar.  He was pretty happy about that. 

I got myself a couple value burgers to eat tomorrow morning.  I have to get up at 2. 

Medical History

I have to do up Ron's medical history for tomorrow, so I thought it might be fun to throw his, and mine, in the blog. 

Mine is easy: "Lazy Eye" surgery at age 2.  Farsighted, requires glasses.  Various childhod ailments, I caught every flu.  Uneventful until age 13, hospitalized for depression.  Kidney infection at age 18, a week in the hospital. 

Diagnosed with ovarian cysts (a dermoid, and a hemmorhagic), one on each ovary.  I had surgery for them at age 25.  Doc got the bleeder, but not the dermoid.  He did a lot of fertility work and OB, and was reluctant to take the ovary even though I said I was fine without.  I even brought Ron in, but I was "only" 25. 

Age 30 I had a really bad bout of Salmonella, the day we bought the house.  I was sick for weeks. 

I was finally diagnosed bipolar, type one, rapid cycling, psychotic features at age 32.  I have found that lithum/depakote work best for mood stabilizing; wellbutrin best for the antidepressant, and Haldol for the psychotic stuff. 

At age 35, I had an allergic reaction to my antidepressant (an SSRI), which left me covered in hives.  Taking an SSRI again would probably kill me. 

That's it.  

Ron is a whole 'nother can of wax beans. 

Born with congenital glaucoma.  One eye had some vision.  9 operations on said eye until he went completely blind. 

Uneventful medical history until 2003. 

Massive head injury and chest trauma, a badly broken leg.  Crushed ribs, collapsed lung, lacerated kidney.  He had a Glasgow coma score of 3, the worst possible.  Off to the trauma center. 

He's had a few hand operations, on the good hand.  He is partially paralyzed on the right side but can still get around the house OK, praise God. 

In 2009 he developed a strange lump, which turned out to be a simple skin infection.  Ron was given Bactrim and had a severe reaction, resulting in neuropathy.  He had every test in the world and everyone threw up their hands (we even had a neurologist on board). 

Agh, this is totally depressing.  I'm done. 

Didn't agree

Sometimes Ron & company are rather horrified about what I reveal in the blog - about myself. 

It is a bit alarming that my #1 post on my stats is the one regarding my cycle.  Oh, well, that said, I'm not talking too much about my current issue. 

I had a lovely night of sleep and woke up after about 12 hours.  Two handouts in less than a week, plus work, and more caregiving had wiped me out.  I'd also had some nasty headaches. 

Well, it's not a headache, but I'm really glad I have that gatorade.  Yesterday on the handout, a nice man gave me a bottle of Gatorade G2.  I thought that was very sweet and considerate. 

Little did I know, not 24 hours later, I'd be chugging it, my abdomen racked with alarming rumbles and cramps. 

Now, I expect spritual warfare.  I expect "attacks".  I generally expect a depression.  I wasn't expecting this. 

Now I'm beginning to realize why God had me buy all the Powerade Zero.  I thought it would make a nice stash for a handout, but I'm drinking it now. 

I just pray it clears up by tomorrow, because I need to take Ron to the doctor (his leg still looks pretty bad).  I was able to do the caregiving stuff. 

Now, it could be one of two things: one, it could just be random, or that value burger I ate last night.  Two, it could be the generic cheerios cereal.  I loved the cereal as a child, one of my happier memories in life: Dad fixing me cheerios for my breakfast. 

However, I guess it's possible the gluten didn't agree, or the milk, for that matter.  I'm sure not eating any more for a while. 

"Occupied" Bible handout

I could feel the eyes in the back of my neck as I leaned into the car window, distributing Bibles.  The driver reached for a wallet "I don't take money!  I'll be praying for you."  The driver looked behind me, to him.  "I'm not with him.  Have a good day!"  The driver quickly rolled up the window as the guy scoffed in frustration. 

Today started off pretty average.  A case of Bibles on the floor, my Handout bag, some drinks.  First, though, I went to work.  After work, I came home and got a quick nap, then got everything together for the handout. 

Ron asked me to bring the blood sugar test kit, so I did.  I made sure the lancet wasn't "armed".  The last thing I needed was a fingerstick! 

I brought drinks, hat, vest.  I wore my loud orange t-shirt, white terry cloth sweatband, cargo shorts, and cheap sneakers.  Ron wore twill slacks and a t-shirt, in the wheelchair.   I squealed with joy when I found a hairclip, clipping my ponytail up off the back of my neck.  

When we got to the corner, it was "occupied".  Ugh. 

I'm sure you have seen, or heard about the guys who beg on the median.  They generally have drug and alcohol issues.  One told me he had also been diagnosed bipolar but "I don't need the medication".  I remind myself of him when I get tired of side effects. 

The man was white, about Ron's age, pretty thin - maybe crack or meth addict.  He was chain smoking. 

At first, he approached us, thinking we'd give him money, but quickly realized, to his horror, I was doing a Bible Handout.  I gave him the first Bible. 

He held it with distaste, then stuck it in his bag.  He had a "Hungry" sign. 

"You know" I told Ron "It would be a lot more effective if he hid the huge takeout bag from McDonald's".  However, he left it where everyone could see it. 

The guy, I'll call him "Jack", wanted to work the top of the median, by the light.  So I moved Ron down about 15 feet. 

Ron wasn't very interested in holding up his Free Bibles sign, until I realized Jack was standing near Ron, acting like they were affilated, and essentially using him for "donations".  I quickly explained this to Ron when Jack went chasing after a car, and Ron held up the sign. 

Jack was pretty ticked to find Ron holding up a Free Bibles sign, and even angrier when people started asking him for Bibles.  So, he decided to follow me as I did my distribution, asking the recipients for money. 

However, I told the drivers I didn't take donations, and I wasn't affilated with Jack.  So, Jack gave up on that.  He took some new angles of approach.  He kept walking by everytime the light changed, violating my personal space.  I guess he figured I would wilt and quit. 

Did I mention I am a very stubborn woman?  Accompanied by my husband, even more so?  When he'd walk up towards me me, I'd just lean over the wheelchair from behind. 

Your average "civilian" is scared to death of touching a wheelchair, or even getting in proximity.  Jack included.

The heat index rode around 100.  Jack started telling me "Oh, it's really hot.  Aren't you hot?  Aren't you ready to stop?" 

I'll refer you back to the really stubborn Heather part. 

Ron wanted to call the police - the guy was breaking the law:
Impeding traffic.
Taking money
Touching cars

But I figured God would deal with him, and I found the "persecution" rather amusing.  The sky got dark and ominous.  I wondered if we'd get rained out. 

If you are working a median, rain is death to your business.  No one will open a car window in the rain. 

Ron played classical music - figuring, accurately, Jack would find it offensive and avoid us.  He did.  I wished I had brought my music.  I bet the recipients would have liked some Gospel Rap.  Jack would have left, after that. 

Some people at the bus stop, across the street, yelled for Bibles.  Then I had a couple carloads of gangbangers.  I feel very fondly towards them.  I gave another Bible to a guy with a "Houstones" tattoo (a notorious, violent, gang).   You want it, you get it. 

I had some funny ones, too.  A truck with Spanish guys.  I desperately fumbled for a Spanish New Testament as he reached for something.  I held up "mine" as he held up "Principos de Evangelio" (Principles of Evangelism).  Another guy held up a well-read Bible and gave me a thumbs up. 

A carload of older, flashily dressed women yelled "We love you!" at me a couple of times, encouraging me to keep distributing.  Jack groaned and lit another smoke, pacing angrily. 

Traffic picked up and so did distribution.  Pretty soon I was yelling "Put the sign down" at Ron and rolling up my own sign. 

Jack sighed with relief as I packed it up, and made a rude comment as we left.  [rolleyes] 

Ron and I got to the McDonald's.  Value meal dinner.  Yum.

And it rained.  Sorry, Jack. 

All that said, of course I'll be praying for him to make the right choices, and get right with God, before it is too late. 

Spirituality in mental illness

I can't give medical advice, and I won't.  Everyone is different. 

However, occasionally I get an email from someone experiencing mental illness either in their own, or someone else's, life.  Generally my response to either is the same. 

Live a quiet life; take the meds.  It really comes down to medication.  I've seen people, myself included, who tend to view mental illness through a spiritual lens; and yes, it can have spiritual components. 

At the end of the day, though, it's a biological problem.  Ron is diabetic.  I can pray over him all I want, but if he isn't eating right and checking his blood sugar he will get sicker. 

There's only one way to get better with mental illness - live a quiet, stable, lifestyle with no alcohol or "illegals", get your 8 hours of sleep every night, and take all medication, as directed, by the doctor.  Give the medication time to work, and keep your doctor updated on your progress. 

Then add the spiritual component.  Faith can help bolster a battered soul, as it heals with medication and perhaps therapy. 

The other children

"Don't talk to me about pets" my driver told me "I'm sick of pets.  My daughter kills every pet we get." 

My eyes bugged out as I heard her relate the tale.  Three year old child.  Two parakeets.  One dies.  The next day, the other dies.  Mother asks little girl what happened.  "I let him eat my sparkler" (the one you light for July 4th). 

"Why did you let the other one eat your sparkler if you knew he would die?" 
"I don't know." 

So, Mom got a puppy, a pit bull.  Now, that's another blog.  The little girl appeared to love the dog, and carried it everywhere. 

One day, Mom came home from work and found the dog very lethargic.  She checked an hour later, the dog was dead. 

"What did you do to the dog?"
"I gave him fried chicken and biscuits with honey!"
"What, I told you to NEVER do that!" 

[Leaving a toddler alone with a pit bull of any age, a subject for another blog] 

Someone came over later.  "What happened to the dog?"

"Oh," the little girl stated proudly "The dog nipped me so I killed it.  I killed my dog."  According to her mother, the girl has continued to repeat this statement to everyone, about the dog.  "I killed my dog.  I killed it 'cause it nipped me!" 

The mother finished by saying "I'll be so glad when she goes to school (Pre-K) in the fall." 

I can't help but worry about the other children. 

3 ones?

So, I'm wondering.  Is it a 3 day migraine?  Or just 3 one day migraines? 

Ugh. 

I think I need to get some more Cal-mag-zinc.  I ran out about a week ago. 

I had a good night of sleep, woke up with the headache, did my God Time.  Ran to Walmart and got my pills, some cute t-shirts for both of us. 

Ron likes pocket t-shirts.  The trick is finding flattering colors, with a low polyester content.  Polyester in Houston - ugh! 

Ron bought my Depakote, so I had the money to spend on him.  I got him a grass green heather (wierd not to capitalize), and a deep blue heather.  I got myself a nice deep teal green heather.  Each shirt had a very low 10% polyester content.  I could have gone the cutesy route and gotten matching shirts, but Ron will only wear a pocket-t.  The one I liked for me, was a plain front. 

I like a pocket-t for my work shirts.  I wear my security badge on a lanyard, around my neck, and I don't want it hanging down and getting caught when I'm moving merchandise.  I do a lot of lifting, and keys/lanyard/cell phone all hanging down around my neck just begs for trouble.  

I need to wear the things around my neck or I lose/forget them.  With a pocket, I just cram it all in the pocket, a huge lump, and do my work.  I take it out when I'm done. 

If I'm working, it's a pocket t.  If I'm off, it's a plain front. 

I wandered around Walmart, throwing things in the cart.  Ron is taking his blood sugar very seriously.  He was horrified to see how some fresh fruit (pineapple) raised his sugars for hours after eating.  Happily, he did not get any new blisters. 

I decided it was only fair for me to help; so I've decided to go low carb myself.  Not a strict low carb induction, not yet, but I didn't buy any crap today. 

I got whole fat plain greek yogurt, whole fat large curd cottage cheese, powdered sugarfree drink mix, sausage, sliced ham, eggs, low carb bread for Ron, you get the idea.  No veggies, really, because we are not veggie fans.  I need to get some more veggie juice and we can maybe drink that. 

I couldn't forget rubbing alcohol, antibiotic cream (when Ron is better it will be so wierd passing that stuff without throwing a tube in the cart), more test strips, etc.  Ron's legs are slowly healing, thank God, with no real signs of infection. 

I decided to get some bags of trail mix for our drivers on Sunday.  The church ladies are notorious, nasty tempered and unkind.  I want to kind of counteract that.  The trail mix should be OK in the heat, healthier, but still yummy. 

The last time I handed it out the drivers adored it.  It's not cheap but I don't mind spoiling the Sunday drivers a little - the Sunday clients are really that bad. 

Yesterday, while we were out, the landlady came by and laid down the law.  The tenant spent most of the day dragging off his junk.  He still has bags of trash piled against our shared fence, but the side yard finally looks decent (the yards are separated by a hedge of bushes - his side has been full of junk, old shopping carts, and trash). 

I imagine we are not on his happy list right now.  His pickup is still gone but his girlfriend came home, parking across the street.  maybe they will clean out the garage next (it is really bad).  I mentioned the little dog in my letter - I wonder if they had permission. 

See, that's the thing - if you're renting you have to live a certain way, and abide by the rules of the landlord.  If you don't, you get punished.  As a homeowner, I have more leeway. 

I remind myself of that. 

Handout report.

It went great. 107 in 45 minutes.

I have had a pretty bad headache today, so this won't be long.

Our ride was late to get there. Ron was worried we would not have enough time. It was a little slow the first couple minutes, but then it picked up.

Some of my favorites:
The black guy in a work uniform, way over in the right turn lane. Looked at me while I was working. Holy Spirit said he wanted a Bible. The man was looking at me like "I know I don't get a Bible". He was so thrilled when I checked the light, ran over, got him, and told him I'd be praying daily (I do).

The Indian lady, in a sari and all, took one look at me and just laughed and laughed joyfully.

The Muslims who declined in a very polite fashion, like I might bite them.

Then I had families. Oh man, let me tell you. Hold the Spanish up next to someone who is clearly latino and they go nuts. I gave away almost a whole case.

I had people honking, window down (in feels like over 100) yelling for Bibles.

I had 3-4 passengers who wanted a Bible, and told the driver to get one. Of course I made sure everyone in the car got a Bible.

I had a lot of people grinning at me. That was nice. No one, come to think of it, was rude, other than obviously ignoring me.

People kept saying they wanted to give me a donation, but I don't accept it - I would be soliciting and would get shut down. I thanked them and asked them to pray for "Everyone getting a Bible today" if they felt led and they said they would.

Pretty soon I was done. I had to hide the sign quickly because I only had one Bible left.

Later on, waiting on our pickup, I saw a guy waiting in a car with the window down. He got #108.

Please pray for them!

Video Blog

Quack!

Well, my modem is acting up. I take good care of my modems, but I always seem to have trouble. It's a little frustrating. I don't throw it around, drop it, have it in extreme temperatures, leave it in the sun, or anything bad. It gets the same treatment as the computer, perched on top of my old cube style monitor.

I typed this in my word processor and then did a copy and paste when the modem did behave. 

I've been experiencing something lately I find a little frustrating. More than once, lately, I have had to go back and tell a store "You didn't charge me enough". The last occasion, I had 3 plastic drinking glasses, but only charged for 2. I had enough time to get in there and pay, but I didn't want to get back in line.

Today, Ron and I went to the pet store. Well, he stayed at Starbucks while I walked over. Baby Girl loves her Blue Wilderness Kitten food. Tobie (Pretty Girl's new name) loves it too.

However, Baby Girl is about a year old and ready to transition to adult cat food. Since kitten food can be very fattening, I want to make the change.

Baby Girl, so far, is the only cat I've had who's kept their figure. She is still slim and active. Most of my cats end up looking like Torbie, with a big flabby belly. Even my beloved boys, Bubba and Frosty (the black, and white, cats respectively). I want to keep her healthy.

I want to keep both my girls healthy. They clearly love Blue Wilderness, but the company has several flavors, including chicken, duck, fish, and "indoor".

My girls are not strictly indoor. Kind of pointless to have an "Indoor" cat with a blind man. They'd just escape.

At least with a cat door, they can get back in.

So, Ron and I debated. We both figured they would like chicken, because that's the primary ingredient in the kitten food. However, I thought my girls might like a gourmet duck flavor. Besides, it makes me think of the Robertsons in Duck Dynasty.

I told Ron I'd like to try the duck. I went to the store, and the first 5 ingredients for the kitten and chicken foods matched up. It looked like an ideal choice - mainly chicken with some fish.

The duck also looked good, 3 meats. Duck, chicken, fish. Sounded great. I loaded them both into my shopping cart, throwing in some hairball treats.

The girls are shedding a lot (at least Torbie), and I don't want them to have hairball trouble. The hairball treats have petroleum jelly to move things along. It worked very well for Bubba, and has for Torbie, when I remember to give them to her.

I checked out and got back to Starbucks. I reviewed the receipt and realized the cashier had only rung up 2, two pound bags of duck cat food, completely bypassing the 5 pound (different colored bag) of chicken cat food. Great. I have to fix this.

The cashier had seemed to have a lot of difficulty ringing up the other customers. Maybe she needs to move to a different department.

Ron and I have to go back. Right now the store is owed about $10. I'm not going to steal, or lie. That's two commandments broken, and I won't do that.

I believe, if I am knowingly breaking commandments, I'm creating a big chink in my spiritual armor. I won't do that.

So, we got home and the cats got very excited. They recognize the Blue food bags.

Baby Girl ate herself sick on some kitten food Ron spilled, then ate about 1/3 cup of chicken and then 2/3 cup of duck. She loves the duck. She was eating it like I was going to take it away.

Torbie stuck to the chicken, and then found some kitten food Ron hadn't cleaned up yet. Once she finished, Ron cleaned it all up.

I love to spoil our girls.

Quack. 

Ron and I put the food in 2 bowls, we'll see which one they like best and then "stock" that flavor. I'm thinking Duck will win, but I could be wrong. We'll see if Torbie likes the Duck.

Spirit of Fear

My neighbor doesn't seem to be working very much for a yard guy, in Houston, in the summer.  I wonder about that.  My other neighbor, the one with all the kids, works 12 hours a day in the summer.  This guy?  Maybe 4.  How are he and his woman able to pay for a 4 bedroom rental house, an SUV, and a pickup truck?  I have theories. 

Since it was our day off, Ron and I made a trip to Dollar Tree.  He didn't want me cooking my brains at the bus stop.  Since his love language is "Acts of Service", he likes to take me places.  Usually. 

I tell him a ball park time, how long I require, and he sets up the trip.  He does a good job. 

I needed more antibiotic cream, cotton rounds, etc.  Ron was happy to make the trip. 

I had to do some editing to prevent comma abuse.  [grin]

As I went out to the Metrolift (paratransit, our usual converted minivan yellow cab), I saw the guy next door.  I got in the vehicle and suggested the driver leave the back passenger door open for Ron, who'd be out in a minute. 

The guy next door (the hoarder, with loud parties) came out shouting at me "Miss!  Miss!".  It's very insulting to do that.  You know I am married.  I told you.  I would rather have someone yell "Hey" than "Miss" at me because I work very hard at my marriage. 

I rolled up my window, thinking he would take the hint.  He didn't.  He got right up on the cab, still yelling.  The cab driver was next to the back door.  He was very fit, muscled, and black.  Pretty tall, too.  The guy didn't get too close. 

I asked the driver to "Please shut the back door" and he got the message.  He shut the door and stepped forward to the guy, still yelling, until he backed off and left me alone. 

I know the driver, he is a Christian, he knows I am a Christian, he knows I am very happily married.  So, I pretended to bat my eyes at him and thanked him, in a fake southern accent, for "Saving me from that terrible man".  He grinned and I patted him on the shoulder.  "You scared him" I said, with a grin.  His grin broadened.  I explained a little and he said he was "Glad he was there to help". 

Nice guy.  I had called Ron and Ron came out, loaded for bear.  "Where is he?" 

We went to Dollar Tree, I got my stuff, I came home.  I took his sugar, cleaned his legs, took his sugar again, I think a total of 3 times today and I need to do it again.  He's starting to realize the "fun" foods don't work for him anymore. 

Then I took a nap. 

I got up and watched a little TV.  Thought about reading a book, didn't.  The doorbell rang.  It was the guy next door, looking completely wild eyed and manic. 

If he was bipolar, he was off his meds.  If he isn't bipolar, he is on something illegal.  I didn't open the door.  Ron came up and went out.  The guy told him it was his birthday. 

Ron said "Congratulations, you're one day closer to dying."  The guy started making excuses about the last party and Ron said "You're a grown man, you know when you're bothering people."  I thought that line was great. 

Then he came in the house. 

That guy next door is starting to scare me.  I hope the landlady gets the letter soon, does the inspection, and boots them.  I used to worry about the "next" tenant.  I'm a lot more worried about this one.  I believe he is at the point of selling, and using, drugs. 

Now, God hasn't given me a spirit of fear (2 Timothy 1:7
For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.), but I'm going to be careful.  From now on, the pepper spray is going with me, in my pocket, everytime I am outside. 

I just hope, God forbid I need it, the wind is in my favor! 

You just slapped a blister!

I'm going to put up a link, first. 

http://www.bloodsugar101.com/

Ron and I have figured out he is a type 2 diabetic.  I know some of you are saying "Aha!". 

I have to admit, I did figure, if and when this day came, I thought he wouldn't be smart. 

I was wrong. 

First, let's talk about why I even have a blood sugar meter.  Years ago, I took 2 medications that can raise blood sugar to unhealthy levels.  It seemed prudent, to me, to spend the $35 bucks for a meter, 50 test strips, and lancets. 

Sure enough, I found myself with borderline high fasting blood sugars, and after meal sugars.  I was pretty diligent about eating low carb during that time. 

I had a severe allergic reaction to the SSRI, ending my use, and last year I switched from risperidone to haloperidol.  I checked my sugar a few times, and it's been fine. 

One, or both, medications affected my blood sugar control.  Once I got rid of them (it's been my experience that the older drugs are best), my sugars went back to normal, even for a middle aged fat woman. 

When Ron mentioned diabetes in conjunction with his leg blisters, I didn't believe it.  Then I read this: 

Diabetic Blisters (Bullosis Diabeticorum)

Rarely, people with diabetes erupt in blisters. Diabetic blisters can occur on the backs of fingers, hands, toes, feet and sometimes on legs or forearms. These sores look like burn blisters and often occur in people who have diabetic neuropathy. They are sometimes large, but they are painless and have no redness around them. They heal by themselves, usually without scars, in about three weeks. The only treatment is to bring blood sugar levels under control.

Source, ADA

Well, that's not good.  Especially when the blisters popped and got infected. 

I started checking Ron's sugars.  He's diabetic, but type 2, and not severely.  A good example, his fasting blood sugar has been 130 on a couple of occasions, once, the day he woke up with MORE blisters (Sunday). 

Ron's annoyed, because he can't wear his shorts.  He looks like he has leprosy, and I'm cleaning these things twice a day now (I don't want the new ones to get infected). 

He has been a really good sport about it, buying me more glucose test strips and lancets (for the best poke, you want to change them every use or two).  He is also very good natured about getting his blood sugar tested, asking me to do it. 

I get out the lancet, he selects a finger (he likes to use the bad hand because they aren't as sensitive), I disinfect, poke, and test.  The Relion Micro is an awesome device.  The lancet is easy to use and causes minimal pain.  The strips wick the blood and test easily.  Good stuff. 

So, I read the number to Ron and throw away my trash.  We have a medical waste bag.  Old lancets, used test strips, cleaning and disinfecting supplies for his leg blisters. 

I want to make it look easy, and I think between the two of us, we do a good job. 

So, this morning, after my God time, I dressed his blisters and tested his sugar.  I took my shower.  We both dressed for work, Ron wearing khakis. 

Ron brought some music to work.  Ron doesn't dance.  He doesn't even "bop".  He does slap his leg in time to the music. 

This is where I remind you of the dozen new blisters, some of them "rather large", on the top of his thigh.  I forgot to warn him, and sure enough...

Ron slapped his leg vigorously, and I saw a spreading patch of moisture.  The fluid, by the way, is clear. 

I started laughing and grabbed his hand. 

"Ron, you just slapped a blister!" 

Then I cleaned it up. 

Spanish New Testaments

How does a drunken party lead to the puchase of a case of Spanish New Testaments? 

Recently, I had a dream.  In it, I felt God was preparing me for spiritual warfare to come. 

I know some of my unreached readers find me very frustrating.  Everything, to me, is spiritual warfare. 

I do a lot to spread the Gospel - I'm saying that, not to toot my horn, but as a factual statement.  The average Christian does not get out...oh, I sound so horribly bloated with pride.  That is so embarrassing, but I will leave it in there just to show I can be an ass sometimes!  [grin]

How's this: I'm out in the trenches, sharing Jesus, almost every day of my life.  Some days I literally share Him with dozens of Bible recipients.  Other days I may share a single New Testament or some testimony; and you can't forget Ron, ever warning people "Don't take the mark" (of the antichrist). 

One day, he warns, the world will be in severe chaos.  A wonderful new leader will appear and get everything back together.  As part of his program, he will require everyone, "He causes all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and slave, to receive a mark on their right hand or on their foreheads, ¹⁷ and that no one may buy or sell except one who has the mark or the name of the beast, or the number of his name."  Revelation 13:16-17   NKJV

Ron then warns, "If you do that, God will kick your butt" (Revelation 14:9-11).  He then laughs and says "I know you think I'm crazy, but if anyone comes to put a mark on you, remember 'Don't take the mark!'"

I imagine Bad Things don't like that - any day of the week.  And, since God did warn me something was coming I was expecting something.

It was a pretty quiet weekend.  I slept in, got up, and mowed the yard until the rain stopped me.  Then I did some organizing and watched TV for a while.  Happily, I did get a short nap for a few hours. 

I am a little manic, not too bad, just tearing through my "Heather-do" list, the one I make when I'm depressed and can barely bathe myself.  I was happy I had done a lot of my chores. 

Ron slept most of the afternoon, which, I think turned out to be a good thing.  Ron and I had planned to go to church this morning, and meet a friend for lunch. 

About 7 PM, I got a message - he couldn't do it.  As it turns out that worked out pretty well for all of us. 

About 8 PM, the music started next door.  Another rowdy party at the Hoarders.  Ron started calling the police after 10.  One officer told him "We can't make them turn it down, we just suggest it.  We can make sure they aren't pointing speakers at your house but other than that we are really limited on what we can do.  If they tell us no we can't make them stop." 

Well, I'd rather know the truth.  This guy likes to have loud and drunken "birthday parties" for himself every year.  It's my birthday, so I'll keep up and torment, all my neighbors, because it's my birthday!   He is at least in his late 20's. 

I obviously view him as a pretty selfish fellow.  Last year the party went until 5 AM.  This year was more of the same, except he had a microphone and tried to do Karaoke around 1 AM.  Have you ever heard a loud, drunken, latino guy bellowing lines to a song, forgetting lines, mumbling, yelling into the microphone, etc?  I wanted to get the hose. 

I didn't.  I tried my best to turn my feelings over to God and turn the neighbors over to God.  Shower them with your love.  Lead them to You.  A good quality of sleep for me, if I can't get the quantity.  Take care of Ron, muttering curses in the next room. 

He and all his friends were very drunk - Ron made an audio file. The guy let all his drunken friends drive home with their little kids at 3 AM.  I hope everyone made it home alive. 

Ron kept asking why God had allowed this.  I came to 2 conclusions:  1.  We needed to write another letter to the landlady.  He is a severe hoarder, and she asked to be notified.  I hadn't done it because I felt he was "pretty" quiet and better than some of the other tenants we'd seen, but not after this.  Letter is written and will be mailed tomorrow.  She can come out, make an inspection, and make her own determination. 

The lease is up in August.  She may evict him.  It may be a good idea.  I just want quiet neighbors, no dog, stay out of my yard, OK with cats.  He has been nothing but trouble in the last 3 years.  He never mows the yard, the property looks bad, it's hoarded, etc. 

I could have written the letter in the context of "This guy is a jerk and see how he is bothering us".  I didn't.  I have read enough Dale Carnagie.  I wrote. using examples, "You asked, so I'm letting you know, I believe he is causing you some liability and property issues.  Come see for yourself." 

It's ironic, because a lot of my recent yardwork has been preparation for my homeowner's insurance inspection.  I can only imagine how that would go next door.  They would drop her. 

So, I decided to do that.  I have been afraid that the next tenant might be "worse" in some way.  I have been pretty frustrated the last couple years, because I prayed, for months for the "right person" to move in next door.  Instead, I got many trials. 

I'm not having a pity party so I won't reiterate.  I have awesome, quiet, people behind me at least. 

Last night, while I was online, I had a lot of angst.  Someone had sent me some money for Bibles.  I have been seeking God's will on this, because I want to get the right thing and be a good steward of this person's money. 

I had narrowed it down to either children's New Testaments, or Spanish New Testaments.  Last night, as I lay in bed, hearing people screaming drunkenly in Spanish, keeping me up, I realized God's will: 

Spanish New Testaments. 

They should arrive sometime this week.  If they are as popular as usual, they will be gone by the end of the week. 

Take that,  Bad Things.

A former tirade, toned down: Why?

"Don't be too passionate" Ron pleaded as I headed off to the computer room. 

When I arrived, I turned on my computer only to realize I had a "mysterious" internet failure. 

"Heather" I could hear God saying "You're too upset."  So, I took a nap.  When I got up I promised God I would tame the vehemence if He would help get my internet working again. 

You're reading this, He agreed. 

I can understand the parent's point of view.  Money is tight all over, and what's cuter and more endearing than a small child walking up to a stranger, asking them for money?  Only a jerk would keep his wallet in his pocket and walk away. 

However, I have encountered small children begging for money - and I'm in a solid middle class area - three times in this week alone.  In all cases, it was obvious the children were not from needy families. 

In all 3 cases, it was referred to as "fundraising" - a small child walking up to a complete stranger, shoving a bucket at them, and pleading for "donations".  In the first instance, the mother and child were working a strip mall. 

We had gone to Dollar Tree.  Ron was sitting in a folding chair clearly blind and other-ly disabled.  When I came back from running and errand, I found the mother had positioned the child right in front of Ron, facing outward, as if he were her father.  She shoved her bucket at passers-by, begging for donations.  They'd look at Ron and donate. 

The mother was using her own child, and my husband, who would rather die than beg.  I was not happy.  Mom took one look at me, looking at them, and yanked her kid away.  The mother was black, with hair products, long waves reaching past her shoulders.  The hair was not cheap - hundreds of dollars.  When security ran them off (not at my prompting, I think the owner of the beauty supply store called security), they got into a very nice, late-model, Nissan.  They were well, and cleanly, dressed.  The daughter was clean and wore cute, new, little shoes.  For whatever reason, they stayed in the car, watching us (I think they believed Ron and I were running some kind of begging scam as well), until Metrolift arrived.  Then the mother had an Aha moment, I could see it, and drove off. 

I wasn't sure what the mother thought she was teaching her daughter, but the daughter had learned the lesson:  It is OK to approach strangers at close range and ask for money.  That's a terrible lesson to teach your child! 

Haven't they heard of perverts?  Don't parents know that guys like that have exciting fantasies where a little child approaches them, out of parental range, for just a moment?  All the kids I have seen lately have been running up to 20-100 feet away from adult supervision, plenty of range for a bad guy to snatch them. 

I found some good tips for parents: 
Talking to strangers
More tips

Now, you'll note that at least one website talked about appropriate distance - that was another feature.  These kids (the one at the strip mall, and the other two I will mention) were crowded very tightly against the strange adults, thrusting the bucket at them, impeding their passage.

For one, that's just rude.  It's also a safety issue for the children. 

The second incident occured at Walmart.  The children had clustered around one of the exits.  They were jumping in front of exiting customers, shoving the bucket.  Some of them were very small (less than 5).  They were "fundraising" for a cheerleading squad. 

The parents were out of sight, around the corner, under a folding awning, sitting in chairs, listening to music and gossiping.  An adult could have easily grabbed a child and gotten 100 yards away before the parents even realized something was wrong.  I found that pretty distressing, and asked Ron:

"Why aren't the adults begging, if it's so important?" 

When I was a kid we had actual fundraisers, we sold things.  I know some groups do understand public safety for children even in a fundraising setting: the Girl Scouts always sit behind or directly next to a table, with adults right in their midst, watching carefully. 

That's the way to do it, and not because I'm a former Girl Scout! 

I still remember my trip to the water treatment plant.  I found it fascinating. 

Lastly, on the way home, a bunch of manic, orange-clad teens and young children, handing out bottles of water to drivers in exchange for "donations".  One small child was on a median, by himself, away from all adult and teen supervision.  A driver could have shoved him in the car and gotten a mile away before anyone noticed. 

I don't have children.  Sometimes, I don't like children; but children are a treasure from God. 

Would you leave your purse, unattended, by a door, while you sat around the corner gossiping, at Walmart?  No.  Would you leave a briefcase full of money on a median by itself for minutes, unattended?  No. 

So why do people do it with their children? 

Some thoughts on my hair

My hair is about 2 feet long.  It grows fast, is thick, and has a nice wave.   I've always liked it. 

I remember, in high school, when I was in the "special program for emotionally disturbed kids" (my last 2 years), they used to get very angry if I'd show up with unwashed, depressed, hair.  They'd punish me - I forget most of them - no lunch, stuff like that.  They wouldn't let me read (that, to me, is punishment, although the worst would be saying I couldn't write).  It even got to the point of suspension.  They didn't like my cowlicks sticking out (I had short hair) and they sent me home a few times.  That resulted in me getting shoved in the bathroom and ordered to shower, every night, getting checked to see if I had washed my hair - etc. 

Hey, I still have a hard time taking a shower when I'm depressed. 

So, to start, my hair was an issue. 

However, after I moved out I could do whatever I wanted.  I decided to grow it out.  I started with a headband and moved to a ponytail.  Of course, I had no idea what to do with longer hair, so I've stuck with the ponytail.  I tried braiding and stuff but it looked terrible. 

I could have kept at it until I had expert braids, but I'll point you back at the depression issue again.  Some days, all I could to was pull clean hair back in a ponytail.  I tried wearing it down, but it got in the way.   I've always enjoyed active jobs requiring physical effort. 

Manic?  I'd try dying it, but it usually went from medium brown to slightly darker brown.  I hate it when brunette women dye their hair blonde (one of them being my birth mother), so I've expressly avoided it.  I did a few auburns in the late 90's.  I played around with hennas and liked the lack of commitment.

Henna washes out in about a month. My last henna went great - a nice bright red, for a while.  However, as it's washed out I've found a lot of gray in my part. 

My mother went from brown hair to gray.  My Dad went from black hair to salt and pepper, then gray. 

My hair is going more to the gray, with a very few black strands.  Overall, I'm OK with it, but it's like all gray, all at once, in my part, with zero brown at all.  That's a little disturbing. 

Then I think about my life and thank God I'm not bald. 

So, I'm left with nearly all gray roots, at least in my part area.  Let me undo my 'tail and - oh, that looks wrong.  I'll undo my ponytail, brush it out, and see if all the roots are that gray. 

The part is all gray, the rest of the top and sides ranges from about 10 to 40%.  That's not bad.  At least I won't go all gray in the year.  That would be a little freaky. 

So, once I get past color (I have no problem with texture or wave - it's very nice), then I go to styling. I have some cheap hair clips I bought at the Dollar store.  They look like a mouth, about 3 inches long, with teeth. 

I like to use one in the shower, after I wash and condition my hair.  I clip it up so I can wash my back.  In the summer, I use the clip to get the hair off my back!  Oh, it's so hot and itchy, miserable. 

I won't be growing it any longer, but there you have it: graying brown hair, in a ponytail, occasionally clipped up in the back, towards the top of my head.  The curls cascade around the clip, looking fantastic. 

At least until I start working, or get out in the humidity! 

No Extreme Measures

I know God has wonderful plans for me, after I die, at my appointed time.  No, I'm not doing anything dumb. 

Let's talk pets:  I have known some people who spent thousands and thousands of dollars on extreme medical interventions, for their pets, causing the poor animal agony as they went through countless, invasive, procedures. 

I was worried: when my sister sent me a text, saying her cat was dying, I thought I might have to give her the talk.  Happily, I was wrong.  She isn't going to torture the poor thing with invasive procedures. 

I have had 2 cats put down, and lost another cat to poisoning.  The poisoned cat was ill when I left for work, but not acutely.  When I got home she was dead. 

Frosty became acutely ill overnight.  When I took him to the clinic, they told me they couldn't do anything.  He was dying.  He would die easy, or die hard.  I chose die easy, and petted him gently as they gave him the shot.  I never regretted it.  Frosty

Then I had Bubba.  Bubba was 10 and a half, a pretty respectable life for a suburban cat with a cat door.  He loved to tease aggressive dogs.  He loved to hunt rats.  Experts say you can judge an animal's quality of life by the things it likes to do.  Bubba loved his cat treats.  I knew something was wrong when Bubba didn't want his treats that day - and I was right.  That night found me facing a hard decision: would I allow an invasive and painful ultrasound procedure to draw fluid off his sweet and loving heart, buying him a few weeks at best?  Or, would I let him go peacefully and end his suffering?  I've never regretted my choice to let him go.  Even the vet agreed. 

I figured God had another cat for me, and He did.  She is loving, sweet, good-mannered, and everything I could want in a cat.  She's even gorgeous, to boot. 

However, she is older.  Ron and I assume she is older than her stated age of 5-6 years.  That's OK.  When it's her turn to go, she won't suffer. 

My Day

Mixed episodes can be pretty frustrating.  One day I'm mostly depressed (yesterday), another, I'm mostly manic (today). 

Before I woke up, I had an interesting dream.  Ron and I were going to (fight in) a prizefight.  He could see, and was driving us. 

I decided to interpret that as a spiritual warfare message.  Sometimes I wonder why I have all the drama, forgettting I am on the front lines. 

That, and I'm crazy. 

So, everyone's all freaked out "the government is watching you".  SO WHAT.  I am completely open about all my thoughts and feelings.  No secrets.  I can keep someone else's secret, but I don't really have any of my own. 

I have always figured the government was monitoring me on some level, and acted accordingly.  When people "like" posts hostile to the administration, I pass.  Sure, it might be funny, but I'm being watched.  Not worth it.  I don't join, or like, radical groups.  I don't join any groups, unless you count a few Facebook groups.  Christian groups.  Weight loss groups.  One coffee klatch group.  Most people would say booor-ing. 

Good.   Like I say, I always want a boring life. 

I'm happy with my life.  That's a beautiful and good thing (I told you I was manic). 

So, I got up.  Ron expressed some concern about my showers running up the electric bill.  In Houston, Texas, our last bill was about $50.  We keep the thermostat pretty high, and we have good insulation. 

So, I guess I'll be getting up early.  I don't want to cause him a lot of stress.  I would like to think I am a pretty easygoing woman. 

I cleaned his legs (disinfect, antibiotic ointment).  They are getting better - slowly.  I will be so happy when he just has normal skin on his legs. 

Skin conditions (like my horrible hives of 2009) really make me appreciate intact, healthy, skin.  Take a minute to appreciate your skin. 

Whatever your problem, you probably don't have infected leg ulcers.  That's a good thing. 

I admit, I am paranoid enough to use disinfectant on the toilet every time Ron sits.  I am paranoid about catching that.

So, Ron's anointed.  Cuddle time with the cat.  She is such a lover.  Ron said she slept with him all night, either on him or right next to his head.  I "stole" her for my nap today.  She sure liked the microfiber blanket, but I do toss and turn, so she went back to Ron. 

We had a ride to the Christian bookstore.  However, the paratransit company left us there for over an hour and half. 

Manic, an hour at the nearby dollar store sounded great, but I later realized it could be used as some kind of sick torture.  Leave a manic woman in a Dollar Store with a little money. 

One time, I was dropped at a mall to "browse" for a few hours.  I seldom visit the mall.  This was a very high end mall.  Even if I had been manic, I could not have afforded anything.  Everything in the mall was tailored for an affluent college student.  Read: skinny college student.  None of the clothes would have fit.  It was really easy to walk around with my money in my pocket. 

Harder, when it's things I like and can actually afford.  I spent about $20.  Most of it, things I needed, like antibiotic ointment (I'm going through a tube every couple days) and q-tips (used to apply the ointment.  I always need drink mix, snacks, etc.  They have really nice soap, too. 

I headed out and got us some lunch, then took it to Ron.  We ate in the breakroom, raiding the vending machine for diet sodas.  Our ride came pretty fast and we went home. 

I had my nap with Pretty - not the most sustaining nap because she kept walking around on me.  I still love her. 

When I got up, I did some housework and took a chair out to the curb.  I've had it for 9 years.  It is turquoise.  That has been the redeeming value for 9 years: turquoise.  No one sits on it.  So, I got rid of it.  Then Ron and I  trimmed some low hanging tree stuff (he pulls the branch down and I snip it), and I organized the front room a bit. 

Mania:  That's when I spend my money, dye my hair, buy clothes, do laundry, download new music (most of this goes to spending), try new hobbies, write a lot of blogs, participate ....

Storm coming in.  Logging off. 

A fairly average day

I woke up, took my shower, and decided to forgo the morning God time in exchange for quality time with Ron and Pretty Girl (I got it later).  Ron asked to rename her - he wants to call her Torbie.  It's a term for tabby calico - she has black, brown, and orange fur, in a tabby pattern. 

Sure, why not.  Ron kept getting Baby Girl and Pretty Girl names confused.  I don't think the cats care, as long as he's petting them and handing out the occasional treat, but it mattered to Ron. 

My grandmother called me by my aunt's name for weeks, when I went to visit her, about 20 years ago.  It was pretty funny.  I answered to it, I knew it wasn't a slight or anything.  I was a brown haired little girl.  I reminded her of her brunette daughter. 

Anyway, I have no problem with it.  I call both girls Pretty and Baby, they don't mind. 

I cleaned up the bad spot on Ron's leg, it's looking better.  Ron still has a couple more antibiotic capsules.  He wore pants.  I think he's looking forward to complete healing so he can wear his shorts again! 

We went to the warehouse, and I got everything on my "snack machines need:" list.  Yay.  It was compact, too.  I had a giant tote bag, most of the inventory went into that.  We went to work, stocked our departments (Ron does drinks).  Ron remarked his side was bothering him, and I reminded him I had seen him trying to move a case of bottled water.  I really need to move all the drinks. 

At least we didn't end up in the hospital, like the time he tried to move a vending machine!  That was pretty funny, hours waiting, a doctor, assistant, and nurse, and THEN he remembers "I tried to move the coffee machine".  He is really good about asking for help but sometimes he gets impatient. 

Pretty soon, time to go.  Our ride was already outside.  Yay. 

We went home and had about an hour (I could have done my God Time then, but it slipped my mind, I hate that).  Then we left again, went to the store, and got my Haldol.  I forgot to get more sausage biscuits, but I got more milk and some canned stuff. 

Ron doesn't like me to use the stove during the summer.  He will make an exception if I get up very early and use it then, but it's generally not worth it for me.  I got some canned spaghetti, that's fine. 

Once I put away all my stuff I took my nap, it was pretty late but I had a good one.  I had a wierd dream in which I, and everyone else was deaf.  That wasn't the strange part - the strange part was the home invasion scenario in which I was the resident of the targeted home.  The bad guys were also deaf. 

That was wierd enough to get me out of bed.  I did my God Time.  Now some chores, eat some leftovers, and go to bed early. 

I'd like to do some yardwork tomorrow. 

2 weeks of hell

It's been an exhausting couple weeks. 

Warning, "Icky" ahead for the squeamish. 

Ron finally gave me "permission" to talk about it, largely, I think, because it's finally getting better. 

Scenario: two weeks ago, Ron wakes up with large, fluid-filled blisters on his legs, several at least, ranging from upper thigh to lower calf.  Several on the left leg, a few on the right. 

Within a day of erupting, the blisters popped and scabbed over.  We couldn't figure out the cause.  They appear to be burn blisters, but he hasn't been burned. 

As near as I can figure, with internet research, they MIGHT be diabetic in nature.  It's very uncommon, but a diabetic blister looks like a regular friction (new shoes) or burn blister. 

I checked his sugars one hour after he's eaten, and they came in at 167.  Plenty of authorities say the ideal is under 140, after eating. 

Source:  Look up link for "Healthy Blood Sugar Targets"

Clearly, 167 is not great.  However, most people, most doctors, are uninformed and think "Anything under 200 is fine". It's not.  I did my research. 

So, the last couple weeks have involved a LOT of blood sugar testing for Ron.  He has been within good parameters, thank God, and I am quite adept at checking his sugars now.  We have a Relion Micro, which requires a very small blood sample, too. 

Positive note, I have checked my own a few times, and they are ideal.  My past higher blood sugars must have been due to my former antipsychotic. 

He refused to go to the doctor, even when these horrible things ulcerated, got deeper, and then got infected.  Two were pretty large, about an inch wide by 3 inches long.  One chain of 3 actually formed a larger sore.  We even had a new blister or two coming in. 

I applied my antibiotic ointment.  I disinfected him with peroxide.  The blisters formed a horrible yellowish crust, and red circles began to surround the scabs.  The surrounding skin began to swell. 

Ron FINALLY consented to go to the doctor.  Doc said "I've never seen this before" and looked at me sharply when he asked Ron if he'd been burned.  [Facepalm]  Great, now I'm abusing him. 

He said, peroxide and antibiotic ointment.  He wrote a prescription for Keflex.  We went to Walmart and got it.  Ron is taking it diligently, every 8 hours. 

I bought some more antibiotic cream, and discovered, to my horror, the stuff in the first aid kit had expired.  I have used up an entire new tube of cream since then. 

So, the last couple weeks have consisted of me worriedly checking his legs, fretting over redness, swelling, and nasty looking scabs.  Nightly "cleansings". 

Each sore gets cleaned with a seperate cotton round and hydrogen peroxide.  The pad is thrown away after each sore and a new one used for the next.  After the foaming stops, I use cotton swabs, a new one for each sore, to apply the ointment. 

I don't want to reuse the applicators, because if I did, I could spread bacteria from one sore to another.  Two, in fact, did not get infected.  8 did.  7 are well on the road to healing.  One scab fell off. 

One remains nasty-looking, it was the last blister so I don't think it's as far along as the others.  It's about the size of a quarter.  It, however, is slowly improving. 

Oh, it's been horrible.  Even with God, tremendous amounts of prayer, it's been a huge stress.  I couldn't talk about it.  That was the worst. 

Especially when the doctor basically asked Ron if I'd burned him. 

No way.  If I'm burned out I'd just leave.  I wouldn't put my own freedom at risk for a quick moment of savagery. 

This is what manic looks like

So, after we got to work, I got my deliveries and did my inventory.  I get inventory tomorrow, and then stock it.  Things are pretty good.  The machines still look OK but clearly do need some inventory. 

I got a dizzy spell, and told Ron, interestingly enough, I thought it was the Depakote.  I remarked I could still think while I felt dizzy, and he "made" me sit down for a minute. 

Times like that I'm glad I'm not a roofer. 

After work, we went home for a little bit, and then we went to Dollar Tree.  Ron needed some flashdrives, which I got further down the strip mall.  He is pretty hard on his media. 

I got some first aid stuff for Ron and some things for me.  About the worst thing to happen: I thought I had put 3 Cherry Berry Wyler's light in my cart.  I didn't - I only put one, and 2 raspberry.  That's OK, I like raspberry.  Not as much, but I'll live, and if that's the worst thing of the day I'm doing great! 

I realized I wasn't jittery, like I am when manic, but I wanted to spend, and talk - a lot.  Ah.  This is what manic looks like on Depakote! 

Like the guy at work used to say, upon sighting Ron "Watch your pockets!" 

We came home, I did a lot of housework.  Not all of it, but I got all the winter stuff put up in the garage, some organizing, and all.  Yay. 

I love a good, mild, mania.  Not those black and horrific things of the past, full of irritability, paranois, and very bad thoughts, but a nice, light, bubbly, productive one. 

Kind of like a champagne. 

If I drank, that is. 

Big Trouble

I feel like I'm always typing "It's been a wierd couple days".  Well, it has. 

Yesterday morning started out fine, except I missed a good chunk of my God Time.  I overslept. 

I sat in my chair and waited on our ride.  When we reached 15 minutes late, mark, Ron called paratransit.  He shouted "Look outside, they are here". 

I looked outside, and saw what I do everytime:  a quiet suburban street.  No paratransit.  I told Ron.  Dispatch kept insisting they were at our location, because the driver had pushed the "arrive" button. 

If the driver does not push the arrive button, prior to, or on time for the pickup, they get in trouble.  For some, that can be a tempation to push the button when they aren't at the location. 

I suggested dispatch ask the driver to describe her surroundings, and read the street sign at the nearest intersection.  When the driver did that I realized she was miles away. 

I was VERY annoyed.  Dispatch kept saying the driver "Needed (my) help" to get to our location from her location.  That's why they have a Key Map.  That's why they have a GPS!  Frankly, that's why they have dispatch.  "The driver keeps asking for you to get on the line".  Me, I guess, because I "made" her reveal she was nowhere near our location. 

I refused.  I knew the driver was playing "Oh, I can't find you, you have to rescue me!  Oops!  I didn't follow your directions and I got lost again!  Ooops!  But I said I'm sorry so you have to be nice to me while I give you really lame excuses for the next 15 minutes, and an ugly attitude if I even perceive you are annoyed in any way."   When they finally do show up, they give a very cursory apology, spend 5 minutes asking if you're mad (of course I am, but I'm not going to show it because it's part of the game), etc.  I don't care.  Just go! 

They're playing this game:  I make a mistake.  I say I'm sorry.  You have to forgive me.  The only way to break the game is by telling them "You can make all the mistakes you want, but you can't apologize for them"  For the game player, the "It", forcing someone to "forgive" you is the payoff, especially when you know you have hurt them ("Are you late for work?  Are you going to get into trouble?") or caused them a lot of annoyance.  Unfortunately I do encounter this sometimes. 

Interestingly enough, NEVER on the bus.  Bus drivers are far more professional than paratransit drivers. 

I told them Ron could give directions just as well as I could.  And, sure enough, 5 minutes later "Where is she?  How did she get there?  She went right past us!"  Even Ron was getting annoyed. 

I think he really believed she was a "victim" until that point.  So, eventually, she found us. 

I am really proud to say Ron exhibited every fruit of the spirit as he got on that van. 

Galatians 5:22-23
But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. Against such there is no law.

 

I was doing good to keep my mouth shut.  It went as the game goes: a lot of excuses.  We were told our house was "very difficult to find" (first time anyone has ever had trouble in 9 years of riding, but I didn't say that - yay me), and "All the drivers must have a lot of trouble finding you."  A cursory apology.  "This stupid GPS is messed up" (no, it was working fine, I could see it).  Then 15 minutes of moaning about the extreme trauma of trying to find us and having to talk to dispatch.  Then "Are you going to be late" with a nasty little lilt on it. 

 

No, I told her, I wouldn't because I worked for my husband.  I made a joke about sleeping with the boss.  She completely wilted. 

 

One, it completely freaked her out that Ron got on, very jolly and happy.  "Things happen, lets move on and get us to work!"  She kept looking at him in the rearview.  He was supposed to be really angry. 

 

I was quiet, so she couldn't accuse me of anything.  That was my best.  I didn't think to ask God to fill me up. 

 

More complaining about the difficulty of the job and such.  I clearly told her the turn off to get us to work.  The GPS did, too.  She passed it up then went "Oh, did I miss it?" another nasty little lilt. 

 

Does the woman do anything besides play games?   I directed her to the other street, got us to work, and we fled the vehicle. 

 

Before she left, she said "Oh, they took all the trips out of my box". 

 

See, when Ron originally called, the dispatcher, when she realized the driver really wasn't on our street, was, in fact, miles away from our street - said "Oh, she's going to be in BIG TROUBLE."