Crazy Cat Cults

There are many types of people in this world: the shy and outgoing, the loyal and the liars, Chevy or Ford, righteous and sinners, the rational and the redheads.

Me, I’m a dog person.

I love my dogs. They are all of the above descriptions with a love beyond scope. I have heard, dogs may only be here for part of your life, but to a dog, you are their entire life. I have always had dogs and they have always been the highlights of my life on this planet.

To this day my dogs are my life. I have three and they are all as different as any two people can be. But they are all loyal and full of unconditional love.

I find myself awake a lot at night; one, because I’m a performer and that’s when most of the performances take place. It would suck to sleep through one of my performances both for me and the audience. It would suck more if the audience slept through my performances.

Two, because of my disorder; I never know when my body will do weird things, like not sleep or inversely, sleep. There are still times when I just have to concede that I am tired; no matter what’s happening around me or what project I’m on, my body will shut down and I will fall asleep.

Sometimes I find myself lying awake staring at the ceiling, yes, I know I’m blind and it’s also dark at night, but I know the ceiling is still there. As I lie there staring into the darkness (better?) I usually find myself where I am right now, typing away on my computer taking the crazy out for a walk.

I think that’s what it is; the crazy wants out to play. It has been locked up all day in the cold grey cage of my mind — so it doesn’t scare away other people. When I lay down to sleep, it’s awake and wants out to play.

So instead of lying there wondering if — and trying to —and not succeeding in falling asleep, I turn on my computer and let the crazy run free for a little while.

On this particular night, as I started to climb discreetly out of bed to take crazy out for a stroll, I had a wave of love and warmth spread over me like I rarely feel. Usually, when this happens I am hoping I didn’t just wet the bed.

This was different and a lot more pleasant than the warmth of wetting the bed. I soon realized that in my tossing and turning to try and get the cray-cray to go back to sleep, one of my dogs had cuddled right up with me, pressing his entire body against mine.

Zeke is a full grown 80-pound black lab so when I say his whole body it was my whole body as well. It wasn’t like that’s where he just landed and decided this is comfortable, it was more like a gesture of love and support. Like somehow he knew I was having a rough battle with my alter ego and he wanted me to be reassured that I wasn’t alone.

If I moved, so did he; making sure he was pressed up against me like a blanket or dare I say, comforter. I know that there are those of you that are thinking that he was just lying there because it was comfortable for him or that’s just what dogs do — to you, I say pshaw. Yes, I say PSHAW. (Used to express irritation, disapproval, contempt, or disbelief)

There’s a reason that dogs are used for service animals. After all, have you ever heard of a service cat? Not an emotional support animal, which is neither endorsed nor validated by the Americans with Disabilities Act, but an actual service animal?

Could you imagine the chaos and helter-skelter mayhem that I as a blind person would go through on a daily basis if there were Seeing Eye Cats? Pardon my language but cats are soulless self-serving, egomaniacal, frigid, soulless, ASSHOLES! Oh, and did I mention soulless?

They would be worse at leading me around than my “friends,” who believe it funny to watch me try and navigate 'through' instead of 'around' things.

I could see it now, walking me right into things and then looking at me with that smugness that only cats can muster, “Oh yeah, look out for that.” Or push me off a curb or ledge, lead me in random patterns making me think we’re actually getting somewhere, but in reality, we have just walked 7 miles in my own yard and then just lay down, right there, because he’s just not feeling it.

When is the last time you heard a news story where a vicious attack cat scared off an aspiring burglar or purred in code so that people would know ‘Timmy fell down a well’ — the cat probably pushed him down the well to begin with; — Thank God for Lassie.

I truly believe that cats have no soul so they steal the souls of their human sycophants. Every time I have interactions with someone who is a cat person this gets verified. All cat people are the same; they believe that their cat is so cute and so cuddly that everyone in the world needs — nay, “MUST” love them.

Cats brainwash their humans into believing that they are there to serve the cat empire, and the crazy cat people believe it. The internet is full of these cult creatures that have invaded their “owners” minds and controlled them into incessantly talking about them and videoing their actions. These cultists make Christopher Walken look sane.

I can’t count the number of times I have seen posts on social media sites where the humanoid part of this symbiotic, unhealthy, co-dependent relationship is posting about some real issue, you know like — how the hair on one side of their body grows longer or faster than the other side, or the fact that they really hate cleaning the lint out of the dryer, all super important topics on social media and suddenly, as I am entranced by the growing hair story and waiting in full anticipation for the climax, it suddenly and catastrophically turns to, “oh, my cat!”

“OH, MY CAT?”

“So I was measuring my arm hair to see if I was going crazy or not and I — oh, oh my gosh, oh, oh, the sweetest thing just happened, my cat clawed the curtains to shreds.” Or, the damn cat is just lying there with that look on their face confirming my earlier assessment and its disciple is like, “I just can’t help it — he’s so cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuute.”  (You all know the cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuute sound, like fingernails on a chalkboard.)

It is my contention that people are absolutely normal until they procure a cat and then they are entranced into believing that the whole world cares about their said cat. Every picture, every post, every sentence, it’s like a grandparent with a new baby photo.

If you don’t know who this person is in your life, look in a mirror, you’re the annoying cat person.

Ok, where was I? I told you sometimes the crazy needs out. Oh yeah, not sleeping, so I decided to take the crazy for a walk across the pages of this blog and slowly climb out of bed as not to disturb my wife who is softly snoring and the dog who’s snoring loudly.

As I make my way through the darkness, which is second nature to me now, my second dog is on the floor right below my side of the bed. Odee is also a full grown black lab so trying to find footing on the floor and not her is no easy task.

I’m also getting used to finding things under my feet so I skirt around her, grab my bathrobe and as I’m headed out the bedroom door there’s my third dog lying across the doorway. Ollie is our protector, half lab half Great Pyrenees, so when I say he’s across the doorway — his 110-pound body takes up the entire doorway.

Now all these things can be dismissed as, ‘they were where they were the most comfortable,’ or ‘see they’re assholes too because they were trying to trip you up’, or ‘dogs are always under your feet blocking your path.’

But then something heartwarming happened. All three dogs slowly got up as not to awaken my still snoring wife and followed me into my office and as I sat down to start writing all three curled back up as close to me as they could, placing their heads on my lap and feet and went back to sleep.

They were there for me, they somehow knew that I was battling the demon of sleep and they wanted to comfort and console me. I’ve said it before and I will say it again. I like people, but I love dogs.

SP

Childhood Magic and Ruby Slippers

      

        There are times that I look back and wish I had the magical view of life that I did as a child. Children look at all life offers as such a great and wondrous thing.

Movies, comic books and stories were all so real and vibrant. The television shows that I watched fondly as a child, some of which, still carry great memories of joy and love, are all now goofy, cheesy, poorly acted, weak storyline disasters of film.

        What happened to my sense of wonder and joy? I try to compare the programs I watched as a child to the shows that my grandchildren watch now in an attempt to validate the time I spent glued to a television. I believed they were the greatest cartoons and shows to ever be made.

        I hear myself saying “What happened to cartoons?” knowing that the cartoons of my childhood were soooooooooo much better and entertaining. Watching Looney Toons or Tom and Jerry dance across the screen was so much more than a bunch of kids in their PJ's with lame stories and ludicrous lines that are guaranteed to irritate.

     To validate my belief, I found some of the cartoons of my childhood and in great anticipation of the joy felt in my younger years, watched several episodes. I was more than disappointed to find out just how bad they were. It was a total let down after believing my memories of these great cartoons were of epic proportions.

        At that moment I came to a realization, it was the pure unadulterated joy of childhood that makes cartoons so great. We lose the ability to appreciate the senseless and impractical nature of cartoons as we grow older.

        There are movies, however, that I fell in love with as a child that I still watch and love to this day. One of those is The Wizard of Oz. I have met people who love it and some that hate it; I stand firm in the first group.

        As a child, I fell in love with the pure mystery and madness of the movie. It went from black and white to color; it had talking animals, witches, flying monkeys and a whole list of other things that make a young person’s mind go wild.

        Growing up, one of the three television stations — yes three, that is all we had and if the president was on we were screwed — would air The Wizard of Oz on their family night of programming. The whole family would come together and watch TV and share the joy and love that families have.

        Nowadays, you’re lucky to have two of the same family members watching the same YouTube channel. I would watch the story of Dorothy and Toto unfold in this magical world of dreamlike wonder and get completely lost in my own imagination.

        As an adult, I still watch with childlike awe as the story develops in front of me. The same magical feelings arise as they did when I watched it for the first time.

There are also times in life you realize that the pristine childhood joy and wonder gets replaced with other, more adult forms of joy and wonder. The story went from enchanted and magical to a rock solid L.S.D. trip of impressive magnitude; it's still enjoyable just in a different way.

I now believe the writer of this tale of misery and despair was high on some extremely powerful hallucinogen and was relaying his ‘trip’ to the rest of us, rather than believing that there is a magical world of greatness and wonder.

As I was working toward my degree we were instructed to analyze many different movies, cartoons and other media for their hidden meanings or hidden metaphors to the story.

“What is the writer trying to tell us and what is this character trying to portray?”

Psychologists seem to believe that everything has hidden meanings and underlying reasons for their existence. What is the archetype of the individuals and how does that play on the archetype of the other characters?

Me in Psychology Mode: The curtains were blue because blue symbolizes his sadness and the author specifies the curtains because he is fearful of going outside. However, his agoraphobia is only a mask for his unconscious desire to marry his mom and kill his dad as per the "Oedipus complex" (Freud 420).

Furthermore, the blue curtains are a materialist commodity; he has curtains because he feels objectified by bourgeoisie society, and the curtains are there to protect him from Hegel’s dialectic. He is a slave to society, and … Bla - Bla - Bla — Yakety Schmackaty!

Me in Author Mode: The curtains were blue because they were fricken blue. (Only I didn’t say fricken). I just write what makes me happy and entertains me and my audience. There doesn’t always have to be an underlying reason for anything — but what do I know?  

When L. Frank Baum wrote ‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’, I believe he was doing nothing more than attempting to entertain with his wild tales of Dorothy, Scarecrow, Tin Woodsman, Cowardly Lion and their friends on a journey of discovery.

When the screen adaptation of the Wizard of Oz debuted in 1939 I'm sure it was the intent of the screenwriters, directors, and actors to portray a movie that was just as spectacular and entertaining with no hidden messages.

When asked to assess this particular movie, I realized that if you look beyond the acid trip that unquestionably must be there, there's a metaphor that has changed my way of approaching life and this disorder.

Go with me on this one, as we dive into the depths of The Wizard of Oz; well actually it's more like the Reader's Digest or possibly, Shawn’s Digest version. Read along as we run through a three-hour movie in three minutes.

As they say at theme parks across the world, "Keep your arms and hands inside the ride at all times, hold on and have fun!"

We are only going to discuss six of the characters in the movie: Dorothy and Toto, which, for all intents and purposes are one character; the Tin Man, Cowardly Lion, Scarecrow, Wicked Witch of the West and the all-powerful Oz himself.

Dorothy and Toto find themselves transported to the Land of Oz after a tornado dropped their house, landing on the Wicked Witch of the East, killing her. The ruby slippers that the sorceress owned were passed to Dorothy but the Wicked Witch of the West wanted them.

After a battle of words and threats, the Wicked Witch of the West departed in anger leaving us with one of the most iconic and well-known phrases in movie history —

“I'll get you my pretty and your little dog, too.”

Dorothy followed the yellow brick road after receiving counsel from a bunch of really strange little people that seem to be truly down to earth and trustworthy. — Right?

Their advice, go and see the wizard he is all powerful and he can tell you how to get home; doesn’t sound sketchy at all.

So being the naïve, trusting person she is, (Kansas — nuff’ said), Dorothy starts on her way to find the Emerald City and the all-powerful Oz. On her way, she finds the Scarecrow—not the evil Batman Villain but almost as creepy.

The Scarecrow only wants one thing, a brain, (which I believe is what most men want.) She says to him in song, “I'm off to see the Wizard the wonderful Wizard of Oz.” If he can help me get home he surely can give you a brain. And off they go singing arm in arm. — Yeah, we've all been there.

The Tin-Man is the next companion to join the group. He was left out in the rain and was rusted solid but with the help of a trusty oil can that just happened to be sitting there, he was able to move once again.

His only wish is a heart so he can feel love. Dorothy explains that they are on their way to see the wizard and he should accompany them. If the wizard can get her home and the scarecrow a brain, he can give the Tin-Man a heart.

Once again they’re off to see the wizard, (You finished the song in your head didn’t you?) when they come across the Cowardly Lion.

He feels scared and all he wants is the courage to be the king of beasts that he is supposed to be. You guessed it, we're off to see the wizard, he is going to help us, and he can surely help you. And down the yellow brick road they go.

The Wicked Witch of the West puts obstacle after obstacle in front of them. There are flying monkeys, trees that come alive and grab them, and a field of poppies that put them to sleep (drug reference, who'd of thought?)

They persevere and end up in the Emerald City and at the castle of the Wizard. They meet Oz for the first time and are in fear and awe of his power. Oz, however, denies them their wishes stating he wants something from them first.

Oz demands the witch's broomstick. “Bring me her broomstick and I’ll grant your wishes.” The four companions formulate a plan and go to the witch’s lair only to be captured and taken to the tower.

While in the tower they are tormented by the witch and her evil minions to get Dorothy to give up the ruby slippers, but she stands fast and doesn’t give them up.

The witch, reaching her wits-end, decides that she is going to burn the scarecrow in hopes that it will force Dorothy's hand and she will give up the slippers.

After placing her broom into a flame she moves it towards the scarecrow when astonishingly there appears a bucket of water, Dorothy throws it at the burning broom, dousing the fire and soaking the witch in the process.

Lo and behold, like she was made out of sugar, she melts from the liquid, which gives us the second most cited line in the film.

“I’m melting, I’m melting, what a world, what a world.”

The fellowship grabbed the broom and returned to the mighty and powerful Oz to receive their gifts. When they arrived the second time they approached Oz with the broom, “Here is your broom now give us our wishes.” As they stood in excitement, the wizard once again denied their most fervent desires. 

At this point I want you to pause for a moment and think about why he would deny them? Why wouldn’t he give them what they desired when he promised to do so after receiving the broom he asked for?

The answer is that he really didn’t have any powers at all, he was just a man. The Oz that they saw was just a theatrical performance by a man behind a curtain. “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.”

He couldn’t give them the things they desired most because he had no magic at all. He did have one power though; he had the ability to show them that they were already smart, loving and brave and all they needed was a way to prove it to themselves. The things they wanted most were already inside each of them.

Whatever it is that you are looking for in life, whether it is love, education, health or any other wish, all you need to do is look inside yourself. You cannot rely on anyone else to give you what you desire most; it is within you already.

SP

Hunting in Braille

For those of you who know me or have read my book, you know that I love hunting, fishing and all things outdoors. I am going to say three statements about myself; you pick the one that isn’t true.

1-   I consider Trout a slimy trash fish.

2-   Coots are just as tasty as ducks.

3-   There is such a thing as having too

       much gear.

All three of these sound like made up statements. However, there is only one that is not true. If you picked number 3 you would be correct.

I know I am going to hear it from hundreds of sportsmen wondering how I can think Trout is a slimy trash fish or that coots are just as good as ducks when they, in reality, are the mud eating trash birds.

I actually fish for trout; in fact, fly fishing is my second favorite way to fish. It’s in a tie as my second favorite along with ice fishing, spin casting, bait fishing, trolling, jigging, and well any other way to fish.

You see they are all my second favorite because I love fishing so much I don’t have an absolute favorite. They are all tied for second. And as far as fish go, they are also all tied for second.

Just because I feel that trout are slimy trash fish doesn’t mean I don’t want to catch them. I just throw them all back, hopefully without ever having to touch them. There are many other species that I consider slimy as well and I would just as soon not have to touch them either.

Sportsman’s tip of the week — If you have no other choice but to touch the slimy trash fish, or any other smelly object; wash your hands with yellow mustard it will remove any smell and not leave any residue. This tip has been brought to you by the makers of yellow mustard everywhere.

I, however, haven’t found this same attitude towards any of the wild game that I pursue; whether it’s big game - elk or deer, small game - rabbits, and squirrels, or fowl. I don’t have an issue with any off-putting factors.

I have always said, “If it swims, cheeps, squeaks, grunts, growls, quacks, honks or otherwise shits in the woods, I'll pursue it.”

Now, to pacify the nonviolent population, most fish I catch and release; I do eat some when I am craving a fish fry. I do, however, eat everything I hunt. Hunting and fishing are not only a sport and relaxing; it is a means of putting food on my table. 

Any outdoorsman can tell you there is no such thing as having too much gear! No matter what gear you have and how efficient that gear is, there is always something newer and better.

Every year as I set out on my muzzleloader deer hunt I vow that I am only going to take what is necessary for the hunt and inevitably take twice as much as I need. After all, I never know when I might need that extra case of broad-heads even though I’m on a rifle hunt and didn’t bring any archery equipment.

Or those extra 35 rolls of toilet paper because using leaves was only something you did in scouts, and I’ll be damned before I use one of my socks — again.

Or possibly the 3 different GPS, the 6 different odor killers, 2 rangefinders, 4 varieties of shooting sticks, calls for every species of animal, even if they aren't in season or in this area, 15 pairs of pants, 3 pairs of boots, with all the proper sent blocking technology, enough food to feed a small country (you know like the size of Europe), 1000 gallons of water and a state of the art water filtration system that's guaranteed to produce drinkable water out of a sewer, just in case you run out.

100 extra loads for the muzzleloader even though I can only get 1 deer, 17 knives for skinning, cleaning and cutting and any other thing I can think of, because — well, “just in case.”

That’s always been my motto — “bring extra, just in case.” Then there's the gear that has the cool factor. In all reality, we probably don’t need or even use these things but what self-respecting sportsman would be caught dead in the woods without the instruments that make others jealous. Most of these only come out of the box to do just that.

Like the portable trail camera, which in my experience, does nothing more than let you know that big buck hasn't been seen in your area for months. The 100X zoom spotting scope that lets you know that big buck is now four counties over. A complete tree stand system with full camo covers, climbing accessories and HD camera so you can record the big moment, even though you're hunting in an area where there are no trees to attach it too. All in all, your investment is only $70,000 to $80,000.

Fishing is much simpler. All I need is 10 to 20 good rods and reels, 4 or 5 tackle boxes with 200 to 400 lures, hooks and baits per box, a Fish Sonar with GPS and fish ID and 10 one-thousand yard spools of line ranging from microlight to cable strong enough to tow a truck — for when I catch that elusive world record that I know is right at the end of my next cast.

Along with waders, wader boots, a float tube with an optional cooler to keep my beer cold while I fish. 5 or 6 good fly rods in different weights and actions, with a couple a hundred flies in wet and dry configurations and headlamps, which, by the way, can also be used for hunting trips; however, I have separate ones for that. All in all, I think a modest $50,000 to $60,000 should about cover it — for this year anyway.

Like all respectable sportsman, I subscribe to all the popular magazines and mailing lists. During the off-season, I need to read stories of the actual successful sportsman who bagged their 15^th record buck or accomplished their 100^th turkey grand slam or possibly the bass pro who caught over 10,000 fish in his career.

I say, successful sportsman, because under even the most ideal of circumstances I rarely bag the game I am looking for, catch the fish I’m after or come back without some type of debilitating injury. It’s refreshing to know that there are sportsmen who actually excel at the sport.

I also get all the catalogs and advertisements for all the major sporting good chains. These are the Vegas of the sportsman's world; if I keep feeding it, I'm sure it will eventually pay off. When one of these gets dropped on your front porch, you know it has arrived by the shaking of the ground, which would register about a 5.2 on the Richter scale and crush any small dog or cat that may be standing there.

You never know what you need until you see it in full high definition color with a fleeting description of its use. How was I supposed to know I needed a cough muffler for just $29.95?

There it is on page 21 of the ‘get ready for the hunt’ catalog I received in the mail just 6 short months before the hunt. One needs to make sure you have enough time to get all the necessary gear.

All of this production is something all outdoorsy types live for. However, when I was diagnosed with my disorder a lot of this changed. To a sportsman, when you lose your eyesight it really puts a strain on your vision.

I never realized that none of the major retail outfitters have a catalog in braille, nor do the hunting and fishing magazines. None of them have thought of the blind sportsman being part of their group.

Hell, even Playboy is published in Braille, — Yes. It. Is. Besides magazines that are published for the blind, it is the only magazine that I know of that is. After all, men only read Playboy for the articles, right?

All of the joy I received from looking through the new catalogs and wish books has been taken away with my sight. I now have to rely on others to tell me what the newest, latest and greatest, unnecessary items are.

Most of this is done from people who are either trying to prevent me from achieving my fishing and hunting magnitude by purchasing the new and improved lure, trap, decoy, call, camo or shell that ensures my success — (Wife), or the other hunters and fisherman that I am competing against. Don’t let anyone fool you, it is a competition.

If you know anything about that second group, they’re not very willing to give up any information that might keep them from achieving their personal greatness. Like Highlander — “There can be only one!”

So I am stuck with what I now have until the time that the big sporting good outlets realize that there is a whole new market for the blind and disabled.

Until that day I will continue to spend as much time in the great outdoors with my family as possible. After all, those are memories that a taxidermist can’t preserve for you.

SP

Reinventing Frankenstein

      

       
      I believe its human nature to try and separate different parts of our lives. We separate our home life, work life, life with friends and life with family. And most of all we separate the good from the bad. 

       It’s my philosophy that most of us disassociate in ways that allow us to live happy and healthy lives. We find ways to fine-tune life so that the good days are because we deserve them and have worked hard, and the bad days are because of some external source that is picking on us like a bully in a schoolyard. 

When I found out I had a terminal illness I started to classify days as “Good” and “Bad” as they related to the illness. My whole life started to become, “I have my good days and my bad days.” Its human nature to believe that we have days that are better than others but it was more noticeable now.

When I was feeling good and healthy — ‘Good Days’, I wanted to feel like this for the rest of my days; enjoying every moment of life. Inversely, when I would feel terrible and sick — ‘Bad Days’, I would lay in bed and blame this evil life-sucking tapeworm of a disease that was ravaging my body to the point of wanting to give up and never living another day. Somehow, those “Bad Days”, made me believe that my whole life was going to be miserable. The days when I could wrestle with my grandkids or go hiking would disappear into the darkness that encased me on the “Bad Days.” 

I lost sight of the days that I loved and wanted for the rest of my life. I felt like I had a dissociative disorder where I was separated into two entirely different lives; the good day Shawn and the bad day Shawn. And like having dissociative identity disorder, there was a dominant day and it seemed to be the “Bad Day Shawn.” The “Good Day Shawn” only came out on occasions when the “Bad day Shawn” would allow it. At first, I believed that I closely associated with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in Robert Louis Stevenson novel of the same name.

*Fun Fact — After his wife burned the original copy, Robert Louis Stevenson re-wrote the entire novel in 6 weeks under the influence of cocaine. He related the story to be likened to him sober and under the influence, respectively.

I know, I need to reconsider what I think is a fun fact.

I came to a realization that, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was a conflict of moral character and multi-personalities. I'm sure my behavior changed but my personality was rarely affected.

I felt like two totally different people. Not just personalities or actions. I realized I was beginning to feel like Frankenstein’s Monster in Mary Shelly’s novel.  

The story of Victor Frankenstein and his creation is much closer in my mind. Dr. Frankenstein was attempting to reanimate a body he spent two years painstakingly constructing.

*Another fun fact — The use of different body parts that were haphazardly sewn together as well as electricity to animate those parts were never in the original novel; they were actually the result of a movie adaptation in 1931.

Part of Frankenstein's rejection of his creation (the monster) is the fact that he doesn’t name him; instead, it is called “wretch", "monster", "creature", "demon", "devil", "fiend", and "it".

The “monster”, was intelligent and articulate in Shelly’s original works. However, he was so hideous that people feared him and ran from him.  

This more closely resembles how I feel about my disease. It’s a vile wretch of a creature that lives inside me and is dreadful and feared. My mind is telling me I need to get up and do things but my body cannot.

However, I recognized it just wants to be loved like every other part of me; It just wants to be accepted for what it is and not mocked and persecuted like the monster in Shelly’s book.

In order to take back control of “Shawn”, I had to stop using the terms “Good Days” or “Bad Days” they are all just days. I needed to embrace me for who and what I am, both the person that everyone else sees and the monster that I was trying to control.

In all honesty, I am the monster, on all days. Not that I feel like I repulse or scare people off — at least not on the days I shower, but to the extent that it lives inside of me and always will. I will no longer loathe or dread the creature; I will accept it for what it is and live as harmonious with it as I can.

When I try to separate the good from the bad I will always have the monster to deal with. The separation is what makes it feared and rejected. I will always detest those days weeks or even months unless I accept the bad with the good.

The “Monster” is just as valuable and important as the person that created it. What I mean by this is that we all want to live and run and play and not have to worry about the days that we can’t. If we don’t accept the days we can’t, the “Monster” comes out stronger and angrier for being ignored and we lose sight of the days that we classify as good.

We need to realize that the pain or the fatigue is telling us something and to embrace that as well. For me, the pain tells me that I am still alive and fighting and the fatigue is my sign that I have fought as hard as I can. I have given the monster a name and an identity, I no longer have to fear him; he is me and I am him.

Let’s look at this from a different perspective. If all you ever experienced was “Good Days”, you wouldn’t know that it was good; it would just be another day.

We need “Bad Days” to experience and feel the joy of the “Good Days.” I found that the “Good Days” are even better when I have them, and all days are worth living and learning from.

"This too shall pass."

If we continue to focus on the bad and ignore the good we will live our lives believing that our life is bad. No matter how dark or deep you believe you are, it will pass; tomorrow is a new day.

For the past 4 years, I have been on a major path of discovery, one that surpasses any I have ever been on in my life. I have taken on more challenges and attempted greater things than ever before.

“This is a gift, not a ‘Monster.’”

I have been allowed to see life in a way that I never would have if it wasn’t for this disease; through the eyes of the “monster.” I was given a second chance to live.

As far as not allowing good or bad days, there’s one specific thing that first must be met to realize that we can always have a better life.

"Attitude is everything."

Yeah, I know cliché but it’s true. It took time for me to realize that this disorder isn’t the end, ok it is terminal but until then it’s not the end.

It is up to us, how we choose to accept and use those so-called “Bad Days”. We make the choice and we decide what is good and bad and I choose that no matter what all days are “Good.”

I have heard many times that bad thing happens for a reason. Maybe that reason is to find the good, maybe to teach a life lesson, maybe because you’re a dick and deserve it.

But for me, there’s no good or bad, they are all just days and all days are all worth living. 

SP

Lizzieisms

           

         In a past blog, I wrote about not knowing my ancestors. That started a discussion with my family about what we did remember, one thing led to another and after some laughter and tears, we became jammed on the subject of what we affectionately call Lizzieisms.

What’s a Lizzieism you may ask? Lizzieism, as defined by me: A short, pithy statement containing promises to seduce, entertain and continuously surprise the listener.

My wife's grandmother had her own way of describing things and expressing herself. As we listened we'd be thoroughly entertained for hours.

Grandma Lizzie lived to be 100 years old, (the picture was taken on her 100th birthday,) and throughout those years her mind never failed her. Her body eventually gave out, something we all have to look forward to, but her mind was sharp as a tack and she never let us forget that.

She had a very direct and concise way of saying things that at times, made for very interesting conversation. One afternoon we were talking about a friend of hers who was suffering from Alzheimer’s. As a result, her description was, “Her body is still strong but her brain tipped over.” I don’t know about you, but that makes perfect sense to me. There isn’t a much better description of the process of Alzheimer’s that I can think of, than a tipped over brain. 

As the family reminisced, I realized that there are many things that are said in everyday conversation that I have no idea where or why they originated.

I'm not speaking about the simple everyday dialogue; I am talking about phrases that in one way or another are said but if you stop and listen, make no sense at all.

In the previous blog, I wrote about sticking one's tongue out and blowing raspberries. Which for those of you who may not know what ‘blowing raspberries’ is, it’s the “PPPTTTTTTHHHHH” sound that your tongue makes when you stick it out, purse your lips down and blow across it. — “PPPTTTTTTHHHHH” is the way I hear it, but you know what I mean.

How is this action “blowing raspberries?” I have heard it called that my entire life by my parents, but in what way is it related to or associated with a raspberry? There are other sayings that I have heard throughout my life that make semi-sense like, “You're full of balloon juice.”

That’s easier, balloons are full of air and the position is, you're full of ‘hot air’, which is in reference to a statement or story that is unbelievable. There are hot air balloons, yet how does that relate to the fact that what you're saying is somehow preposterous?

I am sure you have your own [family] sayings that are running through your mind, and hopefully, I have opened a door to the bewilderment of ‘why do we say that?’

Grandma Lizzie took this to a whole new level. She was a Ninja of maxims that left you wondering and at times questioning your sense of the world around you.

In fact, to this day I've never heard any other person outside the family ever repeat these particular expressions. I don’t know if she made them up and they stuck or if they were sayings of her time — after all, she was at least twice as old as most of us.

I am hoping that at some point this opens up ideas of what your parents or grandparents would say or do and you remember the people that they are and thereby keeps your heritage alive as well.

My wife and I had just started dating and Grandma Lizzie was 75 when I was introduced to her, but she acted more like she was in her 40s. We would spend days helping her with yard care, painting, and any other more strenuous work.

I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. She drove up until the age of 85 and then decided on her own to stop, ‘just in case.’ In reality, she could have driven for several more years but that was her reason, just in case.

When I say we would help her it was the things that were even difficult for us, she was very independent up into her 90s. I was young and could do anything — let's just go with this — so when she needed a new washer and dryer we, of course, showed up to help move them.

I grabbed onto that washer and started to stand up with it to move it outside — you don’t know, you weren't there — when I heard an authoritative voice from behind me, “You put that down and wait for help, you're going to strain your runnit!”

I set that washer right back down. Not because I was worried about the wrath of Lizzie — which is a real thing, but the fact that I was laughing and trying to figure out exactly where or what my “runnit” is?

Now when you think about it “Strain your runnit” does make some sense. I could have pulled a muscle or tweaked something trying to move that washer by myself but I don’t think I have ever strained my runnit and I hope I never do, whatever it may be.

There were many occasions that I would attempt to do something that she disapproved of in one way or another and I would undoubtedly hear, “I’ll thump your bucket!” Again, not sure exactly what my bucket is, I do have a few ideas; whichever way, I'm pretty sure I didn’t want it thumped.

Out of the many Lizzieisms that we heard, the one that stands out the most in the majority of the family is:

“Moses in the cellar with his shirt undone!”

Now, this was always said with great authority and zest. This wasn’t a casual saying or a threat; this was when you needed to know that she was upset.

This was, to her, the highest curse or swear she could muster. I never heard her swear or curse, ever, with this exception and since I don’t know what it means, it’s a swear.

We have for years tried to understand what this meant. She would get so frustrated and you’d hear “Moses in the cellar with his shirt undone! I grabbed the wrong tomatoes.”

This is the ultimate of all sayings, adages or aphorisms. What exactly does this mean? Why is Moses in the cellar? And what does his shirt have to do with it?

All of these questions were asked of her many times, with nothing more than a slight raise of her shoulders, a twinkle in her eye, a crinkle in her nose and a slight “EH.” To this day it is still discussed and I'm pretty sure we will never know. Maybe, she took that saying and its origin to her grave as a last act of remembrance.

Well played grandma, well played!

SP