Remember the Desiderata? When I was in high school my French teacher was that one teacher you could talk to. And later it was my Choir teacher, but even more so it was my French teacher, because it was more one on one, and with my Choir teacher it was more like all of us hanging around talking to her during lunch period.
All I remember of the Desiderata, which she bought for me in the coolest store in the mall that existed in 1977, when I bumped into her one day there when I was with my parents, but separated momentarily.
It said, "go placidly...etc..." that is all I remember, although I can google it. I did put it on my wall in my bedroom, and I know it was good stuff, just cannot remember. I will repost it. But, now I feel like it's "go willy-nilly and whatever," because the direction is gone.
Maybe it is more clear or less clear. I do not know. There are expressions from that time I miss like, "you do your thing and I'll do mine and if we meet that's beautiful, but..."
Back in those days even though I was just a kid, I was always saying "such and such is beautiful", until this guy my age that I grew up with said, "flowers are beautiful... " and so I stopped.
Then in the '80's it should have said, "go aggressively...", because it was always about affirmations and money love, prosperity consciousness even if you were flat broke and did not have two nickels to rub together.
In the eighties, I wore hot pink high heal pumps and went on a business trip to Fort Lauderdale to a seminar about making money selling New Skin products for skin and hair, stayed with millionaire gay guys, and traveled with a guy in his forties, really old to me then, who had aquariums for headboards. Honest, I never slept with him.
He was nice. Took me to breakfast on the way back to Daytona. I think he was impressed because my aunt was a psychiatrist in a high rise office building and had an indoor pool visible as soon as you came in the door. I think he felt bad for me because my husband had run off on me, although we already had our first child. Little did I know, we (my ex-husband and I), were not finished and had another child in the cards - together.
Recently I went to dinner at friends' and they actually asked me to tell them my story. I was amazed. I blog because I have a lot to say but no one wants to hear me. Thanks to all those who read my blog. I love you, and I think we all have a lot to say. That is what I like about fb. At least we can express ourselves to a degree.
Sometimes life can be so frustrating, especially when you feel overwhelmed with small stuff like food shopping, housework, doctor appointments, and paying bills.
Lately I am frustrated, feeling that I am the only one in my household who is physically doing anything besides fixing my own food for myself.
I admit my adult son will take out trash and recycling when I ask and wash his own dishes and do sweeping or vacuuming when and if I ask.
I know this sounds like a bi- session, but I am tired of lugging in groceries, cleaning the bathroom and cleaning in general. Maybe I am just moody today and should just meditate or do some yoga. It just seems no time sometimes even though I do not work outside the home.
This blogging is therapy for me. I get to vent about everything. Usually I try to be helpful to others like a psychologist without a license, a charlatan psychologist, lol. I am in one of those self-deprecating moods today.
I was searching yesterday for some song lyrics. I write really big in 20/20 pens the Commission for the Blind gave me, lyrics and notes. Then I have to memorize them by heart because I cannot read and sing, because my eyesight even with glasses is not good enough. I came across my notes from when I first started blogging, several months ago, when I was listening to a lot of Depak Chopra books on talking books for the blind. They have awesome digital machines and cartridges for the blind now. We used to have to fuddle around with tapes with odds and evens on one side or the other and braille which I know how to read by the way, and in the '60's my dad had them on records, but they switched to tapes in his lifetime. Now they put a book as long as The Stand by Stephen King, uncut, unedited, unabridged, sick version of forty-five hours on a cartridge the size of one cassette, and the machine really simple to operate. Anyway, my notes were so organized and numbered, like notes I actually took while listening to Chopra, like on the seven laws of child raising. Good stuff. I love him and Eckhart Tolle as well. I did not like Chopra's book on reinventing the body, because he had some attitudes and beliefs that seemed very elitist to me. Forgive me for sounding like Sarah Palin using that word, elitist. I can just hear her twangy mid-western accent, "we're just regular Americans, ya know? And, you bet ya, I'm not like these Washington elite. I'm just a 'hockey mom' and a 'Walmart mom'..."
No, what I thought was elitist was him saying that enlightened people go to new age holistic doctors, rather than regular western medicine. I actually went to an East Indian doctor today who practices western medicine, but aside from the point, Medicare and Medicaid do not pay for most new age holistic stuff, except that Medicare does cover chiropractic.
So, unless you have lots of money, some of us do not have a choice. But, I am a healer, a holistic health practitioner, have healing energy in my hands as a Reiki Master, so maybe that is inconsistent, but if someone was disabled or on Medicaid, I would probably not charge them, especially if they did not have a sugar daddy or mommy, lol.
I keep having to say lol, so you will not take me too seriously.
Well that is all I have to say for myself today I suppose. Love to all. Namaste.
Walking through Cambridge, carrying their groceries, towards Daniel's apartment, Bethany asked, "What happened to your father? You never talk about him?"
"That is because I virtually don't know him, and he and my mother weren't married. He just kind of vanished, she said. Don't remember him. Then she married Nick's father, and he was like a father. I was like five when Nick was born, and he stuck around til I was about seven. He is kind of out of the picture too. Doesn't pay child support for Nick, so I think he's like in hiding or something. He wasn't too bad a guy, I guess."
"Well that's not right, him not paying child support, especially with Nick's medical problems. So, Nick is your half brother."
"Yes, but we don't think of each other that way. He's just my brother period, you know?"
"Yeah." They were almost to Daniel's front steps to his apartment. It was cold in the November evening. Some snow began to fall on the sidewalk.
"But, the state of Vermont took care of us I suppose, health wise, and with my eye problems, they helped with that, except that I wanted nothing to do with that special vision teacher they sent me at school."
Daniel was unlocking the door. They put down their bags on the table.
"I guess you didn't want to be singled out huh?," Bethany remarked, taking the groceries out of the bag. "I kind of wish we ordered pizza or something, got take out pizza, I mean. I think I'm pretty hungry for real food now, besides apples, cheese and coke."
"C'm on, I know a place. Let me just check my money situation." Daniel looked in his wallet counting his cash. "Yeah c'm on. I've got a great place to get the best Boston pizza in the world."
Bethany grabbed onto Daniel's arm. He could not see well at night. He locked the front door, as they were leaving for the restaurant.
I have known many so called pseudo spiritual, but when you cannot drive a vehicle, even though you might be incredibly intelligent and have much to offer, you might find yourself excluded.
So, are the transportation challenged less than everyone who is not? The not would certainly like to think so. Frankly friends, people do not give a damn for the most part. Some do it is true, but for the most part they do not. They care for themselves period. Yes, there are kind and helpful people in this world, but most people will not help you.
Recently I decided I need secretarial help for which I was willing to pay someone, but some friends offered to help. Most people have no idea what it is like to have to rely on others.
I was living in Los Angeles when the famous serial killer known as the night stalker, Richard Ramirez was actively killing people. He was arrested in 1985.
I was married with a toddler and living in West Hollywood, one of the neighborhoods he targeted. He also targeted young married couples like my ex-husband and myself. I think he raped the wife and killed them both or something like that.
My brother Chris was living with us. It was summer and a heat wave was bringing the temperature up to around 110 or higher some days.
Affordable apartments in L.A. did not include air conditioning or refrigerators for that matter. The windows were small as well. We lived upstairs in a two story building across from Plumber Park on Fuller Street. That connects Santa Monica Boulevard to Fountain and then on to Sunset and then Hollywood further North, and then on to Laurel Canyon and areas they call North Hollywood.
My brother was going to U.S.C. studying film making and my husband and I were working. My ex rather was also attending school, acupuncture school which was my place of employment after a couple of lousy jobs. That one was pretty good and I held it for quite a while.
One night it was so hot, my brother decided to sleep on the couch in the living room rather than in his room. I noticed he had the front door open. It was dark out, and the night stalker was out and had not been caught yet. I said, "you should not have this door open." There was a screen door, but the actual door was open. When I went to close it he protested.
"Don't close the door. It is so hot," he said.
"The night stalker is out. We need this door closed and locked. This is very serious,"
I told him. I do not recall if he got his way, but when I watch Criminal Minds I realize how scary and serious that was. I do not know why Chris was not taking it more seriously. We talked about it to today, just talking about old times. He suggested I blog about it. I did not want to at first, but then I decided to.
I added a few facts of interest in the comment below. This is interesting if you are interested in criminology. I think if I could have been anything, I would have liked to be an FBI agent. It is true. Feel free to comment.
School is out. The kids no longer trudge up the road from the school bus with heavy book bags. They play basketball any time day or night, and friends can come over more frequently. Parents are more relaxed because they do not have to make sure the kids get to school on time or pick them up in the afternoon.
When I was a kid I tried to run away from home on a Sunday afternoon with my best friend, because I hated that tomorrow was Monday and we had to separate and go back to school. I took some oranges and apples out of the crisper drawer and put them in a bag in case we got hungry. Then we started to walk down the long dirt road towards the highway when I suddenly realized that we would not survive on a couple of apples and oranges, no clothing and no money. So, we turned around and went home.
Back in the '60 and early '70's we had very few stores here, and we got clothing very seldom. Shorts were cut offs for the most part. I used to choose clothes from the little girl section of Sears catalog. I still remember my navy turtleneck with gold plaid skirt that matched. I also remember in high school the survival jackets my brother and I got with orange inside and fir lined hoods. Mine was plum and his was green.
When we got our first toy store, I was in heaven. I wished the toy store was open on Sunday.
I also recall going around the neighborhood with my best friend to visit old people, because they had candy jars and offered us a coke.
Now as a grownup, I still love this time of year when school is out. When I was a teacher it meant no work for a while, but I was only a substitute teacher, and I did that between intervals of my other job.
It is like a dreamy peaceful time of easy going disposition and perfect Spring weather.
In the winter of 2009, my eye doctor recommended through my case manager from the Commission for the Blind to go there to learn mobility, braille, computer skills for the visually impaired, aptitude testing and home
management. The reason being that I have retinitis pigmentosa, a progressive eye disease that often leads to total blindness and am already legally blind and totally blind in one eye, except for a tiny bit of light perception that is pretty subtle and vague.
When Alan drove me to Columbia on other business, I said, "let's go see what the Commission for the Blind is like. I was there as a teenager in the '70's when my dad was there and my son Ted went, but I would like to see it again."
It is on Confederate Street in Columbia. When we went in I told the director I was coming in April. She said, "no you are coming in March." That was after I told her my name. It turned out I went in February.
Donna showed us around and introduced us to George the other administrator.
The first day there, Clint my mobility instructor oriented me and two other new students. It took a while to remember my way around.
The dormitories were upstairs. You took an elevator. I had my own room and shared a bathroom with a girl on the other side of my suite. At night city light shown through the high windows.
We had three meals a day. I tried to choose healthy stuff like yogurt, fruit and raisin bran, but could not resist the bacon eggs and biscuits. Also I love fried chicken, so I gained a little weight there from the southern cooking.
It was hard. I learned to read braille and I was relatively happy and enjoyed the communal atmosphere, but I was going through inner turmoil about the blindness.
There were about ten men and ten women who lived on campus. We were driven home and picked back up on weekends, wherever our homes were throughout the state. They provided transportation.
We went out in the evenings. There was a young man named Michael who drove us around to malls and Walmart, etc.. Donna even had him take me to a yoga class I wanted to go to once a week near the university. I would always cry during relaxation period because I was going through a lot and yoga enabled me to cleanse this.
I learned to read braille. I learned to get around the city with a cane for the visually impaired, and I learned to sew without threading a needle. I made pillows for my mother's couch in my home management class.
I was already computer literate and a fast officiant typist, but I learned a program called Zoomtext which enlarges everything, has audio features and cursor choices as well as different color options, customized to your visual needs.
I helped other students who had no computer background. I also helped students who had no vision at all. I was used to that because my father was completely blind and legally blind my whole life.
All in all I am proud of myself for having gone there and receiving their diploma called Adjustment to Blindness Certificate. I also learned that I have a spacial relations IQ of 150, my other areas of IQ are a bit above average, but I did all my testing orally and manually so it might be different if you can actually read the material. I did the math with felt black pens on paper.
In addition they gave me a lot of things to make life easier at home, like sock sorters and lots of cooking utensils, such as oven mitts that go high on your arm and a contrasting cutting board as well as neon orange marking liquid and bump dots and braille writing equipment.
I would like to go back some time and get more computer training, but their careers are very limited, although some people I know are doing well from them, the concession stand business and costumer service. They used to have horticulture at one time.
I was there for five months, got burned out and had to take a break after a week long migraine headache.
When I returned for my completion, they were remodeling the dorms, so we stayed at the Ramada which had a swimming pool, half of which was indoor and half outdoor. It was November, but one night I swam under the separator into the night. It was an amazing experience. My head was in the cold November night sky, but the water was heated and I was not cold. It was heavenly.
I took my friend Rolando swimming. He was totally blind from birth, and he enjoyed the pool but he could not go under because he had tubes in his ears. We sat in the hot tub as well.
On Tuesday nights, even though we ate supper at the commission before returning to the hotel, they had happy hour with free drinks and food.
So that is my story of the days at the Commission for the Blind. There were some difficult times too, but I chose to focus on the happiest of times.
Remember the Desiderata? When I was in high school my French teacher was that one teacher you could talk to. And later it was my Choir teacher, but even more so it was my French teacher, because it was more one on one, and with my Choir teacher it was more like all of us hanging around talking to her during lunch period.
