Against All Odds

What are the odds of a newborn surviving, who in 1944 was birthed at home, turned blue and stopped breathing less than 15 minutes after entering this world?  Would you say a million-to-one? Maybe a trillion-to-one?  Whatever the true figure is, after 69 years today I am still alive and kicking.  Happy birthday to me!

On Saturday, September 9, 1944 my mother went upstairs to clean up before dinner.  My baba was making steak and potatoes which happened to be mom's favorite meal. Unfortunately she would never get to enjoy that savory dish. 

Her water broke and I was coming fast.  My dad ran to the neighbors who just happened to be doctors. Lady Dr. Stimetz, I never knew her first name, answered the call.  I'm told she delivered me at around 6:30p.m. 

Once the cord was cut, the good doctor handed me to my baba and directed her to wash away all the afterbirth from my body.  Baba dutifully took me downstairs, filled her favorite mixing bowl with warm water and began the cleansing process. 

Baba noticed that I sounded somewhat congested.  She went to the pantry and secured a jar of vaporizer.  She then rubbed an ample amount into and under my nostrils.  I immediately turned blue and stopped breathing.  Frantically she screamed for help.  Dr. Stimetz was still attending to my mom, but upon hearing the urgency in baba's voice she ran to assist.  She wiped the gunk from my nose and administered CPR.  Within a minute or two my color returned to a healthy pink and my breathing became normal.  Against all odds, Dr. Stimetz, the heroine, saved my 15 minute old life! 

Ever since that day I've been a survivor.  I'm also a risk-taker.  I guess you might even call me a gambler.  I personally think these traits are blessings that have served me well throughout my life.  If it hadn't been for my baba's well-intentioned mistake, I might have never become the person I am today.   Actually, I might not have become the person I am today BECAUSE of her well-intentioned mistake.  And as far as Lady Dr. Stimetz, well without her intervention, I know I would NOT HAVE BECOME AT ALL!

Against all odds, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

What Did He Say?

For the life of me, I can't remember what yesterday's sermon was about.  I know the priest gave one; I recall sitting and seeing his lips move for at least 10 whole minutes.  But all that comes to mind is something about him being a young intern, his superior being organized, and another priest being a happy-go-lucky people person.  The organized fellow left the priesthood and the people person was killed in a car accident at a very young age.

I could blame my inability to remember the sermon on dementia or hearing loss.  I'm at the age where both of these maladies are quite plausible. But in fact I have an excellent memory and I can still hear anything I choose to hear.  In other words, I have great "selective hearing!"

Since most of his talk was lost on me, his efforts to prepare and deliver were all in vain at least in my regard.  I didn't learn much either.  So why even bother to sermonize?  He's obliged to give one?  A sermon to the faithful is expected?  Mass would be way too short? 

I guess there are those who listen to every word and decide to make an effort to change their ways.  I suppose there are those who hear some of the sermon and think they could implement a few of the suggestions given during the coming week.  And then there are the many like myself who spent the entire time thinking about what they're going to do once Mass is over, or why the person in front of them actually chose the outfit they are wearing to attend a church service?  The girl in front of me had on shorts that looked like underwear and were way smaller than any underpants I've ever owned.

As far as to what I had on my mind, I was being game host for a couple's baby shower. My nephew Brian and his wife, Monica, are having a baby girl in early September.  This is their first baby together; Monica has a 12 year old beautiful daughter, Trinity.  Also this is the first grandchild for Brian's Mom and Dad who are both in their late 70's.  They are absolutely walking on cloud nine!
I was going over all the games we'd be playing during the sermon and trying to think of ways to make them as awesome as I possible.  You know how everybody feels about shower games, right?

But the games I picked I knew would be a hit.  Who wouldn't like playing "Nibble the Nipple," "Dirty Diaper Dilemma," or "That Tastes Like Crap?"  Plus three or four more delightful contests!
And who couldn't resist picking a super prize from the treasure bag when they were victorious!  After all, precious gifts like kidney-shaped water bottles and Big Bird hand soap are desired items anyone would be happy to receive.

These were the thoughts that crowded my mind as the priest delivered his words of wisdom.  Deep down I know I should have tried to pay attention, but can any one of you blame me for thinking about my upcoming duties and the pressure on me for making this shower memorable!  I think not!

What did he say?  I'll ask my husband about the sermon.  He always listens.

CLUELESS!

Today's Monday and time for me to post something zippy on my blog.  I'm a writer.  I put words on paper that people read.  Sometimes they like what I write and sometimes they don't.  But, at least they read what I write.  Today is Monday and I got NOTHING! NIL! NADA! ZILCH!  Blank as an unwritten check!  CLUELESS!

How could this be?  If I'm a writer, I have to be able to write, right?  Doctors just don't stop taking care of the sick because they can't think of what to do, right?  Plumbers just don't stop fixing leaky pipes because they can't remember what an "elbow" is, right?  Chefs just don't stop cooking because they forgot how to turn on the gas, right?  Sooooooo, if I'm a writer, I've got to write something.  After all, today is Monday, right?

I'm thinking.  Still thinking.  Raising my head and searching my mind log.  Staring out the window.
Watching my dog lick herself.  Looking at the lamp I bought yesterday and wondering why I paid 50 bucks for that piece of crap!  Hoping my in-grown toe nail stops hurting.  Still thinking.  Scratching my ear even though it's not itchy.  Watching my dog scratch her ear.  Wondering if her ear was really itchy.  Still thinking.  Wishing I could lose the 8lbs. I lost 2months ago.  Actually, wishing I could lose the 8lbs. I lost 2 months ago plus the 4 extra pounds added in the past 3 weeks. Hearing my husband fart while reading the morning paper sitting in the chair next to me. Trying to pass a stinkier fart to get even.  Studying the dust specks floating through the air.  Thinking they might be remnants of my husband's fart. Trying to remember how old my three adult children are.  Maybe 44, 43, & 35, but not really sure.  Who cares anyhow?  I have trouble remember my own age let alone worrying how old they are.  I don't need any added pressures at my age whatever it is!  Speculating how old people have sex. I guess as long as they leave the lights off and have a fertile imagination and the important parts are in relatively good working order, they could have a very satisfying experience. Since I'm not sure of my age, and don't think I'm classified as "old" yet, I'll worry about this matter when I'm older.

Well, you can't say I didn't give it my all.  Today is Monday but I can't think of a single thing to write.  I'm CLUELESS!

HE Who Laughs...LASTS!

When was the last time you laughed?  No, I don't mean a slight chuckle or a little hee-haw.  I'm talking about an out-n-out hardy, loud and long laugh that puts tears in your eyes and fire in your belly! 

And what is it that makes you laugh?  A cartoon, a joke, a comedian, a memory?

And why all this sudden concern about laughter anyway you ask?

In my constant efforts to shed those nasty hip and thigh bulges I've had since the beginning of time, I happened upon a new plan called "The Digest Diet."  Along with the usual motivation to be positive, think of this as a changing life style, and "if I can do it, you can, too" promise, this regiment requires laughter.  Almost on every page, the words, "don't forget to laugh" appear in bold font.  Since no other diet I ever tried insisted that I laugh many times daily, I decided to explore the reasoning behind this strange directive further.

A plethora of studies have shown that laughter is truly a curative medicine.  It relieves stress, lowers blood pressure, increases good cholesterol, and, in some cases, has been a factor in killing cancer cells.

Laughter can effect brain function as well.  A considerable amount of mental acuity is needed to understand the implications of a joke, interpret the meaning behind a silly cartoon, and translate what is going on in a hilarious film.  Funny how we never even considered what a rigorous workout our minds get simply by laughing.

I don't believe I've ever made a conscious effort to plan to laugh.  I just laugh when I find things to be funny.  To actually set laughter as a top priority in my daily schedule, I would never have imagined it.  But it makes perfect sense. If only to achieve that "feel good" sensation that laughing provides, it definitely is worth my time.  Raising endorphin levels purposefully and continually I raise the health of both my body and my mind immeasurably! And, who knows, I might just slenderize my hips and thighs, too!

Finally, the old adage of "he who laughs last laughs longest " might have a deeper meaning than we realized.  "He Who Laughs...LASTS!" just might be the most powerful incentive to make laughter a repetitive ritual in our daily lives for the rest of our lives however long that may be!

An "F-Bomb" Explosion!

I went to see "The Heat" this weekend with my hubby and some friends.  For two hours the f-bomb was dropped at least 200 times if not more.  Normally I would have been greatly offended and perhaps even walked out and asked for a refund.  But Melissa McCarthy had the entire audience howling so loud from the get-go that, believe it or not, some of those four-letter words were actually inaudible. Her character "Shannon Mullins" was a "take-no-shit" cop from the lower side of Boston.  She interacted daily with the dregs of society whose words and actions seeped into her very being like the oxygen she breathed.  Her choice of words were simply the result of who she was, where she was and what she did.

Her family was hardcore, foul-mouthed, beer-drinking Irishmen who pummeled her with profanities from the moment she walked through the door of her childhood home until she slammed that very same door shut after a heated argument about the arrest of a sibling. How could she throw her baby brother in jail?  "Shannon," was for all practical purposes, dead to her family, and as far as she was concerned, she really didn't give a f........!

Sandra Bullock played the uptight, rule-abiding FBI agent, who because of circumstance ends up partnering with McCarthy.  "Sarah Ashburn" was utterly shocked by the language, mannerisms, and outright disregard for department policy "Mullins" exhibited at every turn.  No matter how much Bullock tried, her attempts to smooth McCarthy's rough edges repeatedly fell on deaf ears.

From only using the letter "F" when referring to that disgusting term at the beginning of the flick, "Ashburn" towards the end, vehemently spews the f-bomb in a wild tirade of curse words at the police big shots when her partner's character is being unmercifully assassinated.  Her choice of words changed dramatically as the result of who she became, where she was and what she did.  In the end, "Sarah" stated that "Shannon" was the best cop she had ever worked with and was proud to call her friend.

Despite what you might think, this is not a review of  "The Heat."  Whether or not you see this movie is of no matter to me.  Although if you elect to bypass it, you'll be missing out on a "laugh-a-minute" "teachable moment" worthwhile story. 

The f-bombs were used, not to disrespect or shock, but to portray a realistic picture of the life lead by the people who use such language the way we use "OMG" "CRAP" or "DAMN."  These words are much more acceptable to us because these are the ones said by our families, in our neighborhoods, at our workplaces, etc. By interacting with decent, hard-working, church-going folks, their words and actions seep into our very being like the oxygen we breathe. Our choice of words are the result of who we are, where we come from and what we do.

Lastly,  a few words on the Paula Dean, "N" word fiasco.  "OMG", Paula was born and raised in the South!  "CRAP", she said the "N" word twenty some years ago! And, "Damn" smearing her reputation and possibly ruining her entire career just isn't enough punishment for such abhorrent behavior!

Come on, people, let's open our minds and our hearts to the realities of life for each and every one of us. None of our realities are the same.  None of us speak and act the same. Try to understand that. 

We could all learn that very valuable lesson from "The Heat" in theaters now!

Where Have All The People Gone?

While on our daily jaunt around the neighborhood, and since Shadow is the only living creature within earshot, I ask my dog, "where have all the people gone?"  Of course, I don't expect her to answer in words but a mediocre woof would suffice.  In truth I do know where they are, in the house with doors shut and windows shuttered.  After all, it's 87 degrees, and in our neck of the woods, 87 degrees means stifling heat and oppressive humidity.  We could walk for miles and never see anyone on the porch, in the yard, or hanging out the kitchen window.  Being Sunday, the hope of catching a glimpse of the postman or water meter reader is nonexistent. 

I began thinking about the demonic "jailer" who has imprisoned all of us from human interaction during the summer months.  WHOLE HOUSE AIR-CONDITIONING!  Why should anybody step foot outside under such horrid conditions when they are comfortably locked away in the coolness of their homes?  Such a thought is simply ludicrous!

But maybe I can offer a few suggestions as to why venturing out-of-doors on a hot and humid summer day might be beneficial.  Perhaps while sitting on the front porch, a woman and her dog pass by.  She smiles and stops to talk. Whether the brief conversation is merely prattle or of substance is not important. What matters is that both of you have been released from the lonely isolation air-conditioning has imposed.  Who knows, next time you might invite her to come sit awhile and over time become life-long friends.

What if you decided to escape the confines of the constant 72 degrees utopia that air-conditioning has shackled you to and step out into the backyard?  You could bravely plant a small garden of peas, peppers, pumpkins, and any other veggie that begins with the letter "p." Since watering is necessary for the growth of the "p" plants, you would have incentive to leave your prison for an hour each day.  And, just maybe, your neighbor whom you haven't seen or talked with in months is courageous enough to do the same!  The two of you could talk about the progress your respective gardens are making, the techniques each of you are using to grow bigger and more productive plants, and how sharing your harvests would provide your families with more variety on their dinner plates.  This seemingly innocent venture could eventually lead to a farmers market right in your very own backyards.

And lastly, if the fear of leaving your air-conditioned paradise simply paralyzes you, perhaps you can muster enough gumption to open a window.  At first maybe you can only do an inch or two, but with practice you will be able to raise it to full capacity.  Now you might stick your head out and playfully cheer on the kids next door who are attempting to beat the heat with a one-on-one basketball game.  They seem to be having a blast.  On the other hand, you, not so much.  So, be damned with that air-conditioning controller, you whip on a pair of shorts and a tank, tie up your Nikes, open the locked front door, and join in the fun.  After making three hoops, the thought of being hot doesn't even phase you.  Besides sweating cleanses the body of harmful toxins leaving you feeling and looking better than you have in years. 

Trying these simple suggestions could have amazing results.  You will no longer have that jailhouse pallor, and the whole house air-conditioning that enslaved you for years, will no longer have you in a death grip.  You will finally be free!  So go out and enjoy the sun!  Shadow and I can't wait to meet up with you and shoot the bull if only for a minute or two.

But A Father, He's Not!

Yesterday was Father's Day. You'd think I'd be remembering all the wonderful men in my life who are or had been the "best of the best" as fathers go. And I was.  Yet why did I have my 32 year old nephew, Christopher on my mind.  Yes, he's fathered two children, but a father he's not, and in my humble opinion, never will be!

Christopher is incarcerated at the Marienville State Prison in Pennsylvania for the next 10-20 years.
His list of offenses is a mile long, but the most egregious is child endangerment. While under house arrest for parole violations, Chris and his girlfriend got into an argument.  She walked out taking their 2 year old daughter, Liza, with her.  Unfortunately their 10 month old little girl was left with daddy.

As the story goes, my nephew continued to paint the livingroom leaving Lena to crawl around the floor unsupervised.  According to Chris, when he went to use the bathroom, the baby pulled herself up on the rungs of the ladder causing the paint can to come crashing down on her tender skull.  He stated that when he reentered the room, he found his daughter limp and unconscious covered in blue paint.  At first he believed her to be dead, but after a time he noticed she was breathing and dialed 911.

Of course, the police were involved immediately.  They'd followed my nephew's criminal activities
since he was seventeen when high on drugs and alcohol he grabbed an elderly woman's purse, knocked her to the ground and broke her arm. He turned eighteen before trial, making him an adult and eligible for imprisonment in jail for 13 months. After that first offense, Christopher became a regular in county.

Upon further interrogation, my nephew's story changed multiple times until finally the truth was uncovered.  When his girlfriend left, Chris called one of this druggie buddies to pick him up to go searching for the "good stuff."  Since there was no car seat available, he simply put Lena on his lap and continued to enjoy the ride. While speeding through town, the driver had to make a sudden stop, sending the baby into the dashboard so violently her skull was cracked in three places.  No one knows how long it took these two addicts to realize the extent of her injuries, but eventually Chris was dropped off back at the house with his unconscious daughter.  He said it took him awhile to call 911; he was afraid of the possible consequences.

Lena was taken to the hospital and since the swelling of her brain was so dramatic, operating on her had to be postponed for two weeks.  For two weeks, this 10 month old little girl remained in a coma.
Finally a shunt was permanently placed in her brain so that the constant buildup of fluid could be relieved. The shunt will be there for the rest of her natural life.

That was three years ago.  To this very day, if you ask him, Christopher will proudly say he is the father of two beautiful girls.  He will tell you that when he gets out of prison he plans to get full custody since his girlfriend is also an addict and unfit to raise his children.  He believes he can be the same kind of father my brother Dan was.  Of course, by everyone's account, my brother was the "best of the best."  Unfortunately his son didn't follow in his father's footsteps.  Yes, Christopher fathered two beautiful babies, but a father he's not, and never will be!