Link

I Wonder If Al Will Be Saying This To Me

Link

No Story Here, Just An Itch

Link

What I Want And Who I Am

I Wonder If Al Will Be Saying This To Me

I just saw this after I wrote my last blog. I felt so bad for being weak, and then I came across this. I wonder if Al will be saying this to me.

http://wandascountryhome.com/tomorrow-morning/index.html

I can not copy and paste this on here, so I give you the website. Please copy and paste this address and read it with me.

No Story Here, Just An Itch

The Wizard of Oz (1939) (Photo credit: twm1340)

This is a blow steam off short blog. No story, just release.

For the last several month and even now my brother picks. For some reason the past couple of days his picking has increased from medium to high-speed. Every single time I look at him, his hands are picking each others fingers, or nails, or he has his hands rubbing his forehead, and rubbing it until he makes his skin red. I have also seen him rubbing his arms, just searching for a tiny bump or something to pick.

It is driving me nuts! I have made numerous suggestions to him to get his mind occupied with doing something other than pick. I have offered to walk beside him while he rides his scooter, just offered to have him go ride his scooter alone. I have bought him so many replicas of old-time cars. He has enough that he can look at them, study them, but he won’t take them out of their boxes. He just lines them on his shelf, and there they sit. He has so many pieces of Coca-Cola, I can not even count them, but they sit. His collection of price guide books mainly sit on his bed beside him, once in a while I see him pick one up.

I have also noticed that he isn’t really digesting any of his Bible anymore. Instead, he flips through the pages.

I hesitate anymore to take him to the shopping stores, as he cries constantly, because he has lost the idea on how to make those scooters work, or which way to turn the wheel if he wants to turn down an aisle, so even though we are there, my mind is wishing I was back at home.

I know the reasons, but can’t fix them. The Parkinson’s has ripped his meaning of life apart. He has no desires for anything in this world any longer. He loves to talk about things he used to do, but I can not allow him to do these anymore, because most of them require out-of-town driving. I have given in and bent over backwards for him, but I hate driving. I always have. Out of town driving is worse for me, as it can cause my old-time panic attacks to return. There are some things I just won’t give in to, in order to protect my own health.

I can not change his views on life, because he doesn’t want them changed. He likes sitting in his recliner, in his room, with little or no lights on and just the TV light on for him. He is getting to the place where he wants to be alone most of the time, and my mind is telling me this is not good for him, that it can cause him more emotional pains and drama.

Today, I am ready to give in. I am ready to take my mind and let it go. I am tired of trying to please him, tired of trying to be more creative than yesterday, tired of spending unneeded monies to bring those smiles.

The weird thing for me to understand is the talk. When people are here, he talks a mile a minute, about cars and places he used to go. I have tried taking him to revisit his past with the car shows, but once we get there, the tears start, as he is not able to thoroughly enjoy his time out, so we come back home. I end up frustrated, sometimes angry, and just want him to leave me alone, and let me take a nap.

This sounds like the old wicked witch from the movie, The Wizard Of Oz, speaking, but I needed to release, so  I can continue the day by fixing his lunch. I know he is in his room now, counting down the minutes until he can come out to eat.

Although I always tell him he doesn’t need to stay in his room, he doesn’t want to be out here.

Is it me, his dad, his illness? I don’t know, and right now I just don’t care.

Darn, this sounds bad, but I am really a loving sister with an itch to bitch.

What I Want And Who I Am

What I Want And Who I Am.

What I Want And Who I Am

Lavender (Photo credit: Pete Reed)

Each morning she awoke to the same routine. She put a pretty, flowery leisure dress on, her silk stockings, and black shoes, and the added touch was her straw hat to keep the sun out of her eyes.

She would fix herself a slice of toast, and take her pills with her cup of coffee, then she would go outside to the love of her life, her garden.

In this garden were many colorful flowers. You could see that much effort was placed in the seeding, as the tall ones were in the back with each row coming forth, growing shorter in height. Also, the colors were matching, blues and reds among each other, lavender and pinks in another part of the beds.

She would go to her shed and unlock it and take out her work gloves and the hoe. For however long it took, she would pick out each tiny weed, that had appeared between yesterday and today. She then hoed gently the dirt between each life and loosen it up so it had the best opportunity to breathe and grow. When she had this all done, she would step out of the beds and look at her work and smile. Lastly, she would turn the water on to the hose, and spread droplets to each flower, and they would thank her by giving her lots of bright, beautiful colors.

This woman is an example of being committed to something she loves. She never neglected her garden, even when she didn’t feel too well, or she had plans for the day.  Even when the summer was over, she would tend to the land, embedding fertilizer, and turning the ground for its rest during the cold days of winter.

Once winter got here and she could no longer work in her garden, she worked and planned for the new spring. She gazed over flower books, she sketched on paper, designs of how her next years bed would look, and once the new year arrived, she started placing her orders for new bulbs and seeds. Her walk with her garden never ended, and her love for it was with her each day.

This is how I want to be, but I am far from it. My walk with God. It is a personal issue with each of us, and yet it should be so noticed, the same as the woman in her garden.

We should read the bible daily, to fertilize our minds as she did her land. We should tend to our attitudes and make sure that what we show others is pleasing to God, just as her flowers showed the world who mattered most in her world.

We also need the right tools, a hoe to dig deeper into the word, and our hands to dig out the bad weeds that pop up in our lives each new day.

I want people to stand back and take notice of me, as the lady stood back and took notice of her flowers. I want all to notice and not to wonder where I stand in my life. They will wish for what I want, and I will sit with them and spread my seeds into their unfertilized minds. I will be the witness God wants me to be, and I too, will have a beautiful prize for the work I have done, a place waiting in heaven for me.