Back To My Roots

 

Boy oh boy was I a beauty or what?

(much sarcasm intended)

My mother was furious when I (totally over) plucked my eyebrows into two thin arches without asking or telling her. Now at the age of almost sixty five I understand why she was mad. They never grow back. Ever.

This was the age which I starting writing in earnest, meaning I wrote every single day or so. I still have about five filled hard back journals and even a diary from when I was about ten. You know, the kind with a lock and tiny key which kept absolutely no one out of it. Writing has always been my friend and always will be. I'm no rocket scientist and was never an outstanding scholar. I made straight A's in first grade and was all academically downhill from there once math came into play. My first grade teacher loved me. Reading came very easy to me and I excelled in the subject. I could read a book out loud in class with the correct inflections and knew how to make the words tell the story rather than sound like an assignment the teacher called on you to perform during class.

I didn't know it then, but it was when my love affair of the written word began.

I am teetering on the precipice of sixty five and still enjoy writing more than anything else I do, besides loving my family.

When COVID hit in 2020, it changed everyone's life, routine and sense of reasoning. I was pretty much forced into retirement. Our restaurant shut down March 16 and didn't reopen until almost summer. When they finally reopened and called people back to work it was on a scaled down list and can't blame them for going with the younger servers but still felt like a slap in the face considering I had worked circles around every young server there for almost four years and often did my job as well as theirs. So much for seniority...literally.

Luckily by this point we were out of the sardine can rental and into our forever home in the Isle of Pines, so I was happily/ begrudgingly unemployed. I began writing again and made snail mail not only my friend but my friends' friend as well. I wrote to my parent's friends that I was still in touch with after both of their passing many years ago. I wrote to folks I knew from back home in Georgia, old classmates, elementary, high and even college years, old co workers, former bosses and even former customers  I'd waited on who I had become friends with. Just a little something for them to find sitting in the mailbox along with bills and junk mail. Sometimes one stamp is all it costs/takes to make someone smile for a couple of minutes in their day, and that's a good and positive thing to do with your spare time. Plus I enjoy the actual writing on paper with a pen as opposed to a typed message, text or email.

This past year I slacked off a bit for a number of reasons. I took up a cause after nosing and inserting myself into a former classmate from high schools' business, who was searching for her long lost sister who was missing and had been living on the streets of the outskirts of downtown Atlanta for over a decade. That's a pretty big search area.

For once social media giant FB  did what it was designed to do. Reconnect people and friends.

She was found living under a bridge in below freezing temperatures. She had a thread bare coat, hat, backpack and a blue tarp. 

 Cathy was an absolute minimalist, that's for sure. How she survived the lean mean streets for eleven years boggles my mind.

After a huge social media push and with help from friends, former classmates, people who had stopped by to check on her under the bridge and even strangers, we somehow someway beat the exhaustive red tape and endless hurdles and secured her permanent housing on the outskirts of downtown Atlanta. People donated furniture, new clothing, supplies, bedding, toiletries, untensils, dishes, pans and even a basically brand new washer and dryer. My sister and I decided she needed a comfy recliner and I found one for free in my neighborhood. My brother graciously shipped it up from here in Orlando to  Atlanta and a dear friend of mine went to the freight terminal in ATL and not only picked it up but delivered it right to her new apartment.

This entire situation, all the generosity, charity and literal moving truck full of furniture and supplies was very overwhelming for her. You could see it on her face. She was terrified of it. Yes she wanted it, but she was still terrified of it after eleven years of absolutely nothing and no one. I don't blame her for being apprehensive after all she's been through on the streets and over the years.

She almost looks confused and bewildered in the photos...and trust me she was. She'd been living a feral life for over a decade. 

How she didn't have one gray hair on her head was and still is a mystery to me. She still has that beautiful red hair from childhood.

Yes, now she had four walls around her with a door which locked and a roof over her head. She had new socks, underwear, clothing, a place to bathe, a place to cook and even a place to wash and dry her clothes. New sheets, bedding, comforter and pillows on a beautiful queen size bed. Love seat, end tables, coffee table, kitchen table and chairs, rugs for the floor, and a pretty fully stocked kitchen and pantry.

We were thrilled for her, right along with all the many people who'd joined our journey in finding her safe and permanent housing. A place for her to call home.

Of course her mental health has taken a tremendous blow after years on the streets alone. I don't think I could have even survived it not to mention still retain any semblance of sane thinking. She refused any counselling or even talking with a mental health official. She's a grown woman and was her decision to make or not make, as much as we wanted her to seek help.

She's been off the streets for almost a year now, and still hasn't slept in the bed that was lovingly donated along with an almost brand new mattress, box springs and all new bedding.

She feels like it is too nice to even mess up by getting into. She slept curled up on the floor or the love seat in the living room. That's when we found her the recliner down here in Orlando where I live and had my brother once again ship it up to ATL for her. He had shipped the bed, mattress and box springs up as well. The recliner is what she now sleeps in. She simply doesn't feel worthy. She feels like (in her own words) "beholding" to all these good people who have done all of these wonderful things for her. She's scared to wear the new coat someone bought her because (she said) it was too nice and would get beat up for it if she wore it. 

It's been a year long struggle for her sister, who found her under the bridge after eleven years of looking. She still works full time and lives two hours north of Atlanta. Every weekend she makes the drive down to check on her and take her to run errands. It's been a struggle for Cathy, mentally and emotionally, through no fault of her own but simply by the cards life dealt her. She lived with her mother with who she was very close to and when her mother died it broke her. She just walked away from her life and lived on the streets moving from underpass to underpass and somehow survived until her older sister found her through a Facebook post about a homeless woman living under bridges near the area where we grew up. Some citizens in the community often stopped to check on her or take her food. She always declined offers of housing. They sometimes posted about her on their community FB page and someone who knew her sister reached out to her asking if this may be her missing sibling...and turned out it was.

I can't even begin to imagine what all her mental well being has been through and endured for over a decade on the lean streets. It is a testament of her strength as a tiny woman that she has even made it this far.

Sadly, budgeting, planning, keeping track of  all the things involved in maintaining your own place simply isn't in her wheel house...through no fault of her own but still is a requirement when having a home to take care of. It has overwhelmed her and frustrated her. Without constant and steady guidance she seems unable to live and maintain on her own independently. It has taken a toll on not only Cathy but her sister who makes the almost 200 mile round trip almost every weekend sometimes more, while maintaining her own full time job and sanity. How she has continued to do it for almost a year now is a mystery to me but a true testament about the love of a sister.

She and I talk frequently, usually while she is either driving down there to check on Cathy or driving back to her own home in north Georgia.

Cathy has struggled to remember when rent is due or how to even use the cell phone her sister bought her. She's gotten behind a couple of times and doesn't seem to grasp the urgency of a due date and being on time with things she is expected to take care of. It's like we have overloaded her thought process and mental capacity in a huge and overwhelming way. She said she doesn't deserve or can take care of all these things and feels she will be better off at the women's mission in downtown Atlanta. So her sister took her to visit the mission, which is not a pleasant or calming experience. Cathy hasn't mentioned going back to it since, but now we know where we stand.

We all pooled our generosity and gave Cathy everything we thought she needed for a better life. We did all of that from the comfort of our own home which I guarantee most of us take for advantage. We (which absolutely includes me) didn't consider how she would manage suddenly going from the streets to a warm place with amenities she feels she doesn't deserve or know how to manage.

Yes we want her to get mental health help and guidance she desperately needs but she is a grown woman and her own person. She isn't a child or puppet we can pull the strings of.

It's a total catch 22. The past month or so has been a roller coaster and her sister is distraught over what all these people who contributed to getting Cathy off the streets will think, especially if things don't work out.

I told my friend to mark that worry off her list. I know pretty much every single person who has contributed to this venture...I was simply a facilitator. While I also contributed, I was more of a person who just got Cathy's story out and am lucky enough to have and know some really wonderful friends and people. I know that not one single one of them did it for recognition or brownie points. If it ends up not working out, they won't be looking for refunds or holding grudges about anything which may or may not happen.

If you are reading this, do me a favor. Say a prayer, send up or out good vibes for Cathy and all she has not only gone through but is still going through. Be her village right along with all of us. Keep her in your thoughts and wish nothing but positivity and the best for her mental and physical well being...because there but the Grace of God go any one of us. Any of us could be Cathy or someone in her worn out shoes. I think about that every single day.

She's living like a homeless person in an apartment with everything she needs for a calm and safe existence. She just doesn't feel worthy or justified in having nice things but believe me you, she deserves it more than anyone I have ever met. And her sister deserves to feel like her sister is safe as well. And before you come back with comments, yes she tried to get Cathy to come live with her but she refuses. With all her weaknesses and problems, she is still an adult and still in control of her own life and decisions. The best we can hope for is that she comes around and makes the choices we all hope for her to make.

Kinda makes your own problems feel small and unimportant doesn't it? I know it does for me.

Send Cathy good vibes out to the universe please. I'd sure appreciate it, and so would Cathy and her sister. Any suggestions or ideas are always more than welcome, we've pretty much exhausted all of ours, but will keep up the fight as long as necessary. It the worn shoe was on the other foot, Cathy would be the first person to volunteer and help if she could. She's a good person.

This journey with Cathy and her sister changed my life. It has made me realize how much (most) all of us take for granted in our lives and how truly lucky I am, with all my faults, flaws and inadequacies. I am indeed a lucky woman.

Till next time, COTTON

Watch That First Step When You're Over Sixty, It's A Doozy

 

What a week it's been.

I've been off the grid and incommunicado since Tuesday night. I fell asleep on the couch alongside my precious Riley on Tuesday night.

All Thanksgiving shopping had been done and was stored in the garage fridge except for fresh produce to be purchased at Aldi on Wednesday. The house was semi clean and laundry was done. I woke up around three AM with mother nature calling. I turned the TV off and got up to go to the restroom. My foot hit the pile of clothes I had shed  during a hot flash and slid out from me making me stumble and  fall into the coffee table before catching myself. What I did catch was the corner of it with my rib cage.

Huge. Ouch.

I peed and returned to the scene of the crime to retrieve my sweat pants and socks and instead just tumbled back onto the couch for the rest of the night.

Waking up Wednesday morning wasn't a whole lot of fun and I stayed on the couch until almost noon, scared to try and get up again.

I fall asleep on the couch quite a bit, especially when Tim has to work and be up before five AM. My daughter gets up even earlier for work so to let them sleep in peace and quiet, my night owl self stays in the living room on my computer or out on the lanai since all the the bedrooms are on the other side of our living room and kitchen, in the back of the house. My son works at night and usually rolls in after midnight and sometimes even later. He eats and goes to his room to play video games so he's pretty quiet. Me, I like to have music on at all times and sometimes watch YouTube videos. In other words, I'm loud.

Massey had the week off so she came into the living room to see when I wanted to go to the store. I tried to roll over and thought someone had stabbed me in the side. I told her what had happened and she helped me into a sitting position...also painful. Zachary got up to wash his work uniform and heard us talking. He said he heard when the table scooted across the tile floor after he went to bed but didn't know I had fallen.

I put on a brave (although wincing) face and went to Aldi with Massey to pick up our last few items. She wanted to stop for lunch at our favorite Mexican place first so I obliged, since we were in her car and she was driving and paying. I got a phone call I needed to take as we were pulling into the parking lot so I told her to go in and get us a table and I would be in shortly. I got to the table just as the server brought out our glasses of water and two nice big margaritas. (That's my girl)

She said she thought I could use one and being such a team player joined me with another for herself. We ate lunch and took our time sipping our drink, which actually did take a little of the sting out.

By the time we grocery shopped and stopped for gas I was exhausted and ready to do anything but stand up or walk around.

I don't know if it's because I'm getting (am) older and probably have some osteoparosis but when I hurt myself it is always a whopper of an injury and usually always around a holiday. On Mother's Day one year my flip flop got stuck between a crack on our back patio which is about a foot off the ground and  made of broken pieces of concrete cemented together. Great to look at, hard to walk on in flops. I fell forward and put both hands out to catch myself right before my face hit. It took me several minutes before I could muster up the energy and wherewithal to get up and go inside. Both hands were cut up from the concrete and when we sat down to eat I couldn't even lift my fork to my mouth. I had hollered for help after I fell but guess I'm not as loud as I thought I was, because none of the other people we had invited over for dinner heard a thing. (so they said)  It took me a week to get over that one! 

Then there's the time I was simply using a rake to pull out cut trimmings out of our bushes. Massey was using the electric hedger and I was pulling the cuttings off the bushes so I could rake them up and put them in our yard cans. My shoulder popped so loud it was audible and made me immediately nauseous.

That injury put my arm in a sling for several days and still hurts to this day if I turn or move the wrong way. Probably a torn rotator cuff if I had to guess, but it finally healed enough to only hurt sporadically.

Maybe I should write to one of the doctors at General Hospital in Port Charles for a video consult.

 That's about as close as I like to get to doctors. I'm scared they are going to find something I'd rather not know about at this point in my life.

I have chosen the path of "Physician heal thyself" in my senior years. I have my GoGo juice I drink every day made from fresh lemon, lime, orange, turmeric, cinnamon, nutmeg, cayenne,apple cider vinegar and local honey. I Take collagen and Elderberry every day along with magnesium and multi vitamins. I drink water every day all day long and only allow myself one glass of ice tea every other day or so. I cut out soda years ago and never buy cokes for the house. I'll drink maybe one a month when I'm out somewhere. I cut out drinking coffee and switched to hot peppermint tea with fresh lime and local honey. I have cut out a lot of my junk food habits and quit smoking cigarettes over eight years ago. I have a big exercise ball for stretching and we have an inversion table in our gym that Massey and Tim made in our detached garage. We have free weights, a rowing machine, a tread mill, exercise bike, work out bench and even a one person sauna.

Tim asked me the other day why I don't go to the doctor since he put me on his insurance last year. I told him that policy was for the day I finally fall out and don't wake up and they have no other choice but to call 911 and have me carted away in an ambulance. Besides, I'm dropping off his policy in the new year and switching to Medicare when I turn sixty five in July.

I know I'm an idiot but is just the way I am. A diagnosis scaredy cat.

Anyhoo, back to my lastest injury. I almost asked Tim to take me to the hospital a couple of times. It was the sharpest pain I have felt since my last birth contraction. To make matters even worse we've had a respiratory illness going around the house. Massey had it, then Zach, then Tim. Then after ten days Massey got better and Tim relapsed.

Guess who got it after she shredded her ribs? It's not a lot of fun to have to cough with cracked ribs. It was borderline torture. Every. Time.

It made me realize that I can multi task even when feeling poorly. I can cough and scream at the same time now.

I took to the bed on Wednesday afternoon. I knew I had to let my body heal itself. Besides there's nothing a doctor can do for cracked ribs other than charge you a fortune to tell you to do everything a Google search can tell you for free, and the last thing I need is prescription pain killers. Big Pharma is not your friend. It's just an addicting band-aid.  Massey bought me a wrap around bandage, an herbal balm which is fantastic for bruise relief off Amazon and was in here less than a few hours. Throw in wonderful edibles (thank you Florida for medical marijuana) and after four days of laying on my good side doing absolutely nothing, I woke up this morning and could get out of bed with out even so much as a grimace. I'm still sore and moving slow, but I took a shower today and began weaning myself off the Motrin. It sounds gross but I even kept a small spit cup by my bed so every time I painfully coughed up phlegm I spit it out. Better out than in.

Unfortunately my Google search tells me it may take up to six weeks for total healing. At least it doesn't hurt to breathe or take deep breaths, a sign of broken ribs or a punctured lung. No coughing up blood, just the same crud that has been ravaging our house for ten days.

Cooking Thanksgiving was absolutely out of the question for me, and thank goodness it was just us four this year. Massey stepped up and did most all the cooking. Zachary cooked the brined turkey, made the gravy and creamed potatoes. Massey did the dressing, green beans, sweet potato casserole and her wonderful homemade cranberry sauce. I sat straight up in the living room recliner and answered her cooking questions. After dinner I went back to bed while they cleaned up and remained there until Sunday afternoon.

Today I finally felt significantly better and think the worst has passed. I will continue to take it easy the rest of this week and give my 100 lb bag of bones time to heal. Tim and the kids have been nothing but wonderful to me. I'll be honest, those first couple of days had even me worried. I have never felt pain like that and hope I never do again.

Getting old ain't for sissies, especially skinny ones with no padding. I'll be honest. I did a lot of praying these past few days. There were times when I regretted not going to the ER, but The Big Guy came through for me. I am sure my family sent some prayers up on my behalf as well, and probably a few for themselves having to do basically everything for five days with no help from me whatsoever, while taking absolutely wonderful care of this broken down old nag. No glue factory for me yet!

In all honesty, I was extremely worried those first couple of days. It was a silent worry and my brain was working overtime with different scenarios. The pain was so intense that I couldn't even sleep. I would pray for sleep and also pray if it was my time, just let me go to sleep and not wake up. Yes I am a coward. But God had other plans this time, and for that I will be forever grateful. I was so unsure about the severity of my injury that I didn't even look at or pick up my cell phone for three days, nor did I log into any device. I just wanted to wait it out alone without pity or unasked for advice or criticism.

Once again I am one of the luckiest people on the planet and have (hopefully) dodged yet another one of life's bullets. I hurt my ribs years ago and while this was more intense it was much the same type of pain, which is: "not fun."

It's going to be a long few weeks, Riley already wonders why I'm not out with her in the yards every day and would come into our bedroom and check on me every few hours. She'd gingerly sniff my face, give me a little boop and go back into the living room with everyone else.

I guess we all know what I am thankful for this Thanksgiving and it's true...

Till next time, COTTON