I know it may shock some, but in real life, I have a number of friends who are politically conservative. We agree to disagree, and respect each others right to a differing opinion. (sometimes I feel I am more respectful of theirs than visa versa...but that's another tale.)

A year ago, I asked them how they felt about the GOP field. I was not asking them to support Obama...I was just horrified by the bottom feeders, delusionals, and and ding bats that seemed to be running for the nomination. To the last, they claimed to share my distaste. They were very clear that they didn't like ANY of them...including Romney. In some cases ESPECIALLY Romney. Now I did respect them, because they had been known to cross party lines. Not often...but on occasion. I have done so myself...though I regretted it later.

But I did ask them (remember...dyed in the wool GOP...who not only voted with them, were active in the party, gave them money...the whole nine yards) WHY the RNC was running such a bunch of losers. This was their best? Their VARSITY? And they simply shook their heads. Now that should have been when they demanded an answer on their own. I mean...this was THEIR party dammit. I understood McCain. He was emeritus---had backed their action back to Reagan. He looked the part, and had the credentials to run at least...and then...Palin? If you follow such things, McCain and Obama were neck and neck until that hot mess joined the campaign...and worse...started TALKING. But they supported that weird ticket...all the way to the jaws of defeat. There was a lesson in that. It was time to run someone truly exceptional. Someone smart, and dynamic...who could make people forget what a bungling idiot Bush II had been.  Someone so intelligent, that smart people wanted to talk to him/her. Someone so empathetic, that the country would abandon Obama, and believe in a new path.

And we got a dude who doesn't know why airplane windows don't open.

Guys? Seriously...WHY are you letting them do this?

I should preface this by saying I am not on any form of Government Assistance.

That said, I should explain that it's been over a decade since I had regular, full time work, that included any kind of benefits. I did apply for SSI about five years back, when I was less handicapped than I am now. I had spinal damage from two car accidents, but was rejected.

Note: EVERYONE gets rejected the first time,.

Since I have developed nerve damage, and something called compartment syndrome in my feet, making it difficult to walk most days. I am THRILLED when I can spend two hours on my feet...but usually that's too much. It takes me a few days after that to recover enough to do more than make it to the bathroom. If you never had bone and nerve pain in your feet, you might think I was being a baby about it. It feels like someone is crushing the bones when you try to walk. I imagine if you drove a nail into your foot, you could duplicate the pain level.

So it's not that i am too proud for a minimum wage job...it's more like most of them will not hire me. They have rules about employees sitting, you see. The other day, I was out with my daughter for two hours. The pain started, so I knew it was time to stop. But when we got home, it turns out that my friend's horse had gotten loose...and was standing the middle of the road. I've fed him treats, so thank goodness, he came when I called...but it took more than a half hour for someone who KNEW how to handle horses to get there. The only way to keep him from the road was to block him...stand in front of him. My feet really hurt by the time they got there...but what choice did I have? If I had ignored it, for sure that horse would be dead...not to mention the poor bastard who hit him. But it didn't make me more able. It took two days to recover from it...not to mention prednisone and pain killers.

So when I say I can't spend three hours on my feet, it's not a guess.

I've been applying for regular jobs---but quite frankly they DON'T hire people over 40. My brain works. I have awesome writing skills, can edit and proof read...BUT...I will be 52 in less than a week. Sure...there are laws against discrimination...but proving it is a cheap thrill.  The government even offers credits to companies that hire the handicapped...but most ignore it. So...that leaves me where?

I can apply for government assistance...something I am loathe to do...but chances are good it will take YEARS to be approved. In the mean time, I need to pay for rent, food, gas...all those good things. I am in worse shape physically then I was five years ago.

But I'm not dead. I'm also not one of Romney's 47 percent. (See the first sentence.)

So for those who hate and resent the "dependent", I really need to ask you a question. What would you have us do? Do you favor the idea of putting us out on ice floes...so you won't have to look at us? How ashamed do I have to feel, if I do ask for food stamps? Am i now infirm enough...or must I really be messing the bed to impress you? You say you don't favor government "interference", but since companies seem to have no problem abusing their workers without someone overseeing the process...what the HELL do you suggest?

The whole "no sitting" policy is supposed to encourage workers to keep busy. But when you have someone like me who can't stand? Is your answer that I am not qualified for the job? And if so, what about the companies who won't hire people past a certain age? Simple answers usually come from simple minds. Complex questions rarely require a "just let the air out of the tires" solution. Oh...and you DO have a say. But ignoring the situation is not an option. If you think people like me are not "your problem", you are basically saying we need to die...survival of the fittest, and all that. And you are entitled to your opinion, of course. But just be mindful that the same standard may be held to you...or someone you love. Someone else can decide that they are not "worthy"...and should be extinguished.

As for me...I'd rather have a job, thanks. I would love to support myself, and not have to ask for a nickel from anyone. But walking...you'd be surprised how handy a skill that is. Today was a good day. I made it down the stairs and did my laundry. I am trying to be careful...just in case one of those resumes I sent out gives me a call. I am hoping they don't hold my gray hair, or my limp against me. I am praying that my cane is not a huge turn off.  That is how you are handicapped...not by the limits of your own body, but by the bias of the people calling the shots.

Welcome to my world...

So I am moved in, and starting my third week in my new home.

I like this state...and can't recall the last time I felt this relaxed, or this at peace.

I've started to write a novel...inspired by a unique relative I care about a lot.

I saw my daughter the other day. There was a fire at her dorm, and she spent half the night in another dorm's common area, waiting for an all clear.  So a little "mom" time was called for. Autumn is fast arriving---the nights are cool and perfect for sleeping. I love the house---which has a peaceful feel, and the horses are amazing to me.

I need to find a job---but for now, all is well, and comfortable.

I watched a few short films today on the topic of emotional abuse...seems like I qualified on 9 of ten signs. I knew it was bad...just not how bad.

Onwards and upwards...hope you are all well!

I've been cooking for years, and happen to be a whiz bang baker as well.

Over the years I learned that BUTTER rules, for almost every cookie out there...but I make mistakes like everyone else. This morning I was working on a new recipe...cannoli cookies. When I test drive any cooking, I try to do it by the book so to speak...but I am also now in a situation where I can't afford to waste food. I was working with frozen butter, and got distracted when I tried to nuke it to soft...ending up with a bowl of melted butter. I checked a food columns, and they all said it was a disaster...that you need the texture in the butter...the air that is part of the process, to cream with sugar.

These days, I have more time than money...so I decided to take the glass bowls (we have a set that nests) i put ice cubes in the largest, added the next size bowl on top. poured in the melted butter...and beat it at a low speed for about ten minutes.

Result? Soft butter, ready to cream with sugar.

The cookies came out AMAZING...just the right texture and taste.

So don't throw away melted butter...you CAN bring it back, with a little patience!

A little over a week ago, I left my home, and my partner of 30 years.

It's been a long painful road...and even though it had to happen, it still is painful to have done.

I resent people who go on about how "some people give up too easily".  Some of us DON't.  We hang in...we struggle. We try.

But in the end, you have to make a choice.

I don't hate the man...but I hate what my life had become. I hate the fact that I wandered online over a decade ago, because my husband didn't like to talk to me. He preferred "companionable silence". Now my concept of that is that you are hanging out together, reading, or whatever, because you are comfortable. It's not supposed to be one person feeling stifled...desperate to say something, but afraid that if they say too much, the other person will be annoyed.

He developed an uncomfortable habit more than two decades ago...correcting me in front of other people. It made me feel like a child...and when he started doing it over matters of opinion, rather than fact...or in areas where he had no background at all, it made me nuts. He got his silence. I stopped talking. I think I went online just to have a chance to SAY something---to anyone. It was oppressive.

I asked him for a divorce twice in the past...once I took back because we had a family crisis. The second time was in March of 2005. We were in mediation when Katrina happened...the mediators dropped us because he had to spend weeks in Louisiana. In the mean time I'd had a SECOND car accident...and faced a second surgery. He suggested we stay together until after. I agreed...but we were not better. We were not fixed. After a while, the brittle truce just fell to pieces. We fought weekly...then daily. It was impossible to have any discussion without it turning into verbal abuse, and vitriol.

The why behind it private...I don't need to air the family issues.

But we were broken, beyond repair. It still makes me cry...because once we were partners. I remember him talking the nurses at the hospital into letting him the recovery wing after our daughter was born via a C-section.  I remember fighting my way out of anesthesia, to hear his voice telling me that we had a beautiful little girl...and the first time I saw him cradle her in his arms. A hundred memories...a thousand before it was all beyond fixing...and each one just makes it harder to bear what we became.  You don't spend 30 years with someone, and leave without it hurting.

But when staying is more painful? When there is no peace, no warmth, no shared anything?

Then it's time to go...and pray that you both can find your way.

I don't hate him. I suspect before this is all settled, he will hate me...but he was on his way there anyway.

I'm not looking for someone else. I'm not hoping for romance, or even company...I just need to heal...and find who I was, before I fractured to become someone's wife...and that is the lesson of the day.

People are posting about 9-11...and increasingly I read the "I'm sick of it" remarks.

Sorry about that...but some of us will never forget what happened.
Some of us were watching people we loved help with the First Response, and it's kind of hard not to take a terrorist attack personally, when the remnants might kill someone you care about. Some of us have waited and watched ever since, while others have died as a result of rescue related disease...or just watched the aftermath erode lives.

I wish I had the luxury of distance, so I too, could be "sick of it".
But I will carry that day for the rest of my life...and it doesn't seem like too much to remember one day...just once a year.

Not a stock press shot...this was taken where my daughter's dad was a first responder.

http://galadrial.xanga.com/356669/item/    This leads to the post I made right after....

My dad was a superintendent of a building in Jersey City when I was growing up.

He had another job, of course, but supporting a family of six in the city was expensive, and since he never finished high school, he needed two jobs to make ends meet. The building had about 20 families---and faced the Hudson River. Dad was something of a rarity. People expected Supers to be drunks, and sort of useless. Dad not only collected the rent, he maintained the furnace, burned the trash (back when it was legal to do so) and held the building together. He had a real gift for rescuing ailing appliances. If dad couldn't fix it, it was legs up dead. He also didn't drink...unless you counted the thimbleful of Harvey's Bristol Cream he had once a year at Christmas.

The people in the apartment would "tip" him at Christmastime...usually a 20, plus a bottle of something, or a box of candy. Dad knew who would do right by him, but  he was always amused by the bottles of bourbon and scotch. He stockpiled them over the years. But even though Dad did not drink, and he had two sons who were teenagers, they knew better than to even THINK of touching the stash. Dad knew how many bottles there were...and none had a broken seal. It was not worth the serious ass whupping that would happen to snatch some free booze. But even the people who did not tip would get the same service. Dad knew better than to pull attitude. He would curse them out in private...but he never sassed anyone to their faces. Ok...so maybe the good tippers got things handled a little quicker. But he did his job.

Working as Super scored us a two bedroom, basement apartment. He also got about a hundred dollars a month. His other job paid for groceries, and most of the other bills. When I needed special glasses at five, they cost $125.00. NO insurance for that, back then...and to give him credit, the man did not turn white  when they gave him the bill. That was 1965...and 125 dollars was about what my dad earned in a week. I never lost a pair...and rarely broke one, thank god. Dad felt bad about my eyes. They suggested surgery to correct the strabismus...but that cost the earth...no way on our income. The glasses helped...at least until I hit about 18....then they started to give me headaches...but that is another story.

I have no idea how dad found the money...I just know he did.

There was no such thing as "allowance" in our house. Money was too tight.  You could "earn" a little money, helping dad with the Building work...but he was not a casual task master. You couldn't do it for a week, then stop. You treated it as a job, or you didn't. There were terra cotta tiles that needed mopping, brass hand rails that needed polished, entry rugs that needed to be shaken, trash cans that needed to hauled to the curb, and back, windows washed, leaves raked in the fall, grass cut in the spring and summer, and snow shoveled in the winter. I helped dad because...well...the man worked hard. His other job had a rotating shift, and required two buses of travel to reach. I think I remember having a car for maybe three years...but it was rare.

Dad taught me to install switches in walls. He showed me a lot of basics...i knew how to handle a hammer, screw drivers (flat and Phillips) and even how to use the HUGE whet wheel to sharpen knives. He was teaching me how to use the different wrenches when he died...at 52. My dad had worked at the building for 17 years. The owner gave us two weeks after the funeral to clear out the apartment. (A real prince.) My guess is that he never had another worker like dad again.  I thought of this as I moved into my new place, and found myself with small tasks I had not taken on in years. I remembered the old skills...and tried to recall when I got wary about using tools. I assembled a desk chair with a hydraulic lift...and got it right the first time.

My dad died too young...the result of high blood pressure, a brain Aneurysm , and a life that treated him harshly, despite his best efforts. He was not perfect. He was your usual, flawed human. But he tried. He valued books, and education. He had a few dreams...all things he planned after he retired. He wanted to sign on a tramp steamer as a cook, because he loved the sea.  Modest as dreams go...but he never got there. He educated himself. He never stopped reading, or learning. And his life taught me things...for good or ill.

When I found myself eyeballing 52, I knew it was flight or fight. I'd had a decade of fight in...and it hadn't done much. So...I flew.

My new neighbors say hello. I am starting over, and yes, I may fall on my face. But it beats the hell out of being too scared to try.

when the person who taught you the love has an expiration date  send you a love letter you wrote them...when you didn't know it did.

I spent the last two days moving.

In another place...with puter issues, of course...but it will give me a chance to unpack~

Hope everyone is well!

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/08/29/clare-and-rachel-wallmeyer-dead-australian-twins-sisters-anorexia_n_1840406.html

I'll probably catch hell for this...but the story really knocked the air out of me.

One of my close friends in college was Anorexic...she overcame it...but she had some close calls.

I know the Thinspo people claim it's a lifestyle...i disagree.

I spent a summer not eating when I was 20, and was abnormally proud of it. I got over the light headed feeling, learned to ignore hunger, smoked like a chimney, and drank black coffee to kill my appetite. I lost my periods, and my gums started bleeding. It never occurred to me that it had to do with not eating. I went to a doctor, who noticed the significant weight loss since he'd last seen me...and started asking me about my eating habits.  I remember feeling annoyed at first. The doctors had been after me to lose weight for years...now one was bitching at me about it?

But then reality crashed into me.

Was I really making excuses...to not eat?

I was already inventing stratagems...and I was hurting myself.

My BP was 80 over 60...much lower and they put you in the hospital, because you can die.

So...if that is your choice, I can't stop you...but these two women enabled each other. Read about their lives...which don't sound full, or happy to me. Look at their photos...and remember they were only 42...but look so much older. 

It's seductive. You think you are calling the shots...but it can kill you...not now, when you think it's all cool...but five years from now, or ten...when you decide you want another kind of life. The damage it does to the body never heals. But the damage it does to YOU?

That might be the worst part.