Save my sanity, send chocolate

So, my husband's home, my son is home, and I am about to go nuts. I, in general, need a lot of space and quiet time. I have spent a lot of time taking care of other people lately. Which, being the wife and mom, is kind of my job, but still.

When my husband was in the hospital in late January and early February, I was at the hospital every day, in the evening, for a couple of hours. Then he was home, and we did a Fri, Mon, Wed, Fri, Mon, Wed of ECT. Now, that was several days of rushing around making sure that the boy was up for school on time, that DH was up on time, and that I was ready. After that, it was several hours of sitting at the hospital, waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

Monday I was there for 4 hours. Wednesday was even longer, partly because we were waiting for a PICC line. DH has crappy veins, and the anesthesiologist wanted to make sure he had a good vein for the surgery.

Then came Thursday, Surgery Day. I was there for over 10 hours. Now, I HATE hospitals. I hate them with a passion. My youngest brother spent a lot of time in the hospital, and I spent a lot of time visiting. They are boring, they are noisy and they smell funny.

The only nice thing about the hospital is that they have WIFI so I can access the web. And, the same day surgery/OR nurses all knew us, so they made sure I was up-to-date.

Of course, I spent every day from Thursday until Monday when DH came home at the hospital. Then I had to come home and be with the boy. The boy was upset, not that he would say anything about it. He just had to be right on top of me. All the time.

Now, my routine, when school is in session, is that I get up around 6:30 so I have some time before I have to start waking up Mr. Grumpyteen. Then, once he's off for school I have some time to myself, to play video games, watch my trashy TV shows or just generally do whatever I want. Then, around 9 or so, maybe 10, I start doing things that need to be done, cleaning or writing or whatever.

Except, this is a vacation week. So, even if I am awake before the boy is, he tends to wake up shortly after I do. So, no morning news, no trashy TV shows, no video games. No, instead I'm stuck watching whatever it is the boy wants. House rule, if you are on the computer you don't get to choose what's on TV. Except, it's my rule and I get to break it. So, even when DH wakes up and comes out here I still don't get to choose anything.

Now, DH is currently non-weight bearing on his foot. He's on a walker. He can't do a whole lot of stuff for himself. Which means everydamntime I get up, he wants me to get him something. I know it's uncharitable of me, but I just want him to stop. He's only been home for a few days. This isn't a good sign. Mostly my thought is that if you want something you can get up and get it yourself. Everyone here is capable of doing that.

I try not to make him feel like he's a burden, I hope he doesn't feel like that, but sometimes that's how I feel. Especially when I have no space, and people are talking to me all day long, and I don't even have any space when I go to bed because DH is sleeping in the middle of the bed so I am hanging my ass off the bed all night long.

So, I'm not sleeping well. My wrist, back and knees hurt. There is always someone breathing my air in my space, and I'm going nuts. I'm so glad that school is back in session on Monday. Hopefully what's left of my sanity can survive that long. Send chocolate.

Just random morning rambles

In February the New England area the schools do one interesting thing. They take the 3rd week of February off school. This is February break. Ask me how much I enjoy this. On one hand, I get to sleep in, on the other, my 15 year old son is home and wants me to entertain him. This is one of the few times I wish he had a sibling. I could lock them in a room together and let them go at it. Heh. He doesn't have that many friends in the area, and the one that he has we don't like. Let's just say that there are some choices being made there that we don't like and wouldn't make.

Anyway, he's home, it's break, and because of all the stuff going on with his dad, he's velcro-boy (TM). He is sitting almost on top of me on our tiny couch as we watch House (I have mad, mad love for Hugh Laurie). DH is still asleep in the bedroom, having come home last night, which is a story for another post, otherwise he would be in the bedroom watching TV so I could play my Animal Crossing.

Sometimes, though, break comes in handy. Like 8 years ago. We moved up here  from the Midwest in the middle of the winter of 2002-03. On a side note, there was snow on the ground, and we didn't see grass until April. Comes from living in the Great White North. That following February we got a call that my baby brother was dying. Now, by we, I mean my mom, my son and me. We got the news on Tuesday, mom flew out Wednesday, the boy and I flew out on Thursday. He was already dead by the time I flew out. All my sibs, my parents and I got together on a call, they were all there, I was here, and we discussed what to do. Baby brother was in pain and there was nothing they could do for him. There was no cure, no nothing, and they couldn't give him enough painkiller. So, we decided to pull the plug on his life support. He was awake enough to agree. I was asked if I wanted them to wait. I decided no, since he was in pain. Therefore, I was the only one who didn't get to say goodbye.

The reason that February break came in handy that year is that this happened during break. He didn't miss a lot of school. We were down there for most of a week, between viewings (2), the funeral and the burial. When we got back to the Great White North, we got asked when we were going to go back to bury him. The reason we were asked this is because in this state, it is state law that all the cemeteries are closed 10/31-5/1. Remember the snow I mentioned? Right now we have around 2 feet on the ground. That year we had more. Do you know what happens when you have that much snow on the ground? Or what it takes to have that much snow on the ground? The ground has to be frozen. Try burying someone when the ground is frozen down 5 feet. Or when the cemetery is up in the mountains and there is one curvy steep road and 2 feet of snow on the ground. So, the northern New England states don't bury people in the winter. They store them in a vault over the winter.

People were surprised when we told them he was already buried. I was surprised when I found out people don't bury their dead in the winter here. We all get used to the way things are always done where we are and it's always shocking when things are different, even the little things. Sometimes the little things are the most surprising. We expect the big things to be different. We don't expect the little ones.


As I look back over this post, it really is rambling, isn't it? But, I think I will let it stand. It's early, OK, it's really not all that early since it is almost 9 am where I am, and I've been up for a couple of hours, which really sucks since I can sleep in this week, but my brain feels like it's early, which is why the ramble. I've got things to do, like some writing that pays, and some writing that I hope will pay at some point. Check out the link on the side for an example of the latter, or the post about the week in recap a couple of days ago, if you want to see what my professional type writing looks like. I promise it doesn't ramble.

I love this blog!

Not my blog, although I love it too. This is Momepetition. Every mom in the world has run into "that mom". You know, the one whose kids are always smarter, faster, or more perfect than yours? She is Wonder Woman, Supergirl and Martha Stewart all rolled up into one? If you haven't run into "that mom", chances are you are her.

Anyway, she entered a video in a contest. Watch it, like it, and help her win. If you go to Youtube to like it make sure to vote like for her, someone is sabotaging her. Spread the word.

This week in recap

This has been a long and stressful week. This last 2 months have been long, and while this has been hell week, it's actually the week that is the turning point.

Six weeks ago my husband's depression was so crippling that he couldn't leave the house, or go to family parties. He missed Christmas with my mom and step-dad. This week was the end of 3x/week ECT. Starting Wednesday of next week he will be getting them once a week for the next couple of months. He has responded to them wonderfully. I honestly do not know what was going to happen if these didn't work. He was taking 3 different anti-depressants, plus another med that has mood stabilizing effect. And yet, he had a month that he couldn't leave the house. In the end, the depression would have torn our marriage apart. I know this from experience.

Seven years ago my husband was in a severe car accident. He had a seizure behind the wheel. He woke up in the hospital over a week later. Both of his feet and knees were all kinds of messed up. Since 1/08 he has had 3 surgeries, including one on Thursday, trying to deal with the aftermath. The first 2 were a fusion. The first fusion was done wrong, and it never healed right. October of last year his ankle broke, because of this. His heel was put back in wrong, so it finally just cracked the bone. This surgery the doctor broke the heel again and put it together right, as well as doing other stuff. He was actively in surgery for about 6 hours. All in all I spent 10 hours at the hospital on Thursday. I've been there everyday since Monday except for Tuesday.

The chairs are uncomfortable. I've got a bad back, my tail bone is all messed up and I have degenerative disc disorder. Yeah. So, I've been sitting in horrible chairs every day, for hours on end. Today I hurt. I have a lovely painkiller that I have taken, and has just kicked in. Right now I feel pretty good. I have a heating pad.

I didn't spend as much time at the hospital today as I wanted to, because of my back. We thought my husband would be able to come home yesterday, but they can't control his pain and he is very wobbly on his foot. He has to be non-weight bearing on the operated on foot, so he needs to be steady. He's still there. And I will go up and spend time with him after church tomorrow.

But, once we get through this it will be better. If nothing else, he will be in less constant pain. He will probably be more mobile. This is great.

For good news, 2 weeks ago I submitted an article that I wrote to Associated Content. I have written for another site for almost a year, but none of that is under my name. Now, this is in my name. On Monday it got approved and published. I also put it up on another site, called Hubpages. Go check them both out. Read them both, rate them put comments on them. I put a lot of work on it. I'm in the middle of writing a new one. I like this writing thing.
http://hubpages.com/hub/ECT-an-Alternative-Treatment-for-Depression
 http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/7726538/electroconvulsion_therapy_is_an_alternative.html?cat=5

So, that's been my week. Now my meds have kicked in, and I am going to go to sleep. Tomorrow comes around way too early.

Products of our childhood.

I got to thinking. I was washing dishes, a task which lets me stop and think. It's a mindless task and I can reach a Zen state. I accidentally turned the water on too hot. I realized it when I put my hand under it and yanked it out. It reminded me of when I was a kid. My dad would complain that I wasn't washing the dishes in hot enough water. It felt pretty hot to me. But, I had delicate kid hands. My dad had heavily calloused worker hands. He was an electrician and spent a lot of time working outside. He didn't feel the hot. I did. And it hurt. I complained to my mom about it, and she talked to my dad about it. But still, every time I washed dishes, and I did a lot, because dish washing was "girl" work, dad turned the hot all the way on and the cold almost all the way off.

Now, you probably have a good idea of what my dad was like. He wasn't a nice man, and still isn't. He apparently appears nice, but hey, they give good drugs now. Anti-depressants rock. He puts on a good public face. But, in private.... Yeah, he was abusive. Luckily, for me, it wasn't as bad as it could have been, but I'm still an abuse survivor. There are a lot of people who had it worse, much worse. But there are also a lot of  people who had it better.

I am a 30something woman. I have mental illnesses. Some of them are direct results of what I grew up with. I am the product of what I grew up with. I have to fight hard to deal with my temper. I have serious control and trust issues. I am much more likely to react angrily or defensively than I am to be calm about it. I know these things about myself. I work hard to not be that way. It's becoming habit for me to take a breath and wait to see what is happening and to be reasonable about it. As I get older, it gets easier. I've learned politeness and firmness works a whole lot better than raging at someone. I am much more likely to get what I want if I don't go to that place first. After all, I always can go there. I can't come back from it.

Here's the thing. I may be a product of my childhood. But I am not a prisoner of it. Yes, I have PTSD because of it, but I don't let it control me. I have a personality disorder, but it is not who I am. I am me. I am not the illnesses. I finished high school, I graduated college. I have a 15 year old son. I have lived on my own since I was 19.

I have some brothers. They are prisoners of their childhood. The oldest of them is 2 years younger than me. He didn't move out of our father's home until he was 33 or so, and then it was a forceful move, which is a story for another time. Of my two youngest brothers, one is in college and lives with dad, the other lives sort of with dad, and the last time I talked to him wasn't working. They stay with our father and take care of him. He's in poor health. He still manipulates them and controls them. They don't talk to me or our mother because we are the "enemy." They can't break free. And what's worse, they don't want to.

I wish they would break free. I wish they could break free. I wish there was something that I could do, but there isn't. They don't want my help. They don't even want to talk to me because they listen to my dad, who tells them that I am manipulated by my mother. My brothers still live in Hell. Every day I am glad that I was able to get free of that, and that I don't have to live there.

I may be the product of my childhood, but I am not the prisoner of it. I was able to break free and become more. Every day I try to be more. That's the only thing I can do.

Civility and Customer Service

The important part of this story is that my husband is home.

He came home today. His doctor wanted to send him home Monday, but snomageddon happened and we weren't sure that we would be able to get him to the hospital yesterday(more on that later). So, they kept him until today.

We don't have a car, and while I had been borrowing my parents' car, they needed it back so I gave it back Monday. This figures prominently in this story. The case manager at the hospital said they would give him a taxi voucher and send him home in a cab. Sounded good me. He's perfectly coherent, and there was nothing to stop him from being able to do it himself.

Now, there are 3 cab services in our smallish town. There is one that we use on a regular basis. We have never had any problems with them. They have had long waits sometimes, but they always warn us. We use them so often I have their number memorized. In fact, we'll be using them later today, and we already have a time call for tomorrow morning with them. That's not the company they called.

The one they called is one that we have never dealt with, mostly because they are more expensive. The nurse called them, let's call them Elite, to not protect the guilty. The original call went in at 10:45. Elite told the nurse they would be there at 11:15. DH called me at 10:57 to tell me that he would be home soon, he was just waiting for the cab. So, he stayed on the floor until close to 11:15 then he went down to wait. Now, my DH is disabled. He has a hard time walking due to some damage done by a car accident. He can't stand for very long. So, he waited outside. The temp was in the high teens, which actually is warmer than it has been.

11:15 came, and went. 11:30 came, and went. Around 11:45 he called Elite and they told him 5-10 minutes. That came, and went. He called them again, and was told 5-10 minutes. Again, that came and went. Finally, at 12:20, by the cab's clock and by the time from the dispatcher, the cab showed up.

Now, if you ask me, 10:45-12:20 is over 90 minutes. 11:15-12:20 is over an hour. Anyway you want to count it he waited for over an hour. Waiting outside, since the door he was waiting at didn't have anywhere to be inside and still see the cab.

When he got home and told me, I was pissed, especially since he had been given a time as to when they would be there. So, I called the cab company. The dispatcher yelled at me, lied to me, and hung up on me. Now, before I called her I checked my caller id. I knew exactly when DH called me. She told me that he couldn't have called be before 11 because they didn't get the call until after 11, and she told the nurse when they would be there, so there was no way he could have been waiting for 90 minutes. After saying that she hung up on me. So, she lied to me, she yelled at me, she said I was lying, and she hung up on me. I called her back, told her that she lost customers, she yelled at me that they were just a rinky dink cab company and to leave her the fuck alone. Then she, you guessed it, hung up on me.

I don't take well to being hung up on, let alone yelled at and cussed at, and lied to. So, to the Internet I turned. I posted a warning to everyone on my friends list on FB to avoid this company. Then I turned to Google. Now, there are review sites for companies all over the place. I wrote up a review listing what happened. Then I posted it on more than 5 review sites. I think the actual number was 7, but I lost track after 5. I've contacted the Better Business Bureau. Tomorrow we are going to the hospital, and I will be finding out who I have to talk to about letting them know about this company, and warn them about our treatment. I'm also debating writing a letter to the editor.

There is one thing that could have happened to avoid all this. If the dispatcher had said she was sorry, something came up, or given me a good reason, I wouldn't be writing this. Just 4 little words, I'm sorry that happened, that's all it would have taken. Instead, I'm complaining about them everywhere I can. I am going to actively encourage everyone I know who takes a cab to not use them.

I know the customer isn't always right. I've been on both sides of the counter. But, there was no need for her to yell at me, especially as I wasn't yelling at her. In fact, I was speaking in a nice conversational tone. That's the choice she made, and the consequence of her choice is that I am leaving negative reviews and talking to people I know about the poor service of the Elite Livery Taxi company.

On Loneliness and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

As I write this it has been one week and one day since my husband went into a crisis support unit here in town. It was snowing the night that he got evaluated so he didn't get taken to the unit that night. They came and helped transport him the next day. This is a good thing. My husband has severe depression. Severe enough that he has several suicide attempts under his belt and several hospitalizations.

Four days after that he went into the hospital. Again, a good thing. I fought for him to get that. His psychiatrist, who I think is a smarmy bastard, hadn't even contacted the csu to find out how he was until I called and complained about it. I shouldn't have been surprised, since this is the same man who changed my husband's meds and then scheduled an appointment for 2.5 months. Seriously? Who does that?

For 18 months we have been trying to get my husband ECT. We saw this same doctor over the summer. He said that my husband wasn't a good candidate, which, in my non-medical opinion, was utter bullshit. Three separate doctors, including 2 other psychiatrists, said that he was a good candidate. The only problem with them was the fact they didn't prescribe it. Dr. McSmarmy is the only doctor in our town to do that. The next nearest are an hour away, in separate directions.

He ended up with this doctor as his psychiatrist because our previous doctor's office closed. This guy was the only person in town to take my husband's insurance.  Again, the next nearest one who had any openings was an hour away. We don't have a car, and that is just too far. We do have medical transportation, but still.

Anyhow, back to Tuesday. We went to the doctor's office, again it was snowing. We live in what I lovingly call the Great White North. I love it, but winters are long and snowy and cold. Tuesday was both. I went in loaded for elephant, and wanted to get him in the hospital for closer observation. I would have been happy for med adjustment, even though no meds work, or don't work for long. We have tried them all. Miracle of miracles, his doctor suggested the ECT.

He had his first treatment today. He will have around 10 treatments in the next 3 weeks. After than he will start going out towards a maintenance treatment. That's once every month, but we will build up to that point. This is a good thing. After 18 months, clearance from a cardiologist, which included a heart catheterization a year ago, another cold day. There were also the 2 different neurologists we saw. Hours of driving all over the state, hours of tests and procedures, only to get told no. It was frustrating. I could see my husband just collapse onto himself. And finally, finally, we have succeeded. I can't help but think about how different our lives would have been if he had this done 18 months ago. We are both hoping that this will be very successful and that our lives will be different. I have known this man for 17 years. For most of them he has been depressed, sometimes more than others.

I was at the hospital this morning after his treatment. He was coherent and no short term memory loss, which can occur. This isn't your daddy's shock treatment. There have been huge strides. He won't end up like McMurphy from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, great movie, see it if you haven't.

That is a lot of exposition to get to the actual meat of this post, and if you have read this far I owe you cookies. That is actually loneliness. The first few days of him being gone I got some space. Our apartment is tiny. There is no space for the three of us to get away from each other. Since we have to walk to get anywhere and my husband and I both have physical limitations we don't go a lot of places in the winter. We have had entirely too much togetherness. I enjoyed the hours to myself while our 15 year old went to school. He has been a clingon while his dad was gone. But today, I realized that the house was too quiet. It's already been too quiet at nights without his CPAP machine. I didn't sleep well the first few nights, and now I've gotten somewhat used to it, but it is still too quiet at 3 am.

I realized last night that I miss having him next to me in the middle of the night. Don't get me wrong, having the entire bed to myself, well myself and the three cats who own us, is nice. But, reaching out in the middle of the night and touching him is reassuring. I miss that when he is gone.

Dr. McSmarmy is talking about sending DH home on Monday after his next treatment. DH and I talked about it after his treatment today. We would both like him to stay in the hospital for another week. Dr. McSmarmy tried to blow off DH's opinion. Oh hell to the no. That won't happen when I am around. Maybe I will start going to all his appointments with the doctor now that I have seen how DH is treated. Although he tries to condescend to me. Yeah, keep that up and I will shove Dr. McSmarmy's overly whitened teeth down his throat. Politely of course, since DH asked me to be polite.

It isn't that I don't want him to come home or that he doesn't want to come home. He's bored out of his mind. We are just worried about him and his well-being. And when he comes home, I will be happy, at least until we spend too much time with each other again.

Some thoughts on faith

The blog I published earlier has had me thinking about faith.

Faith is a funny word. It means so many different things. I went to Google and said define:faith. I got a lot of interesting definitions. One was a list of fictional nations from Gundam SEED. Another was a band in the early years of American Punk. The closest definition to what I grew up with was this one "a strong belief in a supernatural power or powers that control human destiny; "he lost his faith but not his morality"".  That's close, but not quite right. This is the one I grew up with "Faith is to hope for things which are not seen, but which are true."

So, those definitions are great and all. But, what do they really mean? The word gets used in so many different ways. I have faith in my team, my family, my friend. I'm a member of the LDS faith. I have faith in God. I have listened to Faith No More. If you are a cheating spouse you are faithless. If you are a Marine, you are Semper Fidelis, always faithful, Semper Fi.

Faith is all those things and more. And yet, we still haven't truly nailed down what faith is. Some words have a very concrete definition. If I say "cat", you know that I am speaking of a feline. A lion is always a lion, a tiger is always a tiger. But is faith always faith?

Part of what makes the definition of faith so slippery is that faith can't be pinned down. You can't quantify faith, you can't take it out and weigh it, measure it and give it percentages. You can make faith grow or shrink. Your actions can cause people to have more or less faith in you. You can do things to make your faith in God increase or decrease. But you can't say I have 3 pounds of faith today.

The reason I have been thinking of this is because good things have been happening today. A corner has been turned and I have faith (see there it is) that it will be good. I am hoping for it to be true. I was sustained by my faith in God today, which I can't see, but I know is true. I was also sustained by the faith my friends have in me. They knew that I can do it and so I can. It seems that while faith may have a lot of definitions and many contexts and uses, it isn't something that we can do without.

Is the definition of faith something that is highly subjective and personal, or is there one definition and then we all shade it by our experiences? When you hear the word faith, what do you think of?

How Do You Carry On?

Do you ever wonder what you will do when you reach the breaking point? What happens when you get to the point where one more thing, even the smallest thing, not even a straw but just a grain of sand puts you so far over the edge that you just sit and start crying? How do you get up and carry on when you feel like you are shattered into a million pieces or that you are stretched so thin that there just isn't anything at all left?

It is more realistic to keep going or just sit down and realize that there is nothing else left for you to do and give up your burdens? What happens when you realize that there is no one else who can pick them up for you, do you have to pick them back up and shoulder them and hope they get better? Do you feel like Atlas with no Hercules to trick into shouldering the world for you?

These aren't idle questions. These are the things that come to me at 3 am in the long dark teatime of my soul (apologies to Douglas Adams, read him if you haven't). The reason that these things come to my mind is because recently I've been going through a really hard time. Things in  my personal life have been in great turmoil for the past week. I was getting a handle on them, until yesterday. Yesterday was the one more thing. The straw that made the camel fall to her knees. There was too much for me to deal with.

Last night I questioned whether I could pick up and go on.  I wasn't sure that I could. I wasn't sure that I really even wanted to. I started looking around for my Hercules. And I didn't find him. I realized that there is no one who can pick up my burden and shoulder it. That means if it has to be carried I have to be the one to carry it.

I was raised thinking that God won't give me more than I can handle, and that if He wants me to do it, He will provide a way. Yesterday, when I reached the point that I was done, that I wanted to tell Heavenly Father enough already, I was reminded of the refiner's fire. We go through what we go through to make us a stronger person, to make us better. He gives us what we can handle, and maybe just a little more to make us stronger, to put us through that fire. The refiner's fire isn't there to make the metal brittle and breakable, it is there to burn away the dross, the impurities. It actually strengthens the metal. My trials actually strengthen me. Do I like them? No. Do I want them to stop? Yes, I really do. Do I see the benefit of them? Yes I do. I wouldn't be me without the struggles and trials and the one more thing. It has taken all of that to make me the person I am, a person who can fight through and find a way.

So, this morning, I pick up the world. I stand as Atlas, because I am the only one who can carry my burdens.  I am the one who needs this particular fire, and I am going to come out stronger on the other side. As Neitzsche said, what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. I am also reminded that though I have to carry my burden, my globe, because no one else can, I don't do it all alone.

Ooops.

I've already broken my New Year's resolutions. I didn't blog yesterday, since I like to do it before bed time, and I felt seriously sick last night. And today, I have barely worked on my genealogy. But, I did send an email to my aunt asking for copies of her stuff.

So, here is the blog that I had was going to write last night.

So, the question is, how do you see yourself inside? I am a mildly frumpy, overweight greying mother. But inside, inside I am a combination of Aeryn Sun from Farscape, Zoe from Firefly, Buffy from well, Buffy, with a soupcon of Xena tossed in there for good measure. I am tall, and scary, and don't take any shit from any one. It just surprises me that people don't see that in me. Because that is how I feel, most of the time. Sometimes, I can just feel it radiating off my skin, like an aura. Does that make me weird?

Ok, probably a short one

This is going to be short I think, as my meds just kicked in, and I really need to get to bed before midnight, since school starts back tomorrow. 2 weeks of not waking up at 5:45. I have liked that. I am not a morning person. Mornings are evil, and shouldn't come before 9 am at the very earliest.

Our storm of the century turned out to be a medium size bust. We had some snow, but not as much as they said we would get. I don't know how I feel about that. If we are going to get a huge storm, I want a HUGE storm. Oh well.

OK, time for bed now.

New Year's resolutions

I generally don't make them, since I don't keep them. Therefore, what's the point. But this year I am planning on keeping them. Or at least the 2 that I am willing to let be known in public. The first is this, to blog daily. I want to write. And the only way to write is to write. So, I will blog, and maybe I can get the ideas flowing from my head to my fingers. The second is to work on my family history at least one hour a day, start 1/4.

Right now, I am sitting watching the storm outside. It's snowing heavily, but even worse than that, it's blowing so hard that sometimes I can't see across the street. And amazingly enough there are people other than emergency vehicles or snow removal trucks out. I hope that they get where they are going safely, because I wouldn't even be walking in this mess. On the other hand, I like sleeping thru storms.

I really should go to bed. It's late. And I am the only one awake, even the cats have gone to sleep, one of them on top of the monitor. OK, I guess I should go to sleep. Right after I clean that cat boxes.