When Do Boys Become Men?

My friend told this story from his youth: When he turned 18, he went out to work one day with his usual sack lunch, prepared by his mother. He sat down at lunch break, opened the bag, and inside were long pieces of material. "What on earth?" he thought.

After returning home, he showed mother what was in the sack. She ignored him.

"Mom?"

"I used my best apron for those strings."

He is a strong, happily married man with two brilliantly wonderful adult children. He has led a life to be proud of. We need more mothers like his today!

Discrimination Against, Fear of, Wheelchairs

Believe it or not I got another, well, two in the same day actually, "But you look so good."

Moving into an entire new community of strangers has brought back several of the same old MS comments.

After dinner (these often happen in elevators for some reason, first at my job with the city, then my condo, my apt. building, now this assisted-living retirement building) I got the old, "Does that run on a battery? and "How long do you have to charge it?"

My Velcro strap shoes get many comments. Seriously, there are SEVERAL people here who would feel so much better if they traded in their long, breath-stealing, leg hurting, dangerous walks around the halls here for an electric wheelchair, better known as a power chair. But, to them it is a sign of weakness, mental weakness, to use a wheelchair of any kind.

At my previous apt. bldg. I used a scooter. The building was retail/residential mix, perfect for a person with a disability. Movie theatre, gym, Starbuck's, video and book stores, The Gap, Urban Outfitters, restaurants, you name it, just an elevator ride away. Every morning I went to visit with friends there.

An older woman used to come in every day too. She sat at the French Bakery and had a cup of coffee, all alone. Her one foot was crooked, almost upside down. She had a beat-up cane, but it still took her almost 30 minutes just to make it from the entrance to the bakery, and she had by then walked from her low-income apt. two blocks away. I wanted so badly to suggest she get a scooter.

One day I sat next to her at the Bakery and started a conversation, it wound into my suggesting a scooter or power chair. She said she would love one, but couldn't afford it. I asked if she was on Medicare? No, Medicaid. Sigh...so, I educated her on how to get a mobility device without paying a dime.

Within the next few weeks she arrived in a shiny red power chair! She was a very tall woman, quite attractive, and even more so wearing her big smile. "I don't know how to thank you," she said. She and I would become friends and it was from her that I learned about power chairs.

It did NOT make her weaker. It did not make her die sooner from the use of it. It did not stop her from using her full body at home. It DID empower and free her in her final years.

Still her peers judged her harshly for "giving in" and using the power chair instead of taking a long, deep sigh of a breath with ever step and her cane. No wonder president FDR hid his. I wonder when such negative thoughts began. I wonder when they will end.

Lucid to Jibberish Mid Sentence, What to Do

While talking to a friend in a rehabilitation center yesterday, he suddenly stopped speaking mid-sentence. He had fallen lately and was in for an overhaul. In the last couple weeks they have found nothing wrong, other than he needs to strengthen his leg muscles. In other words, he fell like I did recently, knees gave out, no quad strength. He and I had been discussing a bridge game, then, nothing. I called his name. Nothing.





Then I called the main number for the rehab joint and told her what just happened. She said she would send in a nurse to check on him.





Now, I had taken his call on my land line, on speaker phone, and called the main desk on my cell phone. I heard a woman's voice as she entered his room. I could make out the words from her, "phone" and "drop" and "okay." Still nothing from him. Then I heard his heavy breathing, as is common from him between speaking. I called out his name three times, then, "Are you okay?"





Finally he spoke in low, mumbled jibberish, as if he were saying something, but not using real words. What would run through YOUR mind? My mind shouted, stroke.





I called back the main desk and now the woman seemed fed up with me. I told her that he sounded like he was having a stroke or something! She said, "The nurse checked on him and he is fine." (!!!???) When I protested that he was NOT "fine," she said with a sigh, "I'll send his nurse back in."





Well, I had used my land line to call and now I didn't know what to do. He is just a friend. I don't know his family's phone numbers. I called the RN on duty at our mutual retirement home, and had to leave a voice message, but she is VERY good about picking those up, so then I waited. And waited. He originally called me at 12:30PM. By 12:45 he was gone. By 1PM I was gone. By 2PM I was still waiting and debating what to do. I called the main number for the Rehab joint.





Needless to say, they were not happy to hear my voice. I said I wanted to get a status update on my friend. (I have, over my years as a disability advocate, made such calls MANY times. Medical facilities will tell you what they can. That was all I wanted.) The girl (she didn't sound 21) said he was fine. I insisted he was NOT fine when I spoke to him last, but she interrupted me and transferred me to NURSE RATCHED. (One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest reference.)





She spoke with anger in her voice when I told her my story, insisting his nurse HAD found him to be fine, took his blood pressure, all vital signs were fine. I told her that I HEARD the woman in the room, she was not there THREE MINUTES, and he was far from "fine" when she left him. She said he had simply fallen asleep on the phone, "That happens often with people his age," (He is in his sixties.)---I reply, "Okay, listen, I just want to tell you I heard everything that didn't happen in that room and if anything happens to him in the next 24 hours, I will bear witness to everything that has happened today." She replied, after a long pause, "Fine." We hung up.

My phone rang. It was OUR RN and she thanked me for the call and she would let his family know. We hung up. My phone rang. It was my friend. "Hi," he said softly. I asked him if he was okay. He said, "Yes. I was just sleeping." I ask, "Did the nurse make you call me?"

He said yes, she did, because she said I tried to call him and couldn't get an answer and "...you were upset." Just then a woman's voice said, "Don't say that!"

Then I asked him what he had done that day. He said just sleeping. I asked if he had spoken to me earlier. He said no. I asked him to count back from 1o. He began, but slowly, stopping at 7 too long a time for an accountant and expert bridge player. I then asked him to count back from 50. He did so. I asked him what my last name was, he thought for a few minutes, then got it right.

I ended by telling him we would talk again later. He is IN Rehab to evaluate why he falls. What if he had been walking just then? I should, but CAN NOT believe how those woman treated HIM or me. Can you?

Another woman here just was saved from a clot headed to her brain thanks to being on the phone with her daughter at the time. The daughter called 911. You never know what might be causing these problems, but to do NOTHING is, to me, unthinkable.

How Much I Took From YOU for My Medicare

I just say a chart on CNBC about how much people took out of Medicare in 2010: per person $5,100---here is how much I took out since 2004: ZERO!!! WAKE UP AMERICA, demand real information! That figure was an over all average taking into account cost increases!!

Debt Crisis and Our Seniors and Disabled Under Attack

Now, I am getting fed up with the feds, the politicians who can't come to a rational agreement about our country's budget. Yes, I said it, oh, no, I am getting ready to say it (SPOILER ALERT: I AM A LIBERAL LEFTY, but I look to the middle and prefer the title Indepedent, though that would not be full disclosure, plus I appreciate radicals and socialists until I find they don't always care about me...where was I?) the Republicans are attacking people on Social Security, Medicare and Medicaid---they want US to pay for this monetary mess. GIMME A BREAK!

Those roads you drive on, hospitals you stay in, colleges you send your kids to, were BUILT BY US! I live in a retirement home, average is 85, I live among heroes from wars, engineers who made coal mines safe, former teachers and nurses and doctors---how DARE Republicans threaten to take away their benefits?! When *I* started working, I planned to work until age 65, then finally enjoy my home and family, spend the rest of my years playing and relaxing. I entered a deal with my country, I pay now and my country pays me later. My money from my pay check would go to seniors, and the disabled who couldn't earn money. It made me feel GOOD to help those who needed my money, just part of the deal.

At the young age of 47 I never dreamed that a disease would knock me out of my job. I was always a saver, but I never planned for this. I never planned for a sick spouse, cancer before I was 40, etc etc etc. But, heck, I lived in the USA and I would be A-OK. Right.

Me? I am one of the lucky ones, I have long term care insurance, but it will run out before I do...I hope, or do I? Raised lower income, I fought my way to the middle class, then edge of upper middle class...before my crash. (Thanks, MS, I owe you one!) But what about those seniors who never even made it out of lower class? My great Aunt Vi is an example.

Aunt Vi worked in retail, on her feet all day, into her 80s, and all she got from Social Security was about $800/month. She never complained, it was good enough for her. (Good health can handle a multitude of sins.) She lived with my mom in low-income housing until she went into a nursing home, covered by Medicaid.

What about those who have no family to move in with? What about those who couldn't work past 65? They need every penny of their Social Security. And their health insurance? The Republicans in Wash DC, don't seem to care what happens to these people who worked so many years for THEM. After all, they are just old people, they will be gone soon.

Baby Boomers? Are you getting all this? AMERICANS, are you getting all this? The Republicans see no problem in continuing tax breaks for huge oil companies. They sit in their air-conditioned cars, sipping Evian and reading their iPADS, with all their donors on speed dial. No worries.

Where is AARP?? Where is compassion? When do you pick up the phone, call a Republican and say, "ENOUGH. You have enough."

During Face Book Attack I was at Gym Meeting

Above is a photo taken last Thursday in my retirement community at our All Resident Council meeting, I am on left and our council secretary is on right. Great meeting. We had our General Manager field questions and to my surprise, our "gym" was the big issue! Who knew?

So, next up is working on getting our gym area to shape up! I'm looking forward to this.

This post is not about any of that though, it is about what was going on while I sat at the meeting, presiding over business. Who knew?

Back in my apt., next to my lift-chair, inside my computer, all Hell was breaking loose! Some of my blog peeps will know what I mean. As soon as I saw my Face book page, my jaw dropped! There, on a thread I started about my bridge game dilemma with a 98 year old player, were over ONE HUNDRED comments! For those of you not into Face book (and I NEVER thought I would be) that is a lot of comments. What they were about was the big surprise.

My FB friends were fighting, arguing, apologizing, restating, one even called for, "DIANE, HELP." You see, one person, well, how do I say this...went verbally postal. She began threatening people, saying she was calling the police on them, recording them (HUH??), and accusing ME of making up that I played bridge, that any 98 year-old woman existed, that *I* existed (she claimed I was actually this other friend of mine on FB, and in fact claimed that to HER, got into it with HER on yet another thread I started about J Lo & Marc divorcing --how heterosexuals are ruining civilization, but I spelled civilization wrong and that blew the joke for crazy-lady...I REALLY need to get those new glasses!!) and she swore that I had posted the same complaint about a 98 year old bridge player two years ago, she kept a history and again, she was calling the cops. "...the typo police?" my new FB friend asked.

It was just so insane and I felt terrible that I was away, unable to speak (type) to these accusations, defend my friends and block crazy from my FB before she upset every nice friend I have on there. Plus I started thinking THEY might believe her and wonder if *I* was the crazy-lady.

Well, I got to thinking, how DOES one prove on FB or blogs that they are "real?" (She didn't seem to care that one commenter KNEW who I was speaking of , but that could have been staged?) Were all the photos of me and my family/friends not proof enough? I suppose they could just be any photos. I was hoping one of my FBers(ooo, did I coin a new word?) would comment, "I know Diane is real!" But, they came late to the party. This concept, the Internet world of virtual people, has befuddled me. It was one of the reasons I wanted to meet some of my fellow bloggers last year, both to prove I was real and to find out how "real" they were!

I found out they were all VERY real, except for one who wants to keep a pseudonym (which, if I had a brain, I should have done myself), and even that blogger is as real as they come, by that I mean what they write on their blogs is truth, their photos are not doctored---it restored my faith in 'humanity on the Internet'. (Sure, there will be a few liars, but true in life as well.)

So, crazy lady, if you happen to read this (I blocked her from my FB, though she still emailed me and called me every horrible name in my book, selfish, liar, fraud, faker...) there I am at a meeting and that is why I couldn't "get right back" to your accusations on FB. I really am ME. I really have MS. I really play bridge. And IF I was even ON FB two years ago, I may have been talking about the bff of THIS 98 year old who is a year different in age, and once gave me as much flack as her bff. And THAT is just all too complicated to go into on FB.

I'm tellin' ya, I should have stayed off FB...it is very addicting, just like coffee at Starbuck's and chats with new friends there.

The MS Brain at Sleep and Play

In 1990 when I was diagnosed with MS, my doctor also found a football sized tumor in my uterus...2 weeks later. Within 2 weeks of my MS diagnosis I was in the hospital recovering from a hysterectomy. The tumor was benign. My hands were messed up then, shakey, uncoordinated, I couldn't write. Then, in the hospital, I had a dream.





In the dream I was writing perfectly. When I left the hospital after 3 days, yep, I could write again. Perfectly.





Flash forward to 2011. The lady upstairs (90-something) plays her piano. I love it. It is as if she has heard me singing beneath her, because she plays many songs I love: A Kiss is Just a Kiss, Younger Than Springtime, Everything's Coming Up Roses---you get the idea. So, I had a dream.





In the dream I was playing the piano, perfectly. Playing much better than I had during any of my piano lessons (a couple months) when I was ten years old.





Our social room here has a piano. It is old, torn keys, out of tune mostly, but I have been eyeing it for some time. I got behind it, can't reach the pedals, my left hand is crooked, my right fingers are out of sync. I began playing with my right hand. I played "Doe a Deer..." from The Sound of Music. (I was so excited I wanted to cry.) Then something I had never tried before: Younger Than Springtime. I did it. I played it. One hand, but all fingers. I just played it. "Like a pair of birds that burst into song."





Such is the mystery of multiple sclerosis. Remember this, no matter what it has taken from you, don't hesitate to try something you can't image you can do. And I believe in the power of our brains to make paths during sleep. Never stop talking to your brain. Mine wanted to write and play the piano. Sweet dreams.

1937 Photo of Car Trip to Calif from Indiana

Aunt Violet, her dog, and her longtime companion heading out from Fort Wayne, IN to California. The photo was marked, "1937." That is Ivah looking out the window. See the Indiana farm in the background?

Aunt Vi always had a nice car. She loved to travel across country. Ivah had a brother in San Diego. They spent a lot of time there.

When I left in my AMC Gremlin for Michigan, Aunt Vi stood on her porch and said, "You will be back. Mom always said, we leave, but we always come home." I just smiled, knowing that *I* would never be back.

No matter how many people agreed that Aunt Vi and I were "two peas in a pod," I was very different from her in many ways. We were two peas, but never in the same pod.

Love that car!

Obama's Weird Political Philosophy in Vegas

Casino owner extraordinaire, Steve Wynn blasted President Obama for making this the worst business environment in his lifetime. Uh-huh. He says, among many broken chip comments, that heath care costs etc., are putting a wet blanket on businesses and his customers are not happy.

"I'm telling you that the business community in this company is frightened to death of the weird political philosophy of the President of the United States," Wynn spouted, "and until he is gone , everybody's going to be sitting on their thumbs."

Uh-huh, this from a man whose stock is at over $170 a share, up $6/share this early morning, and whose unhappy customers are loaded with enough money to gamble it away. Poor guy might have to PAY for his many employee's health care.

Since I can no longer afford a weekly $1 lotto ticket anymore, forgive me if I find HIS weird philosophy nothing more than the gamesmanship of big business. He would EAT small business for lunch if he could and his CONCERN for his soon to be shafted customers seems to be little more than a fixed slot machine.

GIMME A BREAK!

Coming Out Isn't Just for Gays and Lesbians

There are no other gay people at my assisted living home that I know of, but I overheard, "We came out yesterday..."

It then came to my attention that a couple whose son is gay had come out to another resident whose adult child is gay. In fact I have known of other gay adult children whose parents/parent reside here, but only by word of mouth and observation.

Hetero parents are in the closet across most of the U.S., especially those from a certain generation. Nowadays they have PFLAG (Parents, Families and Friends of Lesbians and Gays). My mother never had that and probably wouldn't have attended a meeting if she could have.

While my mother accepted me for who I was, there was no denying that I was an embarrassment to her. We never spoke of the elephant in the room. She met and loved my partner, sent us anniversary cards, but NEVER spoke about me to others. I lived in Seattle, that was it. Did it hurt that I embarrassed her? You bet. But, my mother was easily embarrassed, so not a big surprise. If she were 40 today, I think she would be out there voting for gay marriages, maybe she would mention me to some, but not all---even being a Democrat in Indiana was not something she boasted about...but not because it embarrassed her.

I never gave "coming out" for our friends, family, parents much thought---but I can see how difficult it must be. I wonder if on National Coming Out Day, they too decide whether or not to brave it. That seems so sad to me. Why must others make our lives so hard? We all just want to be loved by those we love. Gay people are so horrible that just KNOWING and NOT HATING one is show great disdain by society. I'm sure some of my blog readers don't mention to certain people that they like or read my blog. I suppose to some I will always be an embarrassment.

Please, if you have a gay child or friend and you can't talk about them---get in touch with PFLAG in your area. Even if you show your the gay person in your life that you accept them, they will know if you are embarrassed by or ashamed of the relationship...and it hurts.

Come out!

Lady Gaga Wheelchair Art Gross or Welcome?

Lady Gaga was in a wheelchair again, on stage in Sydney, Australia, and some in the audience threw eggs at her to show their disapproval. Once again (she is in a wheelchair in her video for Paparazzi) members of the disability community are expressing outrage.

I am a strong supporter of freedom of art. Art is a person's innermost interpretation of some reality or fantasy, truth or fiction. Robert Mapplethorpe always comes to my mind during such discussions of an artists freedom to express. There was a big ta-do over his raw photos of naked men and yes, suggestive FLOWERS. Mostly the outrage came from fundamentalist and anti-gay types. At my job, I posted postcards of his work and had many co-workers (some very religious types) tell me how beautiful the flower was. All they saw was a flower. I got a good laugh out of that.

Lady Gaga is an artist and a damn fine one at that. She was a mermaid on stage, in a wheelchair, since mermaids have no legs and all...does this upset me since I must use a wheelchair all the time? GIMME A BREAK Hey! I say anytime people are talking about people who must use wheelchairs, it is a good thing. Some 12 year old will be talking to another 12 year old and asking, "What's the big deal?" Then they will discuss it, hear and read more about it---I like that. I exist and I am tired of being in the closet.

A friend called me when the TV show Glee began, "There is a character in a wheelchair!" I checked it out---yawn. My main thought was, "I hope he is really disabled." (He isn't. Sigh.) That is insulting to me, but then so is heterosexual actors playing homosexual parts. It is all black face.
But Lady Gaga as a Mermaid? GIMME A BREAK

If anyone can enlighten our mostly able-bodied world, it is Lady Gaga with her wide reach and brilliant artistic visions. One day I predict she will do just that, because we are truly "monsters" in many people's eyes. We are Lady Gaga's peeps.

Many seniors in the retirement community I live in recoil at the mere MENTION of a wheelchair and would rather risk their lives by falling than use one. I find the younger generation sees things differently. But, the world has not embraced wheelchair users yet. I still can't get through the DOORS of the restrooms at most of my doctor's offices. It seems to architects that the ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act passed in 1990) was just a fad. So am I bothered that people are talking about art with a wheelchair in it? NO. More, more, more!

Creepy Tin Type, Devils, Two Women, In Good Shape

This is an old tin type that I found among Aunt Vi's photos she sent me before she died. Aunt Vi was born in 1907 and has left me many photos from the 1800s. My question is: What do I do with this? Can I get any money for it? I have no idea who those women are and the background is soooo strange, enlarge it if you can---looks like devils or spiritual creepy stuff...or am I crazy? Any ideas and what do YOU see in the background???

Summer Lake Fun with Family at Pretty Lake

My mom had two weeks off each year when we were kids. (my older brothers and me) She would rent a large lake cottage on "Pretty Lake," and what a blast!

My brothers knew how to swim, but my mom didn't know how and I had no swimming father to teach me. (Why didn't he teach Mom? Hmmm) I stayed mostly on a rock near the front and occasionally got an inner tube with Mom to go out a bit further.

Beach Boy's music was blasted over the lake. Cold chocolate cola (never saw it anywhere else, more like milk than soda...), plenty of sand, teens splashing around---fun.

There was a long toboggan that the teens rode down. Whenever I hear The Beach Boys I think of Pretty Lake and the rare two weeks I saw my mother so carefree.

MS WORD OF THE DAY: CLONUS

Clonus is what happens when your nerves don't send messages to the brain that your muscle needs to stop holdind a deep tendon reflex, one that should happen in concert with your reflexes to contract and relax your muscles. This causes your foot, leg, knee, wrist, ankle to jerk when it shouldn't.

Testing for clonus at the ankle is often one of the first tests for multiple sclerosis that a doctor will do. My doctor did that and my foot started stomping up and down like crazy---and I couldn't stop it. After a few years of MS, my knee to foot started bouncing out of control. Very scary.

I finally taught myself, using yoga principles of going INTO the affected area, how to make it stop. I was DX MS in 1990 and now can stop any clonus. My clonus is very position--it happens mostly when my foot/knee/leg is in a certain position. Avoid, and embrace to control, has worked very well for me.

Not surprisingly, clonus comes from the Greek for "violent, confused motion," and that says it well. Have someone hold your foot firmly in the middle, if it bounces up and down then you might want to see a doctor. (Unless you already have MS.) Other neurological conditions can also bring on clonus.

When Gay People Try to Choose Heterosexuality: My Story

When the love of my life dumped me for my brother, I was devastated. Long story. The year was 1975.


But thus began my decision, yes, being heterosexual is a CHOICE for some, to find a man and become normal. Many gay people do this--try to not be gay. I hope things have changed, but back then I bet 99% of gay people gave not being gay a shot.





Luckily, at 18 I seemed to suddenly become attractive to the male species. I started watching men, the hunk across the street, who washed his pick-up without a shirt, I'm pretty sure now that he was gay. I hung out with my cousin and trashed on gay people. I hung out with my hetro friend from school and her baby. I even asked my "love of my life" to find a man for me.





She did. His name was Sam. His hobby was Cameros. He took me to met his parents, they had a bungalow with an entire living room wall covered with a, er, picture/painting/wallpaper of the woods. I saw that and thought, "Diane, you have entered Hell." His parents loved me. His sister loved me. Within a few weeks he was talking marriage. I couldn't imagine my life of Hell, but maybe I just didn't get it. Kissing him was like kissing a wall and his conversations were all about his cars. I was going to be bored to death.





Then one day he drove me out into the depths of Indiana back roads, all dirt, and stopped his shiny Camaro. He pointed to a white house way out in a field, nothing around for miles.


With a huge smile on his face, he said, "Diane, one day we will have a place just like that!"


That was last time I ever saw him. (By my choice.)





Off I went to a new college, St. Francis, a private school, but I loved their beautiful campus and thought maybe I should just be a nun. (No, I wasn't Catholic.) They had a good drama program there and I quickly became the stage manager for a well-respected college director. maybe all the God-fearing people were right and maybe God would save my gay soul on this heavenly campus.





First, let me say, except for gay bars and a women's golf tournament I was a security guard at, I had never been in a place with so many lesbians as that college! From the jocks on the basketball team to the novice nun's whose dorm rooms I cleaned, as part of my work-study job, it was Lesbos nation. And not one of them ever gave me a second look.





Waiting for class, one fair Fall day, I watched a blind student get off the city bus. I thought, "I would date him. I get a good vibe from him." He never gave me, no pun intended, a second look. But, unbeknownst to me, another student had his eye on me---big time.





His name was Dale and he was that guy who raises his hand at every question, knowing the answer to perfection. After finding no true love at St. Francis (and THAT was my goal from age 13 on), I quit and took a job with the U.S. Postal service. Walking through the break room during my first week, a man called out, "Hi."





He was eating alone at a lunch table. Okay, I am supposed to be friendly. "Hi." He then invited me to sit with him.





"Do you remember me?" he asked. I didn't. It turned out he was Dale and he proceeded to court me and say he loved me at first sight in that St. Francis classroom. We would meet for breaks and in his car among all the other employee cars, the scent of pot filling the air, he asked if he could kiss me.





Okay, this could be the ONE, I thought. He was not unattractive looking, a former school football player, VERY intelligent, and he was crazy about me. He was about 7 years older than me and owned his own house. He put his arm around me, "I know if you don't like this kiss it is all over." I reassured him, hey, it is just one kiss.





He was right. That kiss was like kissing a dead frog. Was this to be my life? No more sparks? No more hair standing on end excitement? Still...he was much better than Sam, maybe this is how it is with men and women, maybe it will get better.





We worked the night shift and met to walk to a nearby McDonald's for a burger. On the way he told me he was married! "You probably wonder why I speak of going to movies alone. It is because she is legally blind." Legally blind...I would not understand what that meant for 11 years, and them I would wonder: Did his wife have MS too?





He went on to say he had 3 kids, he married his wife when she got pregnant after high school and he planned to divorce her. My disgusting father's life was being thrust on me. I, in an instant, became "the other woman." Kill me now.





The big secret was on me, every other employee knew and were gossiping like crazy about us. Dale met my family, they liked him, he looked very much like my oldest brother who I despised. Yep, the perfect storm. UGH and ICK, but he asked me to marry him and I thought his smart genes and similar looks to mine would make for a terrific baby. I took it to the village vote.





Cousin Virginia said I HAD to marry him. (His being married was not mentioned by me.) She was very lonely after her husband died, and, "You don't want to end up without a man!"





My mom kept very quiet.





Aunt Vi was supportive, "It's your decision, but I've been fine without a man."





My younger brother just made smart ass jokes as was his M.O., until Mom spoke up with anger, "Your sister is asking for your advice!"





In his slow, deep, serious drawl he said, "Don't marry him unless you love him." (Deep, cough.)





I left racked with confusion. Later at home I said to my mom, "Mom, I just think I won't be able to stop wanting something else." (A line said much better in The Thorn Birds.)





"Then don't DO it." she replied. And that was all I ever said about him.





But, we had exchanged rings, I went on birth control, bought a full-size bed, and invited him over for the night. I played romantic music. He took a shower. I walked into the bathroom after he was done and he had said, "I've never taken a bath before!" (Huh? He meant only showers.)


The bathroom had water EVERYWHERE, it was a mess! DIANE, wake up! You plan to live with your mother AND father? An adulterer and a mess?





He saw I was displeased and swept me up in his arms, "I'll do better next time." No romantic music in the world was going to make this guy attractive to me now. I had to end it.





The next day I was headed out to visit my best friend. Dale insisted that I stay with him. INSISTED??? Seriously? "If you go, I won't be here when you come back." a THREAT? Seriously? Wow, this man didn't know me at all. Even though he said he had cut out pictures of ME for years and then he FOUND me at St. Francis. (Ok, dude, just freaky now.) Several things I had let pass with him. He spoke of building a home underground, which I found intriguing; but then he took me to "The Parade of Homes," a bunch expensive suburban houses and said ala, Camaro Sam, "One day this will all be yours." ICK UGH YUCK





I left and on return his keys to my apt. were sitting on the porch. I then did something very profound. Straight through my apt. I walked in wide strides, and straight out the back door, down the stairs, through the yard, into the alley, across the next street and as I reached the "missing eye ball" alley (Stop right here, if you are an avid reader of my blog, you know what this means. OK, fine, see, when I was a kid, some man apparently lost his glass eye in that grass alley; my brothers used to try and scare me by saying it was an eye, so I always was on alert whenever that path was taken. Now I think it was just an urban myth.) I began throwing and tearing off anything attached to me. My rings, watch, wallet, glasses, coins, keys, all went flying. I WANTED to strip naked, but was starting to cool down. If you don't understand why I did this, then just read Freud.

On my walk back towards home, I collected all the discarded items I could find. But I felt free. No more choosing an unnatural life for me. I would rather not exist than live being something I'm not.

Before going into my home, I sat on the back steps, looking at the old, dirty, peeling paint on the old, dirty, broken stairs. Where would I find that person who would make me want to live again, make sparks within me? Maybe I would be alone the rest of my life. I was twenty. My world felt bleak, but at least I would live an honest life. The nasty stairs were my mother's baggage.

The next day a letter from Dale was left at my door. He accused me of being a quitter. He said I would end up just like my mom, aunt, and those women, playing cards, never leaving Ft. Wayne and never amounting to a thing. Oooooo, THAT was the final straw. The thought of being old and playing cards all day was appealing to me, plus, I would NOT take that path.

So that was my attempt at being heterosexual. What? If I had just found the right guy? Really? Well, I made my choice to be happy, to be true to my nature, to not settle. When gay people chose to be not gay, it never has a happy ending. No matter how they spin it, in the dark of the night, alone with their brains, they are wondering---could I have been happy if...

MS and Polio Cure: Stop with the ADVICE Already

Can you believe that after 21 years people are still telling me how to cure my MS?

Usually starts with, "I have a ____(friend, cousin, neighbor) whose ____(daughter, sister, father) has MS and they _____(let you imagination run wild.)

GIMME A BREAK ALREADY

Look, well-meaning people, if there were ANY cure, then there would be no more MS. Get it?

Think Polio and Jonas Salk. That was a cure and Polio is all but gone. I asked a 30 year old the other day what she knew about polio. NOTHING. "Isn't that some old time illness?"
Indeed it was. Egyptians drew it on cave walls.

No diet, no exercise regimen, no religion, no exotic trek cured polio. A scientist found a cure for polio. A medical graduate from NYU decided to research a cure for polio. So unless you know about such a person, with all due respect and no harsh attitude intended---SHUT UP.

Gay Security Guard Faith Healer at Drag Show

Little know factoid about Diane: I once was about to become a preacher/faith healer.

Yep, I had forgotten all about it until a blog friend brought it to my mind. The story goes like this:

During my job as a security guard at a Bethlehem Steel plant in Seattle, there was a shop steward dyke there, real butch, and she was a preacher at a church in a small town outside of Seattle. One day I was eating my lunch in my car and saw the "light of the Lord," and believed he was calling me to preach.

That led to the butch, who I was sort of friends with, inviting me to her church. She was just starting it with another preacher man. It was in a small house. Folding chairs were the pews and I watched the current healer do his thing. I was unimpressed. The light left me. I quit the church. I have no idea what denomination it was.

Later I was invited to the home of the butch, whose fem wife had a couple dozen cats and said she could tell fortunes. Now THAT was something I was very familiar with and can spot a fake from yards away. She was a fake. I never went to their house again.

They, along with another guard who was happily married man, to a woman (Oh, cool, we have to explain more now!), took me to my first drag show. The Golden something...I recall big portions of Chinese food and one drag queen embarrassing the straight guard. That in turn made me embarrassed for him---last drag show I ever went to.

Years after I first started that job, I asked the dyke how she knew I was gay.

"Because you carried your wallet in your back pocket."

Wow, you can't believe all the things I have learned about me from other gay people.

Playing Baseball with MS and Wanting Stem Cells

Baseball season is in full swing and I once was on a team from my job with the City of Seattle. That's me swinging the bat. I hated baseball. Never was any good at it.

My diagnosis of MS was about a year away in these photos. I remember one of my team mates shouting, "Faster! Faster!" as I ran around the bases. I could feel my legs saying, "Uh-uh, sorry."

It was a hot day. Twenty plus years later I hear a voice shouting, "Faster!" but, my body keeps responding slower.

Stem cells show great success with the human heart. Waiting for my nerve, myelin, stem cells...faster, faster.

Stop Under Breast Rash. Red Breast Not Cancer.

Face book sent me an invite to a bra burning. Seriously? I lived through that in the '70s.

As soon as I retired, I decided to never wear a bra again. My mother once said to me, "How can a daughter of mine have such small breasts?" Well, I really think I am normal.

On the Dr. Oz TV show, he was talking about ways to not get breast rashes, where we with breastes (tee hee) sweat. Oh my gosh, he had on "experts" and all these ways to stay dry there, including many different bras and pads. GIMME A BREAK.

A few years after I retired, my breast area became bright red. Of course, being the health blogger I am, and so savvy, I did the best thing--I GOOGLED it. hahaha BIG MISTAKE.

Google made me certain I had breast cancer. Saw my doctor that week. It was just a rash from not wearing a bra. I told him I would not wear a bra. He had no suggestions, but gave me a prescription for cortisone. (UGH)

Soooo...here is an expert speaking, FOUR WORDS: A and D Ointment. Never had a problem since. Duh, you moms know how it helps diaper rash, same idea.

Soooo...if you are ever so inclined to live bra free---a dab of A & D will do ya.

Two Old Lesbians Watching Fireworks

Boom and bang, ooo and awww, the fireworks in front of my apartment, just off a lake, again were spectacular! It was chilly though and we cuddled up under a throw. (More romantic that way anyway.)

Music was played in the background, Katy Perry's "Fireworks," John Lennon's "Imagine," ran the gamut. In 32 years this has been the first time we both were healthy enough to sit together and watch...I can't believe it. Takes my breath away, how difficult our lives have been, together...but still we are here. BOOM!