Featured

Here’s to the “Good Ole Boys!”


Sunset Party Key WestIt’s All About the “Good Ole Boys”

Dearest Readers:

Today, I am writing to you to share a few isolated, heartbreaking experiences I’ve endured while standing up for my rights and the rights of all women.

While I will not name the organization specifically I’ve fought with and lost, I will say, this organization is nothing but a group of “Good Ole Boys,” who will do nothing but stand tall for the “good of the order…” Whatever that means! The phrase “for the good of the order,” relates to parliamentary procedures, or “Robert’s Rule of Order.” Even the women who have been ‘allowed’ or should I say, “permitted to join” these organizations as a member do believe in the “good of the order.” In the beginning, these women had to make a lot of noise, including a lawsuit, just to join these organizations. Yes, for the “good of the order!”

But? What is a good ole boy? Simple. Perhaps some of you have never heard the expression, “Oh, he’s a good ole boy!” We hear it lots in the South! When I was a child, I didn’t understand the terminology, until we moved in with our grandparents and I could see, my grandfather was most definitely a “good ole boy!” Papa, as we called him, was extremely protective and supportive of his male friends and relatives. After all, “good ole boys” are birds of a feather, and they flock together. Women aren’t appreciated or respected by the “good ole boys!”

Good ole boys believe that women are ‘second-class.’ Women belong in the home. Having them babies and taking care of the house. We were supposed to cook and clean and be quiet!

Although Papa tried to train me in the belief of the “Good Ole Boys,” I chose to be my own woman! I had big dreams. After all, I’m a feminist and so proud of it! Lots of Southerners still believe in the terminology of “Good Ole Boys.” As for this household, we do not practice “Good Ole Boy” terminology.

I should share, I’ve dealt with “good ole boys” all of my life. When I was 15, a “good ole boy” a maternal Uncle, wanted to get a bit friendly with me. He was a Deacon in the Pentecostal Church. He thought it would be fun to go down a dirt road with me and pick blackberries. This road was deserted. No houses. No farms. No one around. How convenient for my uncle. He stopped his truck, moving his hands all over me. I screamed. I cried. No one heard me. Then, I hit him hard right between his legs. He screamed. Cussed. Is this the behavior of a “good ole boy” or a deacon in the church?”

Suddenly his strength was gone. He grabbed himself and moaned. He was hurting.

Good. If you touch me again. I’ll hurt you again!

I jumped out of his truck and ran down the red clay roads. My asthma got the best of me due to the dust flying in my face as I ran. My uncle caught up with me and pushed me into the truck.

“If you touch me again, I’ll hit you harder, exactly where I did before.”

He kept his hands on the steering wheel.

That day, I suppose you can say, a 15-year-old, innocent girl won! My uncle agreed to drive me home, and he said he would not touch me again.

Before I jumped out of his truck to run into the apartment, he said: “If you tell anybody I touched you, they won’t believe you. After all – I’m a deacon in the church!”

If you ever try to touch me again, I’ll hurt you. I wear high heels to church now and I’ll kick you with my high heels! No one’s ever gonna touch me like that again! One day you’ll be gone. I hope you burn in Hell!

Those were the last words I ever spoke to that uncle. Never did I share with my family what he did to me until the day he died. When he died, my mother phoned me, letting me know he was dead and I should come home.

“Home? I’m already at home. I’m not coming to his funeral. I hope he burns in Hell,” I said to her, “And if you are asking me to send flowers, I’ll send black roses!”

I must say, when a woman is touched or groped in a certain way, she never forgets it.

I’ve remained on guard. Never wanting to make a scene.

 

GOOD. OLE. BOYS?

I must say, these organizations organized and managed by a bunch of men, or shall I say, “good ole Southern boys,” probably know I am a writer, well-seasoned and professional. I speak my mind, and I research passionately to know what I communicate. On three occasions I’ve been asked if I would consider writing and editing their newsletters. I laughed. Shook my head and said: “I will not consider doing it as a volunteer, nor will I join “the good of the order,” to be “permitted to write your newsletter. I will only consider it for $600 — monthly, payable in advance.”

Of course, those “good ole boys” laughed. They’d never pay anyone $600 just to write a newsletter! Such are the actions of these antiquated, good ole boys organizations. A woman writing a newsletter? Scandalous isn’t it!

For eight years I’d written newsletters for “good ole boys” organizations. Those newsletters won many awards. I never received anything, with exception of knowing those publications shared important information, keeping the non-profit ‘good ole boys’ clubs well informed. After one decided to censor my newsletter, I resigned. I saw one of their newsletters recently and I laughed. Only two pages, filled with too many typos and grammatical errors. Yes, they needed me to write for them, but I refused to share my talents for free.

I should mention I am a freelance writer and editor, but the “free” in freelance does not mean I am free! While I guarantee I can improve newsletters, especially grammatically, I would not consider ever writing for free again. Not even as a volunteer.

On one occasion I had an experience where one of the men at this “Good ole boys” fraternity wanted to get just a little too close. He spoke to me while running his hand down my right side, just a little too close for comfort. How I regret not making a scene on that night. What I should’ve done is to push him away from my body, and I should’ve screamed so everyone in attendance could see and hear what he was doing. Regretfully, I did not. I conducted myself as a lady. May I never do this again. The next time some drunken man approaches me to get a little close, I plan to hit him exactly where it hurts! This action will no doubt drop him to the floor! And then, he will never attempt to touch me again.

While I’ve had these incidents happen before, my husband has always jumped up and knocked the guy to the ground. While he might be short, when he is angry and sees me threatened, he becomes The Incredible Hulk. He’s knocked many guys down. After this incident, I asked Phil to let me handle it. How I wish I hadn’t! Deciding to file a grievance – a sexual harassment complaint. The good ole boys were not exactly happy with this complaint. Oh well! What I really regret not doing is calling 911 for the police to arrest the culprit on sexual assault! Then, I could file a lawsuit! Sometimes, it just doesn’t pay to conduct myself like Julia Sugarbaker! If this scenario ever happens again – WARNING – I will hit him exactly where it hurts!

Meanwhile, when I was in attendance for different events, each time with my husband, suddenly everyone wanted to know who I was. I smiled, introduced myself to all of those gossipy women and, dare I say it again – “good ole boys,” and I exchanged pleasantries with them. Yes, I noticed people whispering into each other’s ears, and I saw fingers pointed at me. I simply smiled and waved. It was obvious I would get nowhere with my complaint. After all, the “good ole boys” seem to laugh it off and cover their butts. I had nothing to be ashamed of, and I was determined to stand my ground.

Unfortunately, no one would come forward as a witness to what happened. No one wanted to get involved. You probably know the type. My philosophy is – if You see something, you say something, but there are many women who allow their husbands to make those decisions for them. Thank God I am a woman who stands her ground, refusing to allow my husband to make my decisions! My husband supported my complaints 100%, BUT – in the “good ole boys” world, since there were no OTHER witnesses, it is just a He said…She said…and in the ‘good ole boys’ antiquated world, I was treated as second-class!

On another occasion, the same ‘good ole boy’ – drunker and nastier, not to mention obnoxiously LOUD, attempted to humiliate me and a few of my friends. Yes, I filed another complaint!

I was told he would be suspended for a year. He wasn’t. I was told I had to meet with him personally to ‘hash this out.’ I did. All he did was deny. DENY…AND DENY AGAIN! He called me a crybaby.  And he screamed at me so much, verbally abusing me. I crumbled. Yes, I cried. How I wish I hadn’t. I lived with verbal abuse as a child. Anytime someone verbally abuses me, I crumble.

I was told if we did not settle the matter on that night, then I would have to file another complaint with the same committee I filed the ORIGINAL complaint. A vicious cycle! Regretfully, I agreed to disagree.

If I heard it once, I probably heard it about a million times. You are not a member. You do not have the right to file a complaint!

Gee! I was under the impression this was the United States of America.

Not where the “Good ole boys” reside. Yes, the “Good ole boys,” won, only because they are an archaic fraternity who will not step into the 21-First Century. After all, they’re “good ole boys!”

Perhaps I’ll share more about these incidents later, in my blog, or maybe I’ll pitch a few ideas to national women’s magazines! Now, that’s an idea I should consider!

While it is true, I agreed to move forward, I did not agree to stay quiet or to shut my mouth. That is not my style! I shall continue standing up to share my story with others. After all, I am a feminist and a proud woman who will always voice her opinions.

As for the “good ole boys?” Let’s just say; they’re still stuck in the 19th Century!

 

 

 

What Exactly Is A Good Ol’ Boy?


Dearest Readers:

Silly me. I thought the year 2018 was a portion of the Twenty-first Century. Not exactly where non-profit organizations are concerned.

I’ve dealt with non-profits for years, volunteering to write and serve as the editor for many of their publications, including newsletters. To be respectful here, I will not name the non-profits I’ve worked for, but there were many. My newsletters won awards for a military non-profit, for a not-for-profit school, and a few more organizations.

During my years as volunteer editor, never did I get compensated for any of the publications, research and writing, editing. Not even a you did a good job from several ‘good ol’ boy’ organizations.

Every newsletter I created had to be approved by the powers that be, aka the good ol’ boys. This delayed the process, but I didn’t mind. If someone complained to me that their newsletter was late, I referred them to the ‘good ol’ boys.’ After all, they had the final word.

On one occasion, I submitted a newsletter for ‘approval’ only to be told I had to remove the news about a soldier getting killed in Afghanistan. He was a resident of South Carolina, but not a local for the publication. I was told to remove his story. It wasn’t ‘newsworthy…’ And why not, I asked?

The reply I received was “You only need to write about our area, not the State of South Carolina.”

A soldier who lived in South Carolina died fighting for our country, but we should not share the story of his bravery, courage and loss? Isn’t this America?

Silly me. I was under the impression in America we could voice our opinions and tell the story. To say the least, I was flabbergasted!

Censorship!

Humph! Let me rethink ‘censorship:’ Censorship, the suppression of words, images, or ideas that are “offensive,” happens whenever some people succeed in imposing their personal political or moral values on others. Censorship can be carried out by the government as well as private pressure  groups.

https://www.aclu.org/other/what-censorship

As a writer, I do not believe in censorship. After dealing with the “good ol’ boys” I chose to resign as the newsletter editor. It simply wasn’t worth wasting my time on a bunch of “good ol’ boys” who wanted everything ‘their way, or the highway.’

I’ve had more opportunities to work with non-profits since that time. So far, all of them approaching me wanted me to work for free since ‘a freelance writer doesn’t get paid.’ How dare them!

What? More ‘good ol’ boys.’ I believe it is sad when so many organizations want everything their way and they refuse to listen to the opinions of a professional writer, or members of their organization.

I must admit, the publications they’ve written and published are always filled with typos, improper grammar,  and mostly writing that makes an impression. A BAD impression!

So, here’s to the ‘good ol’ boys.’ It really is sad when they refuse to move into the 21st-century!

 

Today I Met Mama Grinch…


Dearest Readers:

People are so interesting, especially during the holiday season. About 30 minutes ago, I was standing in the overcrowded line at Dollar Tree. I noticed a woman slowly pushing her cart into the line. She was an elderly woman with gray hair. Her face was wrinkled, reminding me of a crinkled road map. She had an angry smirk on her mouth. Maybe Santa Claus brought her a bunch of coal this year. She hugged the cart, probably for support. I could easily imagine this woman using this cart to keep her balance.  Of course, being the shy person that I am NOT, I spoke to her to let her know the end of the line was several people behind me.

She glared at me and spat: “I know where the end of the line is. You don’t have to tell me that.”

“Well excuse me, Ma’am. Happy New Year.”

When the second cashier opened a register, I kept my eyes on it. If that woman even attempted to break into the line to get service quicker, I was ready for her. Even with my boots on I knew I could move quicker than Mama Grinch. I was prepared to tell the cashier other people have been in the line longer than she. That woman is not the ‘next person in line.’

Was I wrong? NO. Was I rude? NO. I was prepared to speak up.

I was raised to respect my elders, but today – I think I’ve lost a little respect. My message to this slump shouldered, stout, grouchy Mama Grinch is simple: “Just because you are old doesn’t mean you need to be ugly!”

Think I’ll pray for Mama Grinch today, adding her to a growing list I pray for every night. Another little tidbit of advice taught to me by my maternal grandmother. As an elderly woman I never heard her be rude to anyone. As for Mama Grinch, maybe she needs to stand in a corner and change her rude, angry attitude.

Isn’t it sad to see so many elderly people so angry with themselves? Maybe Mama Grinch was all alone on Christmas Day.  So sad.

Yes, I’ll pray for all the angry elderly woman, hopeful she will find peace and happiness.

Happy New Year!

 

DSC_0027

Steroids…Weight Gain…Weight Watchers…


IMG_0572

Dearest Readers:

Have you ever gotten so ill that your doctor prescribed steroids? Years ago, my doctor prescribed Prednisone to me. After taking it, I noticed my cognitive abilities were affected. I could not sleep. During the day, I was wired, and while driving, I drove off the road! Fortunately, no one was nearby!

I shared these side effects with my doctor, telling him I would refuse any prescriptions for Prednisone. What I should’ve told him was I will not take steroids! After my steroid consumption in June, I will let him know the side effects and I will not take ANY STEROIDS again! I mentioned to him how I struggled to communicate a simple sentence while taking Prednisone! Since I am a writer, my cognitive abilities must be sharp! For the life of me now, I cannot recall what the name of the drug was, although I do remember it started with a D. I took this drug faithfully, anticipating I would be better within a few days. I finished the medication and was still so weak, so ill, and coughing so hard, so I phoned my doctor. He refilled the same prescription.

Two weeks later, I was still sick, but getting better. My breathing meter said I was stronger, in the green area of the meter, and I was feeling better, with one exception.

I wanted to eat anything and everything within my home. I actually felt as if I would eat the kitchen cabinets IF they were flavored and edible. During one day, I went to the pantry, finding Ritz crackers. I took a sleeve of the crackers out, eating them in one sitting. Eating like this is NOT something I do. I joined Weight Watchers years ago. Before getting so sick, I had two pounds to lose to hit my first goal. Not the official goal at Weight Watchers to become lifetime, but my official first goal since it would be the number I weighed when I graduated from high school.

What is wrong with me? I am so hungry and I cannot stop this ridiculous eating! 

I phoned my husband. “Ice Cream. Ice Cream. I want ice cream.”

That evening, he brought ice cream home. I was eating everything I should not eat, and I was not tracking anything.

I glanced at my calendar, recognizing I had missed three Weight Watchers meetings. When I returned, I gained almost five pounds. At first, I blamed the gain on the steroids. Believe me when I say they have a serious side effect. Constant hunger and weight gain!

I was furious with myself. I cannot blame the steroid for making me gain weight, after all, I am the one who controls what goes into my mouth. Meanwhile, I’m still eating. Finally I realized I had to get control.

According to the Mayo Clinic website, http://www.mayoclinic.org/steroids/ART-20045692?pg=2, oral steroids, commonly referred to as Corticosteroids, some of the side effects are:

  • Elevated pressure in the eyes (glaucoma)
  • Fluid retention, causing swelling in your lower legs
  • High blood pressure
  • Problems with mood, memory, behavior and other psychological effects
  • Weight gain, with fat deposits in your abdomen, face and the back of your neck

My eyes were affected with blurred vision. I did not notice fluid retention in my legs, but I certainly gained weight and I was furious with myself. My blood pressure increased, along with my blood sugars. On several mornings, my blood sugar was over 200.

I was definitely moody. Snapping at my husband over the least little thing, and when the phone rang when I recognized it was another telemarketer telling me I had won another cruise…Would I like to attend a seminar about hearing issues, time shares, how to invest retirement funds, blah…blah…blah. Well, let’s just say I used a bit of colorful language telling them to stop calling this number! I started blocking almost every phone number, including two of my best friends. Fortunately, I’ve learned how to correct these errors. It certainly is quieter in my home now, without the constantly ringing telephone. Maybe we should cancel our landline!

Yep. You guessed it. Steroids were making me a B-I-T-C-H! Funny, the phone isn’t ringing much now! Thank goodness!

August 7 was exactly seven weeks since I took the last of the steroid prescription. When I see my doctor in October, I will tell him I cannot take steroids OF ANY KIND now. For me, it isn’t worth the risk. I find it interesting that medical professionals will tell us when we need to lose weight; nevertheless, when we become ill with an acute illness such as acute bronchial asthma, the professionals will prescribe steroids. The side effect of steroids is weight gain, only I’ve never had this side effect until June when I was so weak and ill.

How I pray I will remain well for a bit. I find it a bit funny that I was scheduled for ‘clinical testing’ to see if my asthma would respond to new medications. When I went for the clinical testing, my breathing was ‘too healthy’ to be considered for the clinical testing.

Suppose I’ll be happy now that I am able to breathe so much better and I can walk and exercise again! Thank you, God!

What did I learn after taking steroids? Simple. I learned that my body cannot accept them or allow them to be taken orally. For me, the side effect of weight gain and being such an arrogant maniac just isn’t worth the risk. I like myself when I am the real me…Not the B-I-T-C-H I become, thanks to steroids. Once, while in California, I saw a bumper sticker on a car. I loved it, wrote it down and practice it. It revealed:

I’m a Bitch.

B = Beautiful

I = Intelligent

T = Talented

C = Charming

H = Honest — in all honesty – the H = horny, but I changed that! There’s no need to advertise when hormones kick in!

Yeah. I suppose I could say I’m a Bitch…but a Nice One!

 

 

 

Happy Anniversary to My Husband


Dearest Readers:

Good morning, Everyone. I hope your day is splendid. I am posting something today, not to get personal wishes. Today, I am posting just to wish my husband, Phil Cooper, Happy Anniversary. We started our marriage off with many road blocks and detours. Three months after our marriage, I watched him board a plane from Charleston to Fort Dix and then to Viet Nam. Over the years, we’ve had other storms and battles, but we have always walked tall and survived. Today, is our anniversary. I will not share how many years. Just know, I was a teenage bride. Everyone in my family said our marriage would not last. They said I must be pregnant.  His family said I married him for his money? Were both families wrong! If I was pregnant at the time of our marriage, I do believe it was the longest pregnancy in history — three years, to be exact.

Isn’t it strange how cruel and vindictive some families can be! Instead of wishing us well, they criticized. Instead of taking the time to really get to know me as a wife, his mother said I ‘stole her son.’ Stole her son??? Excuse me. IF anyone stole her son, it was the United States Army!

As you know, I am a singer. My dream in life was to become a professional singer, but I lacked the confidence that I could REALLY sing, until we started going to karaoke. Repeatedly, I have people tell me I have an amazing voice and stage presence. Many times, I blink my eyes, almost in disbelief. If only I had that confidence and encouragement in my younger years.

There is a song I sing occasionally, especially when my lady friends request it. This song holds a piece of my heart. What is the song title, you say? ‘YOU DON’T OWN ME!’

“You don’t own me. Don’t try to change me in any way. You don’t own me. Don’t tie my down cause I’ll never stay…”

So symbolic to me! Why? I got married at a time where many women automatically took the name of their husband, and so I became: Mrs. Phillip R. Cooper. ?? I remember asking myself why I must address myself as Mrs. PRC. Didn’t I STILL have a name? Whatever happened to me and my maiden name? I did not like to address myself as “Mrs. Cooper.” I wanted to have my name. My independence. Just because I got married does not mean I stopped existing! All of the letters Phil wrote to me in Viet Nam were addressed to Mrs. Phillip R. Cooper. Gee. I thought I STILL had a name!

So much for my existence! Now, I address myself as Barbie Perkins-Cooper. It tickles me when others address Phil as “Mr. Perkins-Cooper!”

Maybe now he can understand how I feel! I like having my independence. Just because I married does not mean I must toss away who I am!

Today, I wish Phil and I a great anniversary. Over the years, we’ve had our share of issues. I admit, I am a most independent woman and I do not like being told what to do. What woman does? I admit, when we were newlyweds, I allowed him to dictate what to do, how to do it…How to dress…How to wear my hair…etc. ETC! In the 1980’s I finally stood up and spoke and when I did — I truly became the woman I’ve wanted to be. So

DSC_0017
Cypress Gardens

today, I will reminisce about our relationship, thankful we have worked so hard to keep our marriage intact. Tonight, we will celebrate at karaoke. I always say to others, “Marriage is truly a work-in-progress!’ And so, I will continue working. Happy Anniversary to Phil. I’ll not say how many years, but I will say — “We’ve been married forever!”

Your question to me on this night when I sing could be — “Will you sing “You Don’t Own Me.”

Maybe I will. And if I do, I probably have my stage performance ready! Just wait and see.

“You don’t own me….Don’t try to change me in any way. You don’t own me…Don’t tie me down cause I’ll never stay…”

Happy Anniversary, Phil. Thank you for all you’ve done over the years to show me I am worthy and deserving of love, and thank you for sticking it out with me, especially when I fought to rediscover my independence.

A Wake Up Call — Missing Weight Watchers Meetings…


Dearest Readers:

To those of you who follow my blog on a regular basis, I thank you. Most of you will know, I’ve been sick for over six weeks now with a severe case of bronchial asthma. The germs were germinated to me while I cared for my husband and his ‘bit of pneumonia,’ according to his doctor at Ralph H. Johnson VA Medical Center. When they diagnosed his illness, I wanted to ask: “Hey Doc. Is a ‘bit of pneumonia’ like a ‘little bit pregnant?'”

I do not think his doctors would’ve appreciated my humor so I remained quiet — for once.  Trust me. It was so difficult for me to remain quiet. One week later, my husband was well. I woke up with a sore throat on that Monday. By Tuesday morning, there was no question about it. I was definitely congested in my lungs, burning in my chest when I coughed and off to the doctor I went that afternoon. My doctor suspected I might have pneumonia. The chest x-ray revealed a normal chest. My chest normal? NEVER!

Now that I am feeling a bit better, I have chosen to do all I can to write in my blog on a regular basis. Maybe daily??? 

Today’s topic is Weight Watchers, and what I have experienced since I have missed six weekly meetings — IF I miss this week’s meeting on Thursday. Today is Tuesday, June 27, 2017. The last meeting I attended was Thursday, May 18, 2017.

Over those weeks, I have fought just to breathe. My husband is not domestic in any definition of the word. The only thing he does when I am ill is make certain I eat. When I’m ill, I usually lose weight, without trying. Simply because I cannot taste food. I have such difficulty breathing that I really do not want anything to get in the way of breathing.

Since my husband is not domesticated, I’ve actually vacuumed the house, almost on a weekly basis, while gasping for breath. He has reprimanded me big time, telling me I ‘should not be vacuuming.’ Once when he was critical of my struggles to vacuum, I attempted to scream at him, telling him he could learn to vacuum.

His reply: “I vacuum a lot.”

Are you kidding? You must be speaking of vacuuming at another place because you cannot even turn the vacuum on in this house. If there’s another woman, you can go to her…Right now!

“I’ve vacuumed a lot.”

Liar…Liar…pants on fire!

Let’s just say, since I’ve been ill, I’ve managed to overlook the lint on the carpets. Dust on the furniture. I’ve eaten sandwiches…potato chips…peanut butter…and ice cream. If you own Mayfield Ice Cream stock, maybe it’s increasing now since we’ve eaten SO MUCH ICE CREAM!

Have I tracked Weight Watchers? NOPE. I suppose one could say, I’ve probably broken the Smart Points tracking like crazy!

This Thursday will be an interesting day. How I pray I maintain and not gain. Yesterday was a wake up call for me. While I vacuumed the house I realized I was hungry. My stomach growled. I grabbed a piece of white bread. The only bread we had in the house. I coated this piece of bread with peanut butter. LOTS of peanut butter! Eating it, I realized I was still hungry. Famished. I wanted food. OK. I MUST be getting well.

I went back to the kitchen. Another piece of bread, lightly coated with Hellman’s Light Mayonnaise. I placed Boars Head London Broil on the bread. A piece of Boars Head turkey. One slice of provolone cheese, or was it two slices? I can’t remember. I’m still sick! I sat down, gobbled the food down and wanted more.

This is not me. This is not who I am. One thing I’ve learned at Weight Watchers is not to stuff my mouth full of food, all day long. 

Now, I actually recognize how addicts must feel when they crave their drug of choice. I do not do drugs, of any kind. I am not an addict. Nor am I a food addict. I rushed to my window, glanced up at the sky and I prayed for God to give me strength. I’m not an addict. Why am I doing this to myself???

After my talk with God, I felt better. Stronger. In control.

After my illness, remaining home and not being active, I’ve learned I really cannot do Weight Watchers alone. I must return to the meetings. Missing so many meetings has not kept me pro-active and accountable for what I’m eating. I must remind myself, today is a new day. I must track every bite I eat, and when I am a bit stronger, I must return to activities.

Today, like every day, I weighed. Looks like I’ve gained three pounds since this illness. I am furious with myself. I’ve been told I  have Type A personality. I want things perfect. Well, life isn’t perfect! I want things in control. Lately, I realize I’ve been OUT OF CONTROL!

Yesterday, after my discussion with God, I realized I have been sabotaging myself. As my husband once said to me while I was ill years ago, “You just give in to illness. You don’t fight it.”

Looks like people who’ve never had asthma just do not understand. Asthma can kill. I’ve stated many times that when my time comes, no doubt my death certificate will say: “Cause of Death — Asthma!” Scary, isn’t it!

Major attacks of asthma completely strip me of any energy. It takes energy to breathe. While fighting asthma, I cannot breathe. Nor am I a pretty site to see when I am ill.

I want my life back! I want to sleep all night. Haven’t done that since childhood! I want to be able to walk…to dance…and to sing. I haven’t tried to sing any song since my illness. Wednesday nights we have a date night at karaoke. Something tells me I still cannot sing, so either we will stay home, or if we go, I will listen to others sing. Gosh. I dare my friend to even attempt to sing any of my songs! Gee. That could start a cat fight. I’m not a cat. Nor do I fight with women, so it looks like another night of watching BLUE BLOODS!

Maybe glaring at Tom Selleck will heal me. Hey! A girl can dream!

I’m almost to the point I will do anything to feel better again.

Oops. Didn’t I say this would be a post about Weight Watchers?

What have I learned about myself since I’ve missed six meetings? Lots.

For example:

I’ve learned I cannot be successful with Weight Watchers alone. No. I do not do Weight Watchers Online. I must go to meetings. I’ve established friendships at my Thursday meetings. I’ve learned to say “NO” whenever I am tempted — that is, I did know how to say NO. Now, I’m not certain and if I go to the meeting this Thursday, I plan to share how emotionally weak I’ve been. I’ve eaten sandwiches. Yes, Weight Watchers can track sandwiches. I’ve fought with cabin fever since I’ve been sick. I’ve rested. I’ve craved foods that are not healthy foods. I’ve done everything wrong! I’ve practically beaten my head against a brick wall! Why? WHY?? OH WHY???????

Today is a new day. A new day for me to be responsible. Accountable. Supportive of myself. At the meeting this week, I will probably grumble a bit if I’ve gained, and I do believe I have. I will admit my faults and move on!

Today is a new Day! I will be thankful that I’m getting better and I will be acceptable that I am human!

Here’s to a New Day!

 

 

 

Wishing Much Success to Our 45th President — Donald J. Trump


Dearest Readers:

This will be a brief post. Today, like many Americans, I watched Donald J. Trump become the 45th President for the United States of America.

IF ONLY WE WERE UNITED!

Watching him and his classic, elegant (not to mention gorgeous) wife, dressed in baby blue, he and Melania make an elegant couple. I was so proud to watch this historical moment.

Later, I heard about the protesters. I am hopeful they meant the protest to be peaceful, but it wasn’t. Many of the angry rioters were dressed in black with hoodies. Their faces covered in black scarves or bandanas. They thrust their weight, and anything they could find into store windows. Bellowing out something about “Donald Trump has got to go…”

Is this the United States of America? Reportedly, at least 200 protesters were arrested. Many more should be in jail – they were destroying limousines, businesses, absolutely anything in their way. A few police officers were injured. And this is America???

Hardly. We are divided. I suppose we can thank the division to those who refused to give Donald Trump a chance. Alas, what about the 70 Democratic lawmakers who boycotted the inaugural address? Believe me, I would never vote for any of them ever again. Our lawmakers have the opportunities most of us in America are not privileged to have — being a part of the Presidential Inauguration. They should take a step forward to show us an example of what it is like to live in a country where we are free to elect our President. Instead, they make a negative statement. Perhaps they added friction to the rioters.

Speaking as a writer and a proud American, I am willing to give President Donald J. Trump a chance — just like I did when Barack Obama stepped in to those presidential shoes. We need to give our President a chance, and we need to stop having all of the riots. Sorry, when a protest turns to violence, I consider them riots.

To President Donald J. Trump, I say “Welcome, Mr. President. May you guide our country into the UNITED States of America.” We need to unite….not fight!

I have high hopes for you, and America. Let’s MAKE AMERICA GREAT!