You can’t always get what you want

Isn’t that the truth? You can’t always get what you want? And who’d have thought I’d be looking to Mick Jagger for sage wisdom in my old age either, but there you have it.

And in this stage of my life, he’s right, as much as I hate to admit it. You can’t always get what you want but you do get what you need.

I want to be in Jerusalem and i never want to forget that.

O Jerusalem, if I should forget thee….

But what I need is to be here and to be safe from my own demons and to get better and get my health issues taken care of. And nothing hits that out of the park better than having a seizure in bed with nobody around like I did this morning.

That’s pretty scary because what would I do in Jerusalem if I needed help? My seizures are what keeps me here.

And the love of a boy who needs me.

And the love of a man who picked me up when no one else would and who tries every day to mend these broken wings of mine and set me right and who loves me even when I fall out of the tree he sets me in.

Even when I am at my worst like I am today. Which is pretty amazing.

So back to old Mick….no pun intended…we really may not get what we want because what we want isn’t what we need and what I need is to be where I am safe and right now that is here. I am safest with my family who know how to care for me – confining me to couch with my Laura Ashley blanket and cups of pink yogurt and English tea while I recover from the mind numbing seizure of the morning.

No it’s not what I want. I want Jerusalem but not alone and I can’t have that now.

Right now…I have exactly what I need and ironically, that’s what I want most of all.

I’m Perfect

“You’re Perfect”. ~~Pink

Made a wrong turn once or twice
Dug my way out, blood and fire
Bad decisions, that’s alright
Welcome to my silly life

Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood
Miss ‘No way, it’s all good’
It didn’t slow me down.
Mistaken, always second guessing
Underestimated, look I’m still around

Pretty, pretty please, don’t you ever, ever feel
Like you’re less than perfect
Pretty, pretty please, if you ever, ever feel
Like you’re nothing, you’re perfect to me

You’re so mean when you talk
About yourself. You were wrong.
Change the voices in your head
Make them like you instead.

So complicated,
Look how we all make it.
Filled with so much hatred
Such a tired game
It’s enough, I’ve done all I could think of
Chased down all my demons
I’ve seen you do the same

Pretty, pretty please, don’t you ever, ever feel
Like you’re less than perfect
Pretty, pretty please, if you ever, ever feel
Like you’re nothing, you’re perfect to me

The whole world’s scared, so I swallow the fear
The only thing I should be drinking is an ice cold beer
So cool in lying and we try, try, try but we try too hard
And it’s a waste of my time.
Done looking for the critics, cause they’re everywhere
They don’t like my jeans, they don’t get my hair
Exchange ourselves and we do it all the time
Why do we do that, why do I do that?

(Yeah! Oh!)
Oh, pretty, pretty, pretty

Pretty, pretty please, don’t you ever, ever feel
Like you’re less than perfect
Pretty, pretty please, if you ever, ever feel
Like you’re nothing, you’re perfect to me
Pretty, pretty please, if you ever, ever feel
Like you’re nothing, you’re perfect to me.

The Perfect Thanksgiving

I have the perfect Thanksgiving in my mind. It has lots of crystal and china. The table is perfectly set. Friends and family (mostly friends who have become family) sit around the table drinking from big globes of wine that sparkle in the candlelight as we laugh and eat pumpkin and apple and pecan pie as the candles flicker into the night.

The evening never ends.

There are no fistfights on the front lawn in front of the neighbors. No sulking children who have to be punished and told children should be seen and not heard and thoroughly humiliated in front of their aunts and uncles. No food fights. No burned turkeys with long forgotten giblet bags trapped inside.

Yep, that’s the Thanksgiving I’m having in my mind. The happy one.

It’s not like I remember ANY Thanksgiving from the time before my mother died because I have absolutely no memory of Thanksgiving at all. I associate gray skies, snow flurries, my grandparents making an appearance and the whole situation devolving into a drunken fist fest and, of course, football with Thanksgiving but I can’t remember any particular Thanksgiving Day at all…which I suppose is probably best.

I know I’ve tried hard to give Evan memories of Thankgiving. We would always get up, watch the Macy’s Parade and then cook the Thanksgiving dinner. Every year we had the same special dishes. Turkey, sausage stuffing, green bean casserole, sweet potato “hats” (scoops of sweet potato casserole on pineapple rings), and Evan’s favorite – sweet gherkins.

Then after dinner we would watch the Holly Hunter movie – Home for the Holidays.

This year I knew I had really done my job well. Evan has it all planned out. First thing we will do is watch the parade. We will have popcorn and cocoa (popcorn – really?). Then I will cook the feast (mom, did you get the pickles??? Yes, I did get the pickles Evan!)

And we will wind it all down taking our after dinner nap watching Home for the Holidays because I made sure that was the first thing I replaced when I could after we started to get settled again.

So even though it’s not the Thanksgiving in my mind…it IS the perfect Thanksgiving because it has all the traditions that I created so long ago that are just as sweet today as I see how important they are to Evan as they always were to me to make sure he had them.

That makes it the perfect Thanksgiving.

If you blog in the woods and nobody reads it, is it still a blog?

I have been blogging somewhat faithfully this month for the NaNoBloMo (National November Blogging Month) which, at it’s very basic, was a month set aside (November) for the National Novel Writing Month (I am not exactly sure of the acronym) when writers would avow to knock out a specified number of words a day and specifically, a fully written novel by the end of the month.

That evolved into National Blog Writing Month where bloggers avowed to blog every day for an entire month in search of better blogging habits and overall, hopefully, better blogging.

I know, for me, I spend countless minutes of the day thinking about what I could blog about. I spend about equal amounts of time thinking about possible ways to start and finish that elusive novel I have promised to write since I was six years old. In the end, neither gets the amount of attention it deserves or I just think myself out of the idea or more often, just think I can’t do it and go find something else to think about or knit.

Why was I able to write so freely when I was 9 and 10 and 11? I wrote pages and pages and pretty much volumes and volumes of paper. Ask people who read it! What has changed so much now?

I am not an outliner. Why do I think I have to be one now?

I don’t know. I wish I did. I wish I had a way to let these ideas out and get this unbridled creativity get from my brain and out through my fingers onto the paper. Or screen. Do I think people don’t think I can? Do I feel that there isn’t the environment for me to think these big thoughts? That my life bears down on me and my critics weigh so heavily that I just can’t squeeze anymore out?

I really just don’t know.

A drive by NaNoBloMo Posting

Yes, I signed up to blog everyday in November and I have every intention to do just that. Only I forgot how busy I was today running here and there, seeing my therapist, buying the boy a new comforter…I forgot to get my blog together until I realized it just after I had taken my sleeping pill.

And realized I had about 15 good minutes before my eyes started crossing and today would be just a memory (along with this blasted headache I can’t seem to shake!)

So here is my drive by offering. I’m not proud but I do promise to be a little more substantial tomorrow.

Until then don’t let the bedbugs bite.

Pretzel Challah

I don’t have much time today because I am busy making challah! Today I am pretzelling four of the eigt loaves I am making. Who thought it could be so easy!

In short, make your bread product as you normally do. I admit I use prefab bread and thaw it out to make my challah. In this case, I let it get soft and then cut it into loaf sizes and then strip sizes and then braid it into the final presentation.

Here comes the magic!

Boil 1/2C water. Stir in 1.5 t of baking soda once the water has boiled. It will fizz and bubble. Take it off the heat. Take a brush and brush your bread product with the baking soda mixture.


Make sure you get all the nooks and crannies. If you want finish with an egg wash for a nice brown, shiny crust. Bake as you normally would ūüôā

Added: the children pronounced it “good! It tastes like a pretzel!” which is certainly high praise! Then they split the loaf in half, each taking half, and scurried back to their lairs.

Try it!

Expunging the Worries

Worrying is just a fact of life for me. It’s like my job, it’s what I do. Last week I even had a trip to the ER for the start of an ulcer thanks to all the worrying I do.

I worry well and hard. I do my job well.

I worry about everything. Will we have a home next month (even though realistically I know we will)? Will we have food? Will we have clothing for the winter? Will we be able to pay our bills (especially since I have no income) and keep the wolves at bay? Will Scott love me even when I have a few bad days in a row? Will I be able to get the medication that keeps me off the third floor of the hospital? Will I sleep tonight? Will I be banished from my synagogue like I was from our last one? Will the few people that I can call friends shun me like so many others have? Will my father and sister drive me crazy? Will I run into someone I know and don’t want to see or talk to? Will I have a panic attack in public? Will I have a seizure? Will my blood sugar drop when I don’t have food on me to bring it back up? Will something happen to me leaving my son to fend for himself without me? What will he do? OMG what will he do?????

And so many more worries.

I don’t know if there is any one worry I’d get rid of if I could expunge just ONE of those worries. Which one would you pick? Which one would you pick to give me peace? Could there ever be just one?

I watch the show “Monk” and identify with him so much. I can remember when I was the old me. I don’t think that me can ever exist again. I am not that person and I don’t think I’ll ever be that person again.

The person I am sometimes catches glimpses of that girl but the person I am is scared, abandoned, abused, but mostly just scared. Despite a very content and loved life with my Scott and my Evan I do feel alone sometimes. I do feel terrified and I do feel afraid of meeting someone from my life before.

People I knew from before want nothing to do with me and people I knew in Israel don’t talk to me. Some do, granted, but most don’t. I am alone and adrift. I can count the people I trust on one hand.

What worry would I choose? In my mind there isn’t just one and the tears roll down my cheeks as I realize that I am consumed by my worries. Will these fears ever go away? I don’t know. I have been in therapy for my major depression for two years now. I am alive despite times when I wished I wasn’t. I don’t feel that way anymore which is good. I walk and breathe the air and actually I enjoy the solitude. I am getting used to being alone. Being alone doesn’t necessarily mean being lonely.

The people I trust that I can count on one hand mean more to me than all the people I could trust in the Before. I don’t know what my after will be like.

I just wish I didn’t have to make worrying my lifelong profession.

Miss Manners Would Just DIE Here

51XOhLmYMXL._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_How do you teach children, especially GROWN children, that we DO NOT take the last of something…that we DO NOT take things without asking first…how do we let them have access to the stuff in the kitchen without having to watch them like a hawk so they don’t eat everything I have gotten to make dinner with for the next two weeks????

And mostly, how the HELL do I keep them out of my stash????

I have become creative in my hiding of the myriad of peanut butter jars I have strewn around the house because one of them, sprung from my womb who shall remain nameless, eats peanut butter the way most of us breathe air.  In MY house if you find a jar of peanut butter (and I am not talking the little piker 16 oz jars either, I am talking the big, honking 32 oz jars) with a bottom deep well in a newly opened jar, you can bet Peanut Butter Boy has been in the area,

And now I have about 6 jars of peanut butter in various and sundry locations that, to be honest, even *I* am not on a need to know basis about where they are.

Dishes seem to disappear too.  Mugs and bowls and spoons especially.  I actually had to ask the oldest one of them if they had any mugs or spoons or bowls hidden away up in their lairs.  The next day about 14 gabillion spoons, mugs and bowls in varying states of decay appeared,

Update: ¬†They’re starting to go missing again and one bowl, I fear, may have just been taken away with the garbage today. ¬†I liked it too.

I try to hide the dry goods that I have for recipes and baked goods as well as I can although I did find empty bags of chocolate chips this spring so I am fairly sure we didn’t have a mouse and I feel confident enough in my covert surveillance to tell you they were eaten one by one by one or the other of the children as they rummaged secretly through my baking stash.

After they asked me if they could have a Yoplait and then took a bag of tortilla chips I had bought for a taco casserole right out of the grocery bag I had it stored in and ate them in front of me WITHOUT asking, I decided it was time to protect my cold and frozen goods stash.  Simply hiding the ice cream that I dole out sparingly to them and the bagels that would cause a food frenzy if I put all on the table at one time was no longer enough.

I usually hide things in plastic bags encased within things I know they don’t have an interest in like frozen matzah meal containers or ricotta cheese. ¬†I’ll stuff bags around everything and packets of hot dogs buns and bread. ¬†They’d die before they’d take out a loaf of bread to thaw so I know all is good that way.

But I still need insurance.

I finally told the oldest, who is the chief rummager, that the stuff in the drawers is off limits.  I plan to follow up with two big signs that say the same thing.

Now if I could just get them to stop putting the banana peels and apple cores in the sink.

Thoughts on a Four Poster Bed

ikea_midsommar_600I took a nap in my bed…oh how well I slept. I am so happy to have my furniture here. I feel so…complete.

I have the most wonderful man in my life. I thought yesterday how he is absolutely the best man I have ever known in my entire life. He is so even and steady. Nothing upsets him.

Whereas I was ready for blowups on moving day reminiscent of past moving days…and I was nervous and edgy all day in anticipation, no matter what didn’t go the way we expected, nothing ruffled Scott’s feathers. Everything was okay and he made sure I was okay throughout it all, knowing how upset and nervous I was.

The main thing was how much care and love he showed just for me. I knew how much he loved me and I told him how special it was to me that he cared enough to bring all of the little things that were so important to me to our home.

I don’t own much and most of what I own isn’t really worth anything. But it means a lot to me for whatever reason. A dining room table where I spent happy holidays. A buffet and armoire I used to polish lovingly. A bookcase where I stored my beloved books. A bed I bought to get myself off the floor.

As pieces not worth much at all but as a whole…worth everything to me. ¬†And the very simple fact that this wonderful man, who loves me so very, very much felt I was worth enough to take the time and the trouble to bring it all to me so that I could have these small, worthless things…means all that much more.

I am so very lucky and even that much more blessed to have him love me.