Rest in Peace, RIP

A philosophical rant by a shallow mind trying to dig deeper into life issues, to grow in knowledge and understanding, and express my opinion.

By Carolyn Roberson - Tuesday 30 Aug 2011

The loss of a family member or friend is, more often than not, a traumatic, and sometimes, life changing event. How we deal with that loss is uniquely individual. Over and over we see “RIP” or “May you Rest in Peace” posted on Facebook accounts, or on online condolence pages. But what is it to rest in peace?

Merriam Webster has six definitions for the word rest. Initially, one would think rest would mean to cease from labor, which is a correct definition. Other definitions are to lay in a state of death, and a cessation of bodily function. However, for this article it means peace of mind or peace of the spirit.

According to Judeo-Christian beliefs, upon death, the soul is either transported to heaven or hell depending on the acceptance of atonement provided by Jesus Christ, God’s Son, and designated Savior of mankind. Islam adheres to a similar heaven/hell belief. Buddhist and Hindu doctrine recycles life until all desire is abolished, and a state of nirvana is achieved at which point the soul fades into nothingness. Then, there are atheists, and agnostics. A theologian, I am not: I’m just someone who likes to think.

Based on the definition of rest coupled with various beliefs, there isn’t much resting in life after death. Should you choose to be a resident of eternal flames, and damnation, there will NOT be any resting at all, just utter torment for all of eternity. If your soul fades into nothingness, there will be no resting because there is nothing to rest. Recycling life by becoming another will only give you another life to live with problems, trials, and temptations; perhaps even in a location far worse than were you were in a previous lifetime. However, should you choose to follow the narrow path to heaven, there will be rest for the soul.

So, the next time you want to RIP someone, think about how shallow it is, and actually think of something to express a sincere condolence, as if my opinion really matters.

Hospice Care

A personal flashback to hospice care and the support experienced by our family during the loss our mother, our best friend.

By Carolyn Roberson - Friday 02 Sep 2011

In 2005, my mother slid into the floor at church during the Maundy Thursday service. One would recognize this as unusual right off; however, my mother, having grown up in a Holiness church, had very unique worship practices. My sister, who was with her, thought maybe she was having some kind of spiritual experience until she realized she had passed out.

After arriving at the hospital via ambulance, totally petrified at having disrupted the solemn service at church, mother was back to her usual eccentric self. Apologizing to the preacher when he visited, he assured her it was fine, and everyone understood it was a medical emergency. She felt only slightly better for the disruption.

Diagnosed with Autoimmune Hepatitis, mother was given the news that she had about 24 months to live, and was not a candidate for a liver transplant due to various health issues, and age. She immediately heard terminal, and sat down to die. It was very difficult watching this woman who road a sea doo and snowmobiles, who could run your socks off, work circles around you, and was just a social butterfly become disinterested in life. She turned inward, and her outgoing personality was missed.

Doctors visits were almost daily, and even on the best days, she was tired all the time. One of the last Sundays she attended church left her in the bushes and rolling down the little inclined sidewalk into the street where a car stopped short of hitting her because of a missed step. Much to her dismay, the day she turned in her driver’s license, and got a non-driver I.D. was an emotionally traumatic time for her.

Because her two Blue Cross/Blue Shield policies and her Medicare failed to pay for the prescription of oxygen from the doctor, her home health doctor mentioned that a hospice would pay for oxygen, and provide help to the family with drug administration, and basic personal care. We tried to reassure her that, although she was terminal, hospice intervention was just a route to go for less expense with her medications and such. She didn’t buy it, and it made her quit all together.

Hospice care, once the right people were in place, became a lifesaver, not only for the family, but also for mother. She could interact with someone new, whereas conversations became routine and boring with just the family members. Although it was a health care visit, Miss Butterfly used it as a time for socialization.

At the end, hospice care became a support system for the family members, aiding us in coping with the upcoming loss. The elderly night nurse was grandmotherly, and emotionally supported each of us as we were coming to the point of encouraging mother to let go, and where we could say goodbye. Each nurse was as interactive as we needed, or quiet during our moments of silence; instinctually interactive as each of the family members were experiencing different emotions at different times.

Hospice nursing isn’t for everyone: I am sure of that. It takes someone truly special to accomplish all that they did for our dying mother, and each member of our family. To be there at the time life leaves the body at death is as special as being there for the birth of new life. I will always be thankful to Vitas Hospice Care, San Antonio, Texas.

Hearing loss, and coping in a hearing world

Struggles to find a place between the hearing and deaf worlds in a hearing society, and the outcome of my quest.

By Carolyn Roberson - Sunday 04 Sep 2011

In 1992, I was a telephone operator at a well known southern university. During the day, many calls came in ranging from ridiculous questions to reasonable requests. These two were my favorite calls:

Telephone Operator: University of ###, how can I direct your call?

Student: Uh, yeah, my buddies and I went fishing this weekend, and we fried some fish. I left it sitting out on the counter. Do you think I can still eat it?

T. O: I wouldn’t recommend it sir, but I’ll be happy to transfer you to student health services.

Student: Uh, Yeah, Okay, thanks.

And other…

T.O.: University of ###, how can I direct your call?

Future Student: Oh hi! Like, I’m going to be going there in the fall. How many parking spaces do we get?

T.O: One, I assume: how many do you need?

F.S: Well, like, I didn’t know which car I was going to bring; my Ferrari or my Porsche.

T.O.: I don’t know why you couldn’t bring them both, but I’ll transfer you to the Campus Police.

As time went by, I noticed I couldn’t turn the volume up on my head set any longer. Initially, I thought it might be faulty equipment. Boy, I was SO wrong in my assumption.

Life kept moving forward, and small hearing issues in public places seemed to grow. Eventually, I ended up in the office of the Department of Rehabilitation Services to discuss my problems with my vocational rehabilitation caseworker. He suggested I go see an Ear, Nose, and Throat Specialist (ENT), and we would talk further.

The visit to the ENT included a hearing evaluation. Sitting in a little sound proof cubicle with a hand held buzzer, I would repeat words, or push the buzzer when I heard a sound. My hearing evaluation resulted in the diagnosis of adult onset high frequency neurological hearing loss, and tinnitus, which wasn’t unexpected; although, it was a devastating diagnosis because I was a church soloist in hopes of developing a singing ministry. So, the task of working , going back to college, and raising two small boys while learning to be hearing impaired began.

A local church offered sign language classes. My mother and I thought it might be a good place to start learning about deafness. The instructor passed out books purchased from the local center for the deaf. After telling my caseworker about this, he suggested I visit the center because it receives referrals from DRS. I picked up the phone, and changed my life!

My caseworker was so calm, laid back, and informative which is what I needed considering I was a basket case by then. I took a lackadaisical approach to this because I didn’t realize or acknowledge the importance of the services I was getting. But, what made me really think about myself, and the services I was receiving was a seemingly unusual question! I was asked, “If you were a pizza, what shape would you be?” I thought and replied, “ a triangle because I want to be multifaceted.” That was a turning point in my time there.

Because of my up coming graduation from college with a degree in social services, I was asked to join the center as a caseworker! The director sent me to an employment services program for job training and development. During this time, one of my assignments inspired this poem, which has become my philosophy for being deaf in a hearing world.

Please Don’t Dis Ability

 

Welcome to my silent world.
Please try to understand.
I need to work just like you,
But need your helping hand.

Please don’t look the other way
And to ignorance succumb.
Just because I can not hear
Doesn’t mean I’m dumb.

“I can do” is my attitude.
I really want to try.
But, if I don’t get half a chance
Don’t blame me if I cry.

So, let me work by your side:
It means the world to me.
I can grow, and my life will soar
If you will not dis ability!

There's a hole in my bucket!

Is your bucket list full and overflowing, or do you have a hole in your bucket? Patch that hole, or simply buy a new one.

By Carolyn Roberson - Monday 21 Nov 2011

Severe weather rolled into our area leaving me with nothing to do but surf. Surf the web, that is. Having caught up on new uploads by friends and family on Facebook and Flickr, and following the trail of YouTube videos, I’ve discovered there’s a hole in my bucket.

The Bucket List has become the new “thing” in our culture ensuring the older we get, a tangible list of goals can be crossed off when fulfilled. And with less time, and more things added to the list, it’s almost like we are driving in the fast lane to finish it all.

As I have shared in my small series, Vain Worries, I have had an especially hard time turning 50. Most people never know the hour of their death, and at the risk of sounding morbid, based on a family history, most of the woman in my family haven’t lived past 69. This leaves me 19 years to work on my bucket list, give or take.

Knowing this has made me more appreciative of the time I’m given. It’s made me aware of the time I’ve squandered, and when I’m spinning my wheels in the present, which seems to be a lot lately. People get so caught up in day to day, that too often stopping to smell the roses just becomes cliché.
My husband’s daughter added new pictures of her new outfits, new boots, new friends, new boyfriend, and new adventures onto Flickr. The gorgeous young flawless face hit me like a ton of bricks. That was me! It was me 30 years ago. Where has the time gone?

My first job was at 14 years old dipping ice cream at a soda fountain where my grandmother had been a waitress for 30 plus years. My mother had been a grocery department employee in the same store, and my brother would become the Christmas “assembly boy” a few years later. Most employees had some family working in other parts of the store, so it was a homey environment for all.

Paychecks were divided into tithing, spending money for me, groceries added to the family pantry, and new dresses for my mom, and baby sister. These things weren’t required of me, but contributing to our household was important to me and fun at the same time.

Trying to discover who I was as a person, I started a list of things I liked, didn’t like, wanted to accomplish, and where I could see myself in “X” number of years. Things like, Barbra Streisand and blond hair/blue eyed boys fell in the “like” column. Broccoli, and alcohol fell in the “do not like” column. And the “where I want to be” column included living in an orchard, owning my own home, and being a stay home mom. I had a bucket list and didn’t even know it.

Listening to oldies from YouTube while surfing the net was nostalgic. Bachman & Turner’s (aka Bachman Turner Overdrive) song “Let it Ride” is my all time favorite. You know, the one you play 50 times before getting tired of listening to any music period. Others included some Whitney Houston, Crosby, Seals & Nash, and Hamilton, Joe Frank & Reynolds, to name a few. Needless to say, these songs flooded my memory banks with awareness of unfinished business. (And, huh, the knowledge that music isn’t really music these days but, that is another story.)

So, saying there’s a hole in my bucket is a hard thing to do. Living in an orchard is almost an improbability. I don’t own a substantial amount of land, and it’s too late to start growing apple or peach trees. It spilled out of my bucket, and it hurts. Stay at home mom has been crossed off my list. I was a single mom working two jobs, and going to college. By the time I finished college, I turned around, and my children were grown. Do they really even know me? It hurts.

Potty training a 2 year old wasn’t on my list at 50, but it happened. I’m a stay at home aunt and this sweet little princess trained in 2 weeks. What a breeze compared to the months it took for my sons. Perhaps, I rushed it, and they have deep seeded mother issues that will surface in later life causing thousands of dollars to be spent on psychotherapy. Or, it may be easier for girls. Who knows, I did the best I could at that age, and time; or did I?

The new bucket list includes a trip to England, Ireland, and Wales, Canada, Montana, and Savannah, Georgia with the hubs. I’ve added a cake decorating class from the Wilton school in Chicago. My husband is a master baker, so he will enjoy this also. Lastly, getting my youngest through college, and seeing him on his own finishes up the list.

This article isn’t intended to be sad but to act as a wake up call. And, to suggest that no matter what your age, start your bucket list early enough to enjoy life. At the end of the road, it can be one well traveled instead of one muddy muck in which you’ve gotten stuck, and spent your wheels. Patch that bucket folks, or simply buy a new one!

Move over Jim Crow, there's a new hombre in town: his name is Juan

A personal rant on immigration issues in Alabama, and the efforts to combat those issues:  opinion may or may not be shared by other family members, and my opinion should not be held against them.

By Carolyn Roberson - Sunday 27 Nov 2011

Alabama is set for round two in the fight for civil liberties, and justice. (Don’t cha think we shoulda learned the first time? Huh?!) Jim Crow, move over, there’s a new hombre in town; his name is Juan.

Growing up in Montgomery, Alabama was delightful. During the 1960s, it was a small military town. Residential population was about 33,000 at the time. Downtown was a bustling place especially on the weekends. The heart of the Bible belt, nearly everyone was a member of a church. Yet, there was this massive military presence at Maxwell and Gunter Air Force Bases. Maxwell even houses a Federal penitentiary. Planes still fly overhead reminding everyone of the freedom our country works to enjoy.

More nationally known for being the home of the civil rights movement, monuments to our civil rights leaders dot the city. Rosa Parks Museum, the Southern Poverty Law Center with its freedom waterfall, and Dexter Memorial Baptist Church (Dr. Martin Luther King’s church), to name a few, are common national sight seeing spots.

Also, the Cradle of the Confederacy, the First White House of the Confederacy is still sitting on the corner of Capital Hill. And, truly southern, gentile ladies are docents, escorting tours, and telling the tales of days long since gone. The star where Jefferson Davis was sworn in as its first president is still on the marble steps of the Alabama State House, and the Archives and History building houses all kinds of civil war memorabilia. A confederate flag flies on private property aside I-65 just north of the city, and although it is a source of contention these days, it reminds us of how far we have come as a people to overcome the prejudices of race, creed, gender, and religion.

The civil rights movement is about the recognition and “inalienable rights” of a disenfranchised group of people to share in “liberty and justice for all.” Our nation prides itself on these words found in the Constitution of the United States of America, or more correctly, its ideology. Our soldiers even fight on foreign soul to liberate, and ensure these rights are exercised for others. The Ying and Yang of Montgomery provided much history to our great nation. And again, Montgomery has set the stage for another round of “the battle of injustice.”

A Supreme Court judge has upheld portions of a bill in which immigration laws are to be enacted affecting people living in Alabama. Hispanics are lining the streets in protest in Montgomery, AL, and several arrests have been made. Signs such as “stop using my tax dollars on your hate, and spend my money on education” bounce along the demonstration lines in front of the state buildings, and are being taken to the streets in Washington D.C.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for abiding by the law, following rules and protocol, and going about things in a civilized way. But, having been through this before, one would think Alabama would have figured out where they went wrong the first time, and come up with a new and better plan to fix issues such as this or at least make those issues easier to navigate. After all, state lawmakers have had years to do this.

Our forefathers left their homelands to seek out a new way of life, and by coming to America sought refuge on its shores to begin such a life. It sounds wonderful doesn’t it?

The Native American people were rooted out of their land, masses killed, and our European ancestors were illegal citizens as such. African slaves were stolen from their homeland and brought to our country as slaves and weren’t even recognized as citizens, but property. And, now, illegal immigrants are being discriminated against because of the same desire to “seek refuge on our shores to begin a new and better life.”

Montgomery, Alabama, the home of the civil rights movement, is now discriminating against another group of people, namely immigrants. Even Alabama born Hispanics are complaining of glaring looks, oppressive comments, and threatening innuendo.

Realizing our country is only so big, only has so many resources, only has so many jobs, and other issues, focus should be on helping these refuges, and finding solutions to their problems. I personally have witnessed a multitude of Hispanics working on minimum wage jobs, which are back breaking in nature, knowing full well those jobs would not be worthy of the time and effort to many citizens of the state. Things would not be getting done without these people. And, those economic effects are already being felt within the state.

Why is it wrong to want to live in a relatively peaceful society, and enjoy freedom and domestic tranquility? Efforts should be made to obtain legal paperwork to allow these people to live within our borders, and the license bureau is a good place to start. Hopefully, these people can educate themselves, return to their homeland, and be instrumental in improving conditions for their own people.

Actually, thinking about history itself, many of these people would be American citizens if Santa Ana had not been defeated, and driven southward into what is now Mexico. Their land was stolen and annexed into the USA. Who are the illegal people if you think about it? We are all God’s people, and we should love our neighbor as ourselves because it is God’s greatest commandment next to loving God with all our heart.

Alabama’s terms for legal status include having an Alabama driver’s license. The water and sewer companies are legally prohibited in providing services to illegal immigrants. The driver’s license database is not the way to accomplish “liberty and justice for all.” It is similar in nature to what the Nazi’s did in Germany during World War II: it marks a people. It wasn’t all right then, and it is not all right now. And, it creates problems for people within the state and those transferring in from other states. So subtle does the snake slither through society, and unsuspecting citizens are bitten!

Illegal immigration is a double-edged sword. Emotion runs deep on the issue. Please understand, I’m not including those illegal immigrants personally bent on criminal activity, but those here for a better life. I’m actually torn on the issue, but there has to be some effort to resolve this swiftly, yet humanely.

The change purse

Compassion:  a condition of the heart, innately instilled and easily accessible.  You either have it or you don't.  Is your purse Mary Poppins issue?

 

By Carolyn Roberson - Monday 12 Dec 2011

More than once in my life, my mother made mention of her Grandmother, Mary Lillian. Her compassion for the human condition was abundant, and I feel cheated not to have known her.

Over the course of 50 years, I have determined that compassion must be an innately instilled trait. Not all people possess the ability to care about the human condition, nor is it something that can be learned unless some catalyst precipitates a life changing event. Unlike Ebenezer Scrooge; however, not all people are visited by the Ghosts of Christmas.

The early 1940s was a rebound period from World War II, and the Great Depression in the United States. Recovery, at least for my great grandparents, was slow. Granny, and her husband were very impoverished due to a lack of education, and partly the result of assuming responsibility of raising two grandchildren. My grandmother was a single parent through no fault of her own.

Although Granny was poor, she was rich at heart. Granny could always be seen wearing a homemade, gingham-checked apron with a little pocket at the waist. In this pocket lived a little black change purse. And, within the little black change purse was an endless fountain of blessing for those in need.

These blessings were as simple as a needle and thread for a button, or a peppermint to soothe a cough. Yet, my mother was amazed at the change that flowed into and out of that simple little black change purse which could be accessed at any moment when something was desperately needed.

My dear mother was a compassionate person also. Her pocketbook was definitely Mary Poppins issue. Sometimes, I was completely taken aback by some of the things she could produce at a moment’s notice.

Although we were allowed access to everything she had, we were never allowed in her bag as she said it was the only thing deemed personal and private. After her death, my sister and I jokingly tussled over who would be the bearer of the magic tote. Opening the bag was like opening Pandora’s box. We had no clue what to expect or what profound consequences might occur because of our curiosity. A slight letdown feeling flooded us when we invaded her privacy only to find cough drops, make up, and waded Kleenex. There was no gold, no silver, no frankincense, no myrrh, or an envelope labeled blessings.

Where was all of the mystery it once held? Then we realized the blessings were the love we felt and memories we relived holding the bag, the smell of our lost mother, and, in her billfold, the little hand written notes on pictures, mementos, and scraps of paper that made us smile.

Hundreds of little stories she shared made an indelible impression on my spirit. And, proudly, I hold the banner for compassion in my family. Not pride, I insist, but true joy in humbling oneself to serve fellow man.

Is your nature one of selflessness or selfishness? Do you love your neighbor as yourself, and treat others the way you want to be treated? Or are you out for yourself, throwing others under the bus on your way?

Sure the economy at this time isn’t the greatest, but being a source of blessing doesn’t always require money. Be sensitive to opportunities that may pop up around you. However, be alert to scams, or the potential for personal harm. (Some people always find a way to ruin it for others.)

Ways to be a blessing to others

 

• Offer a smile to someone who is pushing your buttons instead of reacting negatively.
• Open the door for a stranger at a store.
• Hold the elevator instead of watching someone dash, and it closing right before they get there.
• Be a courteous driver, no road rage.
• Practice patience with your children.
• Offer encouragement instead of gossip.
• Lend an ear without breaking confidentiality.
• Volunteer at your favorite local charity.
• Check on an elderly neighbor.
• Thank your garbage collector by attaching a Christmas card to your garbage can.
• Baby-sit for a single parent so he/she can Christmas shop.
• Thank a soldier, and check on his/her family if he/she is away.
•  

When money permits

 

• Pick an Angel Tree child for Christmas.
• Provide a gift for Toys for Tots.
• Buy a coffee for your office mate.
• Send cookies to your Pastor and staff.
• Thank your hairdresser with a gift card.
• Share leftovers with or send a plate to an elderly neighbor.
• Buy a meal for a soldier or provide a meal for a military family.
•  

This holiday season is the greatest season of all: it is the season for giving. Take a few minutes to examine yourself and discover your level of compassion. Be a source of blessing. Real joy can be found through giving. Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays!

My China Pattern

Changes in shopping practices require discipline, determination, and patriotism! Patriotism? Take back our country by shopping "Made in the USA!"

ViewsHound Silver Prize Winner
By Carolyn Roberson - Thursday 03 Nov 2011

The word shopping tends to evoke a host of varied emotions within people in the USA. Some use shopping as a form of therapy; thus, the slang “retail therapy” is commonly used in our society. There are a few who detest shopping, and only run into a store to pick up those items that are absolutely needed. Window shoppers go just to have something to do. And, some wives socially shop while hubbies watch football. While my interest in shopping has evolved over the years, the need to shop remains.

Over the past few months, given the recent debt increase the USA incurred from a loan from China coupled with the near government shutdown and credit downgrade, my shopping habits have drastically changed. Purchases are limited to food, medicine, household expenses, and gasoline. Wants are limited to last moment purchases when they become essentials, like new tennis shoes. These changes are even more drastic than those I made a few years ago when the housing market collapsed and the unemployment rate increased.

Earlier this summer, I purchased a nice, inexpensive chair with a footstool to put in the sun room so I could sit comfortably with my niece as she played. While removing the chair from the box, I happened to notice the words, “Made in China.” I really didn’t think anything about it.

A few weeks ago, my sister brought home a snow globe of Aurora, the Disney Sleeping Beauty Princess, and to my surprise, it said, “Made in China.” This kind of sparked a teeny awareness of things in our home made in China.

Unfortunately, I have to admit, that I’ve been like an ostrich with my head in the sand most of my life. I trusted government to run itself. After all, our government was designed to have a system of checks and balances to keep itself in check. Local, national, and world news is boring, negative, nerve-racking, and depressing most of the time, so watching Wheel of Fortune, Frasier, or Ghost Whisperer was an entertaining alternative.

Maybe watching the news is a right of passage into adulthood, and at age 50, I guess I am an adult. I do watch the news and it is quite enlightening. And, I’ve developed a few areas of concern: the trade imbalance between the USA and China, the worldwide debt crisis, jobs being lost to other countries because of unions and/or cheap labor, and immigration.

For the sake of this article, I’m not going to expound on my ideology or philosophy for each of these issues.

Rainy Days and Mondays NEVER get me down. I went window-shopping today. It was cold and raining, so after lunch, the hubs and I went into a store. We were browsing around, and I turned a Christmas ornament over, and noticed, “Made in China.” “Hump,” I thought. The next item was a goblet, “Made in China.” Then, a cookie sheet was labeled, “Made in China.” The list went on and on of things I picked up that said, “Made in China.” 10 out of the 12 things I picked up was—you got it—"Made in China.“ The other two were made in Turkey, and Mexico. I ended up purchasing numbers 13 and 14, two Christmas themed color books at $0.89 each that proudly proclaimed, "Made in the USA!”

I’m breaking my China pattern; I will do my best to only purchase “Made in the USA!”

Welcome

"Az I Cee It" is my new outlet for what I think, and feel.  It represents my opinions only, and is not intended to cause harm to anyone.  I've lost my "escape of notions" blog somehow, and haven't been able to get it back. 

Initially, my posts will be the articles submitted to "Viewshound," the now defunct article posting website that I truly adored.  I even won a silver award for "My China Pattern," which will be the first article I post after this welcome.

Also, I'll be starting my blog about "Vain Worries,"  which is my tribute to aging, and a great way to complain about what ails me during my aging process.

Then, perhaps, I'll add "The Burn Queen," which is my quest to learn to cook, and how far I've come over the years.  Most every other baker's blog has some sweet catchy title, but cooking and baking doesn't come as easy for me as it does for others.   And, it usually ends up more a mess that something to be proud of, photograph, and post.  So, we'll see how that goes.

I do hope you enjoy reading my posts, and can glean uplifting, motivational, and encouraging words from it.  Feel free to comment, but please no profanity, or derogatory remarks please.