30somethingandsearching

My sister’s family went to Disney World after Christmas for about a week.

My sister and brother-in-law really enjoy Disney World.  They went for their honeymoon and have been a few times since.

5 years ago, we all went.  My sister, brother-in-law, niece (almost 2 at the time), my mom, my step-dad (who had never been) and my grandma (who had just turned 85).

For years, we had said that if we went to Disney World, we would take Grandma with us.  She was always excited about the idea.  When we all planned to go, I insisted we take her.  I asked how we could go after talking about it for as long as I could remember and not take her.

She had to be pushed in a wheelchair for the entire visit, but she enjoyed it.  She mostly enjoyed seeing my niece experience it all for the first time.  I can remember my niece’s expressions and reactions like it was last week.  She was so much fun to watch.  It was all wonderful and awing to her.

She and I bonded that trip.  My brother-in-law would get annoyed anytime she acted 2, so rather than have him take her off for a talking-to, I would swoop her up and we would get away from him for a while.  They wanted her to walk, but she was 2.  Little legs get tired quickly, so I carried her most of the time.  She was so tiny, she barely weighed enough to notice I had anything in my arms.

My little Peanut and I had a great time.  She wanted me and only me to push her if she was in the stroller, ride the rides, carry her, hold her hand or whatever it was.  I think it started to irritate my brother-in-law.

One day was spent entirely at Epcot.  He drank his way around the world, so by the end of the night, he was crocked. 

I was carrying my niece to the bus back to our hotel when he tried to take her from me.  She didn’t want to go to him.  Probably because he smelled of beer, but either way, she wrapped herself around me and shook her head.  My darling, homophobic brother-in-law said angrily, and I quote because this stuck with me, “what are you?  A bunch of lesbians?”

Yeah, you got that right.  Me and my 2-year-old niece.  Pissed me off like you wouldn’t believe.  She is 2!  AND she is my niece!  Even if I was a lesbian, that kind of remark was uncalled for and distasteful.  I lost a lot of respect for him at that moment and he has failed to get it back.

This year, the trip was just my sister and her family.  As much as I would have loved to see my nephew on his first trip, especially since he adores Mickey, I have no desire to vacation with my sister or brother-in-law any time soon.  We have different vacation styles.  I like to be slow and laid back.  My sister sets a schedule and races around to fit as much in as possible.  Not fun for me and I need a vacation afterward.

My nephew didn’t have much to say about the trip (he’s the strong, silent type, you know).  He liked it and he liked the scarier rides, ones my niece would not have gone on at his age and does not like even now.

She told me all about the trip, but the thing that she told everyone about was the pillows.  Did you know Disney World has magic pillows?  They do.  As soon as you put your head on them, you fall right to sleep.  I asked her why she didn’t bring one home.  She said she wasn’t allowed to, but she sure would like one of those pillows at home.

Monday, I went out to my car to go to school.  I never made it to the computer lab. 

My car was completely dead. 

I had to wait several hours before I could try to jump it.  Well, my step-dad tried to jump it for me.  It juiced it enough for it to crank and the lights to go on, but not to start.

photo credit: familycar.com

Since the battery is as old as the car (almost 8 years), we ended up getting a new battery. 

That didn’t do it either.

My step-dad thinks the fuel line is frozen.  Cars I have had in the past have had this happen.  They were old (1980 or 81) cars, so it made sense.  This car is a 2001 and I have never had a problem.

In fact, the car started Saturday and it was a lot colder Saturday.

We put a bottle of Heat in the car, but nothing.  I am going on day 3 without a car. 

It’s always something going wrong.

Yesterday, my power cord didn’t want to connect to my laptop.  After a couple of hours online, with everything opening so slowly, it stopped connecting and entrecard stopped working.

My Drops Inbox kept giving me errors, so I turned the computer off and came back a few hours later, but the same problem was happening.  A few hours later, I tried again and the same thing.  I decided to post a blog, but I kept getting an error on Today.com too.  Bah!

Let’s see if today is any better.

My best friend since we were 5 is half-Chinese and half-Irish.  Her mom is Chinese but was raised in the Philippines.  Because of that, I grew up eating Filipino food around Filipino people. 

I never thought about it, it’s just the way I grew up.  Other people don’t like the food or don’t really know how to eat it.  The same with Chinese food or Japanese food.  I spent a lot of time in Chinatown with them and at various Asian food markets and whatnot. 

My two favorite foods her mom made (my friend makes them now too) are Pancit and Chicken Adobo.  Actually, one time when we were kids, my friend’s mom and her Filipino friends called me an honorary Filipino because of the way I was eating it.  Apparently, I was eating it like they do. 

A funny thing about growing up with all of them is that they are so small and I am so tall.

My best friend is 5’1.  Her dad is probably about 5’4.  Her mom is about 4’9.  I am 5’10.

The funniest part is that my friend and I were often asked if we were sisters, or even funnier, twins.

Not only are we 9 inches apart in height, I am mostly Irish, not a drop of Asian blood in me.  The darkest thing in my heritage is Native American and it is a very small part.  But I am extremely fair skinned and my friend is very tan.  We really don’t look at all alike.  Her mom was usually with us too, so I think it is even funnier that they would think I was her child.  We think it was usually because of how we behaved together.  Always giggling and having so much fun with the most mundane things.

I miss them all so much.  Her parents live in Arizona now, so I rarely see them.  My best friend now lives in Georgia with her husband and 2 boys.  I see her usually once a year or so.  The last time I saw them was October 2007.  Hopefully I will see them in a few months as they might be coming in April. 

My friend usually makes Pancit when I visit her, so, I get it usually once every 2 years.

My uncle’s nurse is Filipino.  She comes to his condo once a week to check his vitals and whatnot.  She is very sweet and they get along really well.  They were talking one day (my mom is always there when the nurse comes) and my mom mentioned that we like Pancit.  The next week, she brought a giant pan of piping hot Pancit that she had her husband make.

It was so good!  A bit different from my friends.  Slightly different noodles and a few different vegetables, but it was good!  I have to learn how to make that and Adobo.  I also have to learn how to make Empanadas and Alfajores.  My other best friend is from Argentina and her mom always made them.  Now that her parents moved back to Argentina, I never get the cookies and only sometimes get the empanadas if her sister makes them. 

Man, now I am hungry!

It seems nearly everyone watched the inauguration of President Obama.  From toddlers to the elderly, including those in my family.

photo credit: wikipedia

I was up and watching the coverage from about 8:15 until I went to bed.  I did break away when the local news was on from 4:00 to 5:00 and then again from 7:00 – 9:00 to watch The Biggest Loser.  I had less interest in the Ball coverage, though I did watch that from 9:00 – 10:00.  

Like most, I was moved by the history of the day and the massive crowds present to witness history.  Reports say there were 2 million people and not one arrest.  The mood created by this president is evidence that we as people can come together peacefully and with like minds.  An idea that has been challenged and doubted for as long as I can remember. 

I had a chat over dinner with my mom and step-dad the other night, a day or two before the inauguration.  My mom thought the coverage and excitement for 4 days prior to the inauguration was overkill.  I told her it is history, it’s huge.  She agreed, but thought it still seemed to be too much.

I told her that not only are people of all colors excited by the history of having the first Black/African American President and all that entails, but it is also a collective sigh of relief.

George W. Bush has had the lowest approval rating of any president and most people have felt dread with him as Commander In Chief.  While I will admit not all that has happened in this country is entirely Bush’s fault, a lot of it is and as I learned a long time ago, whomever is in charge of a company or a country is ultimately held responsible for its failure and errors.  His presidency has represented a divide and a downfall with little hope of improvement or change.

President Obama has signified change, hope, and a return to a time of prosperity.  The ability for so many to come together without incident is evidence of this.  This is a large part of why so many were celebrating prior to the inauguration and why so many cried tears of joy and relief. 

Bring this idea together with the history of the day and it was overwhelming.

Every time they say President Obama, I pause.  I knew it was coming, but it still is hard to believe it really happened.  He IS the president.  It is surreal.

My nearly 90-year-old grandma has liked Obama from day one.  She watched all day (except when she was napping) and had a running commentary on the events, the people, the clothes.  It was cute.  She was disappointed, however, that they did not show the ball gowns of more people.  She was hoping to see Oprah’s gown. 

 photo credit: AP photo

My 4-year-old nephew was playing on the floor while my sister watched the inauguration.  He seems to not pay attention to things, but we now know he does.  At one point, President Obama was speaking about duty.  My nephew, being his father’s child, had a Beavis and Butthead moment.  He stopped playing and said, “he said doody.  Doody, doody, doody.  Ha, ha.  Doody.  Doody.  Doody.”  Later he decided to go in the family room and watch his show on PBS.  He knows how to turn on the TV and put that channel on.  He came running out and said very exasperated, “Mom! Obama is on 11 too!” 

My 6-year-old niece is in first grade and they have been learning about presidents and democracy.  The other day she announced Lincoln is her favorite.  They watched the inauguration in school and she said some kids were crying because it was the first Black president.  I am not sure how much she understands truly, but she knows it is historic and important.  She is just starting to understand that people are different races or colors or religions, etc.  She is in a very multicultural school that embraces differences and educates all the children about them in a positive way.  I see her and her classmates and I see the future.  It’s beautiful.

One day, it will not be a big deal for the President to be Black, Female, Asian, Latino, Native American, Indian, Muslim, Jewish, Pagan, Divorced, Single, Gay, Lesbian, etc.  One day, it will be so commonplace that the only thing people are concerned with is how well the person will lead this nation.  I see that day when I look at my niece and all the little children. 

Today, I revel in the moment and feel so much hope and excitement about the future.

Congratulations, Mr. President.

2009 is bringing about change.

Yesterday, we changed as a country as Barack Obama became President Obama. 

Today I invoke a change as I begin a new path by going back to school.

Many of you know I have been unemployed for a while and have been struggling in this brutal job market.  My BA is no longer enough.  My 5 years at one employer is no longer enough.  There is too much competition and I have too little experience.

I am overqualified for some jobs and am nowhere near being qualified for others. 

Several months ago, I said that I decided to go back to school to become a paralegal.  I didn’t coincide my decision with the semester, however, so I had to wait. 

I am now enrolled in two of the five courses I have to take to gain that certificate.

I am also enrolled in classes to obtain an MOS certificate.  The Microsoft Office Specialist certificate is often required by some jobs, but either way, it will help me stand out in gaining employment. 

These classes are all independent study classes, the Paralegal courses being online.  The MOS classes are in a computer lab with individuals to offer support if needed, but I can go to the classes at my convenience. 

I am excited, but also a bit nervous.  It’s new and that makes me nervous, but I’m also nervous that this may not be enough or a waste of time. 

I just think doing something is better than nothing.  Hopefully, I can find something part-time to do while pursuing these two certificates.

I ought to be able to complete the Paralegal Certificate by summer.  The MOS certificate might take longer because my main focus is on the Paralegal courses, however, I might be able to complete that by summer as well. 

When I started this blog, the premise was me searching for many things, one being my career path.  I hope to have found that path in these certificates.  Wish me luck!

I went asleep last night
Tired from the fight
I’ve been fighting for tomorrow
All my life
Yea I woke up this morning
Feeling brand new
‘Cause the dreams that I’ve been dreaming
Have finally came true

It’s a new day
It’s a new day
It’s a new day
It’s a new day
It’s a new day

It’s been a long time coming
Up the mountain kept runnin’
Souls of freedom kept hummin’
Channeling Harriet Tubman

Kennedy, Lincoln, and King
We gotta invest in that dream
It feels like we’re swimming upstream
It feels like we’re stuck inbetween
A rock and a hard place,
We’ve been through the heartaches
And lived through the darkest days

If you and I made it this far,
Well then hey, we can make it all the way
And they said no we can’t
And we said yes we can
Remember it’s you and me together

I woke up this morning
Feeling alright
I’ve been fightin’ for tomorrow
All my life
Yea, I woke up this morning
Feeling brand new
Cause the dreams that I’ve been dreaming
Have finally came true

It’s a new day
(it’s a new day)
It’s a new day
(it’s a new day)
It’s a new day
It’s a new day!

It’s been a long time waitin’
Waiting for this moment
Been a long time praying
Praying for this moment

We hope for this moment
And now that we own it
For life I will hold it
And I ain’t gonna let it go

It’s for fathers, our brothers,
Our friends who fought for freedom
Our sisters, our mothers,
Who died for us to be in this moment

Stop and cherish this moment
Stop and cherish this time

It’s time for you and me
For us and we
That’s you and me together

I woke up this morning
Feeling brand new
Cause the dreams that I’ve been dreaming
Have finally came true
Yea, I woke up this morning
Feeling alright

‘Cause we weren’t fighting for nothing
And the soldiers weren’t fighting
For nothing
No, Martin was dreaming for nothing
And Lincoln didn’t change it for nothing
And children weren’t crying for nothing

It’s a new day
It’s a new day
A new day
It’s a new day
It’s a new day!

will.i.am “It’s a New Day”

“I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we’ve come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we’ve come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the “unalienable Rights” of “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked “insufficient funds.”

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we’ve come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God’s children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.

We cannot turn back.

There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, “When will you be satisfied?” We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: “For Whites Only.” We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until “justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest — quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of “interposition” and “nullification” — one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; “and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.”

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day — this will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.

Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim’s pride,

From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that:

Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

                Free at last! Free at last!

                Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr “I Have A Dream” speech delivered August 28, 1963 at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington DC.

I don’t watch The View.  I used to, I admit, but I just can’t handle Elisabeth Hasselbeck.  I can’t handle the arguing that ensues and the way they talk over each other.  I can’t stand the way I feel after watching it: angry and tense.  So, I stopped watching it, even though I adore Whoopi. 

I also rarely watch Access Hollywood anymore.  I happened to catch the episode on Tuesday January 13 while eating a quick dinner.  They were showing a clip from Monday’s (January 12) episode of The View with Ann Coulter and discussed the “aftermath” with her.  Coulter was apparently plugging her book on the show.  Barbara Walters read a bit of it and set the ladies off.

The bit that was read basically said that single mothers are to blame for crime because they raise criminals, which didn’t sit well with the ladies.  Another topic they “discussed” was celebrities who are half-Black and half-White, like Halle Berry, who were raised by their White mothers, yet they identify as being Black.

Ann seems to take offense to this. 

I’m glad I didn’t see this episode because I would have been furious.  My mom raised my sister and me as a single mother.  Neither of us are criminals.  There are many, many people raised by single mothers who are productive, respected human beings, never having committed a crime.

I also don’t quite understand why Coulter is concerned with the way someone identifies themselves.

  photo credit from a really great piece: http://www.theamericanview.com/index.php?id=936 

Since she is obsessed, I have to wonder why.  I am guessing there is some supremacy aspect to her.

I have many comments to this topic.

Why does it matter how someone identifies himself or herself? 

Perhaps the reason they identify as Black is because their complexion is darker and to the outside world, that is what they are. 

Have you ever noticed the way some people focus on someone’s race when they can’t figure it out?  If it is not obvious, they ponder it.  Because someone like Halle Berry is a lighter complexion and has smaller features, people aren’t sure “what they are.”

I hear this from my mom often.  “What do you think she is?” 

Perhaps the reason they identify as Black is because the media focuses on that and waits until the celebrity tells us, like Tiger Woods did, or they just decide for them.

Perhaps they are conditioned.  By White America.  If you know history, there once was a one-drop rule.  Meaning, one drop of Black blood would identify that person on census reports as Black.  Perhaps this has simply carried over to the way people automatically view themselves and others.

It is doubtfully a snub toward their White family, especially if they were raised by a White mother.  I’ve only ever heard celebrities of mixed race speak well of the family who raised them. 

Let’s put this in perspective a bit.

I’m 90% White.  Whatever that means, right?  I’m mostly Irish, but there is some Scottish, French, German, Bohemian and probably a few other things I don’t know about.  The other 10% is Native American. 

I identify as White.  Because I look it.  If someone says, “what are you,” depending on whether they want the full or abridged version, I tell them all of the above or I just say Irish.

It’s just easier to say one answer.  It doesn’t mean I am not proud of my Native American ancestry.  I am.  It’s just simpler to say Irish than to spew off all the aspects of my heritage.

My best friend is half-Chinese and half-Irish (and a few other things).  She identifies as Asian on those little boxes we have to fill out.  She would like to check White or Caucasian AND Asian, but she isn’t given that option.  She is only given the option to choose one. 

I imagine that is where a lot of people have had to make the decision as to how they should identify.  The government puts us into those little boxes and we are only allowed to choose one.

So, could it be due to the census reports? 

It could be any of the above or all of the above or something entirely different.

I don’t understand why it matters how someone chooses to identify.  That is their personal choice.  I don’t know why someone else would care or take offense or even think they have the right to question that choice.

What frustrates me more than anything is that as a country, we are trying to move away from race and that racial divide.  Then there are people like Ann Coulter who not only seem to enjoy the racial divide, but appear to perpetuate and further that divide.

Shame on her.

Like the Top Dropper list, this is late again because of my laptop issues.

Also, like the top dropper list, this one has an issue I’ve never had before.  One of the top ads has been removed from Entrecard, so I won’t be listing that and my list will be one shorter than usual.  

Thanks to these blogs for bringing me so many visitors.

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Have you ever had a moment you would like to redo?

A single moment you realize would have change the outcome of an event.  Letting that car go ahead of you rather than blocking the intersection.  Stopping to answer the phone before running out the door.  Not taking the elevator when the person inside creeped you out.

We all have moments like this.  Some seemingly small decision that leads you to a certain event.  A decision, a moment, that you wish you could do over to change the outcome of that event.

Well, I had that moment about 10:00 last night.

The news was just coming on and my mom had gone into the bedroom to call my step-dad (he’s out of town on business).  I heard a noise sounding like a door closing, but that’s not what it was.  I heard it 2 or 3 times earlier in the day and I figured it had something to do with the frigid cold and things expanding or whatnot.  (The noise was completely unrelated to what comes next.)

I heard it a few times and decided to get up and check it out.  It sounded like it was coming from downstairs.  Before I stood up, I heard my grandma’s walker.  She was going to the bathroom.  I stood up and put my slippers on to go downstairs to check.  I noticed a bowl on the end table from some cereal I had as a snack about a half hour earlier and decided to take it to the kitchen before going downstairs.

That is the moment I wish I could do over.  Forgetting the cereal bowl and going straight downstairs.  If I hadn’t taken the cereal bowl to the kitchen, I would have gotten there in time.

After putting the bowl in the kitchen sink, I went down the stairs and by the time I got to the bottom of the stairs, I heard a thud and then my grandma yelled.  I pulled the bathroom door open because I thought she was in there.  The heat lamp was running and the door was closed.  It was also the first door I reached.

She wasn’t in there.  She was in her bedroom.

Normally, I hear her walker both going to and from the bathroom.  Last night I only heard it once, so I assumed she was in the bathroom.  (I have hearing like a dog; I hear the slightest sounds and generally know what it is and where it is coming from.)

I missed the sound of her walker entering the bathroom and only heard it going back to her bedroom.

My grandma has a potty chair in her bedroom.  She had in there before we built the bathroom that is right outside her door now.  She keeps it in there now because, at nearly 90 she doesn’t always make it from her bed to the bathroom in time, so she keeps the potty in her room.

My mom has told her many times that if she goes in the potty, to just leave it and she will empty it for her.  My mom is a saint and is accustomed to dealing with excrement of all kinds from adults because she cares for my bedridden uncle and she cared for my step-dad’s father before he passed.

My grandma is stubborn.  Stubborn is an understatement, actually.

I don’t understand why she felt the need to empty the potty last night.  She hasn’t felt well for a few days.  Not sick, but in a lot of pain.  Even though I cleared her room to let the heat flow and it is now nice and warm in there, the frigid temperatures bother her arthritis and she has been in bed most of the time because of the pain.

Because of that, it surprised me she was going into the bathroom when I heard her.

I imagine that she is wishing to redo that moment, the decision to empty her potty.

The noise I heard, which caused her to yell out, was her falling.  She had gotten back into her room and replaced the potty.  Instead of just getting into bed and leaving it at that, she decided to park her walker out of the way.  That is where the trouble began.  She might be wishing to redo that moment, actually.

When I heard the thud, I called out to her before I opened the bathroom door.  She says she was calling me when she fell.  She says she doesn’t know why she was calling me instead of my mom.  She actually wasn’t calling me.  She yelled out once.  She might have been saying my name softly or thinking it, but I never heard my name.

When I didn’t see her in the bathroom, I ran the few steps to her room and flung the door open to see her sitting on the floor shaking.

She was on her way back to her bed.  She holds on to the dresser as she walks back.  She lost her footing and tried to grab something to hold onto but she was already down.  She says she fell flat on her back, but I know she didn’t.  She couldn’t have because where she was sitting, there were too many things behind her.  She also couldn’t sit up that quickly on her own.

I yelled to my mom upstairs, but thought she might not hear me so I pounded on the ceiling.

My mom did hear me.  She heard the thud too and thought I was putting out the bag of clothes for Amvets.  She thought the thud was the door.  She heard me yell and thought that someone grabbed me.  That made me giggle.  She thought someone grabbed me from the front porch.

Between the two of us, we got her up.  Thank God.  My step-dad is out of town, so if we couldn’t get her up, I’m not sure what we would have done.  Grandma kept crying that she didn’t know how she was going to get up.  She is about 250 lbs.

She fell about a year and a half ago.  We had been moving my uncle and we were all over at his new place, except grandma.  She was at home, but we had her stay upstairs so she could go to the bathroom (the bathroom downstairs was just a dream then) or sit in the living room or whatnot.  We had been there longer than we expected and we were winding down when I just had this feeling.  I told everyone I was leaving to check on grandma.  They seemed a little surprised because it was so sudden, but they said okay.  I hurried home, which is only about 5 minutes away, and I kept envisioning her on the floor.  I opened the front door and I called to her and asked where she was.  She answered that she was on the floor.  She had been there for about a half hour and didn’t have a phone with her.  I called my mom and had her send my step-dad and brother-in-law.  The two of them got her up that time.

Grandma knew it took two men last time, so she was worried we couldn’t get her up.  We kept reassuring her and trying to calm her.  I bent her legs for her so her feet were on the ground.  My mom got on one side, I got on the other, and I prayed for strength.  We got her on her feet and she said she was slipping so I lifted my leg using my knee to give her some support.  Thankfully, we managed to get her in bed.

She was in so much pain and just crying.

I rubbed her back for her and we gave her some of her vicadin.  I was worried she broke something.  So far, I don’t think she did.  She is bruised and I am sure she pulled some muscles, but she has been able to get out of bed to use her potty on her own, so I think she is okay.  Her arms are bruised up and her back hurts her very much, but I don’t think anything is broken.

I don’t doubt she is in pain, but my grandma is the type that is proof the placebo effect works.  She is very much mind over matter with certain things.  I used to make aromatherapy products.  Mostly for myself, but I would sell things to people also.  Therefore, I have essential oils on hand.  I always have lavender oil, which is like the Advil of the essential oils.  Since I didn’t have anything mixed and she needed something right away, I grabbed my lavender oil and rubbed some on her back.  (Lavender oil is one of very few that can be applied neat – meaning it doesn’t need to be diluted in a lotion or base oil like grapeseed before being applied to the skin.)

My grandma thinks I am brilliant and that I can do anything.  She asks me everything and I can tell her things to get her to do something or agree to something that if my mom said the same thing, Grandma would refuse.  To her, I do everything just right, so the lavender oil helped her.  Whether it did physically, she believes it did and that is all that matters.

All night, I kept thinking, if I just hadn’t taken the damn cereal bowl to the kitchen, I would have gotten to her before she fell.  I know it’s not my fault.  I didn’t cause her to fall.  I may not have gotten to her in time.  I might have only gotten there to see her go down, but I still feel bad.  I don’t normally have regrets, I think it’s a silly waste of time, but I can’t help but regret that cereal bowl.

What I am really irritated with myself about is that I didn’t go with my gut.  Like that time a year ago when I knew she’d be on the floor when I walked in, I had a feeling when I heard her walker.  My gut was flashing a red alert in my head, but my brain said, ‘she’s in the bathroom, she’s okay, just take the bowl to the kitchen now so you don’t forget later.’

I learned along time ago to trust my gut, so I am irritated that I let a cereal bowl derail that instinct.