Today was devoted to trying to make the driveway more drivable. With luck it will last through spring. I'm hoping like mad that we can persuade the matriarch of the family to relocate. We need to get out of the woods where there are three women fumbling along trying to survive. Frankly there are moments in time when a man is nice to have around. I watched my son-in-law today as he shoveled and dug some trenches and was amazed. He's a nice white-collar guy. Yet, he could do in 5 minutes what it would take me several hours to do with a shovel. It's time to leave the beauty of the woods behind and get the hell out of here into civilization. I want to live in a house with central heat and central air. I want a roof that doesn't leak, a crawl space that doesn't double as a swimming pool, and I want someone else to worry about mowing the yard if there is one. I am ready for a condo. I never thought I would be, but it's time. There are lots of things I can't do anymore. There are things I couldn't ever do: plumbing, electricity and roofing. I believe in equity, and I admire those women that do things like plumbing, electricity and roofing. I'm not trained in any of these, but seem to need to do them. I'm not coquettish enough to "acquire" a gentleman to do the work. My bankbook is not thick enough to hire a handyperson to come out to the middle of nowhere. I need some amenities. I need some comfort. I want to live somewhere that isn't falling down around my ears. For 18 years I've lived in a ram-shackle house that was one big headache and is now a bigger headache. I am tired of living like Daniel Boone, and I'm ready to join the 21st Century and have comfort......I need some comfort and a door that locks, and convenience. Maybe the Lord and St. Anthony will let me have a way into having something adequate soon.

I asked for help, and I got it. The teen who lives upstairs with Betty came home, cleaned house, and went grocery shopping. I didn't do the martyr thing that I hate so much in other people, and try to do it all myself. I'm rather proud of myself for that. I surfed the web a lot yesterday looking for elder care solutions and will call some today to see what may be worked out, if anything.

I am looking for a foyer table to go in my bedroom in a spot I've picked out. In my 700 sq. ft. appt., there aren't a lot of spots for anything. But I want to make an altar. I have a pretty statue of Mary, and a framed piece of marbled paper that is made with "Mary blue" and of course some candles and other odds and ends. I want to make a sacred space close to me. It is important to me to get some part of the devine in my presence. I want to FEEL God somehow more deeply and I feel that if I make a space, literally, for him/her in my house, then I will be able to identify closer to him/her. I like Mary. I know she's not part of the Trinity, but I like to think of her as a "safe mother." I pray to her frequently as an intercessor. Somehow I don't feel like I can pray to God directly. I don't feel worthy. But somehow I feel that the mother part of Mary understands my fears and my feelings of being unworthy and soiled. I take comfort in talking with her. I try to pray to the Holy Spirit some too. Mostly asking for her presence in my life. I don't usually feel it though. I just don't feel God or God's presence. I want to. I believe (most of the time) that there is an entity there, but I have to really work hard to connect because it's like the phone line has gone dead. I can't get a dial tone. I pick up the phone and listen occasionally to see if there's a dial tone, but I never get one. But I keep picking up the phone and talking into it -- I don't feel anyone or anything is really on the other end. I feel nuts for talking into the dead phone sometimes. But there is this drive in me that says I can't give up, I have to keep trying. It may sound trite, but one of the reasons I do feel a connection to anything devine is St. Anthony. A Roman Catholic friend taught me that praying to St. Anthony when you lose something will help you find it. Whenever I've lost something important and prayed to him about it, sometimes in minutes, I've found the treasure. Maybe I should pray to him to help me find my lost faith. Part of me doesn't want the help of a MAN. I want to find the answer through myself and other women. Part of me just wants to pick up the phone line and finally get through and get a feeling of KNOWING there is SOMETHING out there that cares for me enough to acknowledge me. I don't need angels or burning bushes, but a nudge of some description would be appreciated. I've often said my guardian angel is an underachiever. But then, who knows why I'm alive. Perhaps if there are such things as guardian angels, mine is overtaxed and overburdened and in swift need of the celestial spa for rejjuvenation! I don't know. I'd like to find some conviction somewhere. In a dream, a small sign, a bolt of deeply felt conviction -- but it's not there. So I pray. And I look for comfort where I can find it. The altar is the project I next need to complete. It's going to happen soon. I need to see that part of the devine, right here, right now, in my life -- close to me. St. Anthony if you're around, maybe you can help me out by finding my faith and restoring the phone line. I need a saintly telephone repairman to get the dial tone up and make sure that if anyone needs to call for me, I can hear them when I pick up the prayer phone.

I spoke frankly to my mother-in-law. She stated clearly that she wanted to live. She is not wanting to die or die faster. With help she got up and got dressed. She took her medications, and did her breathing treatments. The hour-long ride was hard for her, but she enjoyed seeing all ther grandchildren and her great-grandchildren. She ate like a lumberjack, since she didn't have to cook it and smelling the wonderful kitchen smells for so long made her have an appetite. She talked about taking a trip again. I can't imagine that she can imagine it! I advised her to save her money toward getting a new place in Breman closer to Jeny.

I was honest with her about my feeling responsible for making sure she took her medicine, and that I wouldn't fight her if she wanted to die. I do believe strongly in a person's right to choose to slide into the next realm. If she gets to that place, she only need tell me. She's so confused and needs such direct assistance with her medications now, that I'm not sure I can provide her with all the assistance that is necessary. She lives on sandwiches, but would rather not be bothered with eating. Today I called at 9:30 and told her to take her meds. At 10:30 I went upstairs to see if she'd taken them and eaten. She had done neither. I made her breakfast and handed her the pills at 11:30 when I wouldn't be put off further. The "In a minute," stuff is her being sucked back into her bed and just feeling sapped of all strength. If she doesn't want to die, why can't she get up and eat? Take medicines when prompted? But she isn't able to do that for herself right now. What does that mean? I can't eternally fret over this. I can put her meds together and make them available. I call her and prompt her. If she can't follow directives anymore, does that mean ..... that she should just be allowed to take her meds catch-as-catch-can knowing that taking them out of sequence and at the wrong times can hasten her death? Or, does it mean she needs a higher level or care and that we should consider "forcing" her into a higher care facility. Part of me wants to just distance myself from this and turn it all over to someone else! Some of me knows that I am it, and unless she has a stroke or something like that, she'll likely not enter a higher level care facility. And, for my mental health, that means I have to surrender wanting to "control" and ensure that she take her meds. I can only prompt her, I can't make her take the meds. She is in control of her destiny. Is there enough of her there to be responsible and to truly trust her to do as she is prompted to do? Or is this now too much responsibility for her to handle on her own? Each day is a day of decision. I feel too much responsibility lies with me. I feel her life is in my hands and depends on me to ensure she's compliant with her meds. I see that this is unrealistic, but I still feel it. Understanding the lengths to which my "responsibility" does not extend is one thing; feeling in my heart that I'm responsible for preserving her life is the other side of the coin. It's just a bad place to be. Each day the answers move.

Betty, my aging mother-in-law, called me and said she didn't want to go to my son-in-law's family's house today. She's been talking about it non-stop for 2 weeks. "Can't wait to go to the lake with Eric's family." I'm debating about being FRANK with her. The likelihood is that this may well be her last Christmas. All three of her grandchildren are going to be there with the 2 great-grandchildren. She doesn't have to stay long, but going and getting up would be good for her. She IS an extrovert. I think she'll perk up once there. If she doesn't people will understand if she wants to lay down. The bottom line is that she has heart failure and is on end-stage drugs. She clearly doesn't like hearing the bad news. She almost stopped seeing a doctor that told her she "likely" had Altzheimers. She didn't want to go back to him because he told her the truth. I'm afraid if I tell her the truth, I'll depress her or scare her or just be an ass when maybe what I should let her do is fade away. I'm befuddled. I do think I will be frank with her. I'm going to let her make the decision. And then if she decides not to go, I'm going to be guilt free. Deciding not to go will also involve a certain understanding that if she can't take her medicines and follow the prompts we give her as concerned family, she is making a conscious decision to die faster. I will give her the freedom to make that decision. I'm not going to struggle and fight with her about doing breathing treatments, taking medicine, and eating. If she elects not to do these things, she is electing to die. I believe in the right to choose that. But you can be sure, I'm going to tell her that her apathy is making that choice. Am I being an ass, or should I just let her fade away?

Tonight I surrendered to grace. Last year my daughter got married. I adore her husband. I'm happy that she's happy. But this put us as a family into a new situation. Old traditions didn't quite fit anymore. Last year I forced the square peg into the round hold and through emotional coercion. It wasn't pretty. I'm not proud of it. I was miserable and everyone else probably was being polite. This year I decided that if religion and going to church was more important than my family, then something was wrong. So this year, I made what my child and her husband wanted to do on Christmas Eve as more important than my drive to be at church. I need to be with people on Christmas Eve, and it's lots more enjoyable to be with people who are having fun than people who are being put out. I decided that those gracious Southern ladies that find ways to ingratiate themselves through impecable manners -- they were my model. And this year we got together at my daughter's and son-in-law's home as a spontaneous thing. We played silly games, we didn't go to church. We wrapped presents We ate. We joked. And grace and graciousness won out. This year was much nicer. This year there were no bad feelings that I was forcing my concept of what the holiday should be on others. This year I fit myself into the places where I was permitted to go, and it was ... good. I missed going to church. I like the ritual. I like the smells and bells of the Christ Mass. But the integrity of my family is stronger today than this time a year ago. The older I get, the more important grace becomes. Grace is where it's "at."

I have a tremor. It started about a year ago, and it's this great indicator of how tired I am. Yesterday my hands were wavering like two leaves in the wind. I think that means something. I'm sewing a velvet sofa throw for my daughter and son-in-law for Christmas, and I'm realizing that threading a needle will be a challeng I may not be able to meet in the near future. Right now I can type, but handwriting is getting too difficult to keep a journal. I enjoy making jewlery and right now I can do that and the tremor doesn't effect things too much. But the day is coming. A year ago I didn't think the progression would be this pronounced. If the gods let me live another 20 years, what will my hands and body look like? What are the implications for my future as an employee? A mother? Someone who wants to make lunch? Perhaps the lesson is to get more rest. There are many unfair and unmerited sufferings that I have had in my life, what does it serve for me to have this additional problem? Yet, if I had to choose, I'd rather have this than cancer, or lots of other problems. So, I guess I'll jiggle and shake and quake into old age and be glad that perhaps I'm entertaining to watch. Sometime after Christmas, I will tell my daughter to enjoy that sofa throw, because the chances I can sew in the future is diminishing. Grace is the way to handle what you can't control. Your choice is bitterness or grace. I choose grace. At least today, anyway.

The "Today" show is on and everything is focused on the holiday in such a politically correct face. Christmas has politically correct associations of snow, and red and green, and gift-giving. They're talking about a "healthier" way to approach the holidays. No one mentions the mystery that originated the concept of Christmas. Tomorrow I will go to the Christ Mass and celebrate the birth of a child from long ago. In the comfort of my parish pew I'll enjoy "lesson and Carols" and we'll hear the story that most find so familiar. Toward the end we'll light candles and spread light throughout the congregation in a heart-warming and beautiful symbol of the "light of life spreading through the world." I'll dress up a bit, and so will everyone else. Near the altar will be a nativity scene. By contrast, I think of poor Mary. No matter if you believe in the greater mysteries of Christianity, it seems undisputed that a maiden -- a woman -- the lowest member of society then, gave birth in a rough and primitive place. She had no midwife to attend her. She had an older man who was a carpenter. Some help. I sometimes think the reason the Shephards were sent to worship the new born Lord, was because they were familiar with birth, and maybe were of some assistance to the newly delivered mother. If you're a teen, what do you do with a placenta? Wrapping the baby in swaddling clothes sounds lovely, unless you think about muconium. In the stable, cave or whatever primitive shelter they had, did they have enough water and soap to get that nasty stuff off the child? Anyone that's every seen that stuff has to wonder! Akin to tar and with the same viscous properties, a baby's first poop is the most amazing challenge for a new mom to try and figure out. There were no baby wipes with lanolin and vitamin E. And how about that navel. We're insulated from that in our society now. Someone else cuts the cord, and babies are sisked away to nurses who have the secret knowledge of how to tend to it. I remember the horror I had one day when the drying navel of my daughter was moistened by wicking action from her wet diaper and there was a pulsing artery, and a purple vein in a moist and re-hydrated unbillius. It was frightening and so....provocatively squeemish. Did Mary have anciet knowledge passed on to her to know what to do? Had she ever attended the birth of anyone else? Did her mother, shocked at her unmarried, pregnant state, spend time with her telling her what to expect? Was there even a mom for her to consult? The only reason that Mary HAD to go to Bethlehem for the census was if she were a property-holder. For a woman to have property, it is likely that her father left her an inheritance and that would mean that he was dead. She endured that long trip in her late pregnancy to hold on to the one piece of a future that could be hers and hers alone -- property that would not belong to Joseph but to her. So, when I'm sitting in my church pew tomorrow night, I'll be thinking about such strange things as the ammenities of that stable. So cute to think of her laying the child in a manger. But that implies animals are around. Have you ever seen the emense proportions which a cow can pee? Do you know how increadibly annoying a goat can be in seeking attention? Was Joseph a cludeless man, or a kind attendant? No matter what the answers to the question, the beginning was a wobbly one for a young girl, who couldn't have been ready for all she was going to be faced with. It's good she had a strong character, because as a woman, someone with little next to no status, she would influence and give the God incarnate, and generations of people to come, strength and hope in the midst of trouble. Lord knows, she knew about it first hand.

This week I found out that one of the most interesting people I've ever met or known, passed away. The gods were good to him, and his life just ebbed out of him on the way to the hospital. He didn't feel bad or have to stay in the hospital or endure a nursing facility. He just faded away gently. He was 80 and had the most diverse group of friends of anyone I've ever known. He had friends older than him, the same age as him, and many, many friends that were younger. He was interested in history and collected old Roman coins, jewlry, and visited Mayan and Aztec ruins until his health wouldn't permit him to go sweat in the jungles anymore. He loved the sun and worshiped how it felt on his skin. That wicked man once called me from his back porch to tell me he was talking to me while sun bathing in the nude!! Somehow, he knew how to be shocking but adorable. He was a letch of legendary fame, yet his wife who he didn't marry until they were both over 40, was his queen and he gave her his all. When she became ill, he nurturned and cared for her lovinly and devotedly like no other man I've ever seen. He had difficulty with the holidays, just as I do. Holidays are for other people. People who have family. Or, at least people who have adequate family. He and I lacked that and so we clung to one another over the holidays. I visited with him at Thanksgiving and he showed me his collection of Roman jewlry, pictures of him during WW II, and told me his plans for future projects. I planned to visit with him and hold on to him this week while I struggled through the holidays that others find so enjoyable. For some strange reason, Christmas brings more anxiety and feelings of loneliness than anything else for me. So, I would visit with Berry. We'd stay busy chatting and looking through his many treasures, and the day would pass without anxiety. I'd rub almond oil into his hard-cracked, dry feet and legs. He'd tell me stories about clandestine associates and events, when he worked hand-in-glove with the CIA in Cold War America. He didn't believe in a Creator, God, or goodness knows a Goddess. He lived in the NOW. I hope wherever he's gone to now, he's been proven wrong, and can enrich the here-after with his wit, intellect and spirit of kindness. We need more kindness in the world, and a big chunk of it just left for me.