Valentines Day

Meh & now I can't sleep.

Remembering Grandpa Bill

My paternal Grandfather's birthday is tomorrow. He would be pushing his late nineties (the exact birth year escapes me at present). In late 1990, he was diagnosed with lung cancer. In early 1991, after a very short battle, he left the pain and suffering for eternal rest. Grandpa Bill retired when I was in kindergarten or first grade or perhaps before that. They sold the family home, bought a trailer, and moved across the state to be near us. When my parents bought our family farm, Grandpa moved the trailer directly next door on our land. For most of my life they were like a second set of parents. My Grandpa was always there, a key thread of the fabric that was my life. It was terribly painful and traumatic to deal with his death.

Grandma called early that morning crying that she couldn't wake him up. My Dad was in the barn working and there was no time to wait. Mom woke me and I drove the old station wagon down the ragged gravel driveway so fast I'm surprised it didn't fall to pieces. The moment we entered their home and saw Grandma at the kitchen table, we knew. She knew too, but couldn't tell us. All she could still say was that he wouldn't wake up. Perhaps the hardest thing I've ever done in life was going to the bedroom and putting my hand on his cold neck to check for a pulse. I was just seventeen; I grew up that day. Mom went to get my Dad & I called for the ambulance and sat with Grandma till they silently arrived, lights flashing, to take him away. Even though we told her he was gone, she kept hoping they could wake him up...

While I wasn't at home for their deaths, my Grandma Hazel, Aunt Charlotte, & Uncle Sam all later died in that trailer. During their lives, I could never enter the master bedroom again. The old trailer has long been removed, but it is still special to stand where they lived and died. I'll be home next weekend and need to spend a few minutes thinking at the old site. I'll stand by Grandma's old Magnolia? Tree, the only remnant it was her home. It scares me and I get chills to stand there. It also gives me more peace than visiting their graves to stand where they lived; where they helped make me who I am today.

It's not just his birthday that compels me to remember Grandpa Bill this morning. I can't go there today, but I'll eventually share. I love my family.

O'beastity

Yes, I spelled that correctly. Due to a variety of unfortunate situations excuses, such as several broken ribs in June and a lingering three month fight with Sciatica, I have been very inactive over the past six months. Yes, I still run a little; my leg and foot goes numb. Yes, I still go to the occasional class with Judy; I literally can't stand up after an hour of working out. Before the ribs, I was running and/or working out 5 days a week, in possibly the best health of my life, and I felt great. Today I can't walk five blocks without brutal Sciatica nerve pain.

My body has failed me this year and I haven't been able to push through.  A failing fitness regiment led to unhealthy eating and MORE smoking; I even started regularly smoking in the morning over the holidays. Today, the scale greeted me with a frightening number that I've never seen before; 249. This is officially the heaviest I've ever been. In light of my overall health, I still fit smaller clothes than seven years ago, but if I hit 250...what will happen? Perhaps I should smoke constantly and eat nothing?

At the end of the day, I look like a bear. I feel like a bear. I don't want to be a bear. I don't want to be a beast. Will I get even fatter if I successfully quit smoking? I crave food anyway; without the nicotine will I be strong enough? While he's smoking hot, I don't want to end up in a position where Bob's help is the only way back. I will not end up a beast.

Excuses

Excuses are monuments of nothingness,
They build bridges to nowhere,
Those of us who us these tools of incompetence,
Seldom become anything but nothing at all.   (unknown)

There's always some excuse to quit smoking later. I have smoking friends from MA coming this weekend. Next weekend is a holiday; we'll be out with smoking friends. We go on vacation at the end of the month with smoking friends. We're called the Chimneys...while it wasn't originally a reference to smoking, it certainly applies with so many of us paralyzed by nicotine's grip.

I frequently associate excuses with an old church song from the late 70's or early 80's. They used to make us sing it in Bible School. A quick interweb search looks like The Kingsmen Quartet published it at one time but I'm not sure if it was their original work? While I'm not the least bit churchy, it's interesting that many of the "Devil's excuses" to stay away from church loosely relate to excuses to keep smoking:

Excuses, excuses, you'll hear them every day.
And the Devil he'll supply them, if the church you stay away.
When people come to know the Lord, the Devil always loses
So to keep them folks away from church, he offers them excuses.


In the summer it's too hot. And, in the winter, it's too cold.
In the spring time when the weather's just right, you find some place else to go.
Well, it's up to the mountains or down to the beach or to visit some old friend.
Or, to just stay home and kinda relax and hope that some of the kin folks will start dropping in.


Well, the church benches are too hard. And, that choir sings way too loud.
Boy, you know how nervous you get when you're sitting in a great big crowd.
The doctor told you, "Now, you better watch them crowds. They'll set you back."
But, you go to that old ball game because you say "it helps you to relax."


Well, a headache Sunday morning and a backache Sunday night.
But by worktime Monday morning, you're feeling quite alright.
While one of the children has a cold, "Pneumonia, do you suppose?"
Why the whole family had to stay home, just to blow that poor kid's nose.


Excuses, excuses, you'll hear them every day.
And the Devil he'll supply them if the church you stay away.
When people come to know the Lord, the Devil always loses
So to keep them folks away from church, he offers them excuses.


Well, the preacher he's too young. And, maybe he's too old.
The sermons they're not hard enough. And, maybe they're too bold.
His voice is much too quiet-like. Sometimes he gets too loud.
He needs to have more dignity. Or, else he's way too proud.


Well, the sermons they're too long. And, maybe they're too short.
He ought to preach the word with dignity instead of "stomp and snort."
Well, that preacher we've got must be "the world's most stuck up man."
Well, one of the lady's told me the other day, "Well, he didn't even shake my hand."


Excuses, excuses, you'll hear them every day.
And the Devil he'll supply them if the church you stay away.
When people come to know the Lord, the Devil always loses
So to keep them folks away from church, he offers them excuses.
So to keep them folks away from church, he offers them excuses. 

Regardless, I'm tired of using these tools of incompetence to drive my behavior. I must be strong. I must desire to quit and actually do it. I have no choice but to succeed; the alternative of a short life and painful death is just too gruesome.

Support System?

Do you tell the entire world you want to quit? Will they offer support or will their own complacency with smoking or weakness make it worse? Will the pressure of public failure help achieve the goal?

Do you make it a private endeavor? The last time I quit for over a week before my boyfriend even noticed. That gave me willpower to do it on my own because nobody else even gives a damn about anything. I think I lasted over five months that time.

I am ready to forever quit. I will prematurely die of cancer, a heart attack, or stroke if I don't make a healthy choice now. It's in my genes. If I fail please display the body in a black suit with a black tie and a black shirt. Put a sign in the coffin that says, "smoking kills." My failure to be a good example to my daughter in life might leave a lasting impression in death so she never smokes. Let my ashes be a reminder.

I hate smoking

One of my early blog topics was smoking. Needless to say, many years later, I'm still dependent on the nicotine and passively committing suicide one stick at a time.

I hate smoking. I hate the way it smells. I hate the way I feel weak as if I have no self control. I hate how much it costs. I hate how it ruins my body and slows me down.

I'm thinking about quitting again. I wonder if I will be successful or if I'll succumb to cancer like others in my family who didn't have the willpower to quit or who quit too late in life to prevent an untimely death.

I don't want to die but feel it killing me. I hate smoking.