MAY IS LUPUS AWARENESS MONTH

FRIDAY MAY 10TH IS WORLD LUPUS DAY!

I hope that everyone takes a moment to read this, as it is an important subject to my family and me.  My sister was diagnosed with Lupus some years back and they've been kicking each other's ass ever since. Basically, Lupus is your immune system attacking yourself. It can involve the skin and/or internal organs. 

What a lot of people don't realize is that this is a disease, yet a silent one, that no one would know you had unless you were having an outbreak of the oh so fun rash that comes with the territory. All over the body. And I mean ALL OVER, it could even be DOWN THERE, like someone else I knew, and it got horribly painful. And then there's the added benefit of a sensitivity to the sun, so watch out for sunburn or the sun causing a rash flareup, even though you love the sun! People stare, as if they've never seen a rash or blemish on another human being before. As if you didn't already feel self-conscious...

Let's not forget the dry eyes, that's another symptom. Blocked tear ducts too. Vision changes. And if all that wasn't enough, you're already getting old, so let's throw in some EXTRA arthritis so you feel like shit all the time! But wait, there's more! Mouth and nose ulcers, side effects from the medications to counteract the side effects of the Lupus, and SO. MUCH. MORE! 

Now, I really love my sister and I feel bad for anyone else who has to deal with any autoimmune issues. (any issues actually) But this is one of the invisible ones, and she is my little sister, so I get a bit Big Sisterly and tough. One person actually told her that it wasn't a big deal. I guess my foot in their ass wouldn't be a big deal either. Good thing I'm not very mobile these days...

But anyways, I'm glad I found the quote above about taking a deep breath, thinking of something positive, and all that jazz. Good words for us all with all the shit that we deal with day to day. My sister and I lean on each other heavily for a lot of things and I want her to feel loved and supported as she deals with the weekly shots she gives herself, the medication side effects (even though nothing makes her feel better), being in pain and so damn tired, being a royal bitch all the time, and still working full time, taking care of her home and being a grandma to an active almost two year old boy.  I'm just kidding about her being a royal bitch, I just wanted her heart to jump because I know she'll read this, and I don't want her head to swell. That was a good quick deflate so she can make it through doors again. hahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!

Were we even poor?

Looking back on my early childhood, I even have memories from when I was 2.  There are bits and pieces, and if I mention something to my mom or dad, they tell me how old I was at that time, and sometimes I’m surprised that I remember those things.  I don’t have any memories of us being poor or me having to go without, but as my parents tell it, it was a struggle at times.  I don’t know when those times were, how long they ran for, or how bad they were.  I didn’t starve or go without the basic necessities and the little extras and cool toys that kids get.  I wasn’t spoiled by any means, but that’s not something I expected then or resent now. 

I remember living in Hamilton in a trailer house, and I remember that we moved a trailer house to Missoula.  I think that’s when we started living on the corner of Mount and Reserve.  But I also remember living in a trailer house in Missoula over by where West Side Lanes is now.  I burned my hand on the toaster.  It must have been pretty bad because I still have a pretty visible scar, on my left palm right under my middle finger.  These must be early memories, because it was when we lived on the corner of Mount and Reserve that I started Kindergarten.  I have a picture of me on the first day of school in the yard by the tree.  I still would see that tree when we’d drive by when we were in Missoula.  This past summer that tree got cut back and it’s really small now.  It was also in this home that I found out I was going to be a big sister.  I remember standing in the kitchen at the table when my mom told me.  I walked around and counted the chairs and told her that there were four chairs, now our family would be four people.  Damn I was smart!

It was the 70’s, so it’s hard for me to look at pictures and know if we were poor or not. Hahahaha!!  We had the typical color of furniture: no one puked on it.  It came that color on purpose.  Our clothes were fire resistant because that was the style, not because we were astronauts or firefighters.  I must have been pretty hip for the times.  Plus, my mom sewed, and she was damn good at it.  After my sister was born, we often had matching outfits.  On Easter, that bunny didn’t know what hit him.  Them bonnets we wore were cuteness overload. 

It’s here that I must digress for a moment and speak up about the intervention that never happened on my behalf.  Every Easter I would “tie one on” as my parents called it.  Luckily, they had a van, the cool type that was popular for its time, that had the recessed step down on the side door.  This is where I’d puke out my overindulgence of Easter candy, eggs and whatever else I could get my hands on that day.  This happened for at least a few years in a row that I can remember.  Anyways…

My sister was born, and we ended up moving to a big house on River Road.  I remember that year it snowed a whole lot!  I think we moved in just in time for us to have my sister’s birthday, maybe her first birthday.  This house was so huge.  It had an acre of land, a field, sheds, a HUGE garage, huge yard, the house had a basement, rec room, it was just huge.  Pine trees lined the front and sides of the property, so they blocked the view of the road. 

My dad always worked and worked hard.  I don’t really remember a time that he didn’t also have a project at home to work on for someone.  I do remember mom’s China hutch and the crystal looking containers on top that we collected pennies in to go to Disneyland.  One day the pennies were gone, and my parents said that my dad needed new work boots.  I wasn’t even mad, sad or disappointed.  Damn I was a good kid.  I was, however, pissed off that I never got the electric guitar that I asked for every Christmas.  It wasn’t until I became a parent myself that I understood that I might have had a better chance if I’d have asked for an acoustic, as those are much quieter.  😉 

My mom was a stay-at-home mom until my sister and I got a little older, then she started working outside the home.  It didn’t detract from her neat freak duties at home though.  She has set the standards pretty high when it comes to keeping a clean and orderly house.  Those words don’t even begin to describe it.  We could’ve lived in a turd and mom would’ve had it fixed up nice.  That’s how it is to this day, and when she says her house is a mess, I compare it to when I’ve worked at mine for days.  (hers still looks better) There will never be a home like mom’s. 

I had scoliosis and had to go to the chiropractor every week.  My sister had jacked up teeth and had to have braces.  We didn’t have health insurance and mom and dad had to pay for that shit out of pocket.  Yet we didn’t do without.  We still went to the doctor when we needed to and went school clothes shopping.  Clothes…  I really can’t leave out this story, and MOM, if you’re reading this, I think dad’s calling you.  OR something needs to be cleaned.  OR rearranged.  (She loves to rearrange too, I forgot to mention.  The living room, and any other room that has moveable parts.  My dad used to tease her that the bathroom would be rearranged if the toilet moved)

Mom was 16 when her and dad got married, and I was born a year later.  So, she was still in her “hip” phase.  She still had clothes and shoes from that era, which I don’t really know if they were considered “hip” or not, because I have always disliked the 70’s style-bellbottoms, ugly colors, and polyester!  It wasn’t my fault that the house had a basement big enough to store that shit.  She must’ve been feeling nostalgic one day while I was at school and found all that stuff, blew the dust off, and realized she had hit a growth spurt since she’d last worn it.  I can see her now, all excited, thinking “Angie’s still short enough to wear this GORGEOUS navy blue and maroon polyester leisure pantsuit!!”  Well, she was WRONG, WRONG, WRONG!!  That damn leisure suit not only had to be hemmed to fit my short ass legs, but it also needed to be soaked in Downy or something because it was itchy as HELL!!  (There was no lighting fire to it, as I think it was made to defy the depths of hell) I would have rather itched to death than to be caught dead in that leisure suit, but I was afraid to speak up.  I pondered in my mind which would be worse, being caught dead in the suit at school and getting mistaken for a midget teacher or getting in trouble for whining about hating it.  I decided to risk it.  I made the wise choice to wait until AFTER my mom spent all the time hemming the legs on the pants to tell her that I didn’t want to wear it.  She said “Fine!”  I don’t think she was pleased. 

I remember I went through a phase of always wearing my collection of drag race car t-shirts.  I thought I was so cool.  I kept those until my son was little and he wore them as pajamas and wore them out.   

I’m not sure if we were poor when I was young or not.  There was that time we might have been poor.  My mom tried to feed us liver.  Who eats liver on purpose?  Maybe someone gave it to her, and she felt bad and cooked it.  It might have been roadkill.  My dad didn’t like it, so we didn’t have to eat it.  Same with the salmon patties, I bet those were roadkill too, and she cooked them for us.  Thank God dad didn’t like them either, so we lucked out again.  When there were eggs on the stove hard boiling, I was only in charge that once.  Mom and dad had to go somewhere, and I was told to turn them off after a certain time.  They didn’t bother to check with me and my playing schedule.  I got busy outside and forgot.  When they got home, the eggs were done.  Yeah, like they done exploded all over the kitchen!  The smell done took over the whole house for months.  I was in pretty big trouble.  I never played again after that. 

Oh yeah, I had glasses too.  There’s another thing my parents never made me do without.  I had the big round kind, the kind your face has to grow into.  Not sure I’m quite there yet.  (Picture at the top for your amusement, me with my glasses, and my sister looking like a monkey on my lap) Or maybe I was TRENDY back then?  I don’t remember if this was before or after the navy blue and maroon polyester leisure suit incident.  I didn’t really stand a chance, and I hadn’t even hit high school yet.  (I’ll have to tell you about the pre-freshman accidental haircut I almost died because of, in a later episode of “Angie: The Nerd”) 

I remember going to the grocery store with my dad and him telling me not to ask for anything.  I must have been one of those kids who always asked “can I get a candy” every time.  I remember one time standing at the check-out line, not asking for anything or saying a word, but very obviously looking over the candy selection.  My dad must have taken the hint because he told me to pick something.  Ha ha, he took the bait!  I also remember, many times, walking through the grocery store behind my dad and finding cash on the floor.  I often wonder if he “dropped” it for me to find.  I have brought this up before and he didn’t admit to it.  It was a long time ago, but I’m going to ask him again in case he wants to fess up, if he remembers that far back. 

I wonder how often my parents had to keep a tally at the grocery store while grocery shopping, put things back, or not get something that was needed all together.  It never seemed like that was the case.  Recently I was telling my mom that I remember a time where I had to do that when my kids were little, and that it seems like a lot of people today don’t seem to understand what it means to “go without”.  What it really means to go without.  My mom said she used to take a calculator with her to Thriftway.  I remember her shopping there, and I don’t remember us being “poor” back then.  We still had great home cooked meals and didn’t seem to go without.  There’s a lot to be said for budgets, living within their means, and game meat!  My mom could cook a good deer steak.  (Since then, I have unacquired the taste for it, as I no longer have her as my personal chef)

I remember when my kids were little, and we were going through tough times.  Especially when I was a single mom.  Just like my parents, I made it work, and without help from anyone.  It wasn’t fun and I felt horrible.  But, just like my parents, later in life we have more money, and we can appreciate looking back on those tough times and how we were frugal, and still have some of those habits.  There’s also the fact that my grandma was 100% Jewish, making my dad 50%, making me 25%.  Jews are frugal, cheap, good with money, or whatever other stereotypes you can come up with. 

The Jewish stereotypes come from a few places: For a long time, Jews weren’t allowed to own land, so they were merchants and financiers.  They also were believed to have these professions because they were more educated.  There’s also Charles Dickens and his “greedy Jew” characters that helped with the negative aspect of the stereotype.  But whatever someone says, part of it is true.  I know this because I knew my grandma.  She loved a good deal, and I inherited that from her.  I, sometimes unapologetically, will buy something because it’s such a good deal.  Don’t need it, didn’t know I’d want it, but can’t pass it up.  Might not use up that many, but by golly, at that price, I might know someone who will!  (I’m thinking about the $100 worth of vinyl in the playroom closet right now that took up my entire minivan that I HAD to buy because that was one HELL of a deal!  On a daily basis I wonder “what am I going to make?”) My dad has some wonderfully funny stories of things grandma bought because they were on sale.  Like the hair dye that was probably not her color, the spray deodorant she took back to Kmart because it didn’t last long enough, etc.  My mom has stories as well.  Like how you weren’t allowed to use too much toilet paper at her house.  My mom teased her one time and said she left it on the back of the toilet to dry.  My grandma had a good sense of humor about the teasing, which made it more fun.  She said she grew up without toilet paper.  (she grew up in Morocco) 

Now that I’m older and retired, I look back on when I was younger and I’m glad I learned to appreciate things more.  I am a bit of a hoarder, of a lot of things, but that’s because things have value to me.  Sentimental value, monetary value, they’re useful now or will be later to me or someone else, or whatever other reason I come up with as my excuse.  Things aren’t as disposable as some people think they are.  And I can afford that luxury.  I have a craft shed too.  😊 That’s what makes me a craft hoarder.