Rita Moffat Died

My mom messaged on facebook a couple of days ago. She told me that my uncle thinks I need to see a neurosurgeon because I have some symptoms very similar to my cousins--and their thing is a hereditary thing from our grandma. Then, in the middle of that discussion, she typed this: Rita Moffat died.  That's nothing to anyone who may read this blog. That's not the point.

Rita Moffat--the girl with a mental age of 7 or maybe 8 years old. Shy, very quiet, speech impediment of some sort, incredibly poor, clothes very old and clearly worn out, and overweight.  As if a mental deficiency wasn't enough, she was overweight. 

Bear with me.

I knew Rita for about 3 years. Three school years. In the entire scheme of life, three school years is nothing, barely a blip.  For poor Rita, every school year must have been an eternity.

She was the butt of too many jokes for the reasons I listed above. I remember watching and seeing that no one seemed to recognize her as a human being. Our small school had several of those, but Rita especially caught my eye.  And my pity. 

Then, one day, stuff fell out of her locker. People walked by like it was a non-event.  And to them that's exactly what it was because they had failed to notice that, for all of her issues, she was a human being. But in that moment, she looked lost. And my pity changed. I stopped and helped her.  It was one moment.

I didn't know what that moment meant to her.  It didn't occur to me that she should have been passed by or mocked.  In that moment, she was a girl who needed a friend.  

This is not an epistle about how great I am.  I am nothing. I am, and I have always been, that temp from Chiswick. But that day I was the most fabulous person in the universe.  From then on, she would give me little waves in the hallway.  I could see she hoped I wouldn't ignore her now that the crisis was over.  I didn't. I waved. I smiled.  

And then, one day after school, I was heading out the door to walk home and she was on her bus.  I saw her. And she smiled at me.  That was the first time I'd ever seen Rita Moffat smile. And she smiled at me.  

I only knew her three years. After 9th grade, I changed schools and I never saw Rita again. I thought of her often. I hoped she was okay. I hoped someone else had bothered to notice she was a real live human being, but I don't know.

And in the end, her eulogy is mine. "She always ask[ed] about you because you would talk to her and be friendly" Mom typed. Oh, Lord, I hope I wasn't the only one who was that person for her. I hope someone else came along.
But there are thousands of Rita Moffats surrounding us every day. Think. Can you see their humanity? Can you care for just a moment?

When Reading Leads to Learning

I was recently feeling curious about the Potato Famine and so began to read about it. One name kept appearing, Charles Trevelyan. I couldn't decide whether he was a good guy or a bad guy or whether he fell somewhere else along the line. He could have been misguided or he may have been utterly self-seeking. I began looking for information about him. What I found was precious little. I had to settle on a biographical account written by a Trevelyan. I guess William Manchester didn't feel that this family was worth noting.

Now, I'm not too far in to the biography but it's caused me to research other aspects like, for instance, The Clapham Sect. I've also got written down to read about Malthus. I think that I may not need to finish the biography because after I research those two aspects, I'll have an extremely fair ruler by which to judge the way he handled the famine. At least, I believe so because from what little I've read about both at this point can only merge into the reasoning behind his actions.

Reading non-fiction isn't easy; it always leads to needing to read about something else. Reading fiction is easy. But, reading non-fiction can be highly rewarding and it doesn't have to be school, either.  It can just be fun to learn something new. Or to remember what you once knew.

The Supplement Continues

Okay, I started taking Nature's Sunshine Master Gland Formula. It's helping.

Yesterday was grocery day. I usually need to lie down and sleep after I finish which means the  groceries don't get put away since grocery day is also church night. Yesterday, I didn't need to sleep. I needed to get off my feet for a bit, but I made it through. I got most of the groceries put away before time for church. I slept well and have energy to finish what needs done this morning. Also, Wednesday I did a lot of painting around the house--which is a funny thing anyway since I hadn't planned on painting much more than some letters for a craft. (My paint lid wouldn't come off and I had to mutilate it beyond reuse to get it off, so I had to use as much paint as I could.) So, Wednesday was very active and Thursday was very active and I still have motivation today. 

I feel that, overall, my sleep has improved. I'm waking with a brighter outlook. I even feel like I might start walking again. 

The only negative I have about it is that I cannot take it too close to bedtime or I won't sleep. 

Supplement update 1

So, things get a little rough when Rod gets home after a business trip because he doesn't sleep well the first couple of nights which means I don't sleep either. That said, there were a couple of naps.

But, there's a sunny spot. My typical feeling on overcast days is one of a thick, cobwebby something behind my eyes. I feel like I should be able to scrape the cobwebs away and have clear thinking abilities.  Through the past few overcast days, I've not had that feeling so much. This is lovely. 

Again, I know that it may not mean much to the average person who hasn't struggled; and that's okay. It means a lot to me. It means a lot to my family because I can do more and engage more with them.

Fingers crossed.

Just the Same Old

Did you ever go along feeling the same old way for so long that you forgot that you ever felt any other way?  Apparently I have been.  I've not felt alive or healthy or energetic or anything for so long. I've gone to doctors who've told me I'm not sick enough to treat--almost, but not quite.  So I've sucked it up. And sucked it up. And sucked it up. I've learned to make feeling like crap normal.  Is that wrong? I mean, I've tried and I can't get better. 

So, out of a vague memory of an herbal supplement from 20 years ago that helped me feel better than I'd felt in years (yeah, it's odd to say that when 20 years ago I was a 20-something wandering around feeling like crap all the time), I picked some up again. I've been on it for 4 or 5 days. And I'm going to say that the strangest thing is happening. I've been able to function without a nap for 2 days. Now, you may not think that's much, but to me it's huge.  You may say, "It's only 4 or 5 days so you can't know for sure." Yeah, I'm not getting my hopes up; but I'm hopeful. I'm hopeful because I woke up on time feeling like I'd slept last night. I'm hopeful because I did multiple errands without any dread. I'm hopeful because I still felt like I had life left in me after the errands and I made meatloaf and mashed potatoes for dinner. And I swept floors and did laundry and dishes. And I cleaned my bathroom. And it's almost 9:30 pm and I'm doing okay. I'm tired but not the usual exhausted. Just tired. 

So, maybe I can learn to have a new normal where I can think clearly and process things that need to be done and then be able to accomplish those things.  If things are still chugging along nicely in a week, I'll spill the beans on the supplement.

I'm just a temp from Chiswick

If you  know me, you know I love Doctor Who. It doesn't matter if it's classic or new Who because I love it. I love the cheesy drama. I love the fanciful. I love the dream.

The Doctor always has his companions. He needs his companions. They are important to him. They help keep him sane. 

I feel like I'm often Rose or Donna from new Who. My life is mundane.  It's getting up every morning and doing the same.old.thing. I'm nothing special. I'm just a wife and mom. I get buried in the routine.

I sweep the same floors every day and yet they never look clean. Kids, dogs, and life in general come right behind me and muck them all up. I can never have an empty sink. As soon as I dry my hands and turn off the kitchen light, someone comes behind me and creates more work. I clean up clutter piles and then turn around to find them all right back where I cleaned them.  

I donate about 15-15 gallon trash bags of stuff to charity every year. Some years more, depending on how much the kids have grown.  And yet there's always more stuff to replace what I took out.  

This is my every day. This is my all week.  This is all year. Mundane. Routine. Rut.

It's nothing to write about. "I'm just a temp from Chiswick. I'm nothing special."  

Except that writing is supposed to help me break out of my rut; maybe it's supposed to simply help me see beyond my rut. This is a bit of a quandry because how is writing about the same old thing every day for 365 days going to help me see things better?

On the other hand, I am an introvert. I don't need new and exciting things. That sort of thing just wears me out.

Maybe next year's resolution will be 365 days of reading.

Are you well read?

I saw a post on Book Riot about being well read.  I think it was a very good article because it addressed the fact that there are various notions about what being well read looks like. The article, which I will link at the end nailed it perfectly.  And I feel better about myself now.

Being well read isn't based upon someone's list of requirements.  You know. those lists of books that come flooding by telling you 17 books that should be read by the time you are 16; 20 books to read in your 20's; 12 books to read to your 2 year old. Yeah, those.  And every time you look at those lists, you see how you failed to be well read.

Well, it's time to take heart.  Just because you didn't read that author's/blogger's/editor's picks doesn't mean you failed.  It means that maybe you've enjoyed a lot of things others missed.  

I mean, if your list includes The Odyssey, The Inferno, The Brothers Karamazov, Little Dorrit, a Jonathan Winters biography, a few other obscure biographies, and a mish-mash of non-fiction, vs. The Bell Jar, A Passage to India, Frankenstein, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and biographies about JFK, MLK, and Harry Truman, how are you any less well read than the if the list were switched? 

The point of being well read is to read.  Just read.  Pick up a book and devour it. Let the fictional characters beat you up; live life with those in the biographies; learn something useful from the non-fiction.

Isn't that the point of reading? Variety is the spice of life. Being well read means you read things that aren't by your favorite author. It means picking up things that might be a little hard and persevering through them and being richer at the end. 

And if you and I cannot discuss what books we have in common, we can still converse about books we don't have in common because we will share recommendations. 

Go forth and read, Friends!

Are you well read?