E-etiquette

I would like to explain a little email etiquette. Some people do not want to read every little comment being made. With that being said, take note. People, there is a difference between hitting “reply” and “reply to all”. When the dining room at my office sends out next week’s menu and you are calling in or out for whatever day, the rest of us could care less. Please avoid hitting “reply to all” to tell me you do not want to eat on Tuesday. I have better things to do with my time.

Additionally if I email a group of you a joke or something inspirational, hitting “reply to all” is not necessarily the best route. I have had other friends email me back wondering who the hell you are and why you are emailing them your commentary on whatever it is I sent. I know it’s my fault for not putting the email addresses under “bcc” instead of “to”; but work with me!

I know I am being petty but it is a pet peeve of mine. With that being said I can now go about my day…

What brought you over?

The latest google search that brought someone to the land of potatoes and kartoffels is "Do dogs speak German"? Maybe if they are a German Shepherd? Bwahaha...

Takes a special kind of stupid.

I predict that I am predictable

I am so predictable. I have my getting ready for work routine, my morning break routine, and my after work routine…. You can practically set your watch by me. It can be a bit dull to watch and, trust me, it can be a bit dull to live as well but it keeps me in my comfort zone.

I am rather structured inasmuch that change can truly ruffle my feathers. The difficulty in that lies that the German is a mixture of “fly by the seat of your pants” and “go with the flow”. I, on the other hand, am a planner. God forbid I do not know what we have going on for the weekend. The German likes to remain open to the possibilities and it just sends me into a tailspin…

Sadly this predictability has made me a target for many things. When I walk into my local watering hole, regardless of who is tending bar, there is always an ice cold Coors Light opened and placed in front of me without a word being spoken. I have been going there for three years so that makes sense. However, this morning on my predictable walk with my cigarette I walk into Smoothie King with my co-workers. There was a bit of a line; however, when we got to the counter we were greeted with a cheerful “do you want the usual”? Granted we only go to Smoothie King about once every other week and have been doing so only a couple of months. For me there is something a little unsettling about paying over $4 for a fruity drink that does not have even a smidge of vodka in it.

I need to branch out and break this mold. Next time I am going to order something besides Muscle Punch. That will show them.

Hanging in there.......

I have discussed the following here, here, and here. I am still in the throes of it and still feeling a bit debilitated and overwhelmed by it all. I still have over a week to go before I can begin the Lexapro which I have heard from friends will be a big help. I am looking forward to that although I know it will take a while to get into my system. However, I am hoping the placebo effect of just knowing I am on the meds will kick in and help me out of this pit of despair.

I have been reading a blog that is truly speaking to me. I am sad for CP's personal struggle, yet I find solace knowing it's not "just me". To be quite honest, I truly am not so selfish as to think I am the only person who suffers. I know better than that. And I do not find relief in other people suffering. On the contrary, I feel their pain and regret that they too have to endure the emotional rollercoaster and the hurt that engulfs us.

I am grateful for the online friends who have come forward to tell me their experience with Lexapro and the differences it made for them. I can not thank them enough for sharing so that I can see a brighter side whilst I wade my way through the quagmire I am in.

I think today is just especially rough because 21 years ago today I finally escaped a college “boyfriend” that physically abused me. I still have the physical (and emotional) scars to prove it. This is always a rough time of year for me and it starts on September 13th and runs full throttle until January 2nd. It will take every fiber of my being to survive Christmas. What should be a happy time of year, and is for most, is a horrific time for me. I am completely overwhelmed during that season and look to it in dread.

The thing I am looking forward to most is the day I feel relief.

Reason 7,233,747 why I love my German

He has been so understanding, compassionate, caring, loving, giving, helpful, sincere, patient and a thousand other things while I have been fighting my latest round of depression. He will just hold me and wipe away the tears.

I am blessed.

Captain Ramsey

Have you ever experienced something personally that was also being played out nationally? I know the events of 9/11 affected people globally and many had personal knowledge of someone touched on a private level. With that being said and the sixth anniversary of 9/11 happening earlier this week, I want to tell you what happened September 13, 1997. It was a couple of weeks after Princess Diana had died and a week after Mother Teresa. Death comes in three’s and I remember telling Mama that I wondered who the third would be since I always adored both of those women. Mama sternly warned me against asking such a question because you will find an answer you really do not like whatsoever. She’s always right and this time it was no different.

It was a Saturday and my ex-husband and I had spent the day at his company picnic in Greensboro, North Carolina. We came home and I casually checked the answering machine. The message from my ex-father-in-law was muddled and confusing and he sounded drunk. Without missing a beat I dialed them in Virginia. What my ex-mother-in-law said to me was in a whisper and I could tell something was really wrong… What she quietly said was “turn on CNN”.

I made my way to the TV and turned it on. Flipping channels, I finally landed on CNN. After a few minutes there was a story on about an Air Force C-141 that had not returned to its McGuire, NJ base from a humanitarian mission to Windhoek, Namibia delivering land mine removal equipment. There were photos of those who were missing. The second one was identical to the photo on the table right beside me. I tapped the ex on the shoulder and then pointed. We quickly called his parents again to get more information. All they told us this time was to get to their house as soon as we could.

We flung things into bags, jumped in the car and drove. Fervent phone calls were made to both of our bosses. His boss was understanding. Mine, not so much. I was told be at work on Monday or you do not have a job. I told her to turn on CNN because according to all counts I probably had a death in the family. Although they were less than 100 miles away, I could have sworn the drive took hours.

Finally upon arriving we were greeted by an Air Force officer. He sat us down and explained that Jason’s plane was missing. The last known account had been when they refueled on the Island of Ascension. Ironically Jason had called us while he was there as I was cooking dinner the evening before. My ex was not available so I was the last member of the family to have contact with him that fateful day.

The family gave me the task of making certain the small town (my former in laws truly live on Main Street) was covered with yellow ribbons in hopes that he would come back to us. They literally blanketed the town. Everyone knew my former in-laws as he was a principal at the only high school as well as one of the assistant football coaches. We even tied one around Sally, Jason’s golden retriever. She was his gift when he graduated from the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs in May of 1992. The first media regarding Jason was a photo of that dog along with the rest of us. At that point I was also the family appointed media POC for all things regarding Jason.

Hours became days, days became weeks. The search was no longer considered a rescue mission. It was, at best, a recovery mission. However, it was the Atlantic they were searching for a sign, any little sign of wreckage. The sea can be very unforgiving. Air traffic control in that part of the world is sketchy at best. Hope was fading fast that there would be anything found at all.

There was the first of five services held. The first was at McGuire AFB. If you have not experienced a military service on a base you really are missing something filled with rich tradition, honor and haunting beauty. The flyover for that service was heart wrenching as nine C-141’s (one for each soul lost) flew by. The second service was Jason’s home town memorial held a couple of weeks later. It was held in the largest venue available in town, the high school auditorium which was filled to capacity. We were fortunate that there was a flyover from McGuire for this service as well. With GPS technology they were flying directly over as we exited the building.

Fast forward to December 25, 1997. Over three months have passed since we were told to turn on CNN. They found the wreckage. They found the black box. Back in mid September, they found wreckage from another plane that was not US but was German in the area Jason’s plane should be but no sign of Jason’s. Apparently the same day Jason’s plane went down a plane filled with 24 German officers and their wives were heading to Capetown for a Regatta. Yes, they called on Christmas day to tell us this.

Answers, we demand answers. One wife wanted to review the remains. My former family declined but allowed her to view all as DNA testing was going on to determine who was who. Out of all that was found, DNA showed conclusively that this was Jason. Now we had something to bury. Maybe that would bring more closure or maybe it would reopen the scab that had formed over our wounded hearts.

Service three of five is held. A trunk is dropped over the wreckage site and a park is dedicated to the crew of the C-141 in Namibia. Service four of five is held. This time it is back in the sleepy hometown where we lay all of two pounds that were positively him to rest. Full military funeral with a 21 gun salute and another flyover. That was March of 1998… A full six months after his death. We did not attend service five of five at Arlington. Jason had earned the right to be buried there; however, the family wanted him at home. Arlington is where they laid to rest the remains both identified and unidentified.

The black box. It survived months in the ocean. It had a lot to tell us. Jason was a pilot; however, he had flown the initial mission so he was out of the cockpit when the events unfolded. There is chatting between the two in the cockpit. There is a mention of “Jason was right. There could be another plane out here and we would never know it”. A few minutes later they found out that Jason had indeed been a fortune-teller of the most devastating kind. The impact was quick and it was deafening. The calls for “Mayday” went unanswered. There was screaming, lots of screaming. It lasted over 30 seconds before there was complete and utter silence. I can not begin to imagine how long 30 seconds feels when you know in no uncertain terms that you are going to die.

What went wrong? Well the German Tupelov carrying the 24 officers and their wives had not filed a flight plan with African air traffic control. They were flying on the wrong altitude. Everyone was in the wrong place at the wrong time and the conditions were perfect for tragedy. The German plane exploded on impact and gutted Jason’s causing them to keep going that extra half a minute and moving them much further away from the German crash site. The Germans were found because part of their wreckage was floating whereas the massive hole in Jason’s plane caused it to sink. The odds of a mid-air plane collision occurring are astronomical. Say you and I went out and were ten football fields apart. At a precise moment we both shot a BB gun into the air and the BB’s collided. You get the picture.

When we cleaned out his belongings I was told to take what I wanted. All I opted for is what is in the photo below. It was a gift that I made for Jason as a present when he received his wings. What is even more touching is that on the back of it is the note that the ex and I wrote to him telling him how very proud we are.


So ten years later, I remember you. I still think of you often and fondly. You were like a little brother to me. God bless you Captain Jason Scott Ramsey and may you rest in peace.

I haz crush...

I love intelligent humor. I adore people with razor sharp wit that trippingly slips off of their tongue with ease. I enjoy commentary dripping with sarcasm. I have a weakness for men who can pull this off. Oh, and I like food. That is why I am smitten with Anthony Bourdain.

I know that Jag has also documented her devotion to him as well. As a matter of fact we send each other tweets on Monday nights while watching "No Reservations".

If you haven't seen it yet, you need to watch next Monday at 9:00p on the Travel channel. I promise you won't be disappointed. Hell, I have even the German hooked on him... Only the German does not know that I haz crush...

Depression - part drei

Depression has kicked into full gear again. This is always a rough month for me for reasons I will reveal later as well as for reasons unknown. My truly worst time of year begins the Friday after Thanksgiving and runs through the second of January. It takes every fiber of my being to survive that time of year. Everyone else is so joyful and loves the holidays, blah, blah, blah, ad nauseaum. Not me. Hate it. That’s a completely different post.

I have yet to start the Lexapro because the 30 days of antibiotics I am taking affect my stomach and I am a bit scared to introduce another med on top of it. I still have 23 days worth of antibiotic to go so I can start the new drug then. It should start to make a difference within a month. That means I have close to eight weeks to go before I get some relief.

I am supposed to take the Chantix once I go off of the antibiotic because it too can affect my stomach. My belly has been through enough lately on this stupid 30 day course of drugs so I am not looking forward to something that lists “upset stomach” as a side effect. I would like a reprieve, thank you very much.

I really want to start the Chantix so I can begin the process of quitting smoking. I know how detrimental that is to me and how much it has been affecting me in my other health issues. I also know that quitting smoking will save the German and me around $5k a year. That’s a trip to Germany each year simply by quitting smoking! Amazing!

Anyhoo, I just needed to put it out there that the depression is kicking my ass. Completely. Utterly. Thoroughly. This is of the suck.

Book 'em, Dano

The weather today has reminded me of how much I enjoy rainy days. Particularly those spent curled up with a good book. I have not picked my next reading selection since finishing “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” on its release date of July 21st. It’s not as though there is nothing to read at home; on the contrary, I have shelf after shelf filled with books of all sorts that I have yet to break open. Today just reminded me that it is time to select my latest tome and climb into my chair with a beverage and enjoy.

Hmmm, what to choose…. Fiction, non-fiction, oh there is that wonderful collection of short stories just begging to be selected… With the way the depression has been lately there is some poetry that is a bit dark and I probably should stay away from it until I begin the new meds and am feeling a bit less “blue”.

At times I go to my old stand by’s and re-read a personal favorite like “Rebecca”, “The Poisonwood Bible” or “To Kill a Mockingbird”. However, I think it is time to break out a never-before-seen tome and read something new, something light, something fun… I can hardly wait to peruse the shelves and announce a winner.

Sun Bunny, not…..

For the third time in a week people have commented on how pale my legs are. There have been some comments made about the glare they give off, etc. There are so many sun worshippers that tan themselves to deep iodine hues. Many of these people tell me that they “feel better” when they are tan or that it makes them “look healthier”. More power to them.

This usually does not bother me nor hurt my feelings; however, it has given my food for thought. There was a time that fair skin was protected and prized it meant that you were genteel and did not have to work out of doors (think Scarlett O’Hara). Even with all the pre-cancerous and cancerous forms of melanoma, you would think that people would not be so hell-bent to sunbathe. And do not even get me started on people who go to tanning beds. I have no desire to literally bake myself, thank you very much.

My rational is that I am going to be old a lot longer than I am going to be young and I want to be comfortable in my own skin without it appearing to be an old, worn shoe. I wear sunscreen daily on my face. I slather on 30 or 45 SPF liberally when I am going to be outdoors for any period of time. I haven’t had a tan since the early 90’s or was it the late 80’s? I can not remember because it’s been ages.

Mother's little helper

I saw the doctor. I asked for help. I am the proud owner of a script for Lexapro. I have yet to take it. I am on a new round of antibiotics for the ever present UTI that will not vacate so I want to see how I react to this 30 day regimen of very strong drugs before I tackle a new anti-depressant.

If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times, it ain't easy being me.

Depression - part deux

The beast has reared its ugly head once again… The depression is back and in full bloom. I can not seem to shake it and that makes it even worse.

There was no trigger… The German and I are doing well, Mama is still doing well from her cancer, Daddy is recuperating nicely from his surgery, job is good, no money worries… Grrrr, usually I can pinpoint something that got me going. This time, nada, zip, nothing. Not even a clue as to what the underlying issue may be (if there even is one).

It gets to be overwhelming. The depression can suffocate the good happening around me and snuff out the light. I do okay at work because I do not have time to deal with it while I am there. But once I get in the car to leave – BAM! Now I have time for the pain, damn it. The difficulty lies in that most of my time away from the office is spent in a daze. I have my good moments, moments I relish and am thankful for; however, the bad seems to overshadow the good more and more these past weeks.

Although there is such a pre-conceived notion about depression being a mental illness, I know better. I know what is wrong with me is a chemical imbalance in my brain, a physical ailment instead. So I have made an executive decision regarding this. One that I hope will be for the good. I am going back on my meds. I am doing so out of necessity because I do not like being this way nor is it fair to those that I love to have to deal with me in this condition. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow to follow up on my holter monitor and am going to ask for a prescription tomorrow. Hopefully a happier Klinde will come as a result.

I tend to experience side effects on meds. Night sweats (which are particularly joyful now that I am pre-menopausal), lucid dreams (think Salvador Dali paintings) and sleeplessness… I have weighed the options and decided that I will just have to live through that part because what I am currently dealing with is too much for my curly head to wrap around itself.

I will keep you posted.

PS: Auntie D, if you read this, I did not call because it’s been hard on me to admit I need to get back on the meds. Sorry! Love you!