As I sat here this morning watching my daily dose of FNC, I observed Republican lawmakers filing into the White House for a meeting with our president to discuss our debt crisis and ways to cut federal spending. It makes sense that IF the debt ceiling is raised (i.e. borrow more money) then spending MUST be reduced to a greater level so that the national debt can be brought under control. Raising taxes is presently one of the options, but as discussed today, more jobs are needed to provide a greater tax base with which to operate. It's just one viscous circle dance, almost like a game of chicken, to see who is the first to give in or flinch.
In my opinion, this meeting was just another opportunity for "arm twisting" behind closed doors. The it's my way or the highway attitude has out-stayed its welcome. The time for honest, bi-partisan, negotiations is here, now...there is no more tomorrow. The political cars are speeding toward the cliff but neither party seems willing to yell, "Uncle". I'm mixing my metaphors but the message in each case is the same. "Out of control" by any other comparison is a path of destruction. Instead of waiting till the last minute and the eventuality of jumping out of the vehicle, why not put on the brakes and save the car and the drivers...and our country!
My youngest son and his best friend (my adopted son) have been doing some work investigating their individual family trees and found, in the process, that their families share the same branch some several generations ago. As they were investigating my own family tree they found that my paternal great grandfather was born into a family of slaves. And, after sharing this information with my father's younger brother, he discussed his grandmother (my great-grandmother) and his memory of her as a "redskin woman with a long, silver braid down her back". This memory was validated by my son's recollection of a similar conversation with my father many years ago.
For some years after embarking on a single life, I had an unexplained "draw" toward the unique representations of this indigenous American culture. When asked, I couldn't find an explanation as to why I decorated my living room with dream catchers and other replicas of Native relics, or why I was so moved by the wisdom and spiritual depth of this culture's written philosophies and beliefs. From earlier reading I ascertained that this passion might have originated from a soul-memory of past lifetimes; from my uncle I found that it originated from the call of my own blood relationship to this culture that remains to this day, so spiritually bound to the greatness of Mother Earth and Father Sun.
Last fall I wrote about my cousin and his condition of dementia which manifested after hip surgery almost seven years ago. At the suggestion of a friend I investigated the possible cause of this perplexing occurrence and found the possibility of a reaction to the anesthesia administered during the surgery, a sad side-effect that I have become more and more aware of since it hit so close to home.
My friend, who was married to my cousin over 20 years ago, and I, along with my uncle, have been visiting him weekly and earlier in this year we were all very concerned when a form of flu struck him and caused his usually up-beat personality to diminish as his physical condition also deteriorated. We continued to encourage him and remind him of our related past experiences, and challenge his short-term memory. Because my cousin's son was not communicative with the rest of the family I couldn't help but wonder if we would even be notified in the event his father had to be hospitalized.
Gradually, my cousin's condition began to improve: he became more talkative, initiating more conversations; asked more questions; and verbalized his frustration when his short-term memory continually failed him. We answered his questions (repeatedly) and did all we could to improve his living environment. I took pictures of the birthday party we had for him and of our visits and placed them in a frame to hang on his wall. The Center hung his picture outside his door so he could find his room, my friend's daughter bought him a very nice flat-screen TV, and his sister gave him a comfortable recliner to sit in while he watched TV or played his ukelele.
His condition is improving so much so that he's now asking when he can get out of this assisted living environment. We don't have any answers for him just yet, but promised him that we would check into it. In every way he has made remarkable improvements, and it's almost like he's willing himself to making progress.
While we accept the fact that he'll always have deficit memory retention, there is nothing in writing that says he'll never recover his ability to recall recent conversations...because he's already doing this. His ability to reason facts given to him always surprises us as does his repetition of recent issues discussed. Prayers are being answered, reality is always a given, and healing has already began. God is beneficent, life is good, and I have found a new peace. Namaste!
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