Archive for the ‘love’ Category

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Reblogged: Not-So-Retail Therapy

February 24, 2013

This post reblogs a refreshing alternative to conspicuous consumerism, and adds some of our own thoughts triggered by the reblogged post. We should all strive to evaluate our needs and wants more carefully. There is a big difference between the two. Oftentimes what we THINK we need is actually a very strong desire, but doesn’t fit into a “vital” category: food, shelter, safety, water, health.

Speaking for ourselves, we find shopping (for ourselves) to be mostly a chore or obligation, and not one that we would consider “fun” or “relaxing.”

Shopping with someone else, to assist xem in finding things xe needs, is a different story depending on the person. For instance, our sister N needed to find dress shoes to match her dress for the Inauguration Ball (her boyfriend was on Obama’s campaign staff and the Inauguration committee staff also- thats why she was able to go). I (Andrea) and our mom met her in DC and we were out for 4 hours. I was exhausted by the end of it. All for a pair of shoes. But she NEEDED them for the occasion. And I figured since I don’t get to see N much now because we live 6 hours apart, that shopping was a way to spend some sister-time together. I actually insisted that I accompany mom and N on the shopping trip, to their pleasant surprise (they both know I hate malls due to noise and crowds.)

I was certainly thankful to be OUT of the mall when we all finally finished. After that I think we had a nice meal together. Mom and N probably said something about being proud of me for braving the mall for so long. I must have thought to myself “glad to help” and “thank goodness for comfortable ear plugs!”

Shopping for pleasure, to us, is an oxymoron most of the time.

Collaborative, mostly written by Andrea, finished by Ivan in her absence

Adventures in Thanks-Living

Most folks who know me well are aware that I do not take much pleasure in shopping–especially the kind of retail shopping that involves plunking down major cash outlays for transitory and often cheaply made consumer goods. In short, I just about have to be dragged to a shopping mall.

That said, I can understand how shopping can be classed as “retail therapy.” There’s the thrill finding that seemingly perfect item to fill a need, or more likely, a want in a person’s life. I’ve been there and done that and have come to find the outcome severely lacking.

Now I practice “not-so-retail” therapy. Let me explain. As a member of The Compact, I avoid buying new items that contribute to an ever-growing waste stream and violate principles of justice and equity that I hold important.

My latest “not-so-retail” therapy sessions involved Goodwill, Staples, and Dollar Tree. Here’s the…

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when we were younger

December 13, 2012

*TRIGGER WARNING FOR BRIEF MENTION OF PHYSICAL VIOLENCE NEAR THE END OF THE POST*

I got the idea to write this from reading a label on a Lean Cuisine entree………”cocine en alto” which is Spanish for “cook on high”. When we were younger, we used to think that “alto” was a language, because we heard a friend of our housekeeper talking about it……..didn’t realize it meant the vocal part she sang in the church choir. I knew she was from a different country so I thought that her language was called Alto.

We had another post about something very similar. It was about Peter Pan and his pixie cohort Tinkerbell. She was dying because she drank Peter’s medicine that Captain Hook had poisoned. Peter asked people to clap so she would get better. Our out-of-body sister Natalie (Not her real name) and I were sitting on the couch watching, and we clapped because we thought Peter was talking to us. Can’t recall ages now. This was definitely more than fifteen years ago.

We (myself Athena and Andrea; though at the time we didn’t know about plurals and DID or even autism) also had other things we liked to do alone. Weather intrigued us quite a lot, so we would go to our room, close the door and then take out our beads and pretend the floor was a weather map. We put clusters of beads on the ground to denote storms. We made bigger and more circular or spirally clusters to denote hurricanes. We called it weather for The Littles. We don’t mean littles as in “insider children”. We meant small people. Very small people. Like toothpick sized. And invisible too.
We didn’t want anyone else to see what we were doing. This was a long time ago, so I don’t know why. Perhaps it was embarrassment? Not sure. We would often close our door in poor Natalie’s face. Well, not literally but I’m sure it felt like that to her. We wanted that alone time. To enter the world of the Littles and tell them what kind of weather to expect for the day.

It was a ritual that happened almost every day, probably around the same time. We cannot remember now, how long it lasted.

When we closed the door on Natalie, she often cried. That made us more annoyed because of sensory aversion to crying. We probably couldn’t understand why she was crying. It didn’t occur to us that she could be upset about not getting attention from Big Sis.

So, she would retaliate, by closing the door on us. I had no clue the events were related. It didn’t make any sense whatsoever at first. And also, there was a sense of “she is doing it to be mean, but I wasn’t.” We certainly felt that she was bullying us, and didn’t think that she might have felt the same way.

I would get upset at her and hit her or sit on her. I didn’t know how else to behave. I was less than ten at the time. We weren’t diagnosed as autistic until much later (we were almost 22).

We are pleased to report that today our relationship with Natalie is very deep and loving. We lift each other up. She doesn’t have as much time to talk to us as she would like, because of work and her own social life. We are also busy with school, especially at this time (end of semester, preparing for final exams, etc.)

This is one of a few posts we plan to write about our childhood.

Andrea and Athena, collaborative

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Some thoughts on Ending one’s life

December 7, 2012

Don’t worry, readers: we aren’t going anywhere.

TRIGGER WARNING FOR MENTION OF SUICIDE!

SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT!

I just finished reading a post by ama about how a doctor said “you are an incompleter” when talking about failed suicide attempts made by the aforementioned blogger. As if completing suicide were some kind of honor that was better than failing to complete it? What an idiot that doctor was!

Alas, the post I was referring to in the beginning no longer exists. The user took down their blog some time ago. This post was actually started a couple of years ago (at least).

Suicide is one of those things that is best left unfinished (meaning someone finds you before you can do it) Or even better, not started at all. I talked to a friend about this topic a while ago, and said friend may well take issue with this post. We don’t agree on everything, which is perfectly okay with us.

We are of the collective opinion that suicide is very hurtful to family members left behind. ( not that my sisters cannot think for themselves. They came to the same conclusion as I did, by different paths.)

However, we are well aware that not everyone is so fortunate, blessed (for fellow Christians) or whatever word you want to use, to be born into a healthy, functional (no major violence or drug or alcohol problems or major trouble with the law-nothing to do with functioning levels) loving family.

But OUR experience is of being born into a loving family; therefore we are not really qualified to talk about other kinds of family experience in first person narrative as if we are living it. This experience is what has shaped our view of suicide, as a most unfortunate final act. We have no intention, with this post, to disparage anyone who has family experience different than our own, or who happens to view suicide differently than we do.

This post was initially inspired many months ago by reading a post we referenced in the opening sentences.

No one should have the misfortune of being called an incompleter by xyr doctor due to a failed suicide attempt.

The original title for this was “Incompleter My Arse” but when I wrote more it just went in a different direction. Which has been the case for many of our recent posts since they were begun many months ago and possibly by another author(either Athena or Andrea)

Ivan

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Reblogged from Many Of Us

November 7, 2012

This is so awesome! We thank every veteran we come across, if they are not socially inaccessible at the time (engaged in other conversations or things like that.)

Veterans, thank you so much for all of your sacrifices.

Welcome home.

Andrea the Integral
For all of us

Many of us's blog

BEFORE YOU GO
–Author Unknown

(Please read to the end, then click on the website — this is wonderful!)

The elderly parking lot attendant wasn’t in a good mood! Neither was Sam Bierstock. It was around 1 a.m., and Bierstock, a Delray Beach, FL, eye doctor, business consultant, corporate speaker, and musician was bone tired after appearing at an event.

He pulled up in his car, and the parking attendant began to speak. “I took two bullets for this country, and look what I’m doing,” he said bitterly.

At first, Bierstock didn’t know what to say to the World War II veteran. But he rolled down his window and told the man, “Really, from the bottom of my heart, I want to thank you.”

Then the old soldier began to cry.

“That really got to me,” Bierstock says.

Cut to today.

Bierstock, 58, and John Melnick, 54, of Pompano Beach…

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This is touching

October 12, 2012

Chelsea Weddington posted in Support Group for Adult Mental Health Consumers

Chelsea Weddington 12:59pm Oct 12
I saw a cashier hand a little boy his money back at the mall, the boy couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6 years old. The Cashier said, ‘I’m sorry, but you don’t have enough money to buy this doll.” The little boy turned to the old woman next to him, ”Granny, are you sure I don’t have enough money?” She replied, ”You know that you don’t have enough money to buy this doll, my dear.” Then she asked him to stay there for just 5 minutes while she went to look around. She left quickly. The little boy was still holding the doll in his hand. Finally, I walked toward him and I asked him who he wished to give this doll to. ‘It’s the doll that my sister loved most and wanted so much for Christmas. She was sure that Santa Claus would bring it to her.’ I replied to him that maybe Santa Claus would bring it to her after all, and not to worry. But he replied to me sadly. ‘No, Santa Claus can’t bring it to her where she is now. I have to give the doll to my mommy so that she can give it to my sister when she goes there.’ His eyes were so sad while saying this, ‘My Sister has gone to be with God. Daddy says that Mommy is going to see God very soon too, so I thought that she could take the doll with her to give it to my sister.” My heart nearly stopped. The little boy looked up at me and said, ‘I told daddy to tell mommy not to go yet. I need her to wait until I come back from the mall.’ Then he showed me a very nice photo of himself. He was laughing. He then told me ‘I want mommy to take my picture with her so she won’t forget me.’ ‘I love my mommy and I wish she didn’t have to leave me, but daddy says that she has to go to be with my little sister.’ Then he looked again at the doll with sad eyes, very quietly. I quickly reached for my wallet and said to the boy. ‘Suppose we check again, just in case you do have enough money for the doll!” OK’ he said, ‘I hope I do have enough.’ I added some of my money to his without him seeing and we started to count it. There was enough for the doll and even some spare money. The little boy said, ‘Thank you God for giving me enough money!’ Then he looked at me and added, ‘I asked last night before I went to sleep for God to make sure I had enough money to buy this doll, so that mommy could give it to my sister. He heard me!” ‘I also wanted to have enough money to buy a white rose for my mommy, but I didn’t dare to ask God for too much. But He gave me enough to buy the doll and a white rose.” ‘My mommy loves white roses.’ A few minutes later, the old lady returned and I left with my basket. I finished my shopping in a totally different state of mind from when I started. I couldn’t get the little boy out of my mind. Then I remembered a local newspaper article two days ago, which mentioned a drunk man in a truck, who hit a car occupied by a young woman and a little girl. The little girl died right away and the mother was left in a critical state. The family had to decide whether to pull the plug on the life-sustaining machine because the young woman would not be able to recover from the coma. Was this the family of the little boy? Two days after this encounter with the little boy I read in the newspaper that the young woman had passed away. I couldn’t stop myself as I bought a bunch of white roses and I went to the funeral home where the body of the young woman was for people to see and make last wishes before her burial. She was there, in her coffin, holding a beautiful white rose in her hand with the photo of the little boy and the doll placed over her chest. I left the place, teary-eyed, feeling that my life had been changed forever. The love that the little boy had for his mother and his sister is still, to this day, hard to imagine, and in a fraction of a second, a drunk driver had taken all this away from him. Now you have 2 choices: (1) Copy & Paste this on your wall(: (2) Ignore it as if it never touched you

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A Wonderful Wedding

July 5, 2009

I had the high honor of being chosen for the role of Flower Maiden in the wedding of two very dear friends. Ivan and The Integral were also “present” behind our eyes to witness the joining together of people who cared very much for and loved each other. In the hours before I was to take part in the ceremony, I sat with the other members of the wedding party and most of us were in various stages of either overload or high anxiety and anticipation, or both, because of the amount of preparation, both mental and physical, that had gone into making the wedding happen at Autreat. 

 

In a flash, it was over. Just like that. I barely had time to process the words of the officiant, who by personal admission does not usually wear the kind of outfit worn at that wonderful wedding. She looked positively radiant. Everyone did. Even those witnesses who were not part of the wedding party, looked great no matter what they were wearing. 

 

One event ended too soon, but new lives of love and caring had just begun, now connected in marriage. 

 

Athena

talinorfali

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