Erika in a Nutshell(nuthouse?)

Greetings Aprilites-

     Welcome to my first blog. Let me begin by showing my age. I’ve only recently heard the term “blog.” It reminds me of something I expelled into my kleenex a few weeks ago in the throes of a horrendous cold. But, alas, I must stay current. I’m beginning to realize why older people are so often resentful of modern advancements. They’re tired. And, as we get older, it seems things move faster and we loathe the fact that we can’t keep up.

     I like keeping up with things, however, because I’m nosy. And, besides, I never want to lose my street cred. See how hip I am?

Anyway, You’ll note that I’m prone to rambling. I enjoy  reading the rambling thoughts of others and, since the thoughts in my head are like 5,000 frisbees being hurled simultaneously in different directions, they tend to come out that same way. Hopefully, you’ll find these random reflections entertaining, if not useful.

I figure the best way to start is by introducing you to some of the characters, and I do mean characters, who line the streets of my existence.

Cynthia is my mother, a most compassionate, supportive, forgiving person who has instilled in me, her only child, and in my son, her only grandchild, a love of nature and all things spiritual–two of the greatest treasures to be packed for this journey, as far as I’m concerned.

My father, Bill, is an inner dweller, an extremely talented writer who just hasn’t struck literary gold commercially. He has seen more of life’s ugly side than many will ever see. His mother committed suicide when he was 15. Shortly thereafter he found himself in the killing and dying fields of Korea fighting a war that would last for the rest of his life.

My father doesn’t open up easily but, after we moved to DeLand, he did form a wonderful friendship with our burly, kind, ever cheerful and funny, neighbor, John McCormick. John would come to be my son’s godfather, my dad’s do-it-yourself, home improvement instructor and firewood finder. He made Halloween a hoot, dressing up in bear, snowman, and other outlandish costumes for my son and others. Always ready with a joke, his twinkly, blue, Irish eyes were a welcome comfort every day of our lives.

On December 29, 1997 John McCormick shot himself to death in his backyard. He had terminal heart disease, suffered one TIA after another, and simply no longer wanted to live as a burden to his wife, Betty, unable to do all of the things he loved. Betty called my father when she found him. I can’t imagine my dad’s feelings that cold, rainy morning as he stood over John’s lifeless body. Twice in one lifetime. Complete shutdown seemed inevitable.

Cal is my husband. We have been together since we were 15 and have never mastered the art of communication. That is, unless you consider hurling inanimate objects across rooms and screaming obscenities, in fits of childish anger, communicating. This relationship will come up in these blogs as old events are recalled and new ones manifest.

My 22 year old son, CJ, is a story unto himself so I’ll save that for another session.

My best friend, Lynn, my in-laws, and co-workers will also require individual introductory blogs so that later references will make sense to you should you continue to follow this diary of the deranged.

Life is teaching me a lot lately and I’m anxious to share that so I hope you’ll make this part of your week and I hope you’ll relate to me as I have to the wonderful craziness of so many others.

I plan to discuss events, feelings, books, coping strategies, and every smidgeon of humor I absorb during the course of a day because, like the hokey pokey, that’s what it’s all about.