Tag Archive: CT


We Will Be Searching The Shore Again

 

 

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Well they say there will be another coastal storm brewing just off our shoreline,  so it is time to walk the edge, as the tide turns and heads out and look and see what it has left behind for us.  It will be sunny and in the 40′s what a perfect BEACH DAY   JT likes to walk me into the water so maybe I will even be barefoot.

Another Soul Lost

This is what I was saying in my post Why?
It is happening more than most of you will ever know
I drove a school bus and you would be shocked.
So when your child or your siblings child acts like this speak up offer support and help them GET HELP or this will never end and will surly get so much worse.

:(

Eunice

Written by Liza Long, republished from The Blue Review

Friday’s horrific national tragedy — the murder of 20 children and six adults at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut — has ignited a new discussion on violence in America. In kitchens and coffee shops across the country, we tearfully debate the many faces of violence in America: gun culture, media violence, lack of mental health services, overt and covert wars abroad, religion, politics and the way we raise our children. Liza Long, a writer based in Boise, says it’s easy to talk about guns. But it’s time to talk about mental illness.

Three days before 20 year-old Adam Lanza killed his mother, then opened fire on a classroom full of Connecticut kindergartners, my 13-year old son Michael (name changed) missed his bus because he was wearing the wrong color pants.

“I can wear these pants,” he said, his tone increasingly belligerent, the black-hole pupils of his eyes swallowing the blue irises.

“They are navy blue,” I told him. “Your school’s dress code says black or khaki pants only.”

“They told me I could wear these,” he insisted. “You’re a stupid bitch. I can wear whatever pants I want to. This is America. I have rights!”

“You can’t wear whatever pants you want to,” I said, my tone affable, reasonable. “And you definitely cannot call me a stupid bitch. You’re grounded from electronics for the rest of the day. Now get in the car, and I will take you to school.”

I live with a son who is mentally ill. I love my son. But he terrifies me.

A few weeks ago, Michael pulled a knife and threatened to kill me and then himself after I asked him to return his overdue library books. His 7 and 9-year-old siblings knew the safety plan — they ran to the car and locked the doors before I even asked them to. I managed to get the knife from Michael, then methodically collected all the sharp objects in the house into a single Tupperware container that now travels with me. Through it all, he continued to scream insults at me and threaten to kill or hurt me.

That conflict ended with three burly police officers and a paramedic wrestling my son onto a gurney for an expensive ambulance ride to the local emergency room. The mental hospital didn’t have any beds that day, and Michael calmed down nicely in the ER, so they sent us home with a prescription for Zyprexa and a follow-up visit with a local pediatric psychiatrist.

We still don’t know what’s wrong with Michael. Autism spectrum, ADHD,  Oppositional Defiant or Intermittent Explosive Disorder have all been tossed around at various meetings with probation officers and social workers and counselors and teachers and school administrators. He’s been on a slew of antipsychotic and mood altering pharmaceuticals, a Russian novel of behavioral plans. Nothing seems to work.

At the start of seventh grade, Michael was accepted to an accelerated program for highly gifted math and science students. His IQ is off the charts. When he’s in a good mood, he will gladly bend your ear on subjects ranging from Greek mythology to the differences between Einsteinian and Newtonian physics to Doctor Who. He’s in a good mood most of the time. But when he’s not, watch out. And it’s impossible to predict what will set him off.

Several weeks into his new junior high school, Michael began exhibiting increasingly odd and threatening behaviors at school. We decided to transfer him to the district’s most restrictive behavioral program, a contained school environment where children who can’t function in normal classrooms can access their right to free public babysitting from 7:30-1:50 Monday through Friday until they turn 18.

The morning of the pants incident, Michael continued to argue with me on the drive. He would occasionally apologize and seem remorseful. Right before we turned into his school parking lot, he said, “Look, Mom, I’m really sorry. Can I have video games back today?”

“No way,” I told him. “You cannot act the way you acted this morning and think you can get your electronic privileges back that quickly.”

His face turned cold, and his eyes were full of calculated rage. “Then I’m going to kill myself,” he said. “I’m going to jump out of this car right now and kill myself.”

That was it. After the knife incident, I told him that if he ever said those words again, I would take him straight to the mental hospital, no ifs, ands, or buts. I did not respond, except to pull the car into the opposite lane, turning left instead of right.
“Where are you taking me?” he said, suddenly worried. “Where are we going?”

“You know where we are going,” I replied.

“No! You can’t do that to me! You’re sending me to hell! You’re sending me straight to hell!”

I pulled up in front of the hospital, frantically waiving for one of the clinicians who happened to be standing outside. “Call the police,” I said. “Hurry.”

Michael was in a full-blown fit by then, screaming and hitting. I hugged him close so he couldn’t escape from the car. He bit me several times and repeatedly jabbed his elbows into my rib cage. I’m still stronger than he is, but I won’t be for much longer.
The police came quickly and carried my son screaming and kicking into the bowels of the hospital. I started to shake, and tears filled my eyes as I filled out the paperwork — “Were there any difficulties with… at what age did your child… were there any problems with.. has your child ever experienced.. does your child have…”

At least we have health insurance now. I recently accepted a position with a local college, giving up my freelance career because when you have a kid like this, you need benefits. You’ll do anything for benefits. No individual insurance plan will cover this kind of thing.

For days, my son insisted that I was lying — that I made the whole thing up so that I could get rid of him. The first day, when I called to check up on him, he said, “I hate you. And I’m going to get my revenge as soon as I get out of here.”

By day three, he was my calm, sweet boy again, all apologies and promises to get better. I’ve heard those promises for years. I don’t believe them anymore.

On the intake form, under the question, “What are your expectations for treatment?” I wrote, “I need help.”

And I do. This problem is too big for me to handle on my own. Sometimes there are no good options. So you just pray for grace and trust that in hindsight, it will all make sense.

I am sharing this story because I am Adam Lanza’s mother. I am Dylan Klebold’s and Eric Harris’s mother. I am Jason Holmes’s mother. I am Jared Loughner’s mother. I am Seung-Hui Cho’s mother. And these boys—and their mothers—need help. In the wake of another horrific national tragedy, it’s easy to talk about guns. But it’s time to talk about mental illness.

According to Mother Jones, since 1982, 61 mass murders involving firearms have occurred throughout the country. Of these, 43 of the killers were white males, and only one was a woman. Mother Jones focused on whether the killers obtained their guns legally (most did). But this highly visible sign of mental illness should lead us to consider how many people in the U.S. live in fear, like I do.

When I asked my son’s social worker about my options, he said that the only thing I could do was to get Michael charged with a crime. “If he’s back in the system, they’ll create a paper trail,” he said. “That’s the only way you’re ever going to get anything done. No one will pay attention to you unless you’ve got charges.”

I don’t believe my son belongs in jail. The chaotic environment exacerbates Michael’s sensitivity to sensory stimuli and doesn’t deal with the underlying pathology. But it seems like the United States is using prison as the solution of choice for mentally ill people. According to Human Rights Watch, the number of mentally ill inmates in U.S. prisons quadrupled from 2000 to 2006, and it continues to rise — in fact, the rate of inmate mental illness is five times greater (56 percent) than in the non-incarcerated population.

With state-run treatment centers and hospitals shuttered, prison is now the last resort for the mentally ill — Rikers Island, the LA County Jail and Cook County Jail in Illinois housed the nation’s largest treatment centers in 2011.

No one wants to send a 13-year old genius who loves Harry Potter and his snuggle animal collection to jail. But our society, with its stigma on mental illness and its broken healthcare system, does not provide us with other options. Then another tortured soul shoots up a fast food restaurant. A mall. A kindergarten classroom. And we wring our hands and say, “Something must be done.”

I agree that something must be done. It’s time for a meaningful, nation-wide conversation about mental health. That’s the only way our nation can ever truly heal.

God help me. God help Michael. God help us all.

(Originally published at The Anarchist Soccer Mom.)

 

WHY? Will Always Be The Question

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Today we will walk the shore before the snow moves in and covers this beautiful seaside landscape but with an ocean storm soon to brew,  we will be back next week with both metal detectors to see what has been thrown up upon the sand.

Our hearts are broken with all the senseless killing of adults and children here in New England as well as all over this world we live in. This family lived less than five miles from me until just over 10 years ago.  There had to be warning signals. I see them in children of friends and no one ever seems to say a word.  I am one who speaks up and then pulls away when the correct thing is not done,  though if something as horrible as a plot was known to me I would say something but would authorities interfere?

I own guns, I have been trained in the use of them and would never hesitate to protect someone from being killed, by someone who meant them harm.  I am not evil, my gun is not evil but sadly not all who are allowed to PLAY WITH GUNS, SHOULD.

So as you go about your daily lives judging or just keeping your mouths shut for fear of hurting someones feelings or even just minding your OWN BUSINESS,  know that by closing yours eyes to the obvious you are in fact perpetuating evil,  ever so small it may be at the time.  I see how children treat their parents I am sure you have too or how they treat animals and even strangers.  We all have seen this.  I decided a long time ago I would give up my life to protect someone from loosing theirs,  it is just who I am. I will not walk by as someone is mistreating another human or animal they are supposed to love and respect.  I will say something for the person or animal unable to SPEAK UP for themselves.

The poor families from this recent mass murder now face a lifetime without their babies and for those who just went to work at that school who lost their lives they leave families behind left to ask WHY?

Please say a prayer for them and your loved ones as you never know when true evil will walk in on them

TRUCKING the last years

Trucking

My Last Rig

It has been a very long time since I looked at this photo.  I used to miss this truck so much, then it was the girl  I was, who had gone missing.

Let me tell you some background since a few have asked about the days I spent behind the wheel of an 18 Wheeler(this one has 22 ) .

So much happened before I became a trucker, guess you would surmise that,  as young girls really did not drive tractor-trailer trucks  in the mid to late 70′s,  well not in New England especially.

So do I begin here with this time period in the photo or go from the start?

I think I will do this blog from just before  the time I bought her till I said goodbye,  as there really is an awful lot for this  story.

I was divorced in 1995  and as part of the settlement of OUR THINGS   I had a choice to make.  Let’s see he had already just got rid of the truck he drove,  he actually gave it back to the bank with less than a year to pay on it.  He was drinking so heavy daily and I could not drive  TWO TRUCKS so he did what he did.  I insisted we split the days up with  him driving my rig(not this one) Monday,Wednesday and Friday which would leave me Tuesday and Thursday and most Saturdays.  At the time I was hauling rubbish back and forth from Roxbury,  MA to different landfills and trash to energy plants here in New England.

Things were getting worse living with him.  I never thought they could get any worse and there came a point when I had the police remove him from the home.  I had finally had too much.  Lost so much. I signed a restraining order  and told them he could come for the rig, with police.

It took a year before the final day in front of the judge.  All I wanted was the house, 4 dogs and my 68 Camaro and my Ford Pickup Truck.  He could take EVERYTHING ELSE!

In the time I sent him away,  I found a job driving for a local company.  I was now driving a Dump Truck.  Worked 10 hours a day and finally had a life but  not much money compared to owning my own rig but I was happy, really happy.  I actually looked forward to doing my hair and climbing into that Orange Mack daily.

When the judges final decree was sent he gave me everything I wanted. The house, dogs and vehicles.  Now how could I pay the house payment on a weekly paycheck, as an employee,  I really couldn’t.

My Dad knew I worked for a seasonal company so he gave me an old 1974  Mack to drive.  He paid for the registration and fuel and insurance and I paid him back weekly.   I worked that truck for probably 9  months and even put some cash away.  The Mack had a lot of issues being so old and finally she just could not go on the road anymore so if I was to truck I had to go shopping and quick!

I had a job to haul containers of beer from the pier in Boston or trailers from the rail yards in Alston.  I poured through books and found a place in CT that sold used trucks.  I saw the tractor in the photo above and thought she would be a good enough rig for me to begin again.  The man who owned the place was impressed with my knowledge of trucks see he threw questions at me to check, I was a female.  I had to prove to him I owed nobody anything after the divorce except my mortgage company and that the home was mine and not the ex-husbands.  So he put a paper plate on it and told me to take it up to NH and drive it haul a few loads and show it to my Dad to make sure it would be a good choice for me, and then bring him the decree so he could see what the judge had written.

I went straight to my parents home from CT which was just under 2 hours away and showed them what it looked like and then Dad hopped into the driver’s seat and off we went for a test drive  just as I had when I was 18 in a car he brought home for me.  He liked it and then we switched seats and I drove.  It was the first time I had ever taken my Dad with me in a rig, Mom had been several times but now it was time to show my Dad how over 2 mil. miles had made me into an awesome though fearless driver.  He loved the ride!   He said it looked like a solid truck for what I was hauling and that I drove it like a professional.   I could not be happier.  He asked if I needed any money and I told him no you see it was $1,000.00 down and a payment each month for 2 years and she would be mine.   That was 1996,  late in the year.

I hauled the beer and goods for maybe a year then I got antsy I wanted to haul the heavy loads again.  This truck did not have a double frame or a wet system.   I traded my Camaro for a Wet System which consisted of a pump and a tank which  held Hydraulic  fluid  and hoses and fittings.  This poor truck with her big Cummings Motor was going to set out to do the impossible,  just as it owner.

I hooked up with old friends and started hauling Bark  Mulch from a place in Maine all the way to Cape Cod and places in between.  I loved the work and the places they sent me as so many others would hit everything but the lottery in the customers yards that they started to request the Blonde Girl who was a great driver!  Everywhere I went I got smiles and waves from people.  See I was an oddity still and we were now in the late 90′s.

Bark Mulch was seasonal so I had to find steady work I had not only a home to pay for but a truck.  I hooked up with another friend in the rubbish business and started to haul four loads a day for him 6 days a week.   I now had Sunday’s to play with the dogs in the yard while the truck was washed and oiled changed for the next week of work.

I hauled garbage till it just became too expensive to keep tires on it with going in and out of a landfills  and hooked up with a Spring Water company.  It was now 1998 winter again and this would be my first experience hauling a tanker down off the top of a mountain with snow and ice.  I was scared,  very scared about stopping at that stop sin at the bottom, why do they do that anyway!

I worked that whole winter of 1998 and then in 1999 the real fun began.  I never got sleep I just napped in between loads. I hauled 3 to 4 loads of water, weighing out at 103,000 pounds back and forth to bottling companies, you see the country was getting ready for Y2K, which would happen  in the  year 2000, when the world would change as we knew it.  We hauled thousands of gallons of water,  as there were 10 other drivers doing the same thing for the company I worked for.  Stock piled water filled these places with fear about what would come of  the computers of our world and all the machines run by them.

As we all know we were really fine,  doom and gloom never came to be.  They would have a slow down in production so it was time for a much-needed vacation!

I parked this rig, tanker attached and locked up safe and sound and headed to FL where else would a girl go who loves the sea.  I took 3 dogs as one had passed away and the cat and boyfriend at the time and headed to his Aunts place for a little rest.  It was while I was there we decided it was where I wanted to be.  Get rid of the house go back home and get my rig and start a new life where things were no so hard on me or the equipment.  I could find work anywhere.  So we left the dogs and cat there with his Aunt and I was heartbroken as I headed north but I would be back in 2 weeks with everything I wanted to start all over again with.

We made it back  as planned I left the house for mortgage company to deal with as they refused to take the ex’s name off and set about finding my own place to call home.

So  I spent  most days in the beginning  when we got down to Florida getting caught up on sleep and sun tanning and playing with  my dogs, who were now 10.    I finally got the bug to really drive again so I hooked up with a company to haul empty cans to bottling companies along the east coast of Florida,  you see I loved the Gulf Coast .  My rig was getting a much deserved rest as well,  loads were so light I had to keep checking in the review mirrors  to make sure I still had the trailer hooked to it.   Life was GOOD,  it really was the best. I was so very happy, finally, the year was 2000.

Well around August I received mail from the company holding the loan on my home.  It seems they didn’t want it either and had given it to me free and clear only stipulation was I had to live in it.  I was shocked to say the least.  They asked me to go back to the home I loved so much in the woods of NH and lock the doors as I had left it cleaned out and spotless with doors unlocked for potential buyers.  Now what go back, start again I didn’t want to.  I liked it here in Florida  but some of my dogs were buried there,  it was home.  At this point I was tired of making decisions really on my own as the boyfriend at the time was younger than me and OK with me doing it all. Yes I am now sadly aware that was who I was and nothing to do with him.

I decided I would go home alone with him and the pets but no rig.  It was an old truck now,  pretty and in great shape but not for another season of hard,  nasty weather.  I placed a For Sale sign in the back window and within days a man approached me and asked if he could check it out which he did and bought it with CASH.   I had lots of money to pay his Aunt’s bills up to date, pay my brother cash I owed him  and fuel for the van and enough to live on upon getting back to NH where I would also have to put electric on, fill the propane and hook up TV and internet.

We packed everything back into a U Haul,  kissed everyone good-bye.

We were coming home.

I miss that truck and the freedom she gave me out on the roads but you see I finally get that there is more than one chapter in this woman’s life.

Time to LIVE IT!

the beginning and the middle will come with time STAY Tuned

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The Karen Gibson Roc Blog

ALL THINGS POETIC

Love. Create . Inspire...❤

Play. Draw. Paint. Capture. Smile ^,..,^ and live life to the fullest .

Miss Lou Acquiring Lore

Gallery of Life...

Juju Films

Cutting edge Multimedia Programming

Live & Learn

David Kanigan

eljaygee

just another fauxtography blog

food & foto

with audrey michelle

Beyond the Scribbles

The Sharpie Interns' Blog

Beady-Eyed Beth

Where I share my works in progress and news.

dibeads.com

Beads, Jewelry and Craft Supplies

Freshly Pressed: Editors' Picks

Just another Wordpress.com weblog

Streaming Thought: Polymer Clay Expressions

Just another WordPress.com site

Carole's Writing Blog

My journey........

Red Sox Weekly

A companion blog to my cable access program called Red Sox Weekly

Inn Dahlonega

The blog of Cedar House Inn & Yurts in Dahlonega, Georgia

Beads and Honey

the sweet life of beads and gems

CraftFail

Where Crafters Go to Fail

ILLUSTRATING MY LIFE

created by Judy Unger

Communication Creations

Freelance Writing and Editing Services

Michele D'Acosta

Museum of Documentary and Fiction

Children Of Light.

aka (SathyaSaiMemories) ~ Stories of Love In Action - the Benefits of Giving

inesepogagallery

NATURE ART, DRAWING AND PAINTING

Dreamscaping With June Rollins®

offering art demos, tips, techniques and inspiration

3theperfectnumber's Blog

Just another WordPress.com site

'Soulful'

My quest is for a sky.. where my wings can unfold and fill in air to fly...

www.Janinedesign.com Blog Site

All of my jewelry news is posted here. See into the studio on how the jewelry is made and my inspiration.

The Paper Wallflower

Craft, words and whimsy by Violet Annie

FICTIONAL MACHINES

J. E. LATTIMER

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Lisa's Kansa Muse

~ Dreamy abstraction in a 100 year old Four Square Farm House

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Deremer Studios

Award-Winning Fine Art, Commercial and Individual Photograhgy

........and whatever else springs to mind.

hammerwerk

light_and_shadow

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