When I was little,  I was prone to fits.

I would cry and cry. I would throw myself down and get red in the face.  I lacked subtly.

When I’d get worked up,  whether it was reasonable or not…  I  can remember my dad… He would place me on his lap and rub my back until my sobbing subsided. Tell me to take deep breaths.  Then when I was calm he would explain the way the world worked. He would look in my eyes, and i would focus on his. He taught me that you showed you were paying attention by eye contact. His eyes weren’t steady but I could tell they were searching for a glimmer of understanding. That I heard and comprehended the things he was telling me.

I did.

Once when I was older, engaged. I had a nightmare. It was terrifying. It shook me. I cannot remember all the details, but I remember only wanting the feeling of calm and comfort of having small circles rubbed on my back and the steady low voice of my father.

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My mother’s hands

No one really reads my blog anymore, that’s ok. I’d post this to FB, but really i feel like it belongs in a place where someone could trip over it, but it’s not blasted into their face (like it would be on FB)


My mother is getting older. We all do. I mean I am, every second of my life. I dare say if my life goal was to get older, I would achieve it and feel very successful. She has always been very handy with her hands. Creative. My mother is not an artist in the sense that you would see her art hung on the walls of the Louvre or an art gallery in New York. Her art is in the way she can get the batter out of a bowl smoothly and easily with fast sweeps of a large white Tupperware spatula. The way she patiently, every year, tills the small plot of soil in her backyard, to plant vegetables, fruits, and beautiful flowers. The way she nurtures them the way she nurtured her kids. Patiently, and with a lot of hard work. Which I know is worth while when the kids ask if they can go get a watermelon from Grandma’s yard. my mother’s hands are not the hands of a woman who has sat idly by and watched other do the work for her. She has dug in, and done her share. More than her share. They have checked oil levels in our family car and felt for fevers. They have canned peaches, and sewn countless dresses (for me, my kids and numberless dolls). They have steadily worked at tedious work, repetitive and calming. She has scrubbed dishes, floors and tubs. She has worked, every day of her adult life. She would tell you though, there were periods she was unemployed. Which I would disagree. She has taught her children, she has loved them. She has sat with her young son on her lap and pulled out slivers from his knees. My mother has packed and unpacked countless boxes. Her hands have impulsively locked car doors for absolutely no reason as she drives down the street. Her mind is sharp, and lovely. She has held my hand, when I needed it, and sometimes when I thought I didn’t (no doubt, my kids have to get that from somewhere!) she has picked up toys and dishes, without thanks. My mom is amazing. I wish i had all the millions of amazing wonderful words to say it. I wish I could spin a terrific turn of phrase to show you the wonderfulness of it all. She’s a great person. I love her a lot. Which is like saying that a diamond is pretty. it lacks the emphasis and power you want it to.

anyway. it’s entirely too late tonight. I am feeling a little misty-eyed about my family (it being the holiday’s and all) and just thought I’d wax poetic about my mom for a bit.

Derringer Meryl [It doesn’t have to be] Out

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Things that I used to worry about

when Scott and I got married, we had CRAPPY jobs. I am not kidding you. I worked MW and he was on the fast track to make 20K a year. I”m sure there are people in this current environment that would be greatful for that kind of job. I don’t look down on them, except for: The crappy insurance we had.

Scott (my soul mate, my paramour, etc etc) became diabetic as a kid. His parents had great insurance (at least they did when I met him) and so they didn’t have to pay quite so out the butt on insurance. When we got married we didn’t have the option (as people do now) to stay on our parents (his parent’s insurance) insurance. In fact, I attended College for two semesters JUST to stay on my parent’s insurance. It was cheaper to pay for college than insurance, that’s saying something. Anyway… We had a humdinger of a first year being married. Luckily for us, I had pretty good insurance because I was a government contract worker. After having my miscarriage though, I was kind of sensitive (read: Depressed) and so I was having a hard time being around 30 (felt like 30) pregnant girls all the time at work. I went part time. I lost my insurance benefits! So we went onto scott’s. I don’t know if you’ve worked “fast food” or in the “Restaurant industry” but let me tell you this. You are replaceable, like a kleenex (TM) to them. His insurance didn’t cover my birth control, made us pay out the wazoo for his insulin and durable medical supplies. I feel really fortunate that we’ve worked ourselves to a place where that’s less the case but….


Did you know that medical insurance can deny filling a perscription if it hasnt’ been “long enough” since you got the last one? Diabetic (as I mentioned) So it will be the day before the MAGIC day when he can refill his LIFE GIVING medicine. It’s not like he’s trying to get amphetemines or oxycontin. It’s Insulin. It doesn’t get you high, it doesn’t make you loopy. If you took it and didn’t have diabetes (a medical need) you’d probably kill yourself. He’s not hawking it to people on the street. Not an insulin dealer. He made some interesting dietary choices, and now he essentially gets to go without eating for a day.


Prior to Obamacare (which I know SO many people I work with HATE it) I worried that Scott’s Employers would sneeze and get rid of him. It actually happened once. Scott got laid off, and we (he and I) were screwed. We were pretty fortunate to have some good friends, who worked for a great company who got him in the door, where he has for the past three years, worked his way back to his position with the previous company. Also, if Scott lost health care (and I wasn’t working) prior to obama care, he could be denied coverage. Citing pre existing condition. Well no duh dummies.

WE have built an industry out of MAKING and KEEPING people sick. It’s so much more profitable to not cure cancer, diabetes, aids, etc becuase those people will buy and buy and buy until they’re in the poor house (as if they weren’t there already) to stay alive. Isn’t that what everyone wants? to be alive, at the very least. Once we have that, we want to be healthy. People will pay and pay and pay to be healthy, Why wouldn’t we capitalize on that? Other than the despicable horribleness of the idea.

I know people, good people, Honest people, who think that it’s not a big deal to not balance out healthcare. Most of those people, i’d say, don’t know what it is really like to be sick. If they do– they must be seeing this from some drastically different perspective. I don’t think it’s the government’s responsibility to take care of me, or Scott (or my kids). I do think it is a nations responsibility to interfere when a great wrong is being done to it’s people, especially if being perpetrated BY it’s people.


Derringer Meryl [All over the place] Out


things that I am still a little bitter about…

So I (seems like ages ago) had a miscarriage. You all remember. It’s nearly been 10 years. We were discussing this at work. Mostly because I said that a woman’s fertility is a sensitive issue.


It is.


Once upon a time, after i had my miscarriage, within 3 months I’d say, I was out visiting teaching. I was in a new ward. Instead of approaching the issue of me not having kids with a genuine desire to get to know me better, in a sweet way asking “Are you and Scott planning on starting a family soon?” or even a base “How long have you been married?” SOMETHING, my companion jumped in with a “Gosh Meryl, you better start having kids!” or something teasing of that sort. Teasing is for people who (on some level) know each other, and are comfortable with each other. I don’t know them. I remember smiling tightly. Smiling was hard. Being outside was hard, watching her drape her baby over her arm in exasperation was hard. So I said what I could, as nice as I could.

“I actually just had a miscarriage.”


and then i just let the room get awkward. I wanted them to be ashamed of asking. Because honestly– it’s no one’s business but mine and my husband’s. I have friends I talk about my fertility with. I have people I empathize with when they struggle. It’s a weird thing for a woman, to have a hard time getting pregnant, staying pregnant, etc. You feel broken. When people ask about it like it’s just as easy as walking to the mailbox– it’s frustrating. I didn’t know that people had a hard time getting/staying pregnant. I think before that I knew… two people. Total. Now I know MANY women who struggle with fertility issues of all kind. Their stories are heartbreaking. It doesn’t make them less, but it can make them feel less. You’re not quite a woman if you can’t have a baby. For me it was the thing I had grown up thinking and dreaming of. Having kids, having a family with my husband. I know it’s a bit stereo typical– but it was always what I wanted. And the fact that there was a speed bump on the way to it, it was devastating.

Could I have said something nicer? Like “Oh we’re trying.” or “How do we do that?” something funny and clever. I was depressed, I was sad. I was broken. I wanted to make those people feel an equal amount of awkwardness for how much hurt I felt in my heart. It was a moment of weakness, and I made a bad decision.

Moral of the story: Don’t ask people about their baby making progress unless you are prepared to hear a real answer.


Derringer Meryl [Babies] Out

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Something Something Wrist pain

I’m writing this against my better thoughts


my wrists are killing me. I hope they don’t succeed. Mostly there has been a lot of writing happening at work, and then i come home and write/game, and it hurts. The last time I went to the doctor  they basically told me to stop doing what caused the pain (writing/work at that point) and I was like “but that’s my job.” and they were like “And?”


it’s a pretty hard thing now days to find a job that doesn’t require some sort of typing. i mean obviously mine does, even doctors use computers now, I’d have to do something… completely out of the ordinary to find a job that doesnt’ use my hands….


Soccer instructor? and i’d only do the feet parts? I dunno. Hands are important. Most of what I do includes them. I can’t imagine as a mom not being able to high five, fix breakfast and lunch, get ready, etc, because my hands were out of commission. The problem for me is .. I get in the zone, and I just goooooooooooooooooo like nuts. I may have to try physical therapy, especially if I want to do nanowrimo again this year.


we’ll see I guess. here’s hoping my hands are horrible and dried up husks by this time next year.


Derringer Meryl {MAH HANDS} Out

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