Rushing's Ramblings

                                         It was already dark when we passed through the state border separating Texas and Oklahoma. In those days, more than 50 years ago, you could definitely tell the difference in the quality of the highways. At least, Dad would declare how terrible the Oklahoma roads were each time we traveled to my maternal grandparents' house near Shidler, Oklahoma. It was always a source of laughter in our family. My dad loved to brag about the superiority of all things about Texas instead of the inferiority of all things about Oklahoma. I don't know if my beloved Oklahoma relatives thought this was funny, but HE certainly thought it was hilarious. And honestly, with him gone from this world for over 2 years, it's one of those sweet, insignificant memories that creep up when driving by yourself on some Texas backroad. (Today, any Texas backroad is a hundred times better than the best Oklahoma highway––she says with a wink and a nod to her father and an

Much of my life has been an ongoing struggle with weight and an unhealthy yet obsessive relationship with food. I'm confident my mother had no idea what to do with her overweight young girl, which began as a problem after I turned 5. I remember having issues with self-image and feeling like I was HUGE as early as age 7. I felt hungry all the time. It wasn't unusual for me to sneak cans of food out of the pantry and hide behind a neighbor's garage while eating out of the can. Most of my lunches consisted of something like cottage cheese, an egg, and some crackers, while my brothers usually downed a couple of sandwiches along with chips. I felt it unfair that I couldn't have what they were eating, so that's most likely when I began sneak eating. When I was approximately 13, our family doctor prescribed diet pills. I suspect they were the infamous "black mollies."  I quickly lost weight, although I spent many sleepless nights. After six months, I was take

I know it's true, although I could fool myself into thinking my forehead is growing. I've gradually lost hair at my temples for several years. However, my hairdresser keeps denying it (she enjoys the tips). It's a plus that the rest of my head has plenty of hair, so it's not a significant concern. This particular aspect of aging is only one small reminder that time keeps marching on. It's not enough that you awaken almost every morning with a new ache to add to all the other ones and hope, like heck, it isn't something serious.  Then, there's your eye surgery after you realize you're replacing the prescription on your glasses every few months. It dawns on you that you might have cataracts. After you have them removed and corrective lenses are implanted, the world is suddenly more colorful and brighter. And...you can see at night instead of being blinded by the colossal glow surrounding the car headlights coming at you! Another momentous surprise is when

The year was 2000, and Marcy was about to graduate from Syracuse University.  My parents and I had flown to Syracuse and had a day to kill before the graduation ceremony.  We decided to visit Niagara Falls, only a few hours' drive from Syracuse. On the return trip, we stopped in Seneca Falls, NY. Little did I know what I would discover as we drove through the small, quaint village. I knew that the town was significant in the Women's Rights movement. As we entered the town, I had an overwhelming sense that I had been there in the past, although this was my first time.  Main Street was a short street.  We quickly found a parking place and walked the streets, stopping briefly at the Women's Rights National Historical Park.  Deja vu became an almost overwhelming sensation to the point of being uncomfortable––almost like a sense of smothering.  I mentioned to my Mother that I had been here in the past, but not in this lifetime.  She acknowledged my experience by saying, &quo

Recently, I was flat on my back for several days due to a stomach ailment. I had LOTS of time to think. As one gets older, it takes longer to heal. Sometimes I had a little pity party, attended only by myself and Paddy, my ever-loyal dog. I kept lamenting how much it sucked to be older, living alone, and ill. My mind naturally wandered to the times when I was traveling on business. When you regularly fly for more than ten years, there are occasions when you become sick while on the road. Sitting in a hotel room, sick as a dog, and thousands of miles away from home is not fun. Even worse than being sick in some long-forgotten hotel room (they all look pretty much the same) is having an infant that requires breastfeeding every 2 to 3 hours and developing mastitis. Mastitis is an infection of the breast. It makes breastfeeding excruciating, but you have to breastfeed to keep it empty. Plus, you usually run an elevated temperature and feel like you've just been run over by a truck. You