Photograph by Joanie Coursien
Twenty years ago, my lifelong physical ailments began to exert extra pressure upon me, and employment was hard to come by. I was having trouble finding something that would pay for even the shabbiest apartment in the small town where I was living, so I accepted an invitation to be introduced to a slightly larger town in New Mexico, where the cost of living was less.
Thinking I could reconstitute my household after I established myself in my new digs, I sold what I could, gave away the rest, and drove myself to New Mexico, taking only what I could fit in my little car. It was a calculated risk, and I lost the bet.
El Vado Motel - Albquerque, New Mexico
Albuquerque Journal Newspaper
Not long after I arrived, my body completely fell apart and I was physically unable to work. It was a shame, really, because I'd gotten a solid job with great benefits. I had to give it up.
After retiring on Social Security disability, I was notified that my father had died. His body had already been cremated! Then I learned that, inexplicably, I had been written out of his will
after he had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. (Gee. I wonder how THAT happened?)
Then, my only child died at age 40. My dog died. My cat died. I learned that I am slowly going blind. I know it sounds like a modern Dickens tale, but there is nothing I can do about that. It is what it is.
My son and me - in younger days
Fortunately, God has gifted me with faith, and, despite constant, chronic pain, I am in communion with Him most of the time. I am writing this blog, writing a book, crocheting various things, and planning some paintings.
While I am enjoying the company of the Divine, pedestrian logistical issues compete for attention. I had never been able to replace the furnishings I'd sold before coming here. Beautiful friends have supplied me with a couch and a chair, but my art supplies and personal papers are STILL stacked around this apartment where I have lived the last 13 years and, although I have a bed, I am unable to sleep in it.
I quite love books and have accumulated many, either from friends or from careful purchases over the years, and they are my dusty companions, waiting stolidly in unfinished pine boxes. Reference books help me pinpoint my writing in time. Art books, craft instructional manuals, cook books that echo long gone days of cooking for others, and many gilded, wonderful words pour out from the religious books that sustain me over and over again.
Pictures of Jesus, Mary and the saints are currently stacked against the wall of the living room - waiting for the last configuration to be completed. Despite the meanness of my furnishings, I typically manage to create a lush and compelling prayer corner. It is obvious where my heart inclines.
Between fitful episodes of sleeping in my recliner, like a folded human taco, I move the boxes around in various configuration. First, they were in the garage, but then I couldn't GET at them, so I moved them indoors. I've stacked them in various constellations around the apartment, but my supplies are not within easy reach, so that every time I embark upon a creative work, chaos ensues. My physical issues have gotten worse and worse over time, and I just can't rummage through the boxes any more.
I have tried to move from this location for several years now, but there is nothing affordable near church, shopping and friends - and the subsidized apartments are all in the war zones on the fringes of town. Even when something suitable becomes available, I need to get the interior organized before moving, or I'll go mad.
My recliner, where I sleep, folded like a human taco
My 64th birthday is around the corner and, as with most birthdays, I feel compelled to contemplate the course of my life. I had hoped to have done something more useful with my time here on earth. My story is certainly INTERESTING, but I'm not thrilled at being at such loose ends in the final chapter.
When I was a young woman, I used to pretend that everything was dandy when it wasn't, but I no longer have the taste for subterfuge I once did. I don't think less of myself for being disabled, and if anyone else does, well, I don't care about that. Jesus loves the sick and the poor, and that's good enough for me, so if you are reading this and snorting derisively about something in this post, I suggest you move on to more glamorous people. The magazines are full of them.
Sometimes on my birthdays I will circulate my wish list - mostly on Facebook - but I think that, this year, I will post a link here in the hopes that some of my readers may step up and order some of the items on my Amazon list. Amazon has my address and will mail to me directly.
VIEW MY WISH LIST HERE 
