Posted in Uncategorized, YouTube

YouTube Scares Me More Than COVID19

When you’re a freelance writer or indie author you’re a business. You’re out hustling every day. Social media makes it simultaneously better and worse. Access to agents, publishers, and other writers is fantastic. But now before publishing a book or getting an agent you must create your brand and build your author platform. (insert eye roll)

I don’t want to do any of that. I want to play with the people in my head. The ones I created out of thin air but feel so real. The world they live in is more fun than mine. None-the-less, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. And this girl created a YouTube channel to help with that platform everyone in the industry harps on.

The problem is I despise being in front of the camera. I stuttered as a child. It took six years of speech therapy to overcome it but it’s still a raw nerve. When I’m in front of the camera speaking I worry the stuttering child in me will appear and trip me up.

Coronavirus drives people to the internet. When our entertainment options are eradicated we go online. I knew I had to make a video. It took me all day to work up my nerve. But alas, I finally did. Reward my strength in facing my horrid fear by watching my videos, subscribing and ringing the bell to get notifications. This is the ultimate social distancing. Until next time, take care of yourself, be kind to others and wash those hands! Click here for video

Posted in In The News

The Blood is Yours Harry

The all-knowing Harry got himself punked. Too obtuse to see the plethora of red flags, he turned into a Chatty Cathy. He revealed himself as a disturbed, arrogant child. His rudimentary knowledge of coal set me off.

I live in Kentucky. Unlike egotistical nonsensical Harry, I know about coal. Coal is to Eastern Kentucky what actors are to Hollywood. We have the most mines in the country. Closing coal mines means literally wiping out entire communities. Those who don’t starve to death or commit suicide will turn to government assistance. Not only are we the fifth largest coal producer, but we are also the fifth poorest state.

Thanks to politicians robbing Peter to pay Paul, Kentucky is in financial crisis. Much needed support and programs are being cut. My son DJ is special needs. Kentucky doesn’t have the funds to help parents of special needs kids remain in the workforce like other states. Therefore, I left my lucrative job to care for DJ. The lost income forced my husband to work three jobs. Our four other sons were under age 11.

DJ spent more time in the hospital than out and I got cancer. The loss of my job meant losing excellent healthcare coverage that would have paid 100% of all medical bills DJ and I needed. I felt certain if the cancer didn’t kill me, the stress would. It took almost 20 years to crawl out of those black days.

Harry wants to take my personal tragedy, amplify it by ten and inflict it on over 700,000 Kentuckians all in the name of climate change. While Kentuckians lose everything, Harry will be private jetting around the globe on Daddy’s dime and British taxpayer money giving million-dollar speeches to fracking supporting companies.

Pikeville proves Kentucky can escape the coal mines. Once known as a coal town, Pikeville now thrives in the medical field. How? A wealthy man put his money where his mouth is and rallied support from others. He turned around a struggling hospital and built a medical college. Knowing the key to success is investing in people, hospital employees enjoy free healthcare and great pay. That is the epitome of being committed to your cause.

You going to do that Hollywood Harry? Are you so committed to an anti-coal world you’ll sacrifice your mansion, private jets, overpriced clothes, celebrity hob-knobbing, and million-dollar speeches? I didn’t think so.

So, in the words of your little BFF Greta Thunberg, “How dare you!” How dare you think you know all the answers. How dare you contribute nothing but take everything. How dare you devalue people. How dare you present as climate control pious while raking from fracking supporting companies. Most of all, how dare you attack my state, my people, when you have never stepped one designer shoe here.

You sit on your holier than thou throne in your privileged life, calling for the destruction of thousands of lives. That Nazi costume you wore wasn’t a costume at all. It was an expression of a warped sense of self. You have the audacity to attack our president for preserving lives, yet you’re too spineless to walk the coal mines as you did the landmines. The only one with bloody hands is you, Pontius Pilate.

 

Crap Sign From God

The Joan Zone

At a family reunion out of state, DJ’s service dog alerted to an ear infection. Since DJ gets ear infections like a frat boy in a dare, Duke got a lot of practice honing his skill. Duke is gone over the rainbow bridge now but his perfect legacy of diagnosing ear infections lives on.  However, Duke was a bit quirky. He tossed condescending looks better than any human.  He was all business in his service dog role but every once in awhile he did something nutty. 1913644_1080683317253_408245_n

My husband Steve has a freakish ability to find his way around any town. Even using old school paper maps he rarely got lost. But when he is lost – he is REALLY lost. And he does not cope with it well.  Suddenly, the boys and I are not funny.  We dispute this.  Some of our best zingers are triggered by Steve’s directionally challenged…

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Posted in Uncategorized

Are Your Afflictions Eclipsed By Glory

Click here to read my latest Winchester Sun column

 

Posted in Faith, Healthcare, parenting, The DJ Journey

20 Years of Loving DJ

A doctor, we’ll call Dr. S, said awful things about DJ. Things no one should ever say about a child let alone a patient. She felt compelled to perversely tell me how inadequate my baby was. She ended with words I never let permeate my heart. “He’s a blob. He’ll always be a blob. That’s all he’ll ever be.” Dr. S lives today because my husband physically restrained me long enough for her to scuttle from the hospital room never to be seen again.

Each candle added to DJ’s birthday cake serves as a tangible reminder of an invisible faith manifested through the most unlikely of people and circumstances. So, on his 20th birthday, I want to bring Dr. S up to speed on her dire predictions. And remind her that while she looked into this little face and saw doom and hopelessness I saw potential, love, and hope incarnate.  382819_2066102232110_512707139_n

DJ demands personal growth. You can’t be too cowardly to look boldly within. You must forget what you want, expect, and plan. Me holding onto expectations and comparing us to others propelled us nowhere. So, when public school and DJ weren’t a love match I became what I never wanted to be – a teacher! No offense to teachers. I just never fancied being one. As a little girl, I was the only one on our street who preferred being the student when we played school.

It took us a couple of years to find our groove but DJ thrived in homeschool. Shock to me, but I enjoyed teaching him. The fuel to higher learning is individualization. Crafting lessons to his needs, incorporating sensory-rich field trips, and teaching by a grasp of subject matter rather than a perceived grade level, proved to be the ladder to his higher learning window.

 

With education came books. Books taught me as much about DJ as they did him about the world. Through books, DJ told me how he loved Kentucky history and opened a path for me into his nonverbal world.

 

DJ views history as a learning tool. Dr. S viewed history, at least medical history, as an inescapable future. Dr. S’s encapsulating DJ into a sports-less world only made us determined to try it all. It should be mentioned that Dr. S did not include sack racing in her list of sports DJ couldn’t do. DJ and his Daddy just threw that in as a show-off manner for Aunt Neen and Maggie.

 

He also learned to swim, ride a bike, and even find his way around a kitchen.

 

It didn’t take long to figure out that the best things for DJ, cost us the most. Giving DJ basic life experiences we all take for granted, means expending physical stamina, mental stress, and emotional shifting. Yet, it’s menial compared to love. The more experiences DJ has the more he learns. The more he learns the more he grows. The more he grows the more he overcomes. And the more he overcomes the more hope he infuses into our crazy world. So, we do the things Dr. S said couldn’t be done;  eating out, camping, peaceful public outings, air travel, and even a journey across the Purple People Bridge.

 

It all matters; dressing up and turning his wagon into part of his Halloween costume, riding a scooter board, carving a pumpkin, reaching higher for the elusive Easter egg, training a service dog for him, building therapy tools like a platform swing for him to chill on, it’s all relative. Nothing is too much. Dr. S’s medical knowledge may have been correct. She didn’t factor in how life-altering unadulterated love is.

 

Of all Dr. S’s wrongs, her greatest was predicting I’d never hear I love you from DJ. Granted, I’ve never heard it verbally. But what I’ve learned is that the deepest of love isn’t said, it’s shown. And no one shows his love better than the little boy who supposedly never could.

 

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Posted in Letters, Royal Family, Uncategorized

A Letter To Meghan

Dear Meghan Markle, I heard you’re just existing not thriving. I get it. It’s like my life with my youngest son DJ. IMG_0196

DJ is special needs and can’t speak. And you? Well, no one can get you to stop speaking.

You love yoga workouts. DJ requires speech, occupational, and physical therapy every week. That’s in addition to working with him daily.img_0942

Like you DJ has a chef at his beck and call – me. He can’t chew so every meal must be pureed. Doctors said surgically inserting a feeding tube would make my life easier. But it’s not about me. It’s about DJ and providing him every opportunity to grow and learn new skills. I mean what sort of mother neglects her child to promote herself?

 You have a multitude of people to bring you any meal you’re hankering for. If someone didn’t cook, blend, and feed DJ he would die. He has zero ability to survive on his own.

You love buying ridiculously priced clothes. A few years ago, we pushed DJ through the mall in a wheelchair so he could point at clothes he liked. Everything he picked came off the clearance rack. He may be special needs but he’s smart enough to know how to get the most bang for his buck. img_0930-1

Sky-high heels are to you what orthotic braces are to DJ – a necessity.

Cute little Archie will need diaper changing for about three years. I’ve been changing DJ’s for nearly 20 years.  I gold medaled in diaper changing. img_0944-1

 Working the logistics of private jetting around the world with a baby is exhausting. It’s like me in a public restroom trying to determine the cleanest part of the floor to change DJ on because he’s too big for baby changing tables.

 And nannies! Wow! It is so hard to get good help these days. We rely on DJ’s brothers and my eighty-year-old in-laws to give us a periodic break.

Those posh resorts really take a toll. DJ has literally been in the hospital about 100 times. We keep praying for a financial windfall so we can fulfill his dream of a Disney Cruise.

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IMG_0941DJ is fully dependent upon me for basic hygiene. You know what that’s like. You depend on your hair, make-up and wardrobe entourage.

I can relate to you dragging Harry around. DJ’s legs don’t fully straighten, so he needs assistance ambulating. He can’t run and jump and can only walk short distances.

 

img_0933Frustrated you couldn’t speak up for yourself you employed your friends to do it.  DJ’s friend is a speech device he carries around his neck. It only speaks what we program. He has no way to express original thoughts. He desperately wants to express himself. He gestures and babbles and I try to decipher what he’s saying. I call it DJ charades.

This has been my day every day for 19 years. You’ve been a Royal for nearly three. And you know what? DJ and I are thriving!

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You chose your life. But life chose us. So, don’t you come at us with your nonsense. You’ve not the first inkling about hard living!

You want to thrive? You want positive press? Then stop acting like a spoiled brat!! It’s your JOB to honor Royal traditions and serve the British people. No one asks if you’re okay because anyone who thinks they’re entitled to take money for a job they refuse to do is clearly not okay. You will never be okay as long as you remain willfully obtuse. It’s time you ask yourself the question DJ answers every single day. Are you pitiful or powerful? Because you can’t be both.

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Posted in Royal Family, Uncategorized

Sussex Sympathy Show

Meghan Markle wants the world to know she is vulnerable, so people should ask how she is. She gave an alleged tearful account of how the extravagantly wealthy life she cultivated for herself is hard. Meanwhile, Harry explains how every camera he sees and every click he hears transports him to the traumatized place of his mother’s death. Who does he tell this to? The camera crew they used to film their every move for a documentary! What is the thinking here?  This reminds me of the worst day of my life so I will add more than usual and have them follow me all the livelong day! It’s absurd.

This latest oh woe is me tale is not surprising. The Duke and Duchess of Sussex are holders of the platinum level sympathy card and are not afraid to use it. From her, “they don’t make it easy” mentality to Harry’s we take private planes to avoid assassins nonsense, these two have an excuse for every terrible decision they make. And it’s always someone else’s fault.

For months the British public complained about Meghan’s excessive clothing expenses and the couple balking at tradition and hiding their baby among other things. Considering, their Royal life if funded by taxpayers I think it’s a legitimate complaint. Their willful obstinance sank their popularity as deeply as the glacier did the Titanic.

Their remedy? Go to the murder capital of the world to find Meghan’s skin didn’t melt off from wearing an outfit twice and no band of kidnappers pounced on baby Archie. The UK paid for the people of South Africa to see the British Royal Baby first. Not a good plan. Rather than apologize for the insult they said, “Wait! We’re doing a documentary of our trip. It will explain everything.” Cue the tears and terror. Everything is the fault of everyone else and they are one emotional thread from unraveling. Meghan and Harry are more than the Duke and Duchess of Sussex. They are the King and Queen of Excuses.