To Sleep...Perchance to Dream

Insomnia...
I've had it almost all of my 55 years. Lately it's been even worse. I have even quit trying to go to bed before midnight. Part of me screams "Go to bed" and the other part that always wins the argument says, "What's the point?".

If I get two hours of sleep a night, I'm doing good. You would think I could get a lot done since I don't sleep, but I'm no Tom Edison. At least he did something useful with his insomnia. I just stay in bed. I don't get shook up because I can't sleep. Nothing is bothering me. It's just my chemical makeup.

The only time I was cured of insomnia was when I was taking Paxil for panic attacks. Paxil fixed the serotonin problem I had with my brain. I slept like a baby, eight hours at a stretch. When I awoke, I was in the same position as when I fell asleep. After years of being on Paxil, I decided to take myself off of it. It took months. If I missed a dose, my eyesight would jiggle. If I quit taking it cold turkey for a few days; not only would my eyesight jiggle, I would also be in a constant state of extreme anger.

So I went off of it very slowly, gradually reducing the size of the pill to a grain of sand. Now I'm back on the generic version of Paxil, and it's not helping in the least. So next time I get it filled, I'm going to get the brand name.

I don't like taking sleeping pills. I have to get up at 4am and sleeping pills leave me groggy half the day. That's way more miserable than staying awake all night. Years ago, my doctor put me on Halcion, telling me it was completely safe. One night I took the Halcion, then went out on the deck to relax in the lounge chair for a while. The next thing I knew, it was morning and I found myself in bed, fully dressed with even my shoes and socks. And I couldn't remember even going to bed. That was my last dose of Halcion. Later, I heard reports of people taking Halcion and waking up in other towns with no idea how they got there. So it's hard telling what I did on all those other nights and just never woke up until morning.

I remember being as young as four or five and not being able to sleep all night. One night I stared at the bedpost so long that it turned into the Wizard of Oz...and not the nice old man Oz behind the curtain, but the mean one that smelled of brimstone and screamed all the time. That's scary stuff for a five-year-old, but I never screamed. I was too scared to scream.

That same little kid used to lay awake and listen to the wooden stairs creak. I just knew those stairs were actually little bitty coffins, and at night the skeletons that lived in them would open the lids and come out. They'd spend a few hours every night going up and down those stairs. By morning, they were always back in their little stair coffins and quiet. At least those skeletons eventually got some sleep.

My insomnia got even worse as a teen. Being an avid reader, I would just turn on the light and pick up a book. But one night someone saw my light. The jerk knocked on one bedroom window three times, then went to the other window and knocked three times. I thought I was going to have a heart attack at 14! All I could do was shut off the light and lay there. That really happened. It wasn't a product of my fertile imagination and lack of sleep.

At least my insomnia is no longer accompanied by outright fear of skeletons or knocking neighbors. I have to have the TV on, mostly due to the tinnitus in my ears. The TV noise helps drown out the roaring and high-pitched noises playing in my head. I rarely ever get interested enough in something on TV to actually watch it, since about 90 percent of the TV channels have those stupid infomercials on all night.

Insomnia and fever are a really bad combination. When I was six, I had such a high fever that Mom put me in my little sister's crib to keep me from falling out of bed while I was thrashing around. The fever really stirred up my imagination.

Sometime in the middle of the night, a full-sized skeleton appeared in the doorway of my bedroom. This wasn't one of those little bitty guys that lived in the stair coffins. The skeleton started walking towards me, and as he walked, skin started appearing on his bones. By the time he reached the side of my bed and turned towards me, the skin had been covered by a suit. Then a face manifested itself. OH MY GOD...it was none other than... Lawrence Welk! He didn't have his baton with him, but I'm sure that would've been the next thing to materialize.

That was one time I was finally able to let out a really loud blood-curdling scream. As soon as Mom turned on the light, Lawrence vanished. Terrified, I had to tell her about the skeleton that grew skin, and then turned into Lawrence Welk. She must've thought I was nuts. That hallucination is still firmly embedded in my mind. And I never liked Lawrence Welk again.

Now when I have a fever, I end up in a halfway state of sleeping and being awake. A bizarre slide show plays in my mind. Thousands of Salvador Dali-like images play, flipping from one to the other in half-second increments. If I could only remember all of them and paint them like I see them, I'd be a rich artist. At least the slide show isn't scary. It's bizarre, but at least I'm not being scared out of my wits.

The lack of sleep doesn't keep me from going to work and being productive. That is, unless I am forced to sit in a meeting that holds absolutely no interest for me. At one meeting a few years ago, the room was packed. I wasn't able to sit at the conference room table, so I just grabbed a chair. During the next hour, I did everything I know to do to stay awake. I fidgeted and changed positions constantly, but it didn't do much good. At one point, I leaned forward and put my arms on my knees. That was a bad move. I fell asleep and began to tumble forward out of the chair.

Luckily, I woke up halfway between the chair and hitting the floor with my head. I caught myself with my hand. Then I pretended to have dropped something and acted like I was merely picking up something I'd dropped. I just hoped to God I hadn't been snoring.

Well, it's getting to be close to a normal bedtime. I like to get my pajamas on fairly early, and watch a little TV in the living room. But lately, I've been sitting in front of the PC. That may be part of my recent "really-bad" insomnia problems. So for now, I think I'll sign off...get my jammies on, brush my teeth, and take my meds. But if you see another blog I've written tonight, you know I've failed again.

...wish me luck and sweet dreams.

Who's Who Among the Gullible

A couple of weeks ago, I received an interesting piece of mail--addressed to me from one of those "Who's Who" places. Seems they have recently chosen me--ME!--to represent the professional and business community of my town in their 2009 edition of "Who's Who Among Executives and Professional Woman". Wow! Out of a huge town of 3,000 they picked ME!

I know how those "Who's Who" deals work. You let them list your name among thousands of others, and pay a big price for the book just to see your name in print. All it takes is a Google search to find out about this outfit or anyone else. I've had countless "charities" call asking for money, and I tell them I'll check them out on the Internet first. They always say, "Our website is www.yaddayaddayadda.com".

C'mon...do you think any scam artist's website is going to come out and say he is a blatant crook and will take you for every nickel they can get? What I found out about this particular Who's Who place is that when you send in the whole 1/3-page application, you will receive a call and some slick salesperson will try to talk you into giving them $800-$1,000 for the lifetime membership. But hey, in the letter they said they selected me "based on my current standing as well as criteria from executive and professional rosters" (translation: they bought a mailing list that contained my name and address). Maybe a lifetime membership in such an organization might help me realize my aspiring executive and professional goals by networking me with thousands of other women who were scammed into giving these guys a thousand bucks for nothing.

Funny--even though I was on this executive/professional roster, the application asked me for the company I work for, the industry, and my personal specialty. Geez...personal specialty? That could be any number of things, and the line to list them is only about seven inches long. Maybe I could attach a few pages outlining my personal specialties. Let's see...I make good homemade bread, pizzas, and cheesecake. I can knit, sew, and crochet. My spelling ability is amazing--well, except for that occasional typo, but typos don't count as misspelled words, do they?

A few weeks ago at home, I received yet another call from one of those "policeman charities". They thanked me for my past support (I have never given these guys a nickel). Just so happened, I was sitting in front of my PC, with Google at the ready. I Googled the name of the so-called charity (while making him think I was really interested in what he was telling me).

When he finally shut his yap for a second, I told him that I had just Googled his organization and the first website I clicked said that his organization received a "zero stars" rating. He asked what website said that, so I told him it was Charity Navigator. Then I said (still in a real friendly voice), "And the next website says that you guys run a scam!" "WHAT?" he asked. I totally "sympathized" with him..."Yeah...can you believe THAT? Why would they say such a thing about you???"

The previously polished salesman could only think of one thing to say and do. "OUTLANDISH!!!", he yelled. Then he hung up. Darn...I wasn't finished! There were hundreds of websites I wanted to read to him. I can't wait until they call me again!

Before you give your hard-earned money to anyone or anything, or fill out an application to get your name in some "prestigious" book, or possibly fall for a phishing ploy to get enough personal information to steal your identity and wreck your credit--please, do some research first. We have the luxury of being able to do that with just a few keystrokes and mouse clicks. Just make sure those mouse clicks aren't clicking on the links provided in those phishing email messages.

Got to run...Outlook just told me I had a new email message, and I think this Nigerian general is about to offer me the deal of a lifetime!

Heroes of Yesterday and Today

I decided the easiest way to jog my memory about things and people I want to write about is to go through my digital photos--some old and scanned...some new.

I received the top photo from my latest hero. MSG McQuirter is my adopted soldier, and I am his "angel".

Through a Google search, I found an organization called "Soldiers Angels", joined, and within a few days had my soldier's name, email, and military address. He soon sent a few photos of himself at Camp Phoenix in Afghanistan. When he emailed the photo of him leaning on the Humvee, it reminded me of a photo I had scanned of my father learning on an old military truck. I dug it up and joined the two photos.

MSG McQuirter just arrived home a few days before Christmas. Over the past year, we have become good friends. I sent him packages every two or three weeks, and emailed him frequently. He thinks he will be redeployed in July. If that happens, I'll start sending him packages again.

If you aren't already supporting a soldier in Iraq or Afghanistan, consider signing up with Soldiers Angels. If you do sign up, please realize you are making a commitment to someone who is far from home and wanted in this program for a reason. Don't disappoint them by sending one or two packages, then forgetting about them.

Knowing that someone back home cares about them means everything to them. They look forward to getting packages, and open them like a kid at Christmas. I've been halfway around the world, and know how good an Oreo tastes when you're homesick as hell. Supporting a soldier has been one of the most rewarding things I've ever done.

I'm pretty sure this made my soldier's life a little easier over there by sending him a little bit of home every few weeks. And he knew he had someone thinking about him and praying for his safe return. I'm know his family did that as well.

Again, to my soldier and all soldiers, sailors, and veterans, thank you for your service to our country. I can't imagine the sacrifices you've made. Stay safe and God bless all of you.

Christmas Memories

The Riley kids had a wonderful Christmas every year. On Christmas morning, our tree would overflow with baby dolls, toy guns, and sparkley paint sets. We’d rip those packages open like little madmen. Santa somehow always managed to make it to the poorer side of town to bring us those toys. We have nothing but great memories of those Christmases.

Recently an email from my nephew Pat sparked a long-forgotten memory when he told me he appreciated the money we gave him for installing a couple of ceiling fans for us. He said it would help them make a nice Christmas for his three girls. I thought about how that was just like Pat…to do some odd jobs to make extra money for Christmas presents. As I read Pat’s email, the memory hit me out of nowhere.

We were in the car with Mom traveling somewhere through the middle of Indianapolis, probably in the late 1950s. It was dark and it was cold. We passed by some dimly-lit building. Mom told us that place was the post office and our dad was there working. By day, Dad was a mechanic at the downtown Sears location. But during Christmas season, he would take a second job at night working at the post office lugging mail and packages. I don’t know how many years he did that, but I know there was at least one.

Being just a little kid that believed in Santa, I didn’t realize that Dad worked that second job to make money to give his kids a good Christmas. In 1931, Dad was a Christmas Day addition to an already-large family. With over a dozen kids, money was tight. Dad once told us every year he would open up his Christmas present, which was always a pair of pants. Then he was told that the pants were also his birthday present. I think it broke his heart every year. My grandparents did the best they could, but just one present for each kid was a burden—even if the present was something practical like a pair of pants.

Somewhere along the way, Dad and Mom decided their kids would have much better Christmases than they had. I’m sure Dad was dead-tired after being on his feet all day long, but then he would go to his temporary Christmas job at the post office. It had to be exhausting, but I bet he thought it was worth it on Christmas morning.

That sudden memory was followed by tears. I’ll never stop missing my dad. But mostly the tears were for a little boy that never received a toy, but always got a pair of pants as a combined Christmas/birthday present. And they were tears of sadness. I wish this memory had come along when Dad was alive. I would’ve thanked him for his efforts to make sure our Christmas trees were never bare. I know Mom did the scrimping, saving, and shopping, and we owe her our thanks for everything she did as well. (Thanks, Mom!)

The Christmas I was a sophomore in high school, it finally hit me how much Mom and Dad did for us every Christmas. I had just opened my three presents…a set of hot curlers, a makeup mirror, and I can’t even remember the third gift, but I know it was something “girlie”. Like every 15-year-old girl, I had wanted those three things so badly, but how did they know? And how did they afford all those gifts for me and my brothers and sister? I broke into tears right about the time Mom snapped a photo of me. I finally realized how much our parents sacrificed for us.

The “memory” above shows my dad playing with a race set. I assume “Grandma and Grandpa Riley” had bought it for my son Brian since he was the only grandson at that time. Every Christmas Dad would eventually make his way over to the race set, or the electric train—whatever my brothers got that year. He’d sit and play for a long time. There was still a little boy inside that grandpa, and at Christmas, he would change into that little boy long enough to play with toys.

I thought it was important to share this memory with you. More than likely, Mike and Mark were too young to remember, and Rita was just a twinkle in my father’s eye. But I can play that post office memory in my head like it was yesterday. It’s been hidden for many years, but I doubt I’ll ever tuck it away in the cobwebs of my mind again. Thank you, Pat, for that one little statement that woke up this memory.

I know Dad is always with us in spirit during Christmas to celebrate the birth of Jesus and the birth of a baby boy in Newton Stewart. Bless all of you, and I hope this message causes you to think back to a special Christmas when you were just a kid.

Merry Christmas and a peaceful New Year.

Where Do I Start?

It took me forever to decide just a few things for this blog. I decided to use a few things from my ancestors. My "pen name" is derived from my maternal grandfather's last name and my paternal grandmother's last name; hence "Cissy Apple". My great-grandfather Eli Apple is of Cherokee descent, so I wanted to pull that into the blog title. Although I am a "Heinz" 57-varieties, I'm most proud of my Cherokee ancestry. I am also Irish, English, and German...and God knows what else. But most of all, I am the sum of those who came before me--a weird concoction of DNA and spit. I can see my father, mother, grandparents, aunts, and uncles in me. Most of it I like, but some of it I don't.

I hope to use this blog as a diary and a place to write down those funny stories I've lived through. Someday, I'll incorporate all those words into some sort of a book for my family. I've had this planned for many years, but just never got started. I hope to make this my start. But for right now, I'm tired and need to watch a little TV before heading to bed.

I've got lots of stories...stay tuned.