Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

What I can be if only!

What I can be if only!


BRIDGEPORT, OKLAHOMA
United States Post Office,
A drawer of distinct age smell and aroma.
My development is a historic process.
The town itself, almost hit glory.
See the view yourself what is left.
Me, the drawer that could tell plenty of stories.
Please look beyond the stressed.
Bridgeport almost became a booming crowed town.
A lady named Cleo Beatrice Utterback, stepped down,
Her first step in Oklahoma, at the age of ten.
Her parents and sister with her.
Came on a train they did 1901, then.
Lines going through Bridgeport included,
Choctaw, Oklahoma, Gulf RR(becomes Rock Island) plus these secluded,
Enid and Anadarko Railways(later called Rock Island). 
Her father was a mercantile man of high end.
Homesteaded fertile land of the Canadian River.
Eventually they moved to Oklahoma City.
Bridgeport still has plenty to say. Plenty to blend
Stories or history that makes one quiver.
How about a little ditty?
What can a drawer of the post office
still offer, from Bridgeport, Oklahoma?
Maybe a history pocket?
Without any drama, recycle in mind, always wanted to be a frame.
That is it.  This woman that picked me out of the mess an fuss.
Has a hankering to redo me.
A plan to sand
Off the old, hope to gain some fame. 
On the outside black paint by a brush.
Inside white color with sprinkles of glitter.
Then deduct the wood on my bottom.
Replace the wood with glass and a sleak back.
Then I am a frame to pictures of Bridgeport, Oklahoma
Pleasant memory married to this craft idea. 
Bridgeport postal drawer will live on; I hope in a galleria.
Don't forget this is close to the bridge filmed in the Grapes of Wrath,
A film about  Oklahomans that took a well known path.
This is a picture of a house, the gas pumps taken out.
But shows you more of that 30's era of gas station history.
Just a drawer I am, but my aspiration is for you to enjoy,
This poem and keep Bridgeport in your head before more is destroyed.


Saturday, December 20, 2014

Goodbye Wayne!




From the A-Team Wednesday's Crew Preparing Grocery Sacks at Skyline Urban Ministries. Tell Carmack "Hello" for me. I am sorry I missed your Funeral Wayne.
A man that gave plenty to the community.

http://obits.dignitymemorial.com/dignity-memorial/obituary.aspx?n=J.-Beal&lc=2327&pid=172764528&mid=6153742

Saturday, July 12, 2014

Pushing Beings In Labor; CONITUING THROUGH LIFE


 
18, Graduation soon, but  still pushing.
18, Graduation soon, but still pushing.

Pushing Begins in Labor and Continues Through Life

Today is the day after my son turned 18 years old.  Reflecting back, I realize when they told me to push during labor, that was the begining of a continual process.   Whether your child has special needs or is quote "normal," it is a parental job to push children beyond their comfort zone.
Sometimes I have felt guilty for being "General Mommy or Sergeant Mommy;" so nicknamed by dad, my husband Bill.
Bill Adcock husband to Sandra and father of Tanner, now 18.
Bill Adcock husband to Sandra and father of Tanner, now 18.
Tanner was not an easy baby.  He had troubles eating from the start.  He through up and would be considered a colic baby.  Working with doctors and listening to the expereince of my mom(mother of four) resulted in putting rice in each bottle to help decrease the throwing up and weight gain proceeded.
At the age of six months, Tanner landed in the hospital for RSV (Respiratory Syncytial Virus).  Funny now but not at the time my sister recalls that I was not making sense and thought I was kidding when I called her to tell her  You see I was a nervous parent going from the doctor's office straight to the hospital and told her he had RSVP virus.
The hospital stay was almost a week.  It may have been worse for my husband and I to endure than Tanner.  Seeing your child in an oxygen tent and having tests ran in a haze of a short time is traumatic.  Then they tell you to move because you are in the way! Parental rights show up in your eyes resulting in a "Please" being spit out immediately and apoligetically.  He came along fine after about three months of nebulizer treatments, beating on the chest with a suction cup to break up secrestions and being on/off antibiotics.
Tanner was sick off and on quite often.  It seems I can remember all of his early holidays being sick.  My sister, that dresses very professionly all the time, was thrown up on and her car when she took him to the doctor for me right before his first Christmas.  That was one of the first holidays he was sick on.
Tanner weighted 17 pounds at one year old. Both my husband I worried about him.  He didn't or wouldn't eat well sometimes.  He stayed on his formula until he was about two years old or a bit older.  He refused milk.
At thirteen months if was obvious we were dealing with more than one could understand. My husband moved a toy or his cup about an inch or two.  He came back running to move it back to the exact position.  I new then and along with some other things observed there was something "wrong" or not quite right.
I am telling you all this for a reason.  This made it hard to make hard choices when he was older.  Worring about his health and weight gain, we let him start eating an unhealthy diet.  This wasn't at the time but it developed into a stance later on.  This also made being hard on him extremely trying.
Thus, began the parental divide on how to parent.  How do you face the something "wrong" or not normal along with health concerns?  I realized that at a certain point I couldn't go the path of least reistance.  Everyone had advise but I read while seaching for the reasons.  Family said not to worry and my husband appeard to me to like "denial."
Then and there I decided a proactive approach was best.  I proceeded to get Tanner into Preschool at age three.  I pushed for extra therapies like, speech and music.  I enrolled him in Kindermusic because of the benefits I had read about music in special needs and other areas of life.  One of his first sentences he said was sung back to me.   On our way to music class I sung to him, "Now it is time for music, music, music."  He was restless and sung back, "Now it's time for Grandma's, Grandma's!"  I was proud.  He had talked some but not like that.
The school said to make picture books and have him say what the picture was.  I made a jillion picture books.  Tanner would have to say his ABC's as I wrote them in the dirt at the park before he could swing.  Later he would have to write them.
I made 26 pages of huge ABC's on letter size paper.  Sensory issues were present and I read about trying differnt tactile approaches.  I cut out Sandpaper ABC's.  I found the experts that I thought could help me with advancing my son's chances of a better life.  I used the program "Handwriting Without Tears," to help him with writing.  This was on top of what the school was doing for him and the extra therapies I could afford like Speech and Occupational Therapy.
Do you see the pushing going on?  This continues for 18 years.  Tanner has autism so pushing can be a delicate balance.  I have him volunteering to gain job skills.  Do or did I feel guilty for being "A hard A$$?"  Sometimes!
Yet, let us ask the questions of what might have happened if I had given up?  Believed those provider's that were foolish to advise me to put my son in an institution?  Gone the path of least reisistance?  I doubt my son would be where he is today.   This has meant many battles in my marriage and in parenting my son with my husband.
Sometimes those with autism have problems with hygeine.  Tanner doesn't like his hair cut or wash it well all the time either.  I have wrestled with this for years. His counselor said to do one thing and my therapist disagrees.
This means another "Big PUSH" to help him into adulthood.  The ultimatum will be to keep his hair clean with two warnings, with the third resulting in a BUZZ CUT!  I have said this before.  Yes, I am human.  I don't follow through on everything. Parenting cam be DEMANDING.  Fights on how to parent wear you out.  However, this time I have the resolve to do it.
Thus, remember from the start of labor and delivery of your child when they tell you to "PUSH" it means for life not only during birth!

Friday, June 13, 2014

Old Timers

Old Timers
            According to ‘Old Timer’s’ you are not an ‘Old Timer’ unless you are their age.  That also means that you do not have bragging rights until you are that magical age.  That age is when you have earned the badge of life the hard way.
            Now this is all relative.  Those that are close to a hundred will say those that are eighty are babies.  Those that are eighty will say the babies are in their fifties. I am fast approaching fifty and think all those under me are kids and babies.  One thing I hear all these groups add is to be careful not to hang with old folks; those that are old in spirit.  The best advice that has been given by all those older than me is to remain young in spirit.
            A lady I was checking out, at my job when I was sixteen, set me straight once.  I told her, “Don’t you think you ought to slow down.”  She had just gotten back from Europe and was going golfing.
            “Honey dear, if I slow down. I just might find something wrong.” replied a spry white haired lady in her late seventies dressed ready to golf.
            That has always made me stop and think.  Now when I feel sad as I approach fifty, I think of her and Lyle.
            Lyle came into the pharmacy and said, “Hurry Sandy! I have to go to work. I mow yards. I work for an old man.”
            I had to ask how old the man was.  Lyle was in his late eighties.  As it turned out the old man was in his late nineties.  So, according to the ‘Old timers’ we are not old unless we are their age, have lived through and shared the ‘Old timer’s’ hardships.

Monday, June 2, 2014

Death-I Fear Not

Death-I Fear Not


In the past,
Death made me tremble.
Fear beyond knowledge
Where there was none it so seemed.
Yet, then I was saved.
God gives me comfort.
I never thought I could be by the bedside
Of one dying.
Then I realized how selfish of me.
My father's death was hard for me.
Then I had an epiphany.
I was to be there for him.
Get over my selfishness.
Talking to friends about death,
Made it a more pleasant event.
My father was a good man.
Heaven is for REAL.
My friend witnessed a spirit released from her bother.
There is no other way to get to heaven.
Fear is evil.
Fear stifles one in place.
Living then cannot occur.
Sometimes causes one to hurl.
Learn to trust. 
Are you will be rust.
Know where you will go.
For HEAVEN IS FOR REAL.
It is a steal of a deal.
Live this life without strife.
Be by the bedsides of those that die.
It is for them and not you.
Remember theif life and not your petty fears.
Remember their dear times they gave.
Behave with fears in check.
Heck it is the least one can do.
Do not unleash the beast of fear.
Faith is the gateway to living and death.
Fear death no more.

Author Notes

My presonal expereince with death. It has made me stronger.  If you live in fear of death your life  will be stolen.
© Sandra Lynn Mallo Adcock. All rights reserved

Question and Answer


Question must appear.
Answer must appear.
No religion, politics are other care must appear.
Why do you insist on this?

What gears drive your fear?
I do not get it.
You say anything then limit.
Life includes, love, religion and politics.

Technically I am not writing about those.
Only asking why not include these?
Life includes all of these.
What shall I write this poem about?

Love?
Spirutuality?
Existance?
Motherhood?

Autism? One ism's?
Special needs?
Bullying?
Torture?

Why do we do all of this to each other?
Hurt those we love the most?
What can we host
to stop these horrible things?

Love is caring, 
when others do not.
Sharing when others 
won't.

Spirituality is everything we believe
that sets us apart.
Without it I can not exist
or I might as well kill my self a la carte.

Motherhood is a bond,
that is strong.
That cries in hurt when
the bond must be torn like a shirt.

My son has autism.
Special needs he is.
Taught me how to live.
Pity me not my wish,

This poem is a question.
This poem is an answer.
No more suggestions.
I hope you have liked my manner.

Thought provoking 
Withoug choking
No blowing smoke
Or, invoking cloaks.

Thanks for listening.
Hope my word were glistening, 
Distinguishing, and  explanation enough.
Prompting in thought without being taken off the cuff.

Grandpa's Cracked Mirror

Grandpa's Cracked Mirror

A janitor was my Grandpa.
Found a cracked mirror one day.
I asked could have it in hand.
No was what he first said.
Cancer shot him from his stand.
Soon he would be dead.
It meant lots on this command.
He gave it to me as he fled.
Died October 1968.
That cracked mirror kept I did.
Where is it hid?
I know it is in my memory.
Where is it physically?
I will find it again one day.
Pass on to my son for keepsake,
As I explain,
What is meant behind
Grandpa's Cracked Mirror!
All rights reserved.

Author Notes