As I skimmed news stories early this morning I was particularly struck by how sensationalistic and gross so many of them seemed to be. This one regarding a policeman injured by a bipolar man, stabbed in the head, turned my stomach so badly I nearly slammed shut my computer. My own secondary post trauma syndrome kicking in violently, I was afraid I'd lose my coffee.

This was the second such incident in a ten day time period in NY of a cop versus a mentally ill raging stabbing suspect.

The mentally ill need help and they're not receiving it properly. But I don't necessarily know what 'properly' would look like, they don't wanna be contained nor over medicated, nor kept in confinement, nor to participate in therapy or resources. They don't necessarily know they desperately need help. I say this from years of irrationally violent experiences here within my home which is why I now fight a level of bitterness within me.

This mom of the stabbing suspect, where there were witnesses, then delusionally said, "My son didn't stab anyone!"

Seriously lady?

For quite some time now I shut down the computer after blogging and retreat to the gardens, or work in the house on our few rainy days, trying supremely hard to eradicate, or to at least change it all around, as my own memories bring an intense amount of stress. I've made some major changes, overhauls of what once was, as I attempt to move forward with a dozen decent kids, some of whom are still working through their own inner anger and issues, but there's no mental illness diagnoses here right now.

My gardens look wonderful, well at least The Big Back Garden and The Upper Gardens, those around my house are still on my list to get to at some point. As I worked yesterday, I thought about my childless Aunt Louise who had a yard man. How nice would that be? But my own mom doesn't have one at 82, why should I?

To have had one's all-consuming passion for helping kids disspiate into arrests and poor choices, to feel the way I feel now, so lackluster and discouraged, where I can't even find the right words, is a bit depressing. The lack of honesty or character I see when some of my grown kids brag about scamming others, or their alcohol use, why did I even try?

I have to force myself to look at the ones who are making me proud, and they are the majority, just to keep my own head above water, to not feel as if I've wasted so many years of my own life. Baying at the moon for nothing.

Remember I'm the one who apologized to the sheriff for bringing criminals into our county back when I had some huge raging law breakers. I then lived with boys wearing doo rags and fashioning weapons from anything they could get their hands on. "This one straight up is gonna be a criminal," a deputy told me after an altercation, the same deputy who'd once been in a midnight tussle with a schizophrenic daughter of mine who grew up to assault several more cops before eventually not being so violent.

But I do despair over the lack of meaningful lifestyle choices that I see...even as I question my own. Look where it got me? I'm desperately trying to find some meaning this morning.

I need to force myself to notice how well so many are doing nowadays, especially here at home where we now feel safe. Tabby's fretting over the CRCT, something that some of my kids barely ever even noticed, so focused were they on creating and maintaining mayhem. Tabby wants to be a teacher and I believe she'd be excellent at it.

I listen to various psychologists and therapists on podcasts, always searching for answers, or keys to human behavior, something past my own simplistic vision of simply doing right. Why is that so dang hard for folks? It's just easier to obey laws, rules and policies than to suffer the consequences.

I know that many are driven by deeply entrenched fears or experiences that I may never be able to comprehend, but we gotta try, or else their adult life will just stink.

I'd read a more positive article this morning on us older adults, now facing our own mortality, and turning to God for answers. This year is my 30th of deeply depending on God for absolutely everything. I'd've been sunk like a stone otherwise. My faith has been my source of strength to keep on going after being knocked down repeatedly, both literally and figuratively.

But as I listened to folks calling in to a radio show about their problems, their husband's infidelities, the wife's overspending, their birth children's poor choices resulting in pregnancies by various non child support paying dads, I was thankful for my own problems, glad I didn't have their issues.

Studies on worries often show that folks'd gladly take their own versus those of others, another interesting study is that the difference in salaries from $50,000 to $500,000 - it makes no difference, there's virtually no correlation after 50K a year, between money and happiness, just having one's basic needs met is usually enough.

I find that interesting.

And thank you Lord finally for the rain. You had me worried there for a minute as I watched the radar screen, the storms again going all around me. Jack pointing out, "Mom, your stress shield is enveloping our land and repelling the rain."

I cracked up. "Son, you've been watching the military channel too much."

My own joy exploded at the sight of this toad in my garden, scared the crap outta me when it hopped past my weeding hand, but its presence signifies a reduction in mosquitos, it brings me happiness at the sight of it.