Celebrate Me Home

Getting ready for death

2012-02-05T03:27:00.000-06:00

Today, the old lady and I had a little discussion about death. We had come back from eating soup at a deli. She laid down on the bed and I told her to skootch over and I sat at the edge. I asked her if she was giving up. She didn't seem to eat much anymore. She told me again that she missed my father. She told me again that he loved my mother, that one did not have to do with the other. And I told her again that I knew the heart had many rooms. Did not her own mother love all five of her children?

She asked me if she would see her husband and I told her that I didn't know. I believe that we come from love and we return to love. I think it is a different existence without a body and we can't imagine it. I asked her if she was afraid and she said no. What is to be afraid of? I told her to think of it as another adventure and she was always ready to try something new. Didn't she take on the adventure of being a mother to three children at the age of 44? Everyone told her not to do it but she did. It wasn't a hard childhood because of her; in fact she alleviated some of the suffering. It was hard because my father was a mad man. He never confronted his losses and it ate him up inside.

She has always been an incredible clothes horse and when she had to move to a smaller apartment we needed to weed out enough so she had room in the closet. Now she can't find anything to wear so I took away most of the dresses and suits and summer clothes. She was grateful to have the room. I told her I would bring back her summer things when it got warm. She remarked if she was still here.

I do not begrudge the time I am spending with her in this limbo before she passes. I am grateful for the opportunity to talk about things that really matter to both of us. We have both grown a lot in the seven years since I moved them from NY. I thought at the time they couldn't last more than a few years. I was wrong. She will be 98 on Friday and I am hosting a small dinner party at her favorite Chinese restaurant on Saturday. One day at a time, that is all anyone has, Mom, you, or me.

How the computer places me

2012-01-13T07:22:00.000-06:00

I joined an online dating service. You answer a zillion questions and it can be quite interesting to compare your answers with potential dates. Under the "Personality" tab is a graph that shows where your answers sit in comparison to others. That too, is interesting. Potential dates can see that I am more spiritual, more pure, more compassionate, progressive, political and kind, in that descending order. They can also see I am, (according to their statistics) less adventurous, less experienced in love and life in ascending order. How they reach these conclusions is a mystery to me.

But it does make me wonder. How well do I see myself? How well does anyone? It seems to me that we look at ourselves with either rose or mud colored glasses, and very rarely do we see clearly. I know for me it is always a shock to look at photographs and see how short I am. When I look down, the floor is far away. I can't imagine what the view is for my 6' 8" nephew. I watch little kids. They are the center of their world, at home in their own space.

Many years ago I was pregnant and every night my spouse would rub pure cocoa butter on my tummy. I smelled like chocolate and was under the impression that I had no stretch marks. Then I disrobed in a cubicle with a full length mirror. I had big red stretch marks on the underside of my bulge. They had been there all the time but not having a mirror, I hadn't seen them. (Oh, big, big freak out! Why didn't you tell me? I thought you knew!)

In my mind, I am brave and oh so street wise. I am a woman of the world who chooses to stay home and uses excuses not to travel, either the parents or money. How can I be less experienced in love and life? How? I don't know, but I guess I am, because the computer says so. And we all know the computer never lies. (Garbage in, garbage out.) It does explain why most of the matches they send me are old hippies. What rich guy wants someone more spiritual, and pure? It even makes me kind of nauseous. It does make me wonder, just who I am. I won't spend a lot of time wondering, though. Because, like Popeye, I yam what I yam, and have the forearms to prove it.

Well wishers, uncross your fingers

2012-01-03T00:34:00.001-06:00

There is a scene in a book I love, Vision of Light, where Margaret is seeing amazing things and finally asks God if He is giving her a sign. A voice answers that yes, apple blossoms in winter and all the other phenomena were to get her attention. I, too, have had amazing messages, time and time again that I totally ignored. They were too subtle for me. (I could write a book about missed opportunities.) But the other day I was sitting at a table in Costco eating some frozen yogurt and opportunity came right up to me and offered me a job.

When I was a demonstrator cooking steak or fish, I often stood by the young man in the heating and air conditioning kiosk. I would give him samples and talk to him about his life. When he saw me on Thursday, he left his booth and came to talk to me. They were looking for someone to talk to potential customers and make appointments at another store. Would I be interested? On his say so, and without an interview, I started training on Saturday. I did another 4 hours today. Tomorrow I will go into the office and meet the boss and fill out paperwork.

It isn't like cooking steak where folks flock for a free sample; it can be boring, waiting for people to approach. Either they are looking for a new heating and air conditioning system or they aren't. But then you get to visit with potential customers and for a couple of minutes have an interesting conversation. I don't have to sell anything, I just give info and get info. He said I did great and his boss was real impressed with the five appointments we made these past two days.

There is a part of me that really did not want to take this job. It does not pay enough and there are no benefits. But there is another part that says it is a job and I should take it. See how I do, be open to opportunities that come my way. Who knows where this might lead? But more than anything, when an opportunity takes the time to offer me a job when I am eating ice cream, I know it is a sign that I'd better pay attention, abandon what I think I know and be open to learning something new.

Someone asked me what my resolutions are for the new year. I only have two. I want to be more positive and try not to be negative. Here are Bette and Bing to sing about it for you.

Meaningless numbers

2011-12-23T00:21:00.002-06:00

Today I took my 97 year old mother to the Jane Brattain Boutique to be fitted for a new prosthesis and brassieres. She is by far the oldest lady they have ever fitted and in many ways, most challenging. Many skinny old ladies who have lost a breast just stop wearing bras altogether and I can see why.

My father met her in 1959 when she was in her forties. She was a knockout and wore a 36 D bra for a long, long time. She is a 32 year breast cancer survivor and has never looked back or mourned the loss of her breast. She is happy to be alive. Some years ago she became so lopsided that her doctor sent her for a reduction on that side and she liked her smaller breast.

Four years ago she measured as a 38B. But she has lost more weight and her bras are hurting her. Today she still measured at 38, but they didn't feel good. The kind young woman finally found that worked best is a 40AA. The old lady was flummoxed; how could those be her numbers? She had never been that small or that large. As she has shrunk vertically, and as her back is bending, the rib cage is expanding. As she has lost weight, all the fat in her breast is gone leaving flat skin. The fitter put in an evener, kind of a lifter, on the good side to even her out.

Well, this is a lot of information and I will finally get to the point. It is about arbitrary numbers and what we think of those numbers and how we let them affect our thinking and lives. 40AA? She is so very skinny, and not even when she was twelve did she wear a double A bra. "But I've always been so busty" she kept repeating. And size 40 chest? The old man only had a 36" chest before he died.

I remember crying over scale numbers when I was younger. I remember cutting a label out of a pair of shorts because I couldn't imagine wearing size 18 shorts. And now, I am much heavier and wear size 14. How can that be? I know a young mother, slim and beautiful as can be, who worries she is not the same weight as pre baby. It is just numbers and numbers can lie. I look in the mirror and see a woman approaching sixty years old. The make-up lady tells me my skin looks younger, but catching myself unaware in a shop window, I don't even recognize that person. Is that me? How can that be?

The baseball great, Satchel Paige said, "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?" The old lady has to be reminded she is old, in her mind she is still young. I think I would be 36 again, if I could appreciate it more. As it is, I will wear what looks good, no matter what the label says, and apply for jobs no matter the age I think they want. Because what are numbers anyway? Just a way of either enjoying or avoiding being here in the moment. And anyway, 60 is the new 50. Time to do this decade right.

Learning compassion

2011-12-15T08:44:00.000-06:00

I've been reading about compassion and learning what I thought was compassion is just the start. I thought being compassionate meant putting yourself in the other guys shoes and trying to understand why they are the way they are. Then I could put aside enmity and practice empathy. People have told me on occasion that I am too gullible, too forgiving and that sometimes people don't deserve another chance, but holding on to anger hurts me, worse.

One Christmas, I think it was 2004, I innocently opened up a large, flat package from my nephews. It was wrapped in a garbage bag with a bow. I took one look, threw it on the floor and started shrieking and jumping on it. The room exploded in laughter, and it was too bad no one taped my response to the gift of a full size cardboard cut out of George W. Bush. They would have won $10,000. Yes, everyone knew how much I couldn't even stand to look at the man, no less his politics. But something happened to me while watching the Obama inauguration. GWB walked out onto the platform and hardly anyone, from either party, wanted to shake his hand. He looked so confused and suddenly, I felt sorry for him. I felt some empathy. I wanted to hang on to hate, but I couldn't.

Just recently, I saw a picture of someone who had modified their body in what I thought was an unwise way. I found myself thinking I would never do that. I am finally old enough to see whenever I say never, I am usually proved wrong. From microwave ovens to cell phones, all those nevers are gone. That is not to say I am endorsing tattoos, piercing, various surgical procedures, and foods. But I am starting to understand why a person might do these things and feel proud of the way they look. I stood in the shower and made the connection. The start of empathy, the start of compassion.

When I looked up the definition of compassion just now, I saw that it goes far beyond empathy and sympathy. It means to actively work to alleviate the suffering of others. I am not actively volunteering anywhere right now, just relieving the suffering of one old lady. Sometime soon, I hope to make compassion less a philosophy and more of a way of life.

Being here now

2011-12-11T01:08:00.001-06:00

Today, tonight, I am very glad to be here now.

When my brother died at age 21, I was sure that I was next. I had to live all his dreams and all my dreams and do it in just a couple of years, because I was sure I was going to die young. I was 16 when he died and 21 when I was given the gift of Knowledge by Maharaji. And in that initiation where I was shown the Creator within myself, I was also made aware that if I can live this moment, and be aware, I need never fear death. That was 38 years ago. I'm too old, now, to die young. I hope I have another 30 or so years to keep learning and loving and enjoying life.

Today I took the old lady to see the movie Dolphin Tail. It got generally good reviews, it didn't put in too many subplots, and it was based on a true story. Afterwards she said that she didn't expect to like it but she loved it and thanked me for taking her to see it. Then we went to Rainbow for wonton soup and egg rolls. While we were there she said something nasty about someone, using awful words straight from the mouth of my father. She has no idea how loud she speaks and I had to say, "Mom, please! Everyone can hear you." One minute she is a darling 97 year old lady, and the next minute she is a sheet metal worker. Oh my God.

Later I went to a little holiday party at my building. I even had half a frozen rum drink. And later still, off to hear Rock It Science at Mainstreet Bar in Hopkins. Some friends from up north and down south were getting together there. I felt fine ordering club soda, and I felt fine leaving when I did. A little dancing, good company and no worries.

I thought I had a ton of wisdom to impart. Lucky, lucky readers, I can't remember it! I really am happy, though, just being here now.

Peace in my heart

2011-11-24T23:59:00.001-06:00

I used to love hosting Thanksgiving. Having all that love in our home was more delicious than all the good things to eat. Luckily I was able to experience that again, today. It wasn't in my own home, but the love was just the same, and the food, of course, was wonderful. Suffice it to say Clara was cooking. Those who know her will understand, and those who have never experienced a party given by Clara and Ernesto can never understand their particular bounty.

We were of all ages, Linus is just under 6 months old and Harriet is just under 98 years old. At one point my sister-in-law was able to arrange a four generation photo shoot with her mother, daughter, and grandchildren. And of course we took a group photo. I will add it to this blog when it is forwarded to me. Imagine, 54 degrees on Thanksgiving and all of us outside for the picture.

Something that added to my enjoyment of the day was being able to help with the prep and the serving. I peeled 13 pounds of yukon gold potatoes, chopped veggies, and set the table for 22 on Wednesday. Then, on Thursday, I carved two whole turkeys! It is easy if you know how. (Hint: remove each side of the breast and slice on cutting board.)

When my husband and I first talked about breaking up I said to him that I would not give up his family. They were my family, too. And when we told my mother-in-law, she told me I would always be her daughter. She and my brother and sister-in-law made it possible for me to live in my own place and I thank them dearly. So today we were all able to gather, including a neighbor who I invited, my 97 year old mother, my ex and our daughter and her husband and have no tension, just love and peace. Truly, my favorite holiday.

[I have not been blogging very often these days for two reasons. One is that I don't have much to say. The other is that someone who claims to know all about me, and says he is a friend of my brother-in-law has been posting horrible comments about me on this blog. Since I am the administrator, I block them. Pete can't believe he has any friends that are hateful, and will watch out for me. I have some tech people trying to run down the source of these comments so I can report harassment to the police.]

Halfway through November

2011-11-18T01:37:00.001-06:00

November has been a hard month for me for many years. It took me a long time to figure out why. I didn't know if it was the declining light, the gray skies, or the coming cold. I only knew that I got blue in November. My mother died the November I was six years old. I finally went for help for depression one November some years ago. This November I spent a few days sleeping. I have been using the Happy Light and I think it helps. It has also been a bit warmer than usual which has been a good thing.

Today, though, was cold and windy. Today was a day I spent outside at a rally and march for We Are The 99%. I have spent some of the greatest hours of my life on a picket line or marching for justice. I have to say, though, that marching in nice weather is much more fun. We met at the U of M and had a couple of speeches and then we marched down 19th Ave to a bridge. At that time I realized they were going to try to occupy the damn bridge. Call and response: Whose bridge? Our bridge. Oh no. Not me. I am all for economic and social justice but getting arrested for a bridge? What good is that? I am thrilled protests are going on and was happy to be part of a nationwide movement, but I was cold and I went home in the early dark of a Minnesota November.

The high point of the month is Thanksgiving. I have always loved Thanksgiving. To me it is the perfect holiday, good food and good company and no presents needed. I especially loved setting the long tables in my Orono home and having eighteen or twenty loved ones enjoying the food I cooked. People would go around the table and say what they were grateful for, or maybe we would sing a grace. It was just such good energy. And after games and the table being put back, I loved the order of my clean house. This year we will gather together and have a great time, but not in my place. This is probably my mother's last Thanksgiving and I hope she has a good time and doesn't get too blue missing the old man.

The month is half over and drama, unemployment, and a thousand year old mother in poor health aside, I am doing pretty well for November.

The desire to be heard

2011-10-23T06:59:00.001-05:00

I have been spending quite a lot of time with the old lady, 97. Because she lives in a HUD building, we knew she couldn't stay in a two bedroom apartment after the old man died. We just moved her into a one bedroom, two floors up. It is very close to the elevator which is major. Thanks to my sister in law, who engineered the move and yesterday hung all her pictures, things have gone smoothly. Right now there are two big concerns, she can't find her gold earrings and she hates the hall light fixture.

Truthfully, I have no idea where the earrings are and hope my daughter can help her find them.

The light fixture is another story altogether. There is something about a new place and a new fixture that is ingrained in her. Back in 1960 when she married my father, her sisters bought a chandelier as a wedding gift. When we moved to Orono, that was the gift she wanted to give us. Even in the first assisted living apartment, her first desire was for a ceiling fan and light for the dining area that had to be bought and installed pronto. Now she sits about fifteen feet away from the light by the door. She can't really see the white globe, but she hates it. She wants a nicer fixture, why can't she have one?

We have told her the fan won't fit there and she accepts it. Yesterday I took her to Home Depot to look at lights. She hated anything that sat flush against the ceiling as hall lights do. So I showed her some that hung below the ceiling and she hated them too. It turns out she wants a multi-light chandelier, that's all. At first I couldn't see it, the mounting is pretty close to the wall, not centered at all. But then I realized if we bought something with a chain, we could put it anywhere with a hook. Finally we were on the same page. We didn't find the style she wanted and I will keep looking.

We went to Chili's where she enjoyed her dinner but ate very little. In the months since my father got sick and died, the old lady has lost some weight. She used to eat half a rack of ribs. Yesterday she had soup and one rib and half a cob of corn. She says she has no appetite and doesn't even look at the weekend box meals. She does a little better in the dining room, but really is not eating much and so the downward spiral goes. She told me she hasn't been able to eat since he died, not hungry and nothing tastes very good. This is a problem for the extreme elderly. If you don't put gas in the car, it can't go very far. She uses the walker but I got her a wheelchair at Home Depot.

We got back to the apartment and she was very happy to sit with all her pretty things around her. The familiar pictures and plates are on the walls and if felt like home. As is normal for her, she said the same thing over and over. But instead of saying how much she hated the globe light, she kept telling me there was no emergency. She said even if it took a month to find the right fixture, there was no emergency, to take my time. It really surprised me and got me thinking.

The desire for a new light is real, but something even more real is the desire to be heard. She couldn't tell me what she wanted before we went to the store, and we kept telling her she couldn't have a fan in the space. But once she knew I understood her and would fulfill that desire, she could relax. She was heard and acknowledged. Being heard is so very important for quality of life.

For years I have been saying many of the things the Occupy Wall Street people are saying. No one in power heard me. Now others have taken up the cry that we need economic justice in this country. I walked 25,000 strong in Miami at the FTAA summit and saw all our protest marginalized and ignored. (Michael Jackson was being arrested.) I who love a good protest and have walked in many a demonstration, I am staying home and watching from the sidelines. Somehow, I can't bear to go down there and not be heard.

New experiences at ages 97 and 59

2011-10-16T00:15:00.000-05:00

Tonight, for the first time in her life my 97 year old mother will sleep in an apartment that is only hers. Although she has been alone since mid June, she has always lived with others. First her parents, then roommates, then her first husband, then with my father and three kids, then only my father.

Today we moved her from the assisted living apartment she shared with the old man to a one bedroom apartment of her own, two floors up. I left her in a state of amazement. She could not believe that family and friends would do all the work of moving her. Big thank you to Pete, Clara, Ernesto, John and Gavin! Thank you, thank you, thank you. Special thanks to General Leslie for her guidance and puzzle solving skills. I could not have done it without them.

Of course not everything went well. It wasn't the fault of any of the wonderful people named above. First I thought there wasn't any electricity because I didn't change the service. John and Clara suggested checking the circuit breakers. Ha ha ha, they were turned off. (Whew) Then I forgot to cancel the truck. Guess what? They didn't charge me and they had the reservation for the wrong day. I also forgot to call the cable company so she doesn't have any TV yet. But she does have phone service! After everyone left and Mom was mostly settled, I went back downstairs to bring up food and start cleaning. I wish I could tell you the feeling when the top of the bottle of cooking oil came off and it fell on the floor. Oil splashed on my face and hair and clothes and shoes, and all over the floor. I put down raggedy towels to absorb most of it. Tomorrow, I will come back with a bucket and soap. And garbage bags and Goo-gone and a sense of humor, I hope.

Monday, John and Eri are coming back to help with the little stuff. Bless them and bless me!

Stages of womanhood

2011-10-06T21:29:00.000-05:00

Throughout history women have been classified according to their reproductive status. First, maidenhood. This is the period of time before menstruation in older cultures, and before marriage in more modern times. For some, their maidenhood and subsequent marriages have been as young as nine, although real puberty is a more accurate time frame.

Then came motherhood. Before reliable birth control those years could have started in the early teens and gone into the forties. In older times, when women routinely died in childbirth, few women actually hit menopause, dying as grandmothers in their thirties.

After menopause, we became either wise women or crones. In either case, for many women in many cultures, sex ended along with the childbearing years. Those women healthy enough to survive the rigors of life in those days were considered wise, they had a lot of experience and gained respect. In later days if a woman tried to gain power she was considered a crone, very demeaning. In our society, rather than gaining respect, older women have become invisible. But don't you believe it. Some have surgery, some get comfortable shoes, some are happy alone, and others have mates.

So here I stand in the space between. I'm over being a mother, not quite ready for cronehood. I'm healthy and energetic, I'm not willing to take a lot of garbage from anyone, I want a good time and I want to hold babies. I am friends with the young and the old.

Yesterday afternoon I was invited to play cards with some of the older women in my condo building. It was Fran's 84th birthday. The other women ranged from those in their mid sixties to late eighties. Rita came down to say she couldn't play because her partner, Philip, needed some care; he'd needed some nitroglycerin and she didn't want to leave him alone.

We had been playing for close to three hours when I asked what time we would be done. All the ladies looked at me and the sentiment was basically whenever they wanted to stop. Suddenly it occurred to me that none of us, with the exception of Rita had to get back and make supper for a man. When I pointed it out, they all laughed.
Sometimes I get lonely and wish I had someone to cook for. Those days of being a busy young mother are gone. That was one part of life, this is another. I might or might not ever have a partner again and who knows if I would do much cooking. But when I looked around this gathering of older women having fun and enjoying their freedom I realize it is not at all a bad place to be.

Life as an immigrant in China

2011-10-03T00:47:00.000-05:00

Tonight, on the PBS Program POV, I saw a documentary about a family that immigrated from a farm in the country to a large industrial city in China. The parents were peasants and were working day and night in a clothing factory. Their teenage daughter, for whom they were sacrificing so had dropped out of school and was also working in a factory. The parents shared a narrow bed in a curtained off area of a large and noisy place. They slept on mats on a platform, not even a mattress. The girl shared a bed with another factory girl.

The family wants to go home for New Years but there is a snow emergency and the train is held up. Thousands and thousands of people are waiting hours and days for a train that doesn't come. When it finally does arrive, they are herded on with no place to sit and by the time they get to the country where Grandmother lives tempers flare. So much unhappiness. The girl is angry at her mother for going to the city and leaving her with the grandparents when she was young. There is a young brother who still lives in the country. The first thing the parents want to see is his report card. He is fifth in his class and rather than praise him, they are disappointed that he isn't higher placed. So many hopes and dreams are riding on the children, the pressure is tremendous. It did make me wonder how bad the economy is in the country that people would choose to leave the spaciousness and clean air to live like sardines in the city. To see those conditions is to know the desperation that drives people to try to come to America in a container on a ship and sometimes die in the attempt.

Thirty-four years ago, when we were living in Pocatello Idaho, I wanted to buy some blanket sleepers for my baby. I checked around and found some at Sears. The best price I could get was ten dollars each on sale. Recently, at Costco, infant blanket sleepers were priced at $7.99. How could a Carter's garment be so cheap? I know Costco buys in huge quantities, but that isn't the only factor. Sweatshop labor, nearly slave labor is why the price is so cheap. But what is the alternative in 2011? The domestic clothing industry is nearly dead. The consumer wants the lowest prices and the American worker is hanging on for dear life for the jobs that have not gone overseas. It is not at all cost effective to make one's own. Many of us shop for used goods.

The next program was on the factories along the Mexican border, the cities they call Maquilapolis. I couldn't watch it without wanting to cut my own throat. Until the haves acknowledge the dignity and worth of workers, and the workers see that we are in it together, and start pulling together things will only get worse. I have no answers. I only know that until we treat humans with respect and not as disposable resources, be it as soldiers or factory workers, we will not achieve peace or prosperity.

Overwhelmed

2011-10-02T07:56:00.000-05:00

They found a new apartment for the old lady. I told them it had to be close to the elevator. Right now she is in 101, she will be moving to 301. It is a brand new conversion to assisted living. They started with the first two floors and now have some of the third floor done. If I had my druthers she would move to Shalom Home. But she doesn't need 24 hour care and it saves the taxpayers a lot of money to keep her in an apartment as long as possible. Management will give me a key mid October. I want to have her moved the weekend of the October 15 and 16.

My mother is 97 years old, frail, and very sad that my father is gone. She has beatified him in memory and sometimes I have to remind her that he was no saint. "But he adored me," she replies. She hates walking by the door to his room and can't wait to move. I was hoping they wouldn't make her move or find an apartment very soon. At 97, how much longer can she last? (Don't ask, who thought she would last this long?) This woman has STUFF and I am feeling overwhelmed. There is not as much as before because my sister and I got rid of a ton of things when we packed the Brooklyn apartment in 2005.

I know if I ask my family they will come and help move her. I hate to ask people to give up much of their Saturday or Sunday. We are going to need muscle for the big stuff, as well as a furniture dolly. Then we need someone who can hang pictures. Also someone to hang window treatments. But first I have to make a list.

1. Ask for help
2. Gather boxes
3. Decide what to keep and what to give away
4. Pack boxes
5. Find a furniture dolly. There are plenty of carts for anything else
6. Ask for peace in my heart and patience in my actions
7. Give others a chance to do a good deed. (In Yiddish it is called a mitzvah and benefits both the giver and receiver.

There, that wasn't so bad. One step at a time. One breath at time. It is going to be fine. It might even be fun.)

New days new ways

2011-09-23T15:06:00.000-05:00

Quotes: The Wee Free Men by Terry Pratchett

'Miss Tick sniffed. "You could say this advice is priceless," she said. "Are you listening?"
"Yes," said Tiffany.
"Good. Now...if you trust in yourself..."
"Yes?"
"...and believe in your dreams..."
"Yes?"
"...and follow your star..." Miss Tick went on.
"Yes?"
"...you'll still get beaten by people who spent their their time working hard and learning things and weren't so lazy. Good-bye."'

I think about what causes laziness per se, but inertia and hidebound thinking. I know it is fear. For me it is fear of rejection, of having my feelings hurt, of not being right, of being wrong. I think it is fear of being called stupid or being told I shouldn't have tried because that good thing should not belong to me. It is fear of success. Garrison Keillor talks about not standing out, of being like others, not making waves, and of course not putting one's self forward. I get it. You don't have to be raised in Minnesota by Sanctified Brethren to get that message. You can get the message loud and clear in Brooklyn too. Be like everyone else, be better than everyone else, but get no support for your efforts.

I lost my mother at a young age and sometimes I feel like I have been playing catch up ever since. I was a totally clueless child. I had no idea how anything was done and certainly learned to muddle through on my own rather than ask for help from my madman father and semi-illiterate stepmother. I never felt that my parents could help me because anytime they stepped in, they made it worse. The crazy thing is, I can help almost anyone. I can find resources for others, but have a hard time punching my way out of a paper bag.

So, what brings on this introspection? I've been terminated from the product demonstrator position I have held in a warehouse store for a year. It is a relief to know I don't have to worry over how I will offend the boss anymore. It is a relief to have the time and inclination to look for a job that is a better fit, where I can do good, and maybe have a little dignity. More than that, I want health insurance!

I have decided to do things a little differently. I am going to move ahead despite my fears. My new motto is, "What is the worst that could happen?" Face that fear: looking stupid, being rejected, etc, etc, in a logical way and not get discouraged by real or imagined hurts that could happen. The flipside is, of course, "What is the best that could happen?"

I have friends working on PhD degrees, friends accepting new positions in new places, a niece that is working full time, has two small children and writing a book. I see people putting themselves in an open place, where by their efforts, they can experience their dreams coming true.

Today, I made several changes. I microwaved an ear of corn. Guess what? It was delicious and easy. I called a friend and I am going to go up to Ely for a few days rest on Sunday. I have asked a neighbor to feed my cats while I am gone. Just because I can't go to California doesn't mean I have to stay home. And I am going to pursue getting back either into a helping profession or find something else that is wonderful to do. What is the worst that can happen? I might succeed.

Final evening in our pool

2011-09-12T20:50:00.001-05:00

Today was the last open day for the pool at our little condo. It was a glorious hot day, 92 or 88 degrees and I had to work until 6:30. I was hoping that it would stay warm and I could go for a final dip. As soon as I fed the cats and got out there, a ferocious wind began to whip the leaves around and the water was all fast moving ripples, but oh so warm. I got in and worked out, talking to neighbors who came out to take advantage of this last time to swim and chat.

A condo is a funny place. Each person owns a little (or big) piece of space. That is ours, inviolately our own to decorate and keep as we please. But there is a larger part of ownership. We all are vested in the building itself, from roof to garage. Now that the pool is closing, we will retreat to our units, some of us to never see each other until next year when the pool opens for the season.

I will probably see a few people in the laundry room or in the garage, and I can only stand to attend the first hour of board meetings where few people show up. If I don't want to be isolated, if I want to live in a community, it is up to me to take the steps that will make this building a wonderful place to call home.

The first step was National Night Out. The second step is talking to everyone I meet and introducing myself. Stephen and I used the pool together several times. He told me he lived here for six years and I was the only person whose name he knew. So I am thinking of hosting a Winter party/potluck meet and greet for new and old residents in the community room. If people want to come, fine. If not, they have the right to their privacy.

Little steps; it will be fun to see what happens,.

The clearance rack

2011-09-02T05:20:00.000-05:00

I just sifted through a few days facebook posts to find this quote: Please remember: If you're not being treated with love and respect, check your price tag. Perhaps you have marked yourself down. It's YOU who tells people what you're worth by what you accept. Get off the clearance rack and get behind the glass where they keep the valuables! LEARN to value yourself more! If you don't, no one else will! Re-post if you like, you may help someone get off the CLEARANCE RACK! Great reminder to LOVE yourself! Life is short! Be happy

This really spoke to me. When I go to a store I gravitate to the clearance rack. I don't even look at the regular stock, thinking I can't afford it so why even look? And yet, when I think about two of my favorite items of clothing, the embroidered denim coat and the dress I wore to Eri and John's wedding, neither one was on clearance. They spoke to me and I had to have them. I've had years of pleasure from both.

But what about myself? Have I put myself on the clearance rack? Sometimes yes, but lately no. I am not some cut rate shmatta and I will not allow myself to be treated like one. Some people think this is arrogance and aggression. It can be perceived that way I suppose. I have always been of two minds about this. Maybe I should say of two stomaches. When I was a child and being discounted half of me would cringe and accept how stupid (or whatever I was being called) I must be. The other half was screaming that I was not stupid, etc. I was wonderful. It lead to a lot of stomach upset and tension. To this day tension plays havoc with my innards.

Recently I have been meeting men who contacted me on a dating service. It is always at a public place and I wonder to myself, why did I meet this person? I wasn't crazy about their looks, but they approached me. Almost like I am on the clearance rack and another 75% has been taken off my lowest price. Maybe I will meet someone who treats me as the greatest find ever. But mostly it has been less than that and I have no interest in ever meeting them again.

So, I am going shopping in the better men's shops. I might not be able to afford or attract the guy in the Hugo Boss suit, but I sure as hell am not accepting the Sad Sac in the Robert Hall suit bought at Goodwill.

There you have it, defiant as hell, but... I'm worth it!

The Tree of Life

2011-08-28T00:31:00.001-05:00

One thing about living near a cheap theater, I get the opportunity to see a lot of movies that have not been blockbusters. They are good movies, but not big money makers. This evening I went to see the Brad Pitt, Sean Penn movie The Tree of Life. The critics loved it but it seemed to go in and out of the first run houses very quickly. I wasn't sure what to expect. Roger Ebert said,

"The Tree of Life is a film of vast ambition and deep humility, attempting no less than to encompass

all of existence and view it through the prism of a few infinitesimal lives." (I have no idea how to

get rid of this border, sorry)

The first part was amazing images of earth and sky and light cut with short human scenes. I loved the music and pictures. At one point, though, I wondered if there was a story at all. Then the story unfolds. There was for me a quantity of uncomfortable tension. The child actors are very well done, and the house and neighborhood become integral to the story, almost characters.

Symbolism plays a big part in this picture and as Sean Penn himself put it, he had a hard time knowing what it was about and why he was even there. As I sat there for two hours and eighteen minutes, I grew restless. I wanted to shout, "I get it! Get on with it!" I think they could have cut at least twenty minutes of constellations, lava eruptions and other natural phenomena. It must have been heart wrenching to the director to cut any of the beautiful images.

I left the theater liking and disliking this film. I understood it and also wondered what the hell it was about. I understand, I do, that we are all connected, we are all alone, we all wonder who and why we are and the best thing one can do is be open to love.

I want

2011-08-23T11:21:00.003-05:00

I want (in no particular order)

R-E-S-P-E-C-T
Good friends
Workout partner
To laugh
To have fun
To have a job with dignity and a decent salary
Health insurance I can afford
To have someone I can adore
To have someone who adores me back
Healthy food without too much salt that tastes wonderful
A vacation away from responsibilities
Motivation to deal with the mess of paper on the dining room table
To be able to sleep 8 hours straight

While I've been writing this I saw a commercial for Latisse, so I guess I also want longer, thicker eyelashes but I don't want my green eyes to turn brown. You notice I didn't ask for riches, a new car or plastic surgery.

How about you?

The Telltale Chirp

2011-08-20T23:07:00.000-05:00

Last night started out fine with an invitation to go dancing. The professor sure could move and I followed every step. We sat in a dark booth and slugged down club sodas with orange slices. About midnight we gorged on cherries at my place before I bid him a fond good night. I kicked off my dancing shoes and prepared for bed. New sheets invited in their crispness. At last, in bed with Martha Stewart.

I hadn't been asleep very long when I was awakened by a chirping. I got up and checked the smoke/carbon monoxide monitor. It was hard-wired in and didn't need a battery. I reset it then, and an hour later, all night long. Chirp, no chirp, chirp. By five I was a sleepless zombie. I called 911 and asked to speak to a fireman. They sent two to check it out. The tall one took the unit off the wall. The short one could find no source of carbon monoxide. The tall one found the back up battery in the unit and took it out. I offered cookies which they declined, and they left with my heartfelt thanks.

It felt so good to go back to bed and know I could sleep undisturbed. The sleep mask kept the dawn at bay and a cat snuggled near my feet. Then... chirp! What? How can that be? It is unplugged, it has no battery. It must be my imagination. Several chirps later I put on a robe and deposited the unit in my car in the underground garage.

It was past six and I knew the old lady would be calling soon. I was so tired. Determined to get some sleep I drifted back to bed, perhaps to dream. What kind of nightmare was this? How could I hear a chirp so clear, so loud, so near? I sat up in bed, wild eyed and turned on the light. Where was it coming from? There! Up there by the ceiling, another monitor, small and white. I hauled out the step stool and pulled it from the wall. Out came the battery and within minutes sleep descended.

Seven dollars and a trip to Target later, both alarms are armed with five year batteries and the only chirping to be heard are the crickets in the park.

Isn't technology great?

2011-08-10T20:53:00.002-05:00

You can't call me an early adopter but I used to work with a very paranoid woman who distrusted all technology. She would not get an ATM card, use a cell phone and only used the internet at work. She was afraid of being hacked. Frankly, I thought she was deluding herself. If you have a social security number, and a bank account or mortgage, all your information is out there for the taking by people who know. I was late getting a microwave oven and cell phone but was kind of early getting on the net and can't think of living without internet access.

About five this afternoon I called my oldest daughter, iphone to iphone. She had just stopped at a rest area about forty miles from Billings, Montana, and I thought she might like some company on her trip. She loves to call when she drives. The connection kept dropping and we kept calling each other back. She is on her way back to California from Minnesota. I asked her where she was staying that night and was told how by using the internet connection on her phone, she was able to find a place near Yellowstone and the directions to get there. Isn't technology great?

My lovely cousin Amy and her husband reconnected with our family by facebook. An old friend had a birthday and by seeing who wished him happy, I was able to find another old connection and send a message. I am going on a brunch cruise this Sunday. I found out about it on the computer. Isn't technology great?

Sure there is a danger of using technology for nefarious reasons, but I am really glad to have the benefit of silicone chips and whatever they will think of next. I will probably continue to be a late adopter, getting a tablet when they are almost obsolete, continuing to read paper books, and still prefer talking to texting. Like it or not, kicking and screaming, here I am in the twenty-first century, and happy to be here. You are reading my journal, published for all to see. Isn't technology great?

A movie, and life review

2011-08-07T02:20:00.003-05:00

The old lady and I saw the movie Crazy, Stupid, Love today. I loved it. Because I was sitting next to a 97 year old woman with macular degeneration I had to pay special attention to be able to tell her what was happening to which character. There are many surprises, or as my mother says, "Wheels within wheels." It kept me guessing right until the end. And as I said, I did love and enjoy it.

You may have seen the trailer where Steve Carrell tells his ex that he should have fought for her. I floated around and around the pool at dusk wondering, could I have fought harder, could have my ex? Then I remembered that what I saw was a scripted story and what I experienced was life. It is easier to get a happy ending on film in 90 minutes. The actors actually talk about what is going on.

There is always one or more parts in a film that I have trouble believing. It can be something as small as a hairdo or makeup from the wrong period to the way one character acts. In the case of this movie it was the thirteen year old son talking freely and publicly about his emotions. It just doesn't happen. A girl, maybe, but not your average young boy. Hell, not his father either. But it was a needed device to make the story work.

Lately I am spending a lot of time with the old lady. She is really missing the old man. They were together close to 52 years and it was a second marriage for each of them. She did not marry until she was 31 years old and was with her first husband 13 years. He died the same month as my mother, who had been married to my dad for 19 years. She says my father loved my mother and she loved her first husband. I know that it was a difficult second marriage for both of them while the kids were still at home. I lived in a house of chaos, manipulation, anger, violence, and fear. But for the last 36 years, alone together, they were pretty happy. She says she keeps crying and can't stop. I reassure her that it has only been one month and she has every right to grieve. I tell her that she is the one who saved his life and kept him alive. She says she was very lucky, she had not one, but two men who adored her. I agree.

She says I don't seem as sad as she is. It is absolutely true and I told her it is because she and I believe differently. I have had the most amazing feeling of lightness since the old man died. I just know that he has had personality taken away and has become what we all essentially are, love. I know he is happy, not sitting on a cloud... in fact I can't even imagine what or where he is, but I know that soul is at peace and all worries are over.

This was going to be an essay about recognizing opportunity and seizing the moment. I have so much to say about missed chances and wasted opportunities. But what is the sense of that? Can I change anything that has already happened? No. Here is my prayer, that I be fully aware in this moment, let go of fear in this moment, and be open to all the chances to be a real human and experience life and love in all its wonderful manifestations. I wish the same for you, too.

Family of love

2011-08-05T00:51:00.001-05:00

When my second daughter was born, I hand-lettered her birth announcements on beautiful postcards. There was a central white space with lovely drawn and colored animals all around. And in the middle I wrote, "We are family, family of love, introducing our newest member..." Well that was over thirty years ago and I keep finding new branches, such as my darling new grandnephew, Linus, and dormant branches coming back into bloom.

This evening I got to see a cousin I haven't seen for at least forty years. What a wonderful treat to be together. My mother's niece Amy and her husband Paul flew into the cities from Atlanta as their first stop on the way to Minot, North Dakota. They will spend the weekend with a daughter and husband who live there. It was really fun for the old lady to tell tales out of school and for my cousin to tell what her life had been like and why she distanced herself from her family. She ran away and got married to leave home, and I ran away from home to get away from my parents and the man who wanted to marry me. She had no clue about me! I really do have to laugh. We each think the crisis' we experience in our young lives are so earth shattering that of course everyone knows.

We spoke of a cousin who won't talk to anyone from his side of the family, only his wife's. We spoke of having parents who were hard to deal with, but with all their mishegas, we still couldn't walk away. It was her mother, it was my father. I found it remarkable that we both married very nice men. (The fact that my marriage ended doesn't mean he wasn't a nice man, he was and is a very good person.)

Amy is my step-mother's niece and we are not related by blood, yet we are family of love. During dinner, my mother leaned over and kissed my shoulder. And as we drove home, I put my hand on hers and said, "We are doing OK, aren't we?" I see the friends she has in the building where she lives, and know others are looking out for her. The other night I organized National Night Out for my little condo and all the older ladies who have befriended me showered me with love for my efforts.

I have bunches and bunches of cousins all over this country and none of them have cared enough to stay in touch. It makes me sad to think about them, especially when I see the wonderful reunions Midwest families make. At this point the only family I know by blood are my sister and her sons, and my own daughters. Still, all my in-laws are dear to me and I could not love them more.

I have friends on facebook, and others who I don't talk to for months at a time. Yet I know, though not by blood, we are still family, family of love.

You've got to be carefully taught

2011-07-27T16:27:00.000-05:00

I have been thinking about racism.

"You've got to be taught
To hate and fear,
You've got to be taught
From year to year,
It's got to be drummed
In your dear little ear
You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made,
And people whose skin is a diff'rent shade,
You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught before it's too late,
Before you are six or seven or eight,
To hate all the people your relatives hate,
You've got to be carefully taught!"

The lyrics above are from the musical South Pacific. They are just as true today as they were in 1949 when the show opened. And I wonder, why? Why hate? I don't get it.

It seems to me that the bedrock of racism is a belief that one kind, one's own kind of people are inherently better than other human beings. It negates the idea of all people being beloved in the Creator's eye. When it says in the Bible that man was created in God's image, it doesn't specifically say which people. To me, people are people. We all bleed red. Our hearts all break. There are cultural differences for sure, but you can put type O blood into any human and it won't be rejected.

None of us can control the circumstances of our birth and all of us are different. What we can control is our reaction to our race. The racist hurts others with his or her attitude but never realizes how much their own growth is limited. Is it fear or inferiority that causes militant racism? Are people threatened by seeing others of a different ethnicity get ahead? Have certain people of a different race hurt them, or are they just repeating the party line they have been carefully taught?

I am not a fan of parochial schools. I feel they carefully teach children that they are better because of their religious beliefs. They advocate a difference between themselves and the rest of the world, and they are superior. I think children should be taught empathy and compassion, that they are world citizens. But then again, I was raised pretty much as a Jewish heathen. I know that when people seek out answers, they will find them and it isn't always in a church or temple.

I am not against people seeking their own kind because they feel comfortable worshipping or living with others who look or think the same way. I am against the idea that one way is inherently superior to another. There needs to be an acknowledgement that all humans have worth.

Don't assume, don't presume

2011-07-26T03:07:00.000-05:00

After the old man died, I was almost flippant about the amount of care the old lady would need. She has always been the strong one, and not that much fuss. She is definitely high maintenance, but that mostly meant telling her how beautiful she looks each time I see her. At 97 she still likes clothes and shoes and hair. She is a true narcissist, everything is about her. When she tells me that the people in her building only care to talk about their own selves, she doesn't see herself. What can I say to that?

I assumed I could handle her, easy. She wasn't as demanding as the old man. But I didn't count on one thing, the old man told her how good she looked and kept her up to standard. The old man demanded she dye her hair. He would tell her to stand up straight or put something else on. Almost like a child who wants attention, she didn't care if he was yelling at her to clean up her room, (he couldn't stand the mess on her dresser or the shoes on the floor) or telling her she was the prettiest woman in the building. It was all attention and it was all good.

Since the old man went into the nursing home in mid June, until now, I am seeing her almost every other day. It is too much. Not for her, but for me. I am tired, tired, tired and I need a vacation. On the days I don't see her I still have to deal with all kinds of stuff that pertains to her. I took her out for a nice day on Saturday, had to deal with the health care staff on Sunday, and take her to Urgent Care on Monday. I can't wait to go to work on Tuesday.

The activities are not hard on me physically, it is the constant repetition that gets me and used to get the old man until his hearing got so bad. The reason he would not wear his hearing aids lived with him. He loved her, but she doesn't shut up and doesn't realize she has just told you the same self-centered story for the ten thousandth time. That wouldn't be so bad, but you have to respond in some way. Today, at the clinic, I told her not to tell me the same old negative story. I picked up a Reader's Digest and read the following joke (more or less):

Jack woke up hung over, aching, with a black eye and read a note on the bedside table, "Darling, I've made you breakfast and have gone to the store to get fixings for your favorite dinner. I love you." He stumbled out of bed and found his breakfast and his son. "Can you tell me what happened last night?" His son said that he came home soused, tripped over a chair and got a black eye. Jack showed him the note and asked if he understood it. "Oh, that was when Mom got you to bed. She tried to take off your clothes but you fought and yelled for her to stop, you were married."

She laughed and laughed. I wound up tearing the joke out so she could bring it to dinner. (Yes, that was me.) Easily amused, she just needs a lot of attention, like a four year old. It turns out the ache in her back was a cracked rib and they put a belt on it. Now she will need help dressing, another thing to be arranged on my end.

Well, there is no cute end to this post, just thanks for letting me vent. I appreciate it.

Pool Haiku

2011-07-21T03:28:00.006-05:00

It has been beastly hot here. Sweltering, melting, sweating, dripping, sticky, icky, hot. The kind of hot that makes eye glasses fog up when getting out of an air conditioned car. The kind of hot that makes children cranky and anyone with sense stays out of the sun. I really felt for the boys collecting shopping carts from the parking lot. A hard day for lifeguards, mail carriers, and road crews. Air conditioners could not keep up. My fingers were all pruney when I took off the gloves at work, there was so much sweat inside them.

When I got home from work and minor errands I lay on the couch cooling off. I watched the super talented children on So You Think You Can Dance and wondered how anyone could pick a favorite. It was nine o'clock before I went out to the pool area. It was delicious to uncoil the hose to water the plants and talk to each of them, calling them by name. Here you go, Tomato, here's a drink for Fuchsia, and Marigold, I am so proud of you.

Walking into the pool was like walking into a large tepid tub, not bracing at all, just relaxing and soft. I made myself do about ten minutes of exercise in the shallow end before I took a foam noodle out to the deep end. Back and forth like a water skeeter on surface then I abandoned the flotation device and just lay on my back looking up at the sky. It has been so humid that only a few stars shone and I found myself wondering if someone was floating on those far away pinpoints of light. I'd like to think so.

I started writing Haiku in my head. Five syllables for the first and third line and seven for the second. Haiku is the perfect form of poetry for me, short. Buoyant in the water, nope that is six syllables. Like an otter, she floats, nope six again.

Otter-like she floats,
Buoyant, writing poetry,
Counting syllables.

Machinery hums,
Blessed coolness behind doors,
Wet, I feel no chill.

Ears under water,
Alone in sheer abandon,
So glad blubber floats!

Friends in hot places,
Drink water, make plans to move.
Northern winter calls.

Half done

2011-07-18T06:15:00.002-05:00

When I moved my parents out to Minnesota from Brooklyn, I had one goal. I wanted to know that when they died I had done all I could do to have no regrets. Now that the old man is gone I can say without a doubt, that I did all I could for him and I have no regrets as far as my care goes. Are there other regrets? Sure. I regret that he did not reconcile and ask my sister for forgiveness. I regret I don't know very much more than I did before about his horrific childhood. I regret I did not hear any stories about my birth mother. I regret that he could not talk about the past.

I can tell you something that is a bonus. I got to see a softer side of Sid. I got to see someone who was able to change his attitude about me. Did he appreciate me? I really don't know. He still thought I was a bit of a Pollyanna, doing for others when I didn't have to. But he started to see that as part of me, and not a bad thing. Over the past six years I lost my temper with him a few times. It wasn't pretty, and it really alarmed him. It also made him act better towards me and others. I wish him well in his new manifestation, whatever that may be. A cousin said he was probably doing a jig somewhere. I have a feeling he is very happy.

The job is half done and I am feeling quite a lot of patience with the old lady. She never expected to outlive nearly everyone from her generation. Of five brothers and sisters, she is the only one left with her marbles. A younger sister, 88, lives in Florida. The friends she used to have in NY are all dead and many of the people she's met in her building are gone. She says she has no friends, but that isn't true. There was a great outpouring of sympathy from other residents and people have been very kind. The problem is short term memory loss.

At 97, Harriet can remember her childhood and early life quite well. At least I think so, who is there to challenge her? But when it comes to events closer to now, we sometimes disagree. It is all perception and if it did not personally affect her, she can't remember at all. Whether this is true memory loss or just a manifestation of narcissism, I don't know. She repeats stories how others have offended her ad nauseam. She tends to forget details such as when I am coming for her. Then I find her in tears and fright and have to calm her down. My mantra these days is, "I won't abandon you." She finds it comforting and the other day she kissed my hand. I told her that isn't the way to kiss, and put my arms around her for a hug. She knocks me out and I am humbled.

She says she is ready to go anytime. She doesn't want to live to 100. I think she will, maybe even 101. I wonder what lessons will be learned in this last part of our journey?

Now for something completely different

2011-07-14T01:32:00.002-05:00

It has been a few days since I've blogged and find I have little to say about what is going on in my life. Everything is fine. I want to talk about Shakespeare instead.

I have never cared for Shakespeare. I find reading his works quite tedious and watching them being performed is torturous for me. I also dislike Gilbert and Sullivan, and with the exception of Carmina Burana, can't stand opera. I don't feel uncultured and have a great appreciation for most fine art, from ancient to modern.

It was with great joy that I came across these quotes about Shakespeare and want to share them.

1. Voltaire "This enormous dunghill."

2. Leo Tolstoy "Crude, immoral, vulgar and senseless."

3. J. R. R. Tolkien "I went to King Edward's school and spent most of my time learning Latin and Greek: but I also learned English literature--except Shakespeare, which I disliked cordially..."

4. George Bernard Shaw "There is no eminent writer, not even Sir Walter Scott, whom I despise so entirely as I despise Shakespeare when I measure my mind against his . It would be positively a relief to me to dig him up and throw stones at him."

5. Charles Darwin "I have tried lately to read Shakespeare and found it so intolerably dull that it nauseated me."

As far as Gilbert and Sullivan go, I wish they would. I don't know which I care for less, the bumpity, bumpity tempo, the idiotic stories, the interminable length of the damn things or the audience who think it is ever so clever. The fact that one of my favorite writers, Robert Bencheley, adored it makes me want to like it but by the end of the first act, I have had enough, more, more than enough. A good friend is part of the local company but even for him, I can't attend.

So what do I like? New and thought provoking, old and well written. I love literature that is so tasty and attractive to read I want to eat it with a spoon. I like music with a melody and care more for DeBussey than Handel. I love good singers who don't shriek or make me flinch with their nasal sounding assaults. I love clear notes I can hear and would gladly miss everything played with distortion or a wah-wah pedal.

Both my daughters like Shakespeare. Quite a large part of the population does, too. But as for me and those quoted above, we'd rather not venerate his writing. There is one passage, though, that I've loved since sixth grade:

"This above all: to thine own self be true,

And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man."
— William Shakespeare (Hamlet)

So there you have it... being true to myself, I won't pretend to you that I can stand the bard.

Love to my friends and family

2011-07-08T10:01:00.001-05:00

People keep coming up to me to share their condolences. Yes, my father, the old man passed Wednesday night, and boy oh boy are we happy! They say, "We are sorry for your loss." And I say thank you for your good wishes, but you don't have to be sorry. We are delighted he is out of his misery, and we are happy to be out of ours, too. The time for crying was while he was here, helpless and thirsty and wanting to die. Now is a time of celebration. Being with him Wednesday while he was totally non-responsive and autonomously breathing was pretty awful. Seeing his corpse, later that day, was absolutely liberating. The body on the bed reminded me of seeing a dead fly on a windowsill. Just a husk. That is all this body is when life is gone.

I wake up feeling wonderful. I believe in Energy, that cannot be created or destroyed. I am thrilled that he made his transition to another form. Maybe he will come back, but if my prayers are answered, I won't have to deal with him again. The old lady and I cried and she said, "I am so happy he died, but I will miss him so much." Yes, and I will have to deal with her, a different apartment, contacting social security, etc. But I know I can do it, and so can she. We are survivors.

L'Chiam, to life, in whatever form it takes. Let's make the most of ours while we are in this one. Be happy for Sidney, for Harriet and for me.

Quality of Life

2011-07-03T08:18:00.000-05:00

I went to see my father at seven this morning. I stayed for about twenty minutes, holding his hand, speaking gently, watching him breathe. There were times his chest was so still, I thought he was gone, and then there would be a little snort to show he was alive. I held his hand, which was warm, giving it little squeezes, but he did not squeeze back. I told him I was sorry he had an unhappy life and that I loved and forgave him. I told him I was sorry for the grief I have given him over the years. I did a lot of silent communion too. The prayer of St Francis, "Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace," ran through my head. But I did not feel peaceful, I felt sad.

Shalom Home West is a beautiful facility on a beautiful campus. The courtyard is filled with conversation areas and lovely plantings. There is art and sculpture all over the place and the air smells good. There were no harsh voices. My dad is in this place of caring, with not a care in the world, except his next breath, and even that is not up to him. He is in limbo, not dead, but not really alive. And as beautiful as the facility is, there is not much quality of life for him.

What makes quality of life? Think of the movie Slumdog Millionaire. There is a scene where a child dives into human waste to retrieve an important slip of paper. That child had more quality of life than my father does now. There has to be a joy in living, a sliver of hope that tomorrow is worth staying alive to see. There has to be a reason to strive. There has to be a reason to laugh and hope and love.

The sweet peas I planted are starting to bloom. I've longed for that scent. It, along with all my little garden, improve my quality of life, as well as my neighbors. I hope that acts of kindness towards each other, whether acknowledged or not, aid in lifting the quality of life all around. My mother is devastated each time she sees him. I can only be there and try to be kind. She can make me crazy and it is my job to let her cry. What else can I do? Yelling does not help. So to improve her quality of life, I have to show love and understanding. My hope is that by doing this the ripples of kindness and caring spread to the far reaches of our existence.

Wishing all my family, friends, and even our pets, a day of appreciation for the gift of life. Jai ho!

The squeaky wheel

2011-06-29T04:54:00.000-05:00

Early Tuesday morning, about 3 AM, I called the nurse's station. I explained who I was and why I was calling; Sunday and Monday morning I received messages that the old man had crawled out of bed and they found him on the floor. I wanted them to check him and make sure he was still in bed. They checked him every two hours. I wanted them to check him more often. I did not want to get one more call that he was on the floor. They wanted me to go back to bed.

Last night the old lady and I went to visit. We found the bed moved up against the wall and a thick mat placed next to it on the other side. This way, if he gets the notion and energy to crawl out of bed again, at least he won't be lying on the cold floor. Not ideal, but not too bad either. I pulled the mat away so my mother could sit by him and hold his hand. "Do you know who I am?" she asked. "You're my wife!" We were happy that he was aware, but then after she told him she loved him he turned into a petulant child. "I want to go home. Why do I have to be here? I was happy at home, you should have left me there!" Then the moans and groans came and this dramatic statement, "I want to die, it was miserable in the beginning and my whole life and it is miserable now."

Way to go, Dad, way to go. Tell the woman who tells you how much she loves you that your whole life, including the 52 years spent with her, stinks. The old lady is a trooper. She told him that he can come home when he can walk again. She says he is like a bad baby. I will tell you one thing, if you are a miserable young man, and make no effort to look for the good, you will be a miserable old man. Two weeks ago the doctor told us he couldn't live more than two weeks. Surprise, surprise.

The old lady asks if she is a bad person if she wants him to die? No, not at all. We all do, including the old man. I think we all want some peace. (When do we want it? Now!) Other people talk of the beauty of watching a parent die and the wonderful closure. I am pretty sure we will not be having that experience. Next visit, I am not waking him up. I would rather watch him sleep than yell lies about his getting better.

Lifting the burden

2011-06-26T03:45:00.001-05:00

It turns out that the old lady is very susceptible to agreeing with whomever she is talking to. If a nurse said my dad was getting enough care at home, she agreed. If I said he should be moved to a care facility, she agreed. Finally, I made the decision to have him moved and I think she is OK with it. We moved him on Thursday night, gave him a day to get settled and went to visit yesterday.

He was more alert, knew who we were and had enough energy to be a pain in the ass. Wonderful! It hurt her so much that the last time she kissed him, he looked at her blankly. This time she knew he recognized her and that gave her happiness. Having him being cared for in a nice facility has really lifted the burden on both of us. She feels a little guilty, but I told her she shouldn't. He is getting a higher quality of care and I think we were both surprised to see him doing so well, mentally.

Physically, I have seen better looking prisoners of war. He is so skinny, his legs, arms and chest are just bones. His face is pretty skeletal. Yet there is still that spark of life there. He was able to complain about the bed being hard (it is an air mattress) and he was aware enough to want to go home, whereas at home he had no idea of where he was. Sort of a convoluted way of saying he was alert. And the moaning! He was not suffering in silence as long as he had an audience.

I said to him, "Dad, you know you don't have to stay around for us. Anytime you feel like leaving, go ahead." He replied that it isn't that easy. It must be frightening to let go of the only life you have consciously known when you do not believe in the Creator or any kind of continuation of consciousness. Many years ago, when I received the meditation techniques I sometimes practice, I lost my fear of death because I saw eternity and know that my energy will go on forever in some shape or other.

So I feel good but my mother is just starting to prepare herself for being widowed for the second time. She is not looking forward to living alone, but I can't see her marrying again. (That was a joke) Keep sending her good thoughts. As the tiny, bent over thing declares, "I must be strong as a horse!" Yes, Mom, an old thoroughbred put out to pasture, enjoying a few days of sun.

Solstice evening

2011-06-21T22:49:00.000-05:00

I took a walk at sunset, just because I could. On one side was a peek into people's lives through their windows and on the other was Wolfe Lake. I would call it more of a pond, it is quite small. All kinds of hop toads were warming on the asphalt, colored so closely to the pavement they were hard to see. The first instinct is to get a stick and make them jump but then the thought comes to show respect and I walk on and leave them alone. They jump when they want to and bask when they want to and who am I to intrude? Boundaries, boundaries.

I came back through the pool area and stopped to commune with the potted plants. I found myself singing to them, telling them through tuneless song how much I thought of them, how I rejoiced in their growth. I don't know what any neighbors on their balconies might have thought, but the flowers and vines and I had a really peaceful time together.

Tomorrow my dad's doctor is going to come over to the apartment to see him and make a recommendation for placement in a facility that can care for him better. It might be a real hospice or hospice care at a nursing home. The fact is that he can't stay there in the apartment. He needs more care than my mother can give and that the aids can spare. It isn't cruel. It is kind to both of my parents.

Kindness is the most precious of all virtues in my eyes. My sister-in-law took the time to visit with Harriet today and to try to talk to Sidney. I am not a Christian but I know that Jesus said that what you do unto the least of these, you do to me. This is the way I try to live my life, and when I see others being kind, it moves me greatly. I told Leslie how much her kindness to my parents meant to me. She said that in the end, what else is there?

There is someone at work who drives most of us crazy. The other day I thanked her for doing a good job when she came to give me a break. I thanked her for leaving the station clean for me. Her eyes lit up and she started to smile. It was such a small act, yet it made her happy. I compliment well behaved children, I ask new mothers how they feel. I joke with old couples and admire interesting jewelry. I suggest a better product or agree that something isn't so wonderful. The point is I want everyone who comes in contact with me to have a positive experience, to feel like someone sees them and their worth. It is my hope that there will be a ripple effect. Think globally, act locally.

I truly believe there is not one problem in the world that can not be fixed if we all were a little kinder and saw the worth in our fellow humans, wolves, whales, and toads.

Easier said than done

2011-06-15T22:11:00.000-05:00

Today was the official "Take no shit day" on facebook. I had the optimistic hope that I wouldn't spread any around. I was wrong coming and going. After talking to a bookkeeper at a clinic I had to call my insurance company where I was told the claim that I had pre approved was not being paid because they hadn't pre approved it. What? What? What? Round and round in circles until I was crying and saying "How are you going to make this right?" Well, of course they weren't and I was advised to get in touch with the clinic to find out some answers. Instead, I called the clinic and left a voicemail message with the bookkeeper for her to call the insurance and get the answers.

I decided to go to a funny movie to laugh and release tension. Bridesmaids was funny, but not funny enough. Too many sad parts, too much potty humor for me. I hate urinal scenes and women sitting on the pot. It was funny, but not funny enough and I saw the male writer's influence. I guess I just wanted to scream with laughter but only guffawed.

Tension, pressure, worry, aggravation, frustration, and pain. That is what I am feeling. I talk the good talk and try to walk the good walk but my emotional stability is balanced on a pin. The slightest thing makes me cry. I say surrender, I say relax, I say it is all in the Creator's hands, but I really don't know how to do better, be more at ease. The truth is that my father is dying and I can't make him better and can't help him die. The old man has made many of my years with him hell, and my sister and I both prayed for him to die since we were children. I always knew he loved me, but I never knew I loved him, too. Excuse me while I blow my nose and wipe my eyes.

I know there are people who love me who I can depend on to "cover my back", yet I still feel lonely and alone as the days wind down on the old man's life. Thank you for your thoughts and prayers.

A cupcake won't make it better

2011-06-12T00:12:00.000-05:00

It is another Saturday night and I am watching TV and wondering who thought up this stuff? Does any of it have anything to do with my life? First Iron Chef America. The secret ingredient was spinach. I love spinach in just about any shape or form including canned. I saw ten different ways of cooking spinach using foam and food processors but only one that I might ever do, spinach mac and cheese. Then another show, so real, so timely, and so ridiculous... It was Cupcake Wars! What kills me about these shows is the judging. It is serious to the contestants, but not to me, and I have a hard time relating to any of it. But then again, maybe it is just what I need.

I took my mom out this afternoon. She is suffering as my dad is sleeping the rest of his life away. She says the hospice people are so good to him, they are treating him as gently as a baby. but they only come three times a week. The weekends are so long. One week ago, I was able to take him out to the park in a wheelchair. Today, he was sleeping, so skinny, not moving, in the same place in bed when we came back as when we went out. He is so vulnerable it breaks my heart.

We went to a deli and the food seemed not to have any taste, but I really think it was us. Then we went for a long ride around the lakes. My mother seemed to enjoy it. She kept saying how grateful she was to be out of the house. She doesn't know how long she can take it. I told her that she had to make some decisions, was she going to get a new, freer, lease on life, or was she going to follow the old man? She said she wants to live, so is going to be strong.

I wish the most important thing in my life was a culinary contest. I wish I could ease the suffering of this poor old lady who is spending her waking and sleeping hours worrying about my father. I wish I could make his last days happy. My God, he is so pathetic looking, sort of sleeping, getting weaker and weaker. We all want it over, but it is not up to us.

The title of this posting is "A cupcake won't make it better." When my oldest was four years old she hurt her knee and was crying. I asked her if a cupcake would make it better. She nodded, and I got a cupcake from the kitchen. I brought it in to where she was sitting and rubbed it on her knee. Laughter really is the best medicine.

Expanding the definition of success

2011-06-10T03:53:00.000-05:00

I had a great conversation about my "garden" with a true gardener, my mother-in-law Betty. I was asking her about the huge tomato plant I bought and which leaves to take off. Then I told her about the roses, geraniums and all the vines. I was quite proud of the hibiscus that I was able to winter over as well as the geraniums. I said that I don't have a green thumb. She said of course I do. I said I can't grow petunias. I can bring home the most luscious plants and within days they are scraggly. She then admitted that petunias were hard for her too.

Every time in the past years that I got roses to bloom in pots, I experienced a thrill. Really, each and every bloom was precious and amazing to me. Look at me! I'm growing roses, hahaha! Begonias in hanging baskets? Piece of cake, anyone can do it. But because I couldn't grow petunias, I thought I wasn't a gardener. I planted raspberry bushes in poor soil, and blamed myself when they didn't thrive. I didn't know about using good soil. The chipmunks ate all the delicious dahlias. Obviously I was a failure.

My oldest daughter was born in 1977 and a friend gave me a green plant that lived for over seven years in three states. Frankly, I got tired of the responsibility of keeping it alive and one winter stuck it on the porch. When we moved to Orono in 1987, Betty gave me a grape ivy that was quite old. Whether I watered it or not, it thrived and grew. About the time the marriage was ending, I passed it along to someone getting married. I'd had that plant about twenty years. It never occurred to me that I had anything to do with it's longevity.

I am starting to see twenty-three pots of flowers on the ground and five hanging on the fence as pretty darn wonderful. Does anyone miss petunias? I don't think so. Hey! I am a successful grower of plants in pots! (No puns about pot plants please.)

I wonder, are there other crazy standards we use to judge success? I wonder also, what you, my readers could tell me about reassessing success.

OK!

2011-06-07T06:59:00.001-05:00

OK what? OK, let's go! OK, let go! OK, I'm up and will feed you rotten kitties. OK, it's a beautiful day. OK, OK, OK.

Yesterday I went to Laughter Yoga and spent a lot of time consciously releasing tension. My back and leg still bother me but I kept saying to myself, "I release this pain" and "There is no pain." I allowed the endorphins and ibuprofen to help and although there is still discomfort, it is definitely a lower amount. OK!

Here's a lesson from my daughter. As a single person she buys whatever she likes and knows she will use. I took her advice and bought one perfect peach as opposed to a quantity that would go bad before being used. I might be paying more per item, but getting quality and cutting down on waste (and guilt). It goes against all the thrifty ways to feed a family, but makes sense on an individual basis. OK!

The folks seem to be OK too and I've had a couple of nearly folk free days. I spent time on the phone with the assisted living facility's head nurse and with the volunteer director from Hospice. It is delightful to step back and let them do their job; hopefully the old man will stop calling emergency services. A volunteer is going to visit with my mom and ask her all about herself. A new audience for old stories, OK!

My niece Emma gave birth to a lovely long baby boy last week. He was almost 9 pounds and 23 inches long. His daddy posted an eleven second video clip on facebook and I can't wait to meet him. Welcome to the world Linus James. OK!

Wishing all my friends and family a day filled with the appreciation of Creation and the wonder of our very own existence. For your pleasure, Monty Python's The Galaxy Song and The Beatles' Good Morning. OK!

Enough is enough

2011-06-05T06:06:00.001-05:00

I spent five hours with my parents yesterday. I made sure the old man got dressed, took the old lady out for eggs and then to Urgent Care to have her eye washed. When we got back I took the old man out in a wheelchair and we watched Little League in the park next door. I bought him a Coke and he seemed to enjoy seeing the little boys playing baseball. They really were sweet, age six to eight and they had confident batting poses. It helped that the pitches were all good, generated by a machine. At one point the old man needed to pee. As I wheeled him over to the portable toilets, I stopped by bleachers and asked if there was a compassionate man who could help my dad. It is all in the asking and a very nice man assisted us. There are some things a daughter should not do and helping my dad pee is one of them. He is so unsteady on his feet. He can't deal with the buttons on his pants and I do thank and bless the kind soul who helped.

While we were sitting out he asked why they made him go in earlier. Why can't he stay out on his own for more time. Explaining staffing was the easy part, making him understand that he can't take care of himself is much harder. He waved off the difficulty he had at the Port-a-let. "That? Anyone would have trouble there!" No, Dad, most people can stand on their own. In his mind he can do anything. What kind of care does he need? There is a real disconnect.

I got the call at 12:50 AM, he had fallen, the aide couldn't get him back up, his elbows were bleeding and he called 911. The ambulance was bringing him to Methodist Hospital. I made a decision, enough was enough. I was going to bed and let them deal with him. At five I woke up and made a phone call. Was he admitted? No, they sent him home.

At what point do we make the real decision that enough is enough? That assisted living is no longer meeting his needs and he should be in a full time care facility? He is killing the old lady who is getting very little sleep while running to his beck and call. He is wearing me out. I see another conference in the near future. In the meantime, I think I will go back to bed for awhile. I need some rest before work today. That after church crowd is a tough one.

The sun is shining on my roses and although I am tired, I am not bleak.

Time

2011-06-04T02:51:00.000-05:00

Until recently, I was obsessive about time. I was never late and if I was late, it was a catastrophe. As a child, I would get hysterical if we overslept and I was late for school. As a spouse, I stressed at my partner's cavalier attitude towards getting to work on time. I don't know why I was this way. But I do know why I changed. Instead of obsessing about time, now I obsess if I can check the computer one more time before I leave home. I'm rarely late... but I do cut it close!

This has been a horrible week, starting with the old man calling for an ambulance to take him to the Emergency Room. I arrived before the paramedics and along with my mother was the brunt of verbal abuse. He is not a stoic Swede like my in-laws. He does not suffer in silence. They sent him home after some tests. He is not sick, just old and worn out and sometimes confused. The silver lining is that we aren't in NY. In and out in only four hours. Back in Brooklyn he would still have been waiting to be seen.

Meetings with Hospice, meetings with the administration of the building where my parents live. Who is in charge? Me. But I don't live there, and I am called last in line. I had a hard day at work on Wednesday. I was snoozing on the couch when the phone rang and in my sleep I decided not to answer it. After listening to voice mail I got in touch with a home medical delivery service. They had brought an electric bed but couldn't deliver it because there was no room. I waited all day Thursday for the call that they were bringing it back. I had to get the old man out of bed and move it to the trash so they could set up the rental one. All the aides were at a meeting at another building so I remade the bed and got him settled. I showed him the controls, but who knows if he understands?

I look at the old man and listen to him complain and think that he has a choice. Why doesn't he look at the beauty of creation and appreciate what little time he does have? Then I look at myself. Why don't I see this time as a precious commodity instead of something to be got through? I am trying. But now I have to try a little harder.

Today at work I complimented a woman on her well behaved children. She did that annoying thing that we sometimes do as mothers. She said, "Well right now they are." Yes, appreciate it because the times in the past that they misbehaved are gone and all she had was right now. What guarantee do any of us have that we will be alive longer than the next breath? So if I am waiting to appreciate life until after the old man passes, I am wasting my life right now.

David Byrne of Talking Heads writes: "Time isn't holding us, time isn't after us, time doesn't hold us back." So who does? In this moment I can only commit to trying to be in this moment. And if this moment holds pain, so be it. This too shall pass.

A little Talking Heads for your pleasure.

My poor old mom

2011-05-29T08:17:00.000-05:00

My poor old 97 year old mother is having a very hard time right now. Everything is all about the old man and she, though not being ignored, is not the focus of attention. I've done, and continue to do, what I can for the old man, but here is someone else, someone frustrated, scared, and falling apart. I've promised her to be there for her, too.

My step mother, Harriet is an unusual person. She has better coping skills than most people. Sometimes it works to her advantage and sometimes prevents her from getting the help she needs. For example, she memorized the first grade reader before starting school. She knew it by rote and did not learn to read well. She was called stupid and held back, held back with no tutoring. School was torture for her and she was apprenticed at a beauty shop at sixteen. She was a wonderful beautician, manicurist, and cosmetician. People would wait for her and often she worked from ten to ten. During the Depression she always had a pocketful of tips and her salary would go straight to her parents. She was able to buy her younger sisters roller skates when millions were out of work. She is an incredible knitter and never uses a pattern. It hurt me to hear her say not to buy any more yarn, her eyes were too bad. Another thing she has coped with for years is macular degeneration. I remember visiting back in the 90's and watching her cook for me. She was making matzo meal latkes and using her fingers to see if they were done. She was still cooking until they moved to Minnesota. She could not adapt to a two burner electric cooktop. She could see gas, but not gauge the heat of the electric burners. My father howled. I tried to tell him how blind she is but he wouldn't listen. She still waits on him hand and foot but it takes a lot out of her.

I picked them up yesterday at four o'clock. I asked how she was and she started to cry that someone had stolen her watch. She looked everywhere. I reassured her that no one would steal that watch, it had fallen somewhere. When I went in the bedroom I heard the watch just finishing the announcement that it was four o'clock pm. But I couldn't find where it was coming from either. So we know that her talking watch was not stolen but is hidden among the clothes and bedding and shoes. She is going to ask the aide who cleans to find it. She asked why she couldn't find it? She looked and looked. I told her it was because she couldn't see well.

The old man is in rough shape and could hardly walk and then barely ate. He has no strength. It takes him quite a while to gather his thoughts so when he does speak, it is without niceties. The aides are taking very good care of him, "Treating him like a king" as the old lady says. She is worried about him but can't do anything and her talk makes him irritable. I have told her that she can call me and vent. She keeps saying how she has been so strong for him for so many years and it is all too much. I promised to come on my days off and take her out for a short time while he sleeps. Just going for a coffee will break up the awful days of watching him die by inches. This is much harder for her than it is for me. They have been married fifty-one years, thirty-five of which I lived out of state and only saw them every year or two for a few days.

So that's the story. I await the birth of my newest great nephew or niece and the news of my father passing. But in the meantime, we the living must treat each other with love. What is the alternative? There is none.

Ranting and Raving (not worth reading)

2011-05-25T07:02:00.000-05:00

Rant, rant, rant, rant! Outrage! Rave, rave, rave, frustrated at stupid stuff. Indignant, rant, rave, bureaucratic idiocy! The details are stupid and boring, the indignation is real. I don't want to be governed by rules of punishment. Common sense is so very, very uncommon and, please take this with a grain of salt, I wish everyone was as honest and smart as me.

What brought this on? Everything from the idiotic rules at work to the mean spirited legislators who have nothing better to do than regulate who can love whom, to just watching the news. Sciatica flare up doesn't help either, don't know though, if it has anything to do with my mind or just not lifting correctly.

OK, rant over. (For now.)

For those of you who think I'm a saint, think again

2011-05-21T21:51:00.001-05:00

The old lady called this morning wondering what we were going to do today. I told her whatever she wanted. I arranged to take them to a deli for good soup at four. When I got to the apartment my father was in a real pretty state. All dressed up and gunning for bear. I guess he thought I was the target. He was lucid as anything wanting to know about his money and where it was and what did I need this or that check for and naaaaassssssty! We got to Mort's and he looked at the five kinds of soup on the menu and didn't want any of them. He wanted that good soup he likes.

So after making a scene at the deli, we got back in the car and I drove from Golden Valley to Saint Paul to take him to Dixie's on Grand. We had a fabulous waiter and the old man ate an entire bowl of South Carolina Crab Chowder. It occurred to me to order some to go. Now he has two portions at home and I don't have to drive fifteen miles each way to get him soup.

On the way home the old lady said, "Well, as long as he is happy." I agreed. Just like a rotten child who gets his own way by throwing a tantrum or acting ugly, so can the old man. He makes the atmosphere around him toxic with dissatisfaction. My challenge is not to get into it with him. My challenge is to be that CALM parent who points out that whining boys don't get anything and how does he ask?

I admit to getting pissed at the restaurant, pointing out to him he asked for soup, what the hell did he want? He was able to say exactly what he desires. He wants everyone to leave him alone and let him sleep as long as he likes and stop telling him he needs to get up and live. He wants to be miserable and suffer. He's dying and he wants to get on with it and, oh, oh, oh, he is going to linger and linger and make us all as miserable as he is. I just know it.

He has the opportunity to look around him and appreciate all that is wonderful in this creation. He can look around and see the amazing quality of care he is getting. If he wants to be miserable, so be it. If he doesn't want to go to meals or activities, I've told the old lady to go alone. He is not going to push my buttons. I am going to wear a zipper and not let him get at my control. I am determined to do my best for him and I hope that somewhere in this eleventh hour he makes whatever peace with whatever he believes in. My desire remains the same today as when I took on this task, to do everything needed so that when he dies I have no regrets that I could have done more. And if the Creator hears my prayer, I will never have to deal with him again in any other life.

Not a saint, and I hope, never a martyr, just a daughter.

Waiting for the shoe to drop

2011-05-20T03:13:00.000-05:00

I imagine that the title of this blog comes from the experience of someone who lived in an apartment with neighbors above. Each night the upstair tenant would come into the bedroom sit on the bed, take off and drop one shoe. The downstairs tenant, already in bed, would wait for the other shoe to drop so he could sleep. But what if the person above just toed off the other shoe and it never dropped? Would the person listening get anxious, irritated, upset or just go to sleep? Speculation in the middle of the night.

One shoe is already off. My father is on his way to the big sleep. Whether I will hear that shoe drop, or whether he will just fall asleep with that shoe on is anyone's guess. One moment he seems near death, the next he is full of beans, the sarcastic kind that complains.

I do not want him to linger, although knowing the old man, I am sure he will. I know his passing is not going to be what I expect. I will probably be filled with all kinds of conflicting emotions and will miss his dry humor when he is gone. I will not miss the nastiness, I think.

This is what I want. I want him to tell me how much he loves me and that he is sorry for the times he was out of control. I want him to thank me for making his last years easy, if not deliriously happy. I want to know more of the story that sent him and his brothers to the orphanage. I want to know how they treated my birth mother's cancer. I want to know what is in his heart before it is too late.

Dear friends, this isn't going to happen for me. But if you can cross a bridge, mend a fence, open your heart to someone who has made your life difficult, please do it. The benefit will spread like ripples on a pond affecting every place the water touches.

Right now, I feel like everything is unfolding in its own time. We have come very far in these last six years. I pray for patience, kindness and understanding.

The faces of goodness

2011-05-18T18:56:00.001-05:00

From bottom left, Sidney, Harriet, above them Carol and Iris, Bob above

Some years ago my brother-in-law said that someone called him a mensch and he wondered what it meant and if it applied. I explained that a mensch is someone who does the right thing, not to be rewarded, not to achieve fame, but simply because it is the right thing to do. A mensch has to act the way they do because it is hard wired into them to be the best they can be and when their good deeds are pointed out to them, he or she can't see the big deal. "Yes," I told him, "You are a mensch."

So, too, with my dear cousins from New Jersey. They are the faces of goodness and giving. They are the faces of love. Yet if you point out to them just how wonderful they are, they just laugh and shrug. They are the way they are, to them it is no big deal.

Several months ago I wrote how my ancient parents wanted to go to another wedding in New Jersey and how I had to put my foot down and say no they couldn't go. At that time, Bob and Iris, parents of the groom, told the folks they would come out to Minnesota to visit after the wedding. True to their word, they flew out on Saturday and spent three days with my parents and me. Pretty remarkable, yet, this is the fourth time they have come to Minnesota in six years.

When my dad was in a nursing home in Brooklyn and my mom was isolated in the apartment, they drove from Jersey in the snow, to take them out, to make sure they were OK. The old lady had five married nephews and nieces in the NY/NJ area, but only Bob and Iris took time to help.

Ninety-six and ninety-seven is truly ancient. The old lady, who is almost blind, can still remember many stories (as long as she figured in them), but the old man goes in and out of lucidity. One minute he can't remember who anyone is, and the next he is full of energy and anecdotes. It is almost like a switch is thrown. On Sunday, he spent most of the day sleeping on top of his bed. I went over at five and told him he had to get up to go out, and he did. I told him to wash his face, put in his teeth and get ready. Off he shuffled to the bathroom. But when he came out he was so refreshed he did a tiny dance. Go figure.

My daughters and a son-in-law joined us at the restaurant, a Chinese Buffet. In the past the old man has enjoyed walking with one of the grand daughters and picking out his own dinner. He did that again and I cracked the crab legs on the plate. He chewed and chewed and chewed but couldn't swallow. The night before I cut his lamb chop into the tiniest pieces and he had no trouble. But now he could not swallow his food. Several chairs down the old lady was sampling from the plate I brought her. I gave her some tiny clams still in the shell and bacon wrapped shrimp with a toothpick among other items. "Mom!" I yelled, "That is a toothpick! Don't eat it!" Oh my god. Several minutes later we heard an amazing crunching. "Mom! You are eating the clam shell! Spit it out!" My daughter helped her. Oy, oy, oy.

The next day the old man couldn't swallow his pancakes at Perkins. He can swallow his pills but can't seem to get the masticated food down his gullet. We had an appointment at the clinic this morning and he has lost two pounds since last Thursday. The hospice folks are going to come in and evaluate his needs. He can live a long time on Ensure. He agreed that he didn't want tube feeding should it come to that, DNI, DNR. I told him that he needs to get out of bed each day so he doesn't depress my mother, and because he does not want her to feel bad, he agreed. At this point, who knows?

This is probably the last time Bob and Iris will see the folks. They gave my parents a priceless gift of love, their time and attention and I am grateful.

Some thoughts on dating

2011-05-12T00:58:00.000-05:00

Being back in the "dating" world after so many years is a trip. What kind of trip? Sometimes fun, sometimes boring, and quite often bumpy. In the last week I was stood up, had a nice lunch, met for a drink, and put together some thoughts on the whole process.

1. Don't waste time on endless emails. Either he can meet or he can't. I am not looking for a pen pal, and if his schedule opens up, he can give me a call. Believe me, I am not holding my breath.

2. Pick a place to meet close to home. In case he doesn't show up, at least I haven't wasted gas. Fifteen minutes late is the limit of waiting unless there is a phone call.

3. Pick a place to eat where I enjoy the food. The company might leave something to be desired, but my meal shouldn't.

4. Don't cancel other plans. Set aside an hour before or after other event to meet.

5. Don't put off girl friends to meet an unknown man. Men come and go, but a good woman friend is worth cultivating and keeping.

6. Don't waste time with people who aren't of interest.

8. NO SECOND CHANCES TO NO SHOW, NO CALL, NO MESSAGE RUDE PEOPLE.

9. And always, bring enough money to pay for own coffee, beverage, or meal. Don't assume anything.

10. Have fun. If it isn't fun, what am I doing there?

If it is in the cards to meet a great love, that is fine. But sometimes just meeting someone for dinner or a movie can be wonderful, too. I like who I am and want to be with someone who thinks I am grand just the way I am. Otherwise, being alone is nice, too. Besides, I have a pile of new library books and a Netflix membership. No desperation here. Where are the kittens? It is time to go to bed. Good night.

Not much fun for anyone

2011-05-08T23:41:00.000-05:00

There were two voice mail messages waiting for me when I took my break at work today. The assisted living facility called to say the old man had fallen twice. When I called back they told me he would not go to the emergency room. He wasn't hurt but his primary physician wants to see him sometime this week. No broken bones, amazing as that seems.

The second part of my break was spent on the phone shouting at my father. "Dad, you have to use the walker. Every time you stand up you must use the walker." He doesn't think he needs to use it inside the apartment. "Dad, you are falling in your bedroom, you are falling in the bathroom, you are falling when you stand up". He tries to explain that his feet aren't working. Yes, and that is why he should hang on to the walker so he doesn't fall down. Finally I asked him if he wanted to stay in the apartment or go to the Shalom Home. He wants to stay in his apartment with my mother. I told him that if he didn't use the walker they would send him to the Shalom Home, a real nursing home. "Will you use the walker?" He said he would.

I'm sad that he is full of pride and fear and confusion. I am sad that the old lady has to deal with her husband falling apart. I am sad that I can't help him. He wants to know what is wrong with him and all I can say is he is old and his body is wearing out. There is no doctor who can fix what he has. He wants to see a doctor because his back hurts. "What hurts, Dad?" His skin. I explain to him that we have seen many doctors and tried many different creams and drugs and what he has is sensitive dry skin on his back. His arms are like two sticks, skinny and black and blue. Each time he falls and he is helped up the skin bruises and tears where they lifted him.

We went to Chili's for ribs yesterday. He ate about four and a very small handful of fries. He drank about three ounces of Blue Moon Beer and the old lady finished the rest. I don't know if he enjoyed himself or not. The old lady had her usual good time. And I got more and more depressed.

I signed on for the duration, but I never thought it would be so long. I realize my life is in Limbo until they both pass. I live day to day for now, never knowing the next demand on my time. Will it be him or her with a complaint that needs to be dealt with? Will it be something financial? Will he have sent away for some crazy thing that I need to return? Will he start calling hearing aid places or play the foreign lotteries? After at least 50 years of using an electric razor, he says the new ones don't work. I bought him shave cream and razors. Now he says he needs shaving soap because he can't work the button on the can. It is too hard. I bought the soap and a mug. She wants red lipstick, bright. She can do only one thing each day. If we go to eat, she can hardly make it back home.

Everyone tells me how lucky I am to have my parents at almost 96 and 97. They are lucky as hell to have me. I know I have grown in patience and acceptance. I hope the lessons we all needed to learn are coming to an end because watching my father fall apart is not much fun for anyone.

Truly Delicious

2011-05-05T22:32:00.000-05:00

Like many other people I have been buying Groupons and Living Social coupons and trying new restaurants. Some have been fine but I will not return. The one Eri and I tried yesterday was really, really good. In fact, the food was truly delicious and I want to go back.

El Nuevo Rodeo is both a nightclub, upstairs, and a fine restaurant downstairs. It is on Lake Street near Hiawatha, 2709 E. Lake Street. It is attractive and immaculate, a very nice combination indeed. We started with guacamole made table side. It was so fresh and flavorful. The menu is quite varied and although you can get tacos, burritos, etc, I chose a shrimp stuffed catfish fillet with a mild chipotle cream sauce. The food writer, Ruth Reichl, talks about some things melting in her mouth. This was so delicious and tender it melted in my mouth. I wanted to make it last and last. Erica had a fajita wrap that she said was wonderful, too.

Sometimes I find a place that is so good I want all my friends to know so they can go, so the place will be successful, so I can go back. I hope you will try it. We talked to the owner and she wanted us to go back in the kitchen to see how clean it is. I believe her. This is truly authentic Mexican food that could be served in a fine restaurant in Mexico. They have a tasting menu that looks awesome and I hope I get a chance to try it, too.

So... who wants to go to El Nuevo Rodeo with me? It is truly delicious.

Nibbled to death by guppies and Laughing Yoga

2011-05-03T00:51:00.000-05:00

This is a two subject blog.

On Friday the old man called me to say he needed to see a doctor. The bottom of his feet hurt and he could hardly walk. We went out on Saturday to see The Lincoln Lawyer, with Matthew McConaghy, which the old lady and I enjoyed and the old man slept through. I asked if he wanted to stay home because his feet hurt, or if we could take the walker with us so he could lean on it. Of course not. So there we were, the blind hanging on to me on one side and the halt on the other. Oh, we make a mean trio.

Today I took him to see the dentist and the doctor. He is so skinny that his dentures are getting too big and Dr Rabinowitz did what he could to make them rub less. Then we went to the clinic where I was able to get a wheel chair. We had lunch and he ate nearly a whole grilled cheese sandwich. The sandwich was not cut so I cut it into triangles and arranged it prettily. He was daunted by a large sandwich but did well with little pieces. Presentation is everything. I had a piece of dry salmon and some broccoli glop that cafeterias do so well.

One interesting thing happened as we sat with our lunch. We had a talk about volunteerism and he said that a lot of people did it. He thought it was kind of nice. This is a real change. He has always thought that anyone who did work for no pay was an idiot and he has razzed me for years about being taken advantage of. Just pushing him through the clinic (which is 3 buildings with skyways) I was able to show him someone playing the flute, someone else selling spring flowers and someone else manning an information booth. He was surprised to find out that they are volunteers.

The doctor determined that the old man had a crack on his heel that was infected. So let's hope that he responds to antibiotic and antibiotic cream. I do not want to do months of wound clinic with him again. My mother says that it is always something with my father and she is right. It is like being nibbled to death by guppies.

Part 2

I am no good at picking wallpaper. There are too many choices. I have been most successful when I have only a few choices, and one alone is even better. So, too, with leisure time activities. I can do whatever I want to do, but have a hard time figuring that out. I have started tutoring and that is fun. I signed up for a card playing club and found out that it really wasn't me. I was done in two hours, but they played long after I left. Today I attended my first session of Laughing Yoga. It was fun and I want to go again.

Long ago I tried to do Yoga. It was so hard and it made me throw up each time. I was told that I was lucky, that I was sensitive and it was clearing me. Well that may be true, but it wasn't fun and I stopped. I have a daughter who is loving Yoga. She does amazing headstands and balancing positions and all I can do is applaud, but it is not for me.

I am a social person. What can I do that is fun? I had seen those videos of people in India laughing with a leader and I thought I would like to do that. Then just yesterday I found out there is a laughing group right here in the cities. I signed up and went today. It was lovely and it was fun and I want to do it again. We moved and we breathed and we laughed. The leader said there is no way of doing it wrong. I felt quite stiff at first. At first I got charley horse in my midsection but continued to stretch and soon was fine. There are no jokes, no age limits and research has found that fake laughter gives the same health benefits as real laughter. It is also true that contrived laughter soon turns into the real thing. My, it felt good.

Years ago I saw a counselor and told her I felt stressed. She asked what was going on in my life and then told me the reason I was feeling stressed was because I was under great stress. She suggested going to a comedy club or funny movie and laughing until I cried. She was right, it released the stress. I think that I could enjoy laughing every Monday night or Thursday during the day. It is free, it is social without commitment, and it sends good energy out into the atmosphere; everyone wins.

There are over 7,000 laughing groups worldwide and 400 in the United States. If you want to know more, leave a comment and I will get back to you. Ha ha ha, ho ho ho, and a hee hee hee!

Obstinate? You have no idea!

2011-04-27T21:51:00.000-05:00

(Disclaimer: this blog is not about my thousand year old parents.)

What is it about usually reasonable, loving, giving people that makes them take a stand on something and not give an inch? Why do people who would do anything for their children refuse to give them peace of mind? What am I talking about? Let me tell you...

My dear sister-in-law told me the tale of her eighty-something year old mother's stubbornness in one particular area. She won't make a will. She refuses to do it. L will get the lawyer and even pay for it, but her mother refuses. There are two other siblings and grandchildren and all kinds of complications but she refuses to deal with it. She won't even tell L what she wants done after she passes. It will all fall on L who has been her mother's rock for many years. She has begged her to do this one thing for her, but mother point blank refuses.

Today I met my own mother-in-law for lunch. She drove South, I drove North and we met at Grand Casino Hinckley. I told her that my father had fallen in the night and he pressed his Lifeline button. They called an aide who got him back in bed. Betty is about ten years younger than my folks but she lives alone. She said other people had told her she should get a Lifeline. I agreed and she said that she would feel ridiculous having that thing hanging around her neck. I told her she could wear it under her shirt, no one need know. We actually argued there in the restaurant. I asked if her vanity was more important than giving peace of mind to her sons and their families and she said it was her life and not to bother her about it. She cited always being able to get up, including crawling over snow and ice after falling this winter and breaking her ankle. She would give you everything she owns if you needed it, doesn't care about clothes or fashion but will not even carry a cell phone for emergencies.

Both of the ladies above have been fitted with hearing aids which neither of them will wear. I don't understand why generous, loving, do anything for you women will make everyone shout rather than wear their hearing aids.

Here is a promise to my children, when I get into my eighties I will listen to your concerns for my well being and try not to add stress to your lives. We all like to think we will be vibrant and responsible right up to the time we die in our own beds with all our marbles. I would like to emulate Cousin Harriet who looked around and saw that it seemed reasonable to sell her home and car at age ninety. I probably will still be obstinate, but I hope, not about denying you peace of mind.

Losing it

2011-04-27T04:49:00.000-05:00

I come from people with no filters. Happy, sad, or infuriated, if they are feeling it, you are going to know it. It has taken me many years to learn how to control myself, and still, here in the land of stoicism, people think I am outrageous. Recently, I was jolly at a party and one old friend said to someone I just met, "See, isn't she just the way I described her?" Then she gave my bewildered face a kiss.

Today though, after trying to be reasonable, trying to comply, I was pushed too far and I lost it. The facts are simple. The old lady, 97, thought she had a bladder infection and I brought her to Urgent Care. First we had to take a number and then a triage nurse called us. Then back to the waiting room and then an insurance person called us. I left Mom sitting there while I went to take care of business. The woman smiled and said, "Harriet?" No, I explained I was her daughter and pointed her out. I handed over the insurance card, verified her address and date of birth, (February 10, 1914). Then I was asked her telephone number. I blanked. I looked at the iphone but could only get the name, not the actual number until much later. All this time I was smiling, the woman was smiling and all was well. Then I remembered! I gave the number but it was one digit off. Still smiling, the clerk said no. I asked if I was close and she wouldn't tell me. What difference did it make, I asked. There she was, sitting in the waiting room, here I was, what difference did the phone number make? She needed that number to verify that it was the right person.

Before I knew it I was raising my voice. Of course this was the right person! Do I go bringing anyone else's ninety-seven year old mother to the clinic? Smiling still, she told me they needed to verify her identity. So asinine, as if someone pretending to be someone else wouldn't learn that telephone number. "THERE SHE IS! SHE IS RIGHT THERE!" I started to wheeze. People who know me know this is a very, very bad sign. (If I had thought about it, and if they had asked, I even had her state identity card with me although nobody has asked to see it in six years.) I was yelling random numbers, 9336, 9663 and making a scene. All kinds of people came running, "Miss, Miss, please calm down, you need to calm down. Come in back." All the while that little bureaucrat sat at her desk unaffectedly smiling.

Well, I couldn't calm down, the old lady, who can hardly see, was saying, "Why are you upsetting my daughter? She's a good daughter. What is going on?" And I was literally wheezing with rage and frustration. Zero to meltdown in a few short minutes. Finally someone got the two of us into an examination room, out of the public eye. I dried my eyes and got breath back. A nurse came in to talk to us. I told her that the woman wouldn't even give me a hint if I was close and the nurse said, "Oh, she needs to learn some sensitivity. That was wrong." And I was instantly calm. I was able to go into the contacts list on the phone and hit edit. There was the number, 9036.

When I am not being listened to, I get loud, then I get louder, thinking if I say it louder I will be understood. Then I lose control of my breathing and start to wheeze trying to get my point across. It is not pretty. Am I proud of becoming a fire eating dragon who embarrasses everyone around me? No, it is awful. Can I control it? Yes, most times. My kids are amazed at the patience I show the folks. They can hardly believe it is me. But sometimes, when confronted with petty bullshit, and having my actions controlled by petty bullshit, I lose it.

The nurses and medical assistants were very kind to the old lady and took her sample over to the lab instead of making us check in there too. A kind doctor wrote a prescription, and sent it to the pharmacy where it was filled in just ten minutes. As we were leaving I saw the young mother who came in after us still waiting for her baby to be seen. I hadn't wanted special treatment, truly.

Today I was lucky, yes lucky. I did not get a headache, or have intestinal distress as collateral damage to losing it. I haven't lost my voice, or held on to outrage. I am a little sad and disappointed for allowing myself to get into a state. Next time I will do better. Or maybe I won't. I would like it if my mighty wrath was put to a much better use. But as one friend reassured me, even Saints don't always live 100% pristine lives. Ah, perspective.

We weren't the Brady Bunch

2011-04-20T03:51:00.001-05:00

A friend of mine posted on facebook that she introduced her daughters to The Brady Bunch. Lots of cute replies until mine. I said I hated The Brady Bunch. I was so jealous. In our house we watched what my father wanted, mostly Westerns.

Growing up there were so few shows I could relate to. Who were these parents on Leave It To Beaver? They never yelled. The children did not dread the sound of father opening the door. It was all sunshine and light, even during the darkest episodes. It saddened me greatly to learn that during the years of The Patty Duke Show, Patty was being mentally abused while portraying a happy, carefree life. Danny Thomas was the only father on TV that yelled, and then he would cover the yelled at one with kisses. No one was hit. No one was scared. The houses were always clean, the children perfectly groomed and in style. All In The Family was relatable. Archie would come home in a snit and the family danced to his commands. Roseanne struggled with money and to be the best parents with the resources they had, both financial and emotional. They laughed, but they also were real to me.

I remember watching The Flying Nun at a friend's house. Totally ridiculous, and I was able to suspend disbelief for the half hour it was on. And the only thing that friend and I were able to relate to on Gidget was the way she brushed her teeth with a huge mouthful of suds. It was so unlike what we experienced we were able to focus on that aspect of her life because we sure couldn't understand the rest of her charmed existence.

I lost my mother about the same time as I was learning to read in first grade. Dick, Jane, Sally, Spot, Mother and Father were some ideal that I could not have. In fact, I have a visceral negative experience every time I come across one of those cloth-spined readers from grade school at an antique or old book store. I remember being thrilled when my daughter started school and her reader featured Buffy and Mack, a rabbit and other creature. They were not WASPS living the dream, just some animals. If I, a white child had a hard time with Dick and Jane, imagine learning to read from those books if you were black. I guess you just had to suspend disbelief. I had a baby sister and a big brother. I was Jane in a world gone crazy.

When we lived in a basement in Idaho while S went to graduate school, I used to watch reruns of The Beverly Hillbillies every night at 6:30. They made me laugh. They weren't real to me, everyone on the show was a caricature. We got rid of our TV about a year after that and did not get one again until years later. I liked Ugly Betty and Northern Exposure, total fairy tales. I could watch Law and Order set in gritty police stations. I can't watch the CSI shows because I do not believe those high tech labs exist on the budgets of most departments.

I was about to start ranting about the mascara advertisements that show models with false eyelashes when it occurred to me that I have strayed from the opening theme of this essay which was how, as a child, The Brady Bunch and other shows of that ilk made me jealous of unreal lives that I couldn't have. But really, there is no pleasing me. I hate The Office because I can't stand that portrayal of life either. I guess I will stick to Antiques Roadshow and reruns of The Closer. I just love Brenda Lee Johnson, thank you.

An amazing funeral

2011-04-17T22:15:00.000-05:00

Today I attended a most amazing funeral for a man who was very loved. I'd never actually met him. He was the boyfriend of a dear friend and died of an aggressive cancer. This is all I knew about him: he was a talented musician, belonged to a motorcycle club and made my friend very happy.

It was billed as a celebration of life and I thought I knew what that meant, happy tears and loving stories from friends and family. Oh no! This was a huge biker reunion with representatives from motorcycle clubs all over the upper midwest. We gathered at a bar and walked the two blocks to a funeral home. I was near the front of the walkers. When I looked back I saw a sea of black leather as about five hundred people spread over the sidewalk behind me. I wondered how we were all going to fit in the chapel.

I needn't have worried. Men and women came in and snaked around the rooms looking at different stations with pictures of different aspects of the his life, childhood, fatherhood, bands he had played with, trips he had taken, etc. No casket, just flowers and mementos of his life. Here and there a biker held back tears, but mostly greeted each other with hugs and happiness. On their leathers they wore patches memorializing past members who had died, and there were already a few for their friend.

I stayed for about an hour watching the groups come together, break up and reform in new groups. I watched the never ending procession move about the funeral home. I listened to the musicians play New Orleans type music in all the different rooms. I saw a few manly tears, but mostly happy faces, come to say goodbye to a friend. There weren't speeches and I know the party back at the bar probably lasted for hours. As I left I said to one woman, "I wonder how many will come to my funeral? Ten or so?" She said not to say that because, "You never know."

Rest in peace, Scott Manske. You were very loved. I did not know you in life, but I know that anyone who has that many friends, and loved my friend, must have been a wonderful guy.

From the St Paul Pioneer Press:

Scott S. Manske

| Visit Guest Book

"Scotty Danger" Father, Musician, Outlaw & Minister Passed away on April 11, 2011 surrounded by family and friends. Age 56. Preceded in death by father, Tom. Survived by daughter, Michele; girlfriend, Nancy Dorgan; Yoshi & Spike. New Orleans Processional 1:30 PM Sunday from Neumann's Bar, 2531 E. 7th Ave., North St. Paul to Sandberg Funeral Home, 2593 E. 7th Ave., North St. Paul for a Celebration of Scott's Life from 2:00 PM - 3:30 PM. New Orleans Recessional at 3:30 PM from the Funeral Home to Neumann's Bar for further fellowship and celebration. In lieu of flowers, memorials preferred. "If you met Scott, you loved him." 651-777-2600"

Dancing with the humiliated

2011-04-13T12:35:00.002-05:00

I like Dancing With The Stars. It is consistently entertaining. But something happened the other night that broke my heart. It wasn't Kirstie Alley's shoe falling off. She handled that with aplomb. It was the public disintegration of little Kendra. This girl is not a star, she is, to me, a poor soul trying too hard to be something famous.

DWTS is not for the fragile. It is not for people who do not have an ability to take criticism, sometimes very harsh, and go on from there. Real entertainers, real sports stars who have succeeded, have learned to have a public face and act like nothing hurts them, no matter how they feel inside.

I didn't know much about Kendra except that she is married to a football player and has a baby she loves. Then she had a miscarriage that some magazine put in big letters on it's cover. I felt so bad for her loss of privacy at the time. Today I looked her up on Wikipedia. She first caught the attention of Hugh Hefner when she was a naked "painted" young lady at his 78th birthday party. She became one of his three girlfriends at the mansion and was in a reality series.

On Monday, Kendra was not having a good day. She had PMS and could not relax into the flow of the dance. The harshest judge was Len Goodman. He told her he couldn't understand why she would not allow herself to be elegant. He said she acted like she didn't care. In front of everyone she said, defiantly, that she didn't. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. I knew what she meant. She meant that she didn't care what he said. But she did and it was her way of protecting herself. I know, because I have done that, too. The next scene was of her partner saying he was mad, he could not believe she said that. Then all you could see was her crying that she wished she could go someplace and hide. The camera did not leave her alone. No privacy whatsoever.

I thought for sure that she would be voted off the show. But no, she was safe while Sugar Ray Leonard got the lowest votes and had to leave. I am sorry. I think this girl needs to go and lick her wounds for awhile. I think she needs to go play with her baby. She needs to take a good look at her life and get out of the public eye. Somewhere along the way she found out that she got attention/admiration/love for being pretty. I think she needs some intense counseling to understand she is a worthwhile human being even if the world is not watching.

In the Wiki piece her career goals were massage therapist or sportscaster. She worked briefly as a dental assistant. Her absolute favorite food comes from Olive Garden. She is a small town girl who should have had a small town life. I wish she had not jumped on the fame bandwagon. She is ill-prepared to have this much spotlight on her. She doesn't know how to cope by faking it. I just feel bad for her even though this is the road she is on through her own choices. And to be honest, I resent having to think about her when all I want to do is enjoy the dancing. (Yeah, it is about me.)

Ten dollars worth of joy

2011-04-10T05:41:00.001-05:00

When I lived on over a half acre of property to beautify, I started out with high hopes planting raspberries and dahlias in an area by the garage. I didn't know about enriching the soil and the raspberries that overtook my sister-in-law's garden died in mine. Chipmunks ate every dahlia bulb and flower. I bought tulips for the slope by the mailbox but the soil there was pure clay and only one bloomed. I tried carpets of wildflowers for the same place and each year one or two cornflowers would bloom. The strawberry pot filled with herbs was another dismal failure, as were expensive tomato plants. Eventually the lawn became mostly creeping charlie and moss and landscaping friends said to keep it that way. Our hillside had a rustic charm. I took to buying geraniums in planters and roses in pots and had some success that thrilled me. Each year I would purchase four fragrant roses and treat them like annuals. A friend advised getting new soil each year for the planters and that made a huge improvement. I was also able to grow healthy begonias, a very forgiving flower, in hanging pots. Petunias were always a dismal failure.

Last summer, the first here in the little condo, I had great plans. I started sweet pea and morning glory that I was going to train to grow up the railings that separated my area from the pool. I took the big planters and bought roses. Every time the vines would get to about five inches or so, they would be eaten by the resident rabbits. (You can't live right on a park and not get rabbits.) As the summer progressed I added geraniums and other annuals that I got on sale and eventually filled the area with color. I got most of the pots cleaned up for fall before I bought three long planters of mums, not only for the flowers which were lush and beautiful, but for the planters themselves. We got our first foot of snow while the mums were still blooming. I never saw them again this long, long winter as the area outside my glassed-in patio filled with over two feet of snow.

Once more I am starting sweet pea and morning glory from seed. This year the long planters will be hung from the railing and I will train the vines downward. I hope they are successful because it can look wonderful. There are something like twenty-three pots to be planted and I've laid in a stock of Miracle Grow potting soil. Two things I know about myself and gardening; I am cheap and impatient. I don't particularly love doing the actual dirty work but love watering pots of beautiful flowers. I splurged on jiffy pots rather than using paper cups and needed more to start the marigolds so back to Home Depot I went to get another box.

It was such a thrill to see pansies and violas in hanging pots. They were vibrantly alive and my soul ached for their colors. The healthiest pot was filled with deep purple and orange violas. I lifted it down and brought it to the cashier. Could I justify spending twenty-five or thirty dollars right now? Ten dollars! Ten dollars for a priceless gift of joy!

Oui! Merci!

2011-04-07T10:27:00.000-05:00

With a long baguette sticking out of one bag, and a bouquet of spring flowers in the other, the groceries I carried could have come from a market in Paris. Yes, there goes the confident single woman with a spring in her step, the sun in her face, and a smile for anyone she sees. My, it has been a long winter indeed.

There is a part in Judith Merkle Riley's In Pursuit of The Green Lion where the evil, egotistical, and awful poet Count asks the knuckle headed brother of a true poet if his poem on Spring is overdone, trite. Hugo disagrees. How can Spring be overdone if it comes each year? I thought of this when I started to write about it. What can I say that is different than what has been written for centuries? Nothing, except what is in my heart. Just being in the warmish air and seeing the sun feels like we are coming to a time of rebirth.

Everyone knows not to put out bedding plants until Mother's Day. Yet there is such a yearning for the growing season to be here. I want flowers, flowers, flowers. I want color and fragrance and abundant life all around me. I've started some sweet peas and morning glory from seed and still have marigolds to plant. More Jiffy pots! Last year I started the sweet pea and morning glory in pots and thought to have them climb up the fence. The darn rabbit kept eating the vines, not one flower bloomed. This year they will be in boxes that will sit high on the fence and grow down instead. I can't wait to see the pink, purple and blue blossoms. Oh, I want, I want, I want.

I do not hate winter. In a way I almost love it. For me it is a time that doesn't fly. Long periods of stagnation, hibernation, and just existing. Life lasts a long time. And then spring comes and the rush begins. We know spring is fleeting, summer is just around the corner and fall comes too soon. So between now and the beginning of September, life must be lived to it's fullest, much of it outside while possible. I want to grab it and make it slow down so I can savor the season. It is a little exhausting if I think about it too much. So the trick is not thinking and just doing.

Don't think about taking a walk, just walk. Don't think about riding a bike, just ride. Lie in the sun or the shade and be calm and happy. Appreciate each day with gratitude. Yes! Thank you!

Enjoying today

2011-04-06T14:02:00.001-05:00

"In this life, be conscious every day. And when you are conscious, you will be able to see how beautiful this life is. This life that you keep cursing. This life that you keep weighing with happiness and sorrow. This life, it should not be weighed with happiness and sorrow. Because in it, there is a joy in every day, in every moment. If there should be any measurement, then it should be: "how much have I enjoyed today?".- Prem Rawat (Maharaji)

I am making an effort to enjoy each day, to go for the gusto and enjoy being alive. I am trying to take a moment when the moment is lovely to acknowledge that loveliness. I am looking at the cleanup of chrysanthemums that wintered in the planters as a chance to enjoy being outside in the cool spring air instead of as a rotten job to be done. It is all my attitude, and my attitude is good.

Many years ago I knew a man who told the story of going to Altamont to see the Rolling Stones. He drove his motorcycle through the rain all the way there. He said he was wet, but his girlfriend was miserable. It was all in the attitude. (I also think the fact that he was sitting in a comfortable saddle and she was on a pillbox on the fender may have added to her misery, but that takes away from the story.)

This morning my blood sugar was 74 (woohoo!), I had a charming brunch date with someone I wouldn't mind seeing again, and I bought a bowl of pansies in the belief that if I put them out, spring will really come. When I got home I found I had lost my house key somehow. I called management and waited to get back in. No biggie, what good would freaking out do? (I don't know yet I do it all the time.) If it is raining tomorrow and I wake up late for work, have impatient customers and the boss yells at me, I hope I can keep this good attitude.

I never thought the thousand year old parents would still be alive. In acceptance of them never dying, and having to bring the old man to the beach again this summer, I bought a new float that is like a chaise. It will be so much easier to get him in and out of the water, although I will still call upon strong young men to help. As long as I am going to be there, I might as well enjoy it. This is the life I am privileged to have. L'chaim, to life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gk7HXuQE5pw

I'm just a girl who can't say no (But once in a while I do!)

2011-03-31T06:36:00.000-05:00

If you were to ask me if I am a generous person, I would probably say yes. I have given away boatloads in my life and consider mean spiritedness in others a major character flaw. Yet there are times when I have to look my generosity in the face and accept that it is easy to give when one has an abundance to share and not so easy when it comes to things I want to hang on to.

I don't think many of us growing up in my neighborhood had a lot of extra. We lived in small apartments and had school clothes that had to be taken off when we got home, and play clothes and one outfit for special occasions. My friends had one Barbie Doll, I had a Vogue Fashion Doll. We had a stuffed tiger and corduroy dog. My sister had a kind of Humpty Dumpty soft toy and we had some hand me down Ginny Dolls from a cousin. Monopoly, Sorry, Chutes and Ladders, Candy Land (my all time hated), coloring books and crayons. I don't think we were deprived. We used our imagination and had lots of fun.

When I was in High School, I came into possession of a gorgeous red designer coat. It was truly beautiful and I loved it. My parents and I had found it at Loehman's and watched it being reduced from week to week. When it got to a reasonable price, they bought it for me as a birthday present. It had to have been the finest garment I ever had in my life and I treasured it. I think it may have come straight from an atelier because the pockets were sewn on by hand and I had to be careful not to put much in them. One day my Aunt Judy asked if her daughter could use that coat for a date. I said yes, because it was expected of me but I put so many conditions on her borrowing it that Judy just went and bought her a coat. I felt guilty, but that coat was precious to me and I didn't want to share.

Later on in college I got involved in a movement that asked us to give up all the things we could to raise money. No problem until I was asked to give up a simple ring that had belonged to my birth mother. I did it and felt bad. I still regret giving it up.

When I got interested in photography my husband invested in a good camera for me. It meant the world that he would buy me something so precious. I took good care of it and didn't let anyone else use it. Years later he offered it to a niece who was taking a college course in photography. I freaked out. That was mine, he couldn't just offer something so valuable to someone else. It might get stolen or broken and then what? He had no idea that Miss Generosity could act that way. I apologized over and over, but I could not lend it out.

It was a joke to my daughters not to admire anything of mine too much because I would always offer it to them. One year Eri admired a new pair of Romika sandals and I reluctantly gave them to her even though I liked them. A year of two later she asked if she could have my new red Dansko sandals and I surprised us all by saying no. It was surprising, but it was fine. Yeah, Mom could have her own shoes.

Now a friend is collecting for a young woman and her daughter who lost everything in an apartment fire. I started looking around for what I could give. When I moved into my own place I only took things that I really liked and needed. This place is small and there is not a lot of room for excess. What I found was I didn't want to give much up. A few cookbooks, a few utensils, my sweet stuffed dog, Rocky. I gave the larger box of Kleenex, but when it came to the glassware I baulked. I love the stupid Shrek glasses from MacDonald's and don't want to break up the fine Mikasa set.

I saw my ex and his assistant at Costco later in the day. I told them this story and Toreeta has a brand new quilt to donate. I was feeling guilty for not giving more, for saving the things I wanted for myself. I told them that Jesus said if a man had two coats and his neighbor none, he should give the neighbor the better one. I was confronting my own selfishness when S reminded me of a long held family saying. "If you give away your frying pan, you only have to buy another." Thank you to the voice of reason.

The Midnight Crazies

2011-03-25T02:19:00.001-05:00

It has been awhile since my last blog, twelve days. There are three different starts in the draft file. Two titled Growing Old Is Not For Sissies and one titled Here Comes The Sun. But there really isn't anything new to say about my thousand year old parents, and it snowed, hard, on the morning of my pean to spring. I still don't have much to say, but feel it is important to keep writing. It helps to clear my mind and although I know a few people read this, it really is for me. Posting it is just exhibitionism. (Hey! Look at me!)

Why does anyone engage in self-destructive behavior? Why do I? Why do I procrastinate taking helpful action when I know it will ease anxiety? I really don't know. I've been to counseling. I've been to a shaman. I've read a book by a medical mystic. I've bought books on organizing that sit on the shelf because I have put off reading them. Intellectually, I know what needs to be done, but somehow, just like Oprah, I haven't made the connection. Unlike Oprah, I don't have a staff that does what I command. I do have the occasional helpers, but ultimately it is me.

Years ago I went to Malibu for a party given by the leader of the meditation movement I belong to. S and I were living in Flagstaff. He couldn't take time off from school and work so I went with a few other people from our local group. We had to drive across Arizona and California and then park at the bottom of a winding road up a small mountain. As I climbed the steep road I longed for my partner to be with me. I wanted us to be making that trek together. But as I ascended, step by step, I realized that each of us walks this road of life alone. There are people who can keep you company and make the journey lighter, but only we can move our feet.

So... how can I move my leaden feet and do what needs to be done? The first step for me is to make a list. And every list starts like this:

Make list (Harder than you might think. I have to find a piece of paper and pen. I have to actually DO something.)

Take shower

Get dressed

Eat breakfast.

Empty dishwasher

Put away laundry

Then we get down to the nitty gritty:

Pay bills

Make appointments (for whatever needs an appointment)

Return phone calls

Sort mail and clear table

Clear counter

Read email and send out a resume

Go to bank

Go to dry cleaner

Go to (wherever)

What I usually do without a list is this. Get up, feed cats, test blood, eat something, make bed, get on computer and check email and facebook until it is time to rush and get ready for work, if working, or tell myself to go back to bed. I also clean the cat box and berate myself for not doing what needs to get done. There are no easy fixes except to get off my hinder and start. Somedays I can and those are good days, and somedays are harder, but they can be good days too. When my children were small, I had to take care of them and it gave my day structure. So, too, with working. When I was actively married there was accountability and responsibility. But now, it is just me. I can't blame the spoon in the sink on anybody else. This is my mess. I make it and I must clean it up.

I called this blog the midnight crazies after the silly cats who chase each other all around and the thoughts that keep me up. Here is George, Ringo, Elton, Eric and others to sing, "Sun, sun, sun, here it comes."

Fun with Sidney and Harriet

2011-03-13T00:46:00.001-06:00

Scene: Kerasotes ICON Theater, St Louis Park, MN.
Cast: The Old Man, The Old Lady, The Intrepid Daughter

Today was bitterly cold in a different way. Instead of just being bone chilling cold there was a wet windy bite that knifed through all layers, but they still wanted to go out. The old man read a good review of "Cedar Rapids" and wanted to see it. I had a Groupon for 2 tickets for $10.00 to the fancy new theater, so away we went, on to the theater!

Have you been to one of these ICON theaters? The lobby is at the top of a three story escalator that goes straight up to a huge atrium. We took the elevator. Then there are stairs or an incredibly long ramp to the lobby. No place for the old people to sit while I bought the tickets, so they leaned against the wall. Usually, the old man sits in back, the old lady in front, and I go back and forth between them every so often. But at this theater you have to pick out your seats on a touch screen and those are the seats you have. I explained that we would all be sitting together at the back of the closer section. Then we started the trek. We passed the restrooms, theaters one and two and then slogged up an incline and another and finally got to theater 10. Then down a couple of corridors. The old lady started breathing very heavily and I made her stop. I took off her coyote coat and hat as she caught her breath. She was actually sweating, and I thought she might collapse. But no, she started to feel better and I was able to get her down a step and into a chair. When I turned to my dad, he wasn't behind me.

I looked up and he was making his way to a far row, a little old man on a mission. "Dad, Dad," I tried to get his attention. Finally he looked at me. "You have to sit with Mom and me," I called. "Those are reserved seats, come sit over here." By now the entire auditorium was watching the Sidney and Carol show. I meet him as he descended and helped get him situated. He couldn't understand why he had to sit so close. The old lady said she was cooling off which was good. At last the previews began and I have to admit, the seats were very comfortable and the picture quality excellent.

Cedar Rapids is a wonderful movie about innocence and honesty and corruption and hypocrisy. It is entertaining and surprising and altogether lovely. I laughed and was touched and enjoyed the entire short eighty-seven minutes. The old man stayed awake the entire time. As soon as it was over and the plot explained to the old lady, she decided it was good. When she asked him if he liked it, the old man said he loved it.

We started the trek back to the lobby, stopping along the way to rest and use the facilities. Down to the parking lot; my car parked right next to the door. On our way to dinner, the old lady said, "It's a beautiful theater but I never want to come here again." We need one of our little neighborhood six-plexes. This was just too huge with inclines and passages. At 97, and somewhat blind, Harriet is game for almost anything. Have cane, will travel. At almost 96, the old man just can't get around the way he wants. He is angry at how weak he has become.

We ate at Chili's and because we had our movie stubs, took home a couple of free pieces of cheesecake for the old man, as well as six ribs and lots of fries. They drank two for one Blue Moon beers and the old lady enjoyed pretending she was tipsy.

I remember being a typical young teen and not wanting to be seen on the same street with my parents, and even five years ago had no patience to watch them eat. Now I can sit with equanimity and wait and watch as they enjoy their food in their own inimitable way. It isn't because they have gotten easier, not at all. It is because there has been a change in me. I want to be loving and I feel it might be sooner than later. I told the old lady that I think she will make 100 and she told me she doesn't want to. The fact that my father is still alive is pretty amazing and makes no sense at all. I can't see us going to the movies every week as we have in the past. But as long as they want to keep going out, I will try to find places they like to go.

Life is good

2011-03-11T04:49:00.002-06:00

On one hand I watch 92 year old Ginger Rogers dance salsa with her 29 year old great grandson. He dips and lifts her and I applaud just like the rest of the audience. Then I turn on coverage of the Tsunami in Japan. A wall of water just washes away everything in its path, houses, farms, cars, roads. Where I can't imagine dancing that way when I am 92, not being able to dance that way at 59, at least I can comprehend it. Yep, natural talent and constant practice. But the tsunami and earthquake, that devastation is beyond my ability to understand.

I forget that we are living our little lives on a big blue marble in space that has a molten core. Some people think the Earth itself has a consciousness and a life above and beyond us. If that is true, maybe earthquakes and tsunamis are no more than the planet belching. We are just little ants on the surface going about our busy little lives without wondering about the surface below our feet. It is not God being angry, or retribution for our sins. It is what happens according to physical laws on our planet.

I am sorry for the people of Japan who have unimaginable pain, disbelief, and sorrow to deal with. I am concerned for all coastal people who must live in readiness for what might be coming. I send my heartfelt wishes for their safety. And yet, after Haiti, Katrina, and all the man-made horrors we inflict upon ourselves, today I can still say that life is good.

In the words of the writer Kurt Vonnegut, "And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is."

What you see

2011-03-06T02:06:00.000-06:00

Wednesday evening I arranged to meet a charming man at Rojo, an upscale Mexican restaurant. We decided to have some appetizers and soup in lieu of a full scale dinner. I suggested the Mexican grilled corn. It is usually wonderful, rolled in butter and cheese. He remarked that I was very brave eating corn on a first date. Really? I like corn and I had a napkin, what was so brave? I said the worst that would happen is we would get some on our faces or teeth and then we would wipe it off. I said "This is me; what you see is who I am." He answered that very few people are that way, at least in his experience. But then again, he has spent his life in advertising.

Clearly there are dating rules I am not aware of. In this world of texting and email, what are the rules? And do I have to follow them? I am not a big rebel rule breaker, it is more that I have a hard time following them. I goes before E, except after C, I need to check every time. Email after dinner, or text after coffee, and who makes the first electronic move? I have a nice time, I send a thank you. I don't want to repeat the experience, I send a nice thanks, but no thanks. Someone told me that these days you just don't get in touch again and expect the other to know what that means. To me it means rudeness, although I shouldn't take it personally.

I wonder about people who put up a dating facade. How long can you keep it up? How long can you pretend to be someone who you think you should be instead of who you are? Can you imagine the surprise when you start to show your real personality? Hopefully, it is a charming surprise, but I imagine it isn't always. Why should I pretend to know baseball if I don't? Once in a while I lie to protect other's feelings. But other than that, why bother? I can't keep the stories straight; better to tell the truth.

What other things don't I know? Are there other things I should know about dinner? What else shouldn't I order? I have heard that there are women who order the a meal and only play with it. If I am invited to dinner I am going to eat and enjoy it. Oh, oh, I've thought of one... don't order dessert unless he does! Am I a catch or what? Yes, what you see is what you get, and boy are you lucky.

Apnea and Insomnia

2011-03-05T00:36:00.000-06:00

I have never been a good sleeper. The old lady says it used to scare her when I would wake her up screaming as a little girl. They would come in and wake me up and I would go back to sleep. As I got older, I stayed up later and later reading by the light from the hallway. I still don't understand why I never just got up and read in the living room. It was probably forbidden. "Go to bed!" The first night I was away at camp, at age sixteen I kept my cabin mates awake with my noise.

At age twenty-one, I received meditation techniques that allowed me to tap into the energy that keeps us all alive. I had a profound experience and stopped fearing death. I was never a very faithful meditator, but I know it is there and stopped screaming in my sleep. I toss and turn and talk and sit up and make all kinds of noise. At the same time I am also a very sensitive sleeper. I used to complain about my husband's snoring. He told me I snore. That didn't bother me since I was asleep when I snored. (Sometimes, though, I would wake myself up with a loud snort when I fell asleep in the passenger seat on a trip. It always embarrassed me.) He started using Breathe Right strips and his snoring didn't bother me anymore since it became very rhythmical. How he ever put up with my shenanigans is a mystery to me. My daughters would become very alarmed when it seemed I stopped sleeping.

About eight years ago I was diagnosed with sleep apnea, a condition where I stop breathing, wake myself up, and go back to sleep. It could happen thirty or forty times a night. Obviously one does not get good deep sleep if one is always waking up for a moment. At the sleep clinic they tried me with a cpap machine that administered continuous air from a mask and it showed deeper sleep. I got a home machine and could never adjust to the mask. I tried four different masks and always wound up pulling it off after about two hours. Last year I went back to the clinic, was given a different mask that I seemed to tolerate better, but still could not wear for very long. They never told me at the clinic that about 40% of all users can not be helped by cpap.

My brother in-law told me about a dental device that helped him and I went to a special dentist to get one made. The dentist was upfront and told me that about 30% of the people he treats do not get relief from the apnea. The only way to tell was to go back to the sleep clinic and have them hook me up to all the machines and watch me sleep while wearing the device, which is a lot like a mouth guard and a retainer. I don't think I can afford 20% of $4,000. to find out if it is effective. I already know the answer: It is and it isn't. It takes care of the apnea but does nothing for the insomnia.

Tonight I was quite tired and went to be just before ten. I didn't read, just put in the device, closed my eyes and fell asleep. When I awoke, I figured it had to be at least four or five in the morning. But when I looked at the clock, it was only 11:53! It wasn't even two hours later. It wasn't even midnight. Holy Toledo.

I am not upset, but I am disappointed. Now I will stay up for awhile, reading, playing on the computer, maybe watching some TV. I don't have to stay in bed reading by the hall light. I am an adult and live in my own home with plenty to do.

Sleeping pills make me ill. Readers, if you have any cure for insomnia, please let me know.

A life in motion

2011-03-02T03:48:00.000-06:00

I must admit I have not been looking forward to turning fifty-nine. Don't think for a minute that I wanted to die at fifty-eight, oh no. But it sounds so old. Sixty is just around the corner. If I could do any decade over again, it would be this one. I feel like I slept for five years, deep in inertia, sadness and fear. And now that I am active, mentally and socially, I can't help wishing I did things a lot differently. I know, I know, water under the bridge, acknowledge and move on.

I had a really good birthday. John spent hours sitting at the table sorting papers into piles for me to deal with. We threw out a ton of paper, trash and recycling. Eri kept me on task and the bedroom floor is empty. The file cabinet is moved into a corner of the dining room and the boxes that sat in that corner are gone. I really appreciated the gift of their time. Laurel sent beautiful flowers that are perfuming the air around me and a dear friend took me out to dinner. Facebook friends sent birthday wishes; perfect.

There is a part of me that is quite frightened to be this age and alone without a good job. There is a little voice that tells me I will never get a good job if it doesn't happen by sixty. Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Listening to that voice is counterproductive. Listening to that voice is a waste of time. Here is one truth, it is hard to get a good job at any age and harder as one ages. Here is another truth, we only have today, right now. If I spend my life worrying about what is going to happen, I am missing right now.

Here is my plan: I am going to wade through all these papers and do what needs to be done. I am going to keep my eyes and ears open for opportunities to be of service and make a good living. I am going to give praise for life and try to see the positive in everyone I meet. I will try to eat well and get back to the pool and exercise room. I am going to look for opportunities to dance. I've done inertia, it doesn't work. A life in motion is much more fun.

What does it mean to feel peace?

2011-02-27T01:33:00.000-06:00

What does it mean to be a daughter, a mother, a sister, a friend? What is our obligation? When do we put our needs above our parents, children, siblings and friends? What is right and what do we justify to feel right?

These past few years have been hard. At times I had to put other's needs behind my own and say, "I need this for me." And other times I have put my needs behind those of my parents and children. There is a balance that is tricky to get right. As a mother I usually put my children first. I liked that. I think they liked it too, unless it became a burden. Putting myself first was new and I often didn't know how to do it without drama, nor they how to react.

My parents are a different galaxy to explore. Where they had a certain authority, and I very little power, I now have almost all the power. It is a heavy responsibility at times. Other times the burden rests easy. Tonight was beastly cold but I took them out for a nice dinner. We sat in peace waiting for our meals. They loved the food, the ambiance, the wait staff remembered us. The old man ate quite a lot and had nothing to complain about. I gave the old lady strokes for being a bigger woman than someone she is feuding with. I looked at these truly ancient people and thought, good for them. When I moved them out here from Brooklyn, I truly didn't think it was going to be for more than a few years. Now I have the patience to see it through for as long as it takes. At least I do tonight. (Tomorrow I might scream.)

I am sitting here, alone except for the cats. I really have no worries, nor anyone to report to. I have some nice friends, and dear family. The peace I am feeling is precious. I am not going to analyze it or think about how long it will last. I am here and I am happy.

More life under the visor

2011-02-22T22:59:00.001-06:00

It was another day of demonstrating AmLactin body moisturizer. It is a pretty easy sell. I mean everyone in Minnesota has winter dry skin. At one point a strange young man with a turquoise stud in his upper lip studied a bottle of lotion. I asked if he would like a drop. He told me he didn't put carcinogens on his body. O... K, what carcinogens was he talking about? Parabens. I truly don't think the number one recommended by dermatologists and podiatrist lotion is going to cause cancer. I didn't argue, everyone has his or her own particular ax to grind. (I for one have a list against Ronald Reagan, but don't get me started.)

Lately I have been wearing a pair of men's black jeans to work. They were quite inexpensive; unfortunately they don't always stay up on my waist. I was pulling up my pants when two old men walked by giving me a funny look. I said I needed a belt, and to my surprise the skinny one said what I needed was to lose weight. I looked at him for a moment and said, "Thanks Dad!" I should have said, "My what a tacky thing to say." So they didn't break the mold when they made my old man. There are other rude old farts out there.

It is always fun to see the little ones put up their little starfish hands to get a drop of lotion and rub it in. I'd give them just the merest hint of lotion. All in all, I pushed about 30 bottles in 6 hours. As I said, it is an easy sell this time of year.

Yesterday two people linked me with Satan. The store was almost empty and I was standing around with a tray of Macadamia Caramel Clusters when a woman said, "Satan, get thee behind me." Really! I told her she was confused. I was the angel of chocolate. Later another woman told me I was the devil. I responded that I was offering her life affirming candy and was an angel. I'm just a Jewish girl from Brooklyn, I don't do the devil's work. I told the third one who referenced the devil to please not project their own weaknesses on me. Yikes.

I have discovered a way to distinguish people who did not grow up in MN from the natives. Offer something and the Minnesotan will say, "I'm good" and walk by. Once in a while someone from out of state will say, "No thank you" and walk by. People in Minnesota just don't say no thank you. It's true, they are all either good or fine. Customers knew I wasn't from around here because I pronounced all three syllables in caramel instead of carmel. It doesn't mean much, just an observation.

"So here's to you as good as you are!

And here's to me as bad as I am!

And as bad as I am,
And as good as you are

I'm as good as you are

As bad as I am!"

-old toast

L'chiam, to life!

Can't think of a clever title

2011-02-22T01:40:00.000-06:00

I was sitting in the break room when my phone rang. It was Agatha, one of the nurses at the assisted living facility where my folks live. I asked if my father had fallen again. She asked why I thought it was my father and I replied because it always was. No, he hadn't fallen. He refused to get out of bed. He said he was cold and that he wanted to sleep. I asked if he had a fever, no. His blood pressure was a little high. She told me that my mother, when asked her opinion, said she wasn't a nurse; she didn't know what to do. I told them to let him rest, check on him in another hour and call me back. The next phone call informed me that his blood pressure went down, he took his medication, had a Boost, and wanted to stay in bed. He said he was tired. I told them to let him rest and I would be by after work.

I stopped at the store and bought him some ice cream, and a few Marie Callenders Beef Pot Pies. He will eat that when he can't stand the food there. When I entered the apartment, they were both sitting in the living room with the television blasting. They were very surprised to see me since we'd had about a foot of new snow the night before. Where other parts of the country become paralyzed by a couple of inches, Minnesota knows how to clear the roads. This winter might become the snowiest on record.

The old man was sitting in his robe and slippers. I noticed he was not wearing pajamas and his legs were pathetically skinny. He had just gotten up. I asked what happened that morning. "He was sick," the old lady said. I mentioned that he didn't have a fever. He said he was tired from going to the bathroom all night. I asked about feeling cold. Why didn't he turn up the electric blanket? It wasn't plugged in. Why not? It had been too warm to use. (Sure it had been too warm, -10 degrees outside but about 90 inside) How did he feel? Fine, tired.

The thing about dealing with the extremely elderly is that you never get the whole story. Had he told Agatha about running (shuffling) to the bathroom all night and that was why he was tired? Had he told her that his blanket was unplugged? I bet not. I once had a boss who used to ask me why didn't I ask questions. I used to say I needed to know what the question was before I could ask it. Poor Agatha, she was doing the best she could with the information she had.

In the morning I will call the facility and talk to the head nurse. I will tell her the reason he was tired and cold. I will ask them to make sure his blanket is plugged in. I am also going to request that an aide put in his hearing aids each day. This shouting is making me crazy. He only wears them when I put them in on Saturday.

One day I will get the phone call, but it isn't quite yet. He is not ready to die, he just bought a new pair of pants. I wonder, though, am I ready for him to die? Yes, I think I am. Am I ready to deal with my mother on her own at 97? Moving her to a smaller apartment, dealing with all the paperwork associated with death and listening to the endless stories? No, I don't think so.

The Saga Continues...

2011-02-19T23:10:00.001-06:00

When last we saw the thousand year old parents and their intrepid daughter... I'd told my parents that they couldn't go to a wedding in New Jersey because the old man was too frail. He was greatly disappointed. And although the old lady seemed to accept it, she was disappointed too.

This morning he called me and told me to take my mother all by herself. He would stay home and be OK. I said we will talk about it. He told me she really wanted to go. It was her last hurrah and he did not want her to miss it. He'd worked it out. She could go and have fun and he would stay home and sleep. Then he put her on the phone and she was so excited. "I can do it. It won't be so bad and they all want me to come! Iris was crying she wanted me to come." I said we would talk about it. I was trying to figure out where I could find money for the fares when I decided to call the mother of the groom, cousin Iris. She called back and I found out the real story. We talked a long time. The old lady does not hear very well in person, and even less well on the phone. Iris had told her that she would come to visit after the wedding and bring a video.

At four, I went over to pick them up to go shopping and out to eat. (The old man wants a new pair of pants.) The couch was covered with evening wear. I knew she was picking out her wedding outfit because before I talked to my cousin I thought about it, too, and decided to wear the dress I wore to another wedding. I sat them down and had an almost truthful discussion with them.

"Mom," I said, "you don't always hear well on the phone." I then told them that it was NOT going to be a big wedding like the one we went to last year. No big groom's dinner, no big day-after brunch, no band, very few relatives. Although it was at a country club, it was actually a golf club near a Marriott near a freeway. It was interesting to see them change their minds. I told them it was going to be more like my daughter's wedding, small and intimate. And suddenly it was over. They couldn't see going all the way out there for one day. "But the invitation was so fancy, who knew?"

At dinner the old lady told the old man she was going to keep one outfit out for the February birthday party at their assisted living facility. Then the waiter brought over some chocolate wontons for the 97 year old and all was right with the world.

When your parent becomes your child

2011-02-17T23:59:00.000-06:00

My parents are very old. The old lady is 97 and the old man will be 96 in June. I moved them here from their apartment in Brooklyn in 2005. At that time we got a handicapped parking permit that will expire in April of 2011. Six years, we all laughed and I was sure they would be gone by now. Well, they are not and I have to renew the permit. Let me tell you, if they are still around in 2017...

It is a funny thing about growing older, people still feel young in their minds. My father does not understand why his knee hurts him. I tell him his body, just like an old car, is wearing out. He still feels young and vibrant in his mind but watch him take an hour to eat three pancakes, or get in and out of a car, and you know this is a very old man. He recently told my mother that he is tired of her pinkish, strawberry blonde hair and wants her to go blonde again. She wants to let her hair go silver but he insists it makes her look old. What, I want to know, is wrong with looking old at 97?

I went over this morning to put some blonde dye in her hair. She told me to start on the ends and work up to the roots. She knows what she is talking about because she used to be a very successful and talented hairdresser and colorist. We did not strip all the color out, just used the dye. When I left it was looking like a lighter color, but I sure wouldn't call it blonde. This evening my father called me to complain about something and I asked him how her hair looked. "Like shit," he answered. My old man, tactful as ever. Then the old lady got on the phone and I asked how she liked her hair. She loved it. She told me she had cut off most of the darker hair and it looks beautiful. She told me this was it. She was letting her hair grow out and I never had to put color in it again. I will be interested to see how she cut her hair since she is legally blind. Curly hair can be quite forgiving.

I take care of their finances, I buy their groceries, make and bring them to all appointments and give them a day out every Saturday. Today I signed their yearly lease. It was almost as long as a purchase agreement. I signed CSandberg, POA, twelve times! At this point they don't know that they are broke. They have this fantasy that there is still "big money" for me to inherit. They are so lucky to be in a HUD senior building with county assisted home care. I try to make things as pleasant as possible.

Sometimes, though, I have to be a bad parent and deny them things. The latest is another trip to New Jersey for another wedding. It is going to be a big affair at a country club and my father is crushed that he can't go. Why? Why can't he go? How do you tell a man that he is too fragile, (his skin actually tears if not treated very carefully) he can hardly walk, and doesn't remember much? How do you deal with taking two ancient people through security and getting them on a plane, getting them to the bathroom, getting them off a plane and to a hotel? How do you feed them, get him dressed, take care of his medications, and answer the same questions a thousand times without getting cranky and mad? I could conceivably take the old lady by herself but that would break his heart.

The old lady is much more on the ball. As a narcissist she can repeat how much everyone loved her and how wonderful it was to dance at the wedding. "We made the whole thing!" she explains. "It wouldn't have been the same without us!" She understands how hard the trip would be and I think she is almost relieved not to go. She has accepted staying home, but not the old man. He is reacting like a small child whose parent is unreasonable. Let me tell you, this isn't a fun position and I keep thinking maybe I can swing it. Then good sense comes to my rescue. I hate saying no.

As a parent, I sometimes had to deny my children things they wanted. We did not allow our daughters to go on Spring Break. Yeah, I was a meany. But I knew that when they could afford it on their own, they could go wherever they liked. They had their whole lives ahead of them. It is a much different story to deny things to my parents knowing they don't have many more years to do the things they want.

Such a treat!

2011-02-15T22:00:00.000-06:00

My friend Connie called to tell me there was a free lecture by Garrison Keillor at Concordia College. It was on the art of joke writing. We met at the auditorium and got wonderful seats about fifth row, dead center. The Concordia Handbell Choir played a modern and fun piece and when Garrison got on stage he asked what they were doing Saturday night. That made their night and we all laughed and applauded.

The lecture had been advertised on comedy writing, but I don't think they told Garrison. He said he was going to talk about futility. It was wonderful. Seeing him up front and personal as he spoke for over an hour was a real treat. He is one of the major talents of our time and you can see he just loves what he is doing. He talked a little bit about his stroke and growing older. Did you realize his little girl is now 13? I thought she was about eight. He covered so much ground, I really can't tell you all he said. I can just say I am so glad I got this wonderful treat.

Kindness with a side of fries

2011-02-13T01:06:00.000-06:00

This evening, a friend and I went to a Valentines dance and each lady received a lovely long stemmed red rose. We got there about nine and by eleven my feet told me, "Enough!" On the way home I realized I was really hungry and stopped at a McDonald's drive through and ordered a small fries for a buck. I paid for the fries and just for the heck of it gave my rose to the woman at the window. She was really delighted. She came back to tell me that it would be a few minutes because they were making fresh fries. I told her that I'd had a very good time dancing and that I was going to take some aspirin before bed. She told me to soak my feet in hot water with salt and I would feel wonderful in the morning. Then she offered me some coffee. I declined and she went to get my order. We wished each other a nice night and I drove away.

I put my hand into the bag and pulled out the longest hot french fried potato I ever did see. And was it good! I kept eating them, and there seemed to be no end. When I got home I looked at the container. It had gone from a small to an extra large at no extra charge. What a nice surprise.

Someone gave me a rose. I gave the rose away, that woman will go home from her fast food job with a nice story and a rose. I enjoyed hot potatoes and got good advice which I pass on to you. Kindness, it is my favorite thing. Pass it on.

Using words

2011-02-09T23:47:00.000-06:00

You hear it all the time, parents telling their small children to use words, that mama can't understand unless you use your words. The tearful toddler says "Want juice" and the mother produces the sippy cup. So, I wonder, when do we learn not to use words to get across what we want? And why do we do it when the results are so spotty?

There is a 15 second spot for a new Lifetime Network show about giving birth. The ad airs between games on my computer. In it a woman in bed says to her husband, "Look at him." He looks up and she looks away and says, "His wife is in labor and he's on his Blackberry." Then she looks at him and he says, "What do you want me to do?" At first I thought the guy was a jerk. But the more often I saw it I realized that the wife was not using words to get what she wanted. When she asked for his attention, she got it, but she looked away. He might not be the most sensitive guy but he did ask what she wanted him to do. Why didn't she say, "Please come be with me, I want you with me." She expected him to just read her mind and know. He couldn't understand unless she used her words.

The other day Eri and I went up to see Grandma Betty. At one point she said she wanted to wash her hair. When it was getting time for us to go I mentioned the hair washing. She waffled around, oh it wasn't necessary, or maybe I should, or she could do it herself, or I didn't have to if I didn't want to, etc. Finally I said I was going to ask her a question and there were only two answers, yes or no. Did she want me to help wash her hair? "Yes." There! Wasn't that easy?

I come from New York and we are not big on subtlety. In your face, you know how we feel. But I have lived in Minnesota longer than I ever lived in NY and I still don't get it. I am very direct and sometimes people here think I am mad. It isn't anger, it is just the way I communicate. Subtlety is lost on me. I need things spelled out in big red letters. I'm a little psychic, but I don't usually trust it; I need clarity, I need words that say what you really mean.

So dear friends, I can't tell what you are thinking. Leave me a comment, let me know what you think about this or any other posting. Use words (or emoticons if you must.)

Overwhelmed by Grace

2011-02-03T09:21:00.000-06:00

Have you ever walked into a room and had the experience of being completely surrounded by holiness, Grace, unconditional love, and the energy that keeps you alive? It doesn't happen all that often to me, but it did on Monday night.

I had been invited to help pack food for Feed My Starving Children, an organization that sends millions of meals to child nutrition centers around the world. They call them Manna Packs and each bag contains enough rice, soy protein, dehydrated vegetables, chicken flavoring and all the vitamins and minerals needed to feed six one cup portions. It is quite palatable and the results of having even one meal a day of this food are remarkable. Each day and evening volunteer groups pack thousands of pounds to ready for the next shipment abroad.

Our group consisted of some very young female hockey players and their mothers, my niece's group of friends and family and others. We had a boisterous crew ready to help. The leaders really knew how to handle the volunteers and got every one's attention to teach how the packs were made. There was a job for everyone to work in teams. Several of the men were assigned to warehouse duty. I volunteered to sit and label bags away from the fray along with a friend. Behind me the hockey players were full of the competitive spirit that had them shouting for more supplies and "Bingo!" when the bags weighed the exact amount. In an instant the hour and a half flew by. After we sampled the fare, which tasted somewhat like fried rice, the leader said that one thing she always did after a session was to pray for the safety of the shipment.

I followed her into the warehouse filled with pallets of supplies and boxes ready for the journey. There I was hit by Grace. I was surrounded by the love of God and felt it in every cell of my being. My skin sang and my eyes started to tear. I was overwhelmed. As more people came into the room I could hear gentle murmurs as each experienced their own moment. After I could speak, the words "When two or more of you are gathered in My Name, there is love" came naturally to my lips.

Someone said a prayer blessing the food and the journey in His Son's name. It was a good prayer, as far as words and human understanding goes. But the energy and love in that room went far beyond what words could say or mind comprehend. For me, it was the Holy Name that cannot be pronounced or ever spoken. And because words can't describe it, I can only tell you this. It is real and I am blessed to have felt it again.

Successes or Failures?

2011-01-30T01:17:00.000-06:00

Whereas I just write what is on my mind and heart, my niece, Emma, takes it one step further. She asks her readers to reflect on the subject at hand and how it relates in their lives. One recent posting, http://emmawilhelm.com/2011/01/23/successes-or-failures/ discusses whether we learn better from success or failure and asks how it manifests in our lives.

For me, a harder question is whether a success really is a success or is a failure really a failure? Is there some way to turn it around to look at it from the other side? If I have grown from a failure, can it be counted as a success? If I have stepped on others to achieve success and in the process have damaged my soul, isn't it really a failure?

Words, words, words, words, words. With words we can bestow feelings of success on ourselves and others. And words can hurt. I remember my boss extravagantly praising something I did well and I felt it wasn't sincere and didn't take it seriously. I remember my dad telling me I was a failure. I told him I was only eighteen, how could I be a failure? I couldn't take him seriously either.

When a woman is pregnant, she doesn't wish for a genius or an athlete. She wishes for a healthy baby. That is success. I was very grateful to have beautiful, healthy children and although I hope they have material success, it is more important that they are decent human beings. Thirty years on, I look at them as people who are ethical, honest, loving, and real. Real successes.

When I lost the job where I excelled, it didn't hurt at first. I had done good work and felt successful in what I left behind. But as time went on and I realized how a supervisor had manipulated me into feeling scared and bad, I felt like a failure. The abandonment I experienced balanced against the praise I had received from the national office was quite confusing. Sort of like winning a battle but losing a war.

I learn from failure, but it can hurt and cause discouraging inertia and fear of trying. It is much more satisfying to learn from success. It makes me want more and give more. It seems to me, when there is a chance to be positive, I should choose the light. I know I will eventually get there again from failure, but oh, getting out of the hole can be exhausting. Let's make a pact to help each other out of the pits, or better yet, encourage the road without the gaping chasms.

The incredible fun of learning

2011-01-27T06:20:00.000-06:00

Gosh, oh golly, gee whillikers, and whoa mama! (Doesn't she have a way with words?) I love learning. I love it, love it, love it. It can be any kind of class, from storytelling to grammar. If there is a chance to participate and use my brain and energy, I love it. It is a pleasure I have long denied myself. I forgot just how much fun it can be.

Last night I attended a class on writing. I had seen a volunteer opportunity for writing tutors for adults and thought this was something I would like to try. I was asked to observe the class. What a revelation. From the course syllabus: Writing Fundamentals is the first of our series of three writing courses. It is designed to teach participants how to recognize the basic parts of a sentence, thus beginning the process of learning to write effectively. Participants work primarily with isolated sentences, either editing sample sentences provided in class or for homework, or composing their own sentences and then submitting them for feedback. This course's six lessons emphasize subject and predicate identification, verb structure and tense, noun and pronoun usage, and capitalization. This is a six week course on the parts of the sentence! Last week they started with nouns and verbs. This week we had nouns, verbs, helping verbs and apostrophe. Lively discussion on compound nouns, and I was deep in the fray.

I don't know if I was put in advanced reading and never had much grammar, or if my head was in the clouds, but I do not remember ever learning predicates or how to break down a sentence. Just looking through the course material shows me how much I need to learn or relearn. I know how to write, I just don't know how I know.

My experience is way different from the other people in the class. On the volunteer application I had to write what I expected to get from volunteering. I said that I wanted to see if I could be a tutor and if this was something to which I wanted to devote my time. I would also like to make a difference in someone's life. The participants were there for many reasons including being court ordered to attend. The organization's mission is to get people out of generational poverty and into productive work situations. They work with people who are in other situations too. Two men, one young and the other much older, are in the class as part of anger management training. They know how to write a sentence as do many of the others. A young woman who is trying to get her children back from foster care has been journaling since sixth grade. But there are others with minimal education who need to learn how to write better to get a job. The teacher is fantastic, engaging his students and keeping it light. They all have contracts and he lets them know exactly what is expected of them.

Is there a timetable for emerging from a deep depression and embracing life again? If there is, I don't know it. I had five years to take classes, do crafts, volunteer, exercise, do whatever I wanted and all I wanted to do was sleep. My daughter gave me a class at the Art Center as a present but it wasn't right for me. She gave me a class at Bobby Bead, but it wasn't right for me. My sister gave me gorgeous beads, they sit in the closet. I will look for a class that feels right. Maybe the long darkness I have been living in is lightening. I can see the gradual changes that I am making back to being the happy person I long to be.

I don't know if I will ever be able to thank my brother and sister and mother in law for providing the means for me to live in my little condo. Here I met my neighbors and have been welcomed by a group of great old ladies who read books and play cards. Here I've played in the pool with my family and have learned to be with my grown daughters on my own. I've got a job where I have learned to sell and be with tons of different people each day. I'm learning patience and acceptance. It is not a career, but it is a step back into the work world. There was a long time when I lost who I was; it is a pleasure finding joy in the things I love. I can't wait for next Wednesday and the next grammar class.

What I am looking for in a date

2011-01-23T09:22:00.002-06:00

Mentally sound, with good dental and physical hygiene. Must wash hair and clothes. You've been to the dentist and laundromat? No visible nose hair? Good, proceed to level two.
Employed or financially stable. Don't need my (nonexistent) money? Proceed to level three.
Sense of humor, must love to smile and laugh easily. Stonefaces need not apply. Your wrinkles come from laughter? Proceed to level four.
Big hearted, not mean spirited, compassionate. Cares about others. A good parent, son and friend. You know how to put yourself in the other guy's shoes? Proceed to level 5.
Good conversationalist, reads, shares ideas. You talk and listen? Sweet! Proceed to level 6.
Likes short, roundish women in their late 50's. You are at least 50? Proceed to level 7.
Knows how to get in touch with me and isn't shy to do so. We can discuss level 8 over coffee.

This isn't Oprah's book club

2011-01-21T07:26:00.000-06:00

When I tell people I belong to a book club, they always ask, "What are you reading?" Then I tell them it is a different kind of book club. We all read whatever we want and report on our choices, then if possible, we exchange books. It leads to the most interesting conversations. Most people are impressed and think it is a very good idea.

Reading for pleasure should be a pleasure and sometimes having to read a certain book by a particular date imposes stress, resentments, and guilt. In our book club, if we don't have something new to report on, we can introduce an old friend from the shelf. At one of the first meetings I went to, someone had just reread an old classic. Some of us knew it and were able to discuss it, and others asked pertinent questions.

The members all live or lived in my condo building. I, again, am the youngest member by at least eight years and in some cases, by almost thirty years. I love these ladies who are showing me by example how to stay sharp and interesting as we age. Two of them have Kindles! One woman can remember the names and dates of all the characters in the historical novels she reads. It drives the other ladies a little crazy, but we manage to get her not to give us a summary of all five hundred pages.

Last night I heard reports on James Patterson's newest. Mary liked the story but could have done without the graphic sex. Rita gave herself permission to not finish a book that although good, was very much like the one she had just read. Edith read The Confession by John Grisham on her Kindle. After the discussion of the story, there was a lot of curiosity about the Kindle. We all like the portability, but... we also like the tactile experience of holding a book in our hands. The fact that you can read in the dark, every readers dream, makes the devices sound enticing. Downloading books, not so much.

I have a wonderful collection of humor. Most of it is from the first part of the twentieth century; Robert Benchely, James Thurber, Clarence Day, Anita Loos. I've shared from contemporary humorists such as Bailey White and others. Someone brought me a large Bennett Cerf collection of jokes, stories, and humorous sketches from the late 1940's. Over the past month I plowed my way through it and was really struck by the misogyny, prejudice, stereotypes and racism in the anecdotes. It was codified. It was accepted, and it was 100% privileged white man. Reading it after the upheavals of the second part of the twentieth century, I am amazed that it took so long for those changes to happen.

Books are products of the time. The authors in my collection reflect their society, but are never intentionally dismissive of whole populations. They laugh at themselves. No one does this better than James Thurber in The Night The Ghost Got In. Robert Benchely always puts himself as the put upon one with such gentleness and grace. But Bennett Cerf makes others the target of his humor and does not do it with compassion for the bimbos and ethnic people. I have no problem with Mark Twain. It is offensive to see the n word, but it is part of the story, and reflects the time when it was written. Edith told me she didn't want the Cerf book back and I thought I might throw it away but our discussion intrigued Gail to take it.

I reported on New Stories from the South, 2010: The Year's Best. It was a Christmas present and I am doling them out, just one or two a week to make them last. The writing is delicious. The discussion about the art of short stories alone was stimulating and thought provoking. I love this group. It certainly isn't Oprah's book club but it is ours and unique.

I couldn't give it away

2011-01-19T23:22:00.000-06:00

There used to be an old nun who sat in the Fourteenth Street subway station in NY. She had a little stool and a basket that sat in her lap. I never had a clue what she was supposed to do. Looking back, I think she was begging. She never asked for anything, and once in a while I saw a nickel in the basket. She was old and didn't have much energy. Maybe she was saying the rosary and having an incredible experience of Grace. Maybe she was looking for Jesus in every commuter. Hard to say.

It was dead at the warehouse store today and people were buying the basics. I had a rather dubious product to sample, a "zero calorie nutrient enriched water beverage". It wasn't even one of the good ones with 100% of Vitamin C. The first three ingredients were water, preservative, and sucralose. I hope there wasn't a secret shopper because I was warning people with children that it had artificial sweetener. When people thought it tasted awful, like cheap Kool-Aid, I agreed. It was so slow, and I couldn't give it away for free.

About four-thirty, I tried doing isometrics, then leg lifts and neck rolls, etc. I looked like a nut. So then I decided I was going to look for the divine in each person who came by. I started smiling more and was a welcoming presence. I had an interesting conversation with a vegetarian who I told how to cook tofu. A man and his three children and I had a talk about manners. I told one of his kids that I couldn't give him anything until he asked please daddy. Then I told him what wonderful manners he had. The few people in the store trickled by. I didn't try to sell them the product, how could I? Did I want the children of God to be drinking this stuff? Really, I couldn't give it away.

I think about that nun, sitting day after day, year after year in that dirty subway station. Was it something she looked forward to? Was she seeing God in the humanity that passed by or was it a penance, a way to pass time until her heavenly reward? What about me? What am I doing with my time? Am I waiting for my heavenly reward or making my own heaven? I don't know what will happen when I die. I know what I hope for, but sort of doubt will occur. So I had better search for the divine in every moment and make my actions worthy of the gift of life.

Inspired by a boy

2011-01-18T08:55:00.001-06:00

I have an old friend who is a dentist in NY. On his fb page he wrote a touching post. "Today, after examining one of my twelve year old patients, I told him that he did not have anymore baby teeth. With great joy and excitement in his eyes he looked at me and asked, "Does that mean I am a man now?"

I can't stop thinking about this child and wishing I knew him because I remember waking up on my twelfth birthday and wondering how I would ever make it to my eighteenth and thinking six more years with despair. That phrase, great joy and excitement, says it all. He was excited for his life, now, and raring for the future. What does it mean to him to be a man? Clearly, it was a very desirable state of life with opportunity and privilege.

I remember being a tiny girl and lying on the sofa as my mother made breakfast for my father before he left for work. It was quite early and I was told I could stay as long as I was quiet. They spoke softly to each other and I felt quite sorry for my brother who had to go to school. I never wanted to have to leave the safety and comfort of being with my mother. I was one of those children who howled the first day of Kindergarden and can still see my mother looking in the window with concern. She died of breast cancer within three months of that day. I wonder how sick she was and how important it was to her that she could see my first day of school. I remember, too, her showing me a little box in our pink refrigerator and telling me not to touch it because it was dope.

I have very few memories of my father before my mother died. And I do not have good memories of after. He was ill equipped to raise three children on his own. My sister was only two years old. Because of his lightning quick temper, he soon became someone to be feared. I did not look forward with "great joy and excitement" to growing up. I thought of it as the day of salvation when I could finally get away from the violence and chaos.

I am not the only one who has had a challenging childhood. The old man himself had a horrific childhood and vowed to do better for his children. I am sure that had my mother lived things would have been very different. Looking back, I think he laid hands on my step-mother, too. One of Harriet's sisters who knew my mother, told me that she kept him in check and never accepted that kind of behavior, that he was a different man.

I left home two months before my eighteenth birthday. It wasn't in my mind that I was a woman now. I was a child escaping. I have been lucky enough to have two beautiful daughters, now grown. I did better for them than the way I was raised. They are wonderful women, raised with love. I am not saying there weren't times that life was chaotic. I hope they looked forward with great joy and excitement to becoming the women they are.

Thanks to Marc Bienenstock for sharing his story.

"You should teach a college course!" he said.

2011-01-10T03:35:00.000-06:00

Sometimes life gives you a break. Getting to demonstrate Peanut Brittle made in the bakery was easy and fun. Just the right product after being gone because I had been ill for a week. This peanut brittle bore little resemblance to the tooth breaking hard stuff that comes in a box from the drugstore. This peanut brittle was more peanuts than brittle, if you know what I mean. Of course I had to make sure every child had permission and quite a few adults told me that they couldn't eat peanuts either. "You wouldn't want to see what would happen to me," one man said. I replied that I wouldn't either.

This was really primo brittle, nearly all glossy, big peanuts in a buttery sweet base. It broke easily and tasted fine. One lady said it had sugar. Yes, it is candy. One man said it had fat. Yes, it is candy. I teased a man who declined a piece while his wife took one. I joked that he was too skinny, have a piece. Wowza! I hit a very sore spot indeed. He turned and said that America was too fat, that he had a perfect BMI. I agreed and told him I was joking. Another woman said it wouldn't fit into her New Year's resolution. I said, of course it would since her resolution was to gain some weight, wasn't it? She laughed and laughed, but she really could have stood to gain a pound or ten.

Peanut Brittle brings up many memories. More than one person said their father or grandfather loved it. I would suggest they get a tub to give as a gift. Many people said it was always a Christmas time treat. But the best reaction came from one older man.

He stood at the cart sampling the product. He said his wife loved it, that it was her favorite candy. I said he should get some and surprise her. I told him that she would probably be quite pleased that he thought of her. This was a very nice man but you could see that the idea of a spontaneous gift of thoughtfulness had never crossed his mind. I told him to tell her he saw peanut brittle and he thought about how much she enjoyed it. Then he thought he should show her the package and see if she wanted some. (She was somewhere in the store.) I gave him an especially nice sample and told him to bring it to her and say the same thing about how he had been thinking of her. He said to me, "You should teach a college course!"

Several minutes later he came back. I was standing in front of the cart at the time and he came up and hugged me. "You were right!" he cried. She loved it and she was amazed and thrilled that he thought of her. He wanted to know how I knew. I said everyone wants to be thought well of, and noticed. That it was nice to get a tangible token of that notice. It didn't have to be expensive, just thoughtful. He kept saying I should teach a course. Can you teach common sense?

It is common sense to show the ones you love that you are thinking of them. It could be showing them an article on something you know interests them, or bringing home a cd of their favorite artist. It can be noticing fatigue and taking over a chore. We do it for our children all the time. Of course they depend on us for all their needs, but the care to get the right super hero underpants when white would do just as well is another way to show our love.

Remember, not all of us are mind readers, in fact very few are. So, let's not just think good thoughts of each other. Let's also bring home some peanut brittle. The rewards might be great.

Compassion means

2011-01-09T00:20:00.000-06:00

Compassion means being able to put yourself in another's shoes, if only for an instant.

I often post quotes from the Dalai Lama. He is always talking about compassion. That the answer to the world's problems is compassion. If you really see the opposition as human, as being the same as you, then you can work together. It sounds so simple that I don't understand why we don't do it. When I see mean spiritedness, it always knocks me out. I just want to shake the dense one. I usually don't understand why I have gotten upset and why I can't make my point.

The press conference in Mississippi was playing on the TV in the break room on Friday. Two sisters who had life sentences for armed robbery were being released from prison on the condition that one give the other a needed kidney. Turns out they only got $11.00 during the robbery. Turns out that one of them had three children, seven, three, and eleven months who are all grown up now. I do not know the details of the crime and trial. But I know that the punishment did not fit the crime and you have to be pretty desperate to commit armed robbery, especially if you are not good at it.

While I was sitting there watching the press conference, discussion was going on around me. One man insisted that "If you did the crime, you had to do the time." He was insistent that they should have thought about that before they held the man up. He COULD NOT see any other point than his own. He could not put himself in their shoes for just a minute. (Bold, capitals, and underlining is to make the point of how unable he was to show ANY compassion.) He could not imagine being a young, impoverished, uneducated, ignorant, desperate unwed mother of three in Mississippi. I tried to tell him how little money a woman like that would get in Minnesota, no less Mississippi, one of the poorest states in the nation, but he could not understand. For him, it was all about thinking first and consequences.

I believe in consequences. I do. But I also know that none of us is perfect and that there have been times I paid too much for the little I did, and other times when Providence did not make me pay as much as I should have, all things being equal.

Because the Arab States do not see the right of Israel to exist, and because the Israelis do not see the Palestinians as equal partners, strife exists. Because the legislators who have government health care do not have compassion, millions of Americans have either inadequate or no health care coverage. Because people of all parties and persuasions have an I, me, mine, attitude, true progress cannot be made to alleviate the suffering of the world.

When corporations, who are not separate entities, but are made up of people, have no compassion for the people who create their riches, pollution of land and wholesale despair of workforces occur. Give the workers as little possible. Do not provide enough latrines or time to use them, and two things occur. Either you create a criminal class who cannot live that way, or one of scared, hopeless people. These are outrages that happen in the athletic shoe factories of Indonesia. Yet it has been documented that outrages such having to urinate while standing in a chicken processing plant also occur in the United States. It is not only the low paid who have to sacrifice. There is a young, mother of three I know who makes a good salary but had to take home hours of work every night. Her life belonged to the corporation too.

What is it that we as individuals can do? We can try to see our opposition as humans with human characteristics. We can try to stop demonizing anyone who thinks other than the way we do. Paul Wellstone was amazing at being friends with people with whom he did not agree. We can try to be a little nicer. We can work a little harder for the things we believe in.

I suffered for eight years of the Bush presidency without a shred of compassion for the President. I still don't know what our and his karma was. I don't think I will ever understand how his election occurred. But the day I saw a confused, unpopular man walk onto the inauguration stage, and then fly away, I learned compassion. I saw him as human and I could no longer hate. I also saw I had to give up hating him, which in some weird way I enjoyed. Don't get me wrong. The actions of his administration are still an anathema to me, but I can't hate him personally anymore. Unfortunately I have not come to a compassionate point of view towards Cheney, Rove, and the other band of criminals.

I have been sick all week and seem to be getting better. Thank you modern medicine. It feels like I am thinking more clearly. If someone reads this and thinks I am a wooly-headed bleeding heart, I have to say this is the way I am and I hope you can see my point of view, if only for a minute.

Let's all have a good laugh. Enjoy.

In the blink of an eye...

2011-01-02T08:06:00.001-06:00

... A fall on the ice, and life changes dramatically.

My mother-in-law, Betty, is one of the strongest, most independent, and stubborn women you would want to meet. We love each other deeply. After I married her son thirty-five years ago she made only one comment, "I always thought you would find your God and your bride in the choir loft of the Presbyterian Church," to her son before thoroughly embracing me as her daughter. Not as her daughter-in-law, but as her daughter. She and Donald taught me so much about parenting and also being a mother-in-law. And when we went to her several years ago and told her the marriage was over she told me that I would always be her daughter and that my name remained on the deed to her property. It is through her generosity, and that of my ex and his brother and sister-in-law that I have my little condo.

Friday, she fell on the ice outside her house and broke her ankle. Somehow, this 85 year old wonder crawled across the snow and ice, up her stairs and back into the house to call for help. Living on property set back from the road, the only alternative was to die of hypothermia. Pretty scary indeed. Right now she is hospitalized in Duluth receiving good care. After the hospital comes the challenge.

How do you tell someone that their home has become too dangerous for them to live in? How do you tell someone who is fiercely independent that she will have to depend on others for a change? I went through this six years ago with my own parents, who were older and much more frail. It was a hard, wrenching move for them, especially my father, who never got to go home from the rehab/nursing home before being moved to Minnesota. I was lucky to have a place pre-planned for them. The year before I told them the line my cousin used to get her parents to move closer to her. "You are killing me. I can't do the commute, and I stay up at night worrying about you." They asked me to hang on to the application and we were lucky enough to get an apartment when they needed it.

Cousin Harriet, who lived to be 99 was savvy. About the time she turned 90 she decided to sell her home and car. She moved into a lovely senior building and didn't look back. The woman who sold us our first home moved into a senior building because her family thought the upkeep on her little bungalow was too much. When, after several years, she hadn't died, she said if she knew she would feel this good she wouldn't have sold her house. She didn't realize that not being in the house was why she felt so well. Cousin Harriet knew that the easier life was what was keeping her alive. As my own parents get more frail they do understand that they could not live totally independently anymore, but it was a hard sell to get them to agree that it has been a good move for them.

Betty has her marbles, and she has her pride. (I do wish she would wear those hearing aids, though.) She cannot return to her house at this time without someone there until the snow is gone. It is just too dangerous and impractical. If she can understand that she does not have to give up her home forever, just until spring, the move and subsequent healing will be for her best. I would gladly have her come stay with me. I like sleeping on my couch. Other family members have better facilities and I think there will probably be some rehab involved, letting the matter of next winter rest for now.

As my generation ages we face the challenge of aging parents. The balance between treating them as the adults they are and doing what is right is quite difficult. We do not want to take away dignity and independence, nor do we want to see them die of stupidity and pride. It is a rope many of us are walking, hoping that good intentions will provide a net.

Y2K+10

2010-12-31T05:26:00.000-06:00

I wasn't one who put any energy into the Y2K hysteria. It seemed so Chicken Little to me, and after all the hoopla wasn't much more than an acorn falling on a chicken's head. To commemorate the occasion I purchased two drastically reduced tapestry calendars for posterity. They are in a box somewhere and in about three hundred years will be worth at least double what I paid. Too bad no one else was as farsighted (evil little chuckle).

Here it is ten years on and what has changed? It has been a decade of highs and lows, movement and inertia. I got out of food service and into a good job helping other people. Lost that job and spent years trying to get over that rejection. Now I am doing a strangely different food service job and seeing that I have sales skills. I understand that if I believe in a product I can sell it and if it doesn't interest me, I don't do a very good job. I adored the triple cream brie but could not enthuse over peanut butter creme sandwich cookies. I mean, what was the point? (Written by a true butter and chocolate enthusiast.)

In 2005 I moved my 90 and 91 year old parents from their home in Brooklyn, NY to an assisted living apartment in a suburb of Minneapolis. It was a hard adjustment for everyone and I am amazed to think we will celebrate the old lady's 97th birthday on February tenth. The handicapped sticker will expire in April. We all laughed at expiration date of 2011. No one thought they would live this long. I have been up and down with them, losing my temper in a big way every year and a half or so. At this point, although she can still annoy me, the old lady and I have a very good relationship. At least she SEES that I do a lot for them and tells me thank you. The old man is a mess. Skinny, weak, stubborn, sometimes on the ball, sometimes confused, and often very demanding. In some ways he reminds me of an old cat or dog. The difference is that one day the pet owner can make a decision to end that life, but as humans and caretakers we make sure life goes on. My late father-in-law once referred to pneumonia as the old folks friend, and when his mother who had terrible Alzheimer's Disease got sick, they didn't treat it and she soon passed peacefully. My father has had it twice and good antibiotics and excellent care saw him through. I might have to resort to a padded hammer. (That is a joke, folks.)

This has been a decade of hurt and hope and endings and beginnings for me personally. My marriage suffered a crisis, then a period of rebuilding, then a realization of ending. We had a healing ceremony and freed and forgave each other. But it is hard to part with an investment of over thirty years and sometimes I feel completely over it, and sometimes I hurt, and sometimes I cry. But mostly I am happy. I have dated some nice men who made me feel lovely and like I have a lot to offer. I have come to the realization that if I am not adored and adoring, I would much rather be alone. I'd like some companionship it is true, but I like my own company far too much to waste time dating the wrong people. I am open to the possibilities of a relationship should it come along.

Depression can be a killer and I experienced quite a long period of inertia, of only getting out when I had to deal with something. I wondered why I was living, what was my purpose in life, or had I already fulfilled it and was it time for the next level? Meeting new people, taking care of my parents, and loving my daughters got me through those years as did medication. I will not say I am completely over it because depression is sneaky and sometimes comes down like a slow curtain and other times attacks like a sniper. The biggest weapon in my arsenal to fight depression is the perspective that it will pass and the faith to ask for help from the Creator. To understand that it is part of my life, but not who I am.

So, as this decade ends and a new one starts I wish for myself what I wish for others, love, compassion, success, good health and the ability to laugh at myself and enjoy this life. Happy New Year.

While my hair turns purple

2010-12-29T10:05:00.001-06:00

While my hair turns purple, or more correctly burgundy...

Last week everyone was preparing for Christmas, guests, family, big dinners and party food. Watching what people put in their carts this week is a return to reality, vegetables, fruits, bread and the basics. No more giant hunks of beef and rack of lamb. No more trays of appetizers and boxes of truffles. Yet the demonstrations for salsa and hummus go on and on and on.

Working, even at a crappy job, has been good for me. I seem to have lost these past few years. I can't recall anything of any significance happening. I spent a lot of time in a depressed daze and doze. I remember feeling helpless and hopeless. I was walking on eggs, and, in fear of breaking them, just stopped walking. It was a hard situation for everyone to observe. I will always be in debt to S's family for providing a way out of purgatory.

Living alone has been good for me. Living with the boys, Piper and Little Mister, has been even better. Not that it will be a surprise to anyone who knows me, but I am a rotten housekeeper. There is a great satisfaction in having a clean house. I just haven't made the connection to keeping it pristine. I think at my age I never will. The only solution is to become wealthy and hire a keeper.

Which brings me back to working. As this year ends, I am going to try to find a better job. If anyone knows of a position for an erudite, creative woman with burgundy hair, please think of me. I have lots of experience in many fields.

There goes the timer now.

A Different Christmas

2010-12-25T22:23:00.000-06:00

This Christmas was going to be different. This year I would be alone on Christmas day. We celebrated on Christmas Eve and I wasn't sad or lonely. I wrote in my blog that I was looking forward to spending some quiet time. But a friend invited me to spend the day playing games and eating with her parents and I wound up having a delightful time. I was not with the family I usually celebrate Christmas day, but they were still with me.

It is funny how our lives interweave. Erica was recruited to the National Guard by my friend Michele's ex husband. She used to babysit for them when their son was young. Then I met Michele in an online group and we became friends. Her parents are about my age and we had clicked immediately. While we were exchanging histories and stories, I felt my family near. I talked about my dear in laws, daughters, great nephews and their parents. I talked about my son-in-law and grandson. My parents, cousins, so many people.

The person I felt nearest to was my sister. She has a distinctive way of talking, fluttering her eyelids, moving her hands. She is uniquely beautiful and I love her dearly. Michele has those exact mannerisms; it is oddly wonderful and very entertaining.

We played a board game called Aggravation. We played Boggle and now they are addicted. (I only won by one point, eek!) Our dinner was delicious, prime rib. I have never liked that cut of meat in my life. I said I needed mine well done and it was cooked to perfection. It wasn't beef I was eating, oh no. It was the love and affection Michele and her mother had for each other. It was the hospitality and warmth to a stranger that I was eating, and as I said, it was delicious.

Isn't it great to be open to what each day brings? I am the one who usually invites yet now I am the invited. This has been a wonderful, peaceful day. The boys welcomed me home. I am so happy to be alive.

Bending time

2010-12-24T09:14:00.000-06:00

Little Mister Mischief, chief sweetheart and trouble maker thought it was about time that I got up and did what a human was supposed to do; feed him. He tried to be nice, rubbing against my back and purring, but I did not respond. Then he started pushing things off the night table, making as much noise as possible. I yelled, "Stop it!" three or four times and finally surrendered. They are fed and sated. Whether felines philosophize about the nature of time, I will never know.

Tonight, Christmas Eve, I am making Chanukah latkes for my daughters and son-in-law. It doesn't matter that Chanukah, a very minor Jewish holiday is long over, Christmas Eve dinner is latkes. Friends of mine have been making plans to celebrate their holidays at one set of parents one week, and with others on Christmas day. A birthday celebrated within the month is quite acceptable these days. It doesn't seem to matter what the calendar says, we bend time to suit ourselves.

It wasn't always like this. In the beginning, if we are to believe scripture, God created the world in six days and on the seventh rested. For centuries, people observed the Sabbath. Growing up in NYC, stores were closed on Sunday. You didn't have to rest or go to church, but few people worked. I don't remember when driving to Long Island to shop at Valley Stream covered mall became a Sunday destination. It relieved the boredom of football and golf on black and white TV.

Now, we live in a 24 hour society. Shop anytime at home or pick up milk at three AM. Who is staffing all these opportunities? People who have their Sundays on Wednesday. When the girls where young, dad worked Monday through Friday and the weekends were for bike races. When we started the business, Saturdays were for customers and when I started working banquets, all schedules for me flew out the window. I worked when there was work, not realizing the havoc no set schedule was making in our life. I was so excited to get a real, 9-5, weekday job. I thought we could go back to having a regular life, but time had moved on and nothing was the same.

A farmer knows one can't really bend time. It might be more convenient for him to plant in the fall and harvest in the spring; the cows can't wait months until he has the time to milk them. There are still schedules that are immoveable and the consequence for not obeying can be starvation.

I always thought I had enough time. I am a terrible procrastinator, and the kind of person who can make it come together at the last minute, or not at all. I can convince myself that I will do it later and it will be fine. Sometimes that works, but not all that often. Sometimes the opportunity is lost and never comes back. Applications not sent in on time, bills piled up accruing late fees, retirement not funded, and chances for love and affection set on the back burner to grow cold.

At one point I went to a shaman to ask why I sabotage myself by procrastination. She told me that in past lives I had made some really bad decisions, so am scared to move in this life. Be that as it may, (or may not) it didn't help this life. I can bend time to eat Chanukah food on Christmas Eve, but I can't turn back time. I am still 58 and in a precarious position. I am not in my 30's trying to establish a career and can't bend time back to make different life choices. Now is now.

And now is all anyone really has. I am going to try to use it wisely, but I am not making any promises.

Decreasing Holiday Stress

2010-12-20T00:02:00.000-06:00

Working as a demonstrator at a warehouse store has shown me a whole new world of human behavior. And some of the time it isn't very good. I see the best and worst of people. I see parents teaching their children manners and I see other parents being manipulated by their kids. Once in a while I will look at a child and say, "I know I didn't hear you talk that way to your mother. I know you always ask nicely. Why don't you try it again?" But most of the time I just admire the babies and tell the little ones how wonderful they are. I compliment parents all the time on their children. Everyone is happy then. Oh, those babies. They are so beautiful.

Today I was demonstrating a 100% natural spinach, artichoke and parmesan dip. It is really tasty and I used 16 thirty-one ounce tubs in six hours. That is a lot of dip to portion out by the teaspoon. One man told me I should add more spinach and artichoke and take out the mayo. Didn't he understand that was what was holding the dip together? Didn't he understand that I only served it, I didn't cook the stuff? Didn't he understand that this is free food and if you don't like it, don't eat it? Nope, he stood there berating me. Oy.

People are stressed. The parking lot was full and people drove round and around. My niece, who works at the Mall of America could not find a place to park and actually went home so her husband could drive her back and drop her off at work. The supervisors are stressed. The cashiers are pressured to work faster. One woman I know who is working seasonal at FedEX is supposed to unload 1000 packages an hour. All for the holiday. Minnesota has wonderful snow removal, but people are stressed by the thought of more snow coming.

This year, my personal holiday is nearly stress free. I will make latkes for Christmas eve, and for the first time in 35 years, I will spend Christmas alone. I can go up to see my mother-in-law along with daughter and ex, but it is time to separate. I will still have a relationship with her because we do love each other, but the time has come for me not to be part of S's family celebration. I am thrilled to have a whole day for myself. Christmas was never part of my tradition and I could use the break. One daughter did tell me that I made Christmas happy for her as a child and hearing that meant a lot to me.

For those of you planning huge spreads this Christmas, give yourself a break. What your guests will remember is the love you put into the food you serve. Whether you get the finest proscuito or some a little cheaper, don't make yourself crazy. If you only have one appetizer instead of three, don't sweat it. There is no way you can fulfill everyone's wishes and no way you can make the holiday "perfect". Uh, uh, it isn't going to happen. There is nothing wrong with having high expectations, nothing wrong at all. But change the expectations from unattainable perfection to filling your get together with laughter and acceptance. Concentrate on making each other smile. Enjoy the ones you love, and try compassion on the ones who irritate.

I'm going to try to heed my own advice as we enter the homestretch towards Christmas. I will smile, smile, smile, no matter what. (That isn't a facial rictus, it's a peaceful smile. Can't you tell?)

Don't disrespect your spouse

2010-12-15T02:17:00.002-06:00

I was flogging some kind of soup today when an old man came to get a sample. He liked it and I suggested he buy some. He would, he said, except for his shit for brains wife wouldn't eat it. I said, "Sir, please don't disrespect your wife." Then I turned away. I wonder if that man realized how bad talking about his wife made him look? Not good at all, and very hard to respect. One of my coworkers was standing next to me and she was pretty shocked, too.

I told her the story of long ago when we lived in Jordan, MN. We hired a babysitter to watch the girls and off we went to the old theater in New Prague. It was a beastly cold night. At one point some teenagers behind us were making a lot of noise and I turned and told them to be quiet. One of them called me a bitch and S faced them and told them they were not to disrespect his wife. Then he went to the manager and had them kicked out. We spent the rest of the movie sitting stock still, wondering if they were going to beat us up when we left. As I said, it was a beastly cold night and they were gone when we got out. Whew! What a relief. If you gave me a million dollars, I still couldn't remember anything about that movie, we were that scared.

I am not a delicate flower, never was. Although S was always athletic, he was never a tough. He is better at intellectual argument where he will wear his opponent down with facts, either real or made up. So having my husband jump to my defense was a really wonderful thing. He had my back and I felt safe and secure. Another time when my folks were visiting the old man made me cry. At one point I said to S, "If you love me, you will call in sick today. Don't leave me alone with them." He went up to my father and told him that although I was his daughter, I was also his wife and he would not allow anyone to talk to and disrespect his wife that way. The old man is still leery of him.

This is the holiday season, a time for family. It is not always a happy time by any means. One way to weather the emotional storms that can come when families don't get along well, when there is poor communication or years of resentments that never were resolved is to be there for each other. Be a unit. What is done to one is done to both, and both do not accept poor behavior towards their spouse. There is such strength in being each other's best friend.

That is what I miss about being alone now; knowing there is no one at my back. That is what I want for all my married or committed friends and family, a certainty that the one you love will be there for you, through good times of laughter and scary nights at the movies.

Love and respect each other. There is so much strength there. You can take on the whole world... together.

Magazine covers

2010-12-14T00:35:00.000-06:00

Today, I spent 5 hours pushing clam chowder across the aisle from a magazine rack. Every once in a while I would look at the covers. Elizabeth Edwards on People, gingerbread house on a cooking magazine, you get the idea. But there was one that really bothered me. On OK magazine, in large yellow letters: KENDRA LOSES HER BABY! Exclamation mark and all. I understand that this woman lives a public life, but come on, is this news? Is this any way to treat a personal tragedy? It made me embarrassed to look at it and realize we are living in such a shallow, voyeuristic society. After a while I crossed the aisle and put a photography magazine in front of the offending magazine.

Cosmo was interesting, though. 60 sex tips! It made me think that for me the first 50 would be about passionate looks and kisses. Then I noticed this teaser: Look Leaner When Naked! I had to scratch my head, stand sideways? Use dim lights, or get a full body Saran Wrap before taking off clothes? How much fat can one person suck in? Well, I never did read the article but bet that the only way to look leaner when naked is to lose weight and get toned.

It reminds me of comedienne Susan Voss. She said she was willing to do anything, ANYTHING, to get a fabulous figure. Anything, that is, except diet and exercise.

So on that note, I want to say I'm getting a little better everyday. Even made it to water exercise this morning, and although I wanted to go home, worked a full day. Thank you everyone for your kind messages of hope and love.

I've been humming this song, but I only knew the first verse. Enjoy.

Optimism and Depression

2010-12-10T21:12:00.000-06:00

I am an optimist most times. I want to believe the best of people. I try to see the good in most situations. Most people consider me a happy person. Intense, for sure, but happy. I love to laugh and have a loud laugh. I giggle most inopportunely and love to express having fun. Sometimes reading funny books, I can hardly breathe because I am laughing so hard.

November is usually a hard month for me. The light dwindles, the sky gets grey, and I get sad. This year I bought a "Happy Light" by Verilux and started exercising at morning water workouts at the JCC. Last Wednesday my dad was in very bad shape with the start of pneumonia. I got a cold and needed to sleep more and missed class. Dad responded well to antibiotics and had a great time at Gavin's birthday dinner. I spent an good evening with a friend from out of town. I wasn't at the top of my game, but I was coping pretty well although I'd had a hard day or two around the anniversary of my mother's death.

Depression is a physical drain, it is an energy sap. It comes like a wave and I could feel it suck me in. It is physical and it is mental. And it is very, very real. I want to hide in bed. I want to sleep, and shut out the world until it passes. In past years that is exactly what I did sometime. Now I have a job and must go to it. Last night I saw S and when he asked how I was doing, I asked for a hug. Today, though, I could hardly stand and get through the day. All I could think of was when I could lie down again.

Having someone speak badly of me was a trigger. Having the cats spread trash all over was another. Having an upset stomach lowered my resistance. Worrying about family, watching the news, all affected my equilibrium and I got caught in the undertow of depression. It is exhausting and bleak and I know I have to go through the cycle, I just pray it is not a bad one.

What helps is knowing there will be a day, and I hope it is soon, where I will feel fine. I will have come out of the trough of depression and will be standing on solid ground. Even though I am depressed and have barely the energy to get out of this chair, I am still an optimist.

I dreamed of Snooki

2010-12-02T09:06:00.002-06:00

This morning I awoke to the sound of cats playing with my earring hanger. I was loathe to open my eyes because I was watching a game show with that little Jersey girl, Snooki. She and her partner were debating a really easy question. Now I will never know the answer.

I don't know anything about this girl except what I have seen on the covers of magazines and SNL. but it occurs to me that her parents called her Snooki Wookums as a baby and never stopped, so people still call her Snooki. My own daughter, Erica, had a funny nickname as a baby. It came from a neighbor child calling her Ewita-tootie. Everyone called her Tootie. We moved when she was three and that was the conscious end of Tootie. Cute at three, not so adorable as an adult. (Just the name, she is still pretty cute!)

I am sitting by my Happy Light. It is a cold and grey day. Minnesota at it's worst late autumn. I had a hard day yesterday with my folks. On Tuesday I got a call from the old man, 95, that his foot was swollen. That reminded me that the old lady asked me to make an appointment to see a lady doctor. So on my break I called the clinic and was able to make two appointments for the next day, one at ten and one at eleven. Then to call the assisted living people to have my mom ready at nine-thirty and the old man at ten-thirty. I would make two trips because there was no way the old man could be ready before ten-thirty. Then I had to tell my boss I would not be in on Wednesday.

I got the old lady, 96, to the clinic and the complaint seemed to be going away. They told her the same thing I tell her all the time, she has to actually drink some water!!!!! The burning will go away if she drinks water, or juice or tea or anything but coffee. Coffee does not hydrate. I left during her exam so I could get the old man.

He is so weak. He is very vain and does not want to use a walker, so he falls. He has finally consented to a cane. It is hard as hell to watch him die by inches. He is very caustic and a clear, nasty speaker. Yesterday I asked him if he had his teeth in because he was slurring his words. He has some congestion of the chest, too.

I had told the old lady that I would take them both out to lunch, but when they started talking x-rays and ultra sounds I took her home so she could have lunch in the dining room. She was disappointed and started to complain. She wanted to have lunch out, I said well I wanted my life back. Then she started to say she wanted to die. How I didn't say, "I do, too" I will never know. I am glad I controlled myself, though. After we got to the car she said that she was calmed down and didn't mean it. I said I was glad.

They've ordered some physical therapy for the old man. They will teach him to use the cane. They haven't called me to say whether he has pneumonia, so it is probably just a cold. It was too late for lunch at the building so I took him for an experience. I brought him to Costco. He was able to get in an electric Scooter they have and drive around looking for bargains. He realized he didn't need anything. We shared a hot dog and slice of pizza. He enjoyed it and realized that he really doesn't want to drive anymore.

In February, it will be six years since I rescued my parents from NY. The old man was in a nursing home and the old lady was isolated in an apartment in the projects. Had I left them there, both would be dead by now. My sister disapproved of what I did, but came from California to help me pack and move them. During this time I lost my job. There was one six week period that I took my father to a wound clinic three times a week. After my mother got new dentures, I brought her back to have them adjusted twenty-three times, a new dental office record. I take them out every Saturday or arrange for one of my daughters to do so.

I left home at seventeen, the last time my father beat me. Why? I hadn't gone to the doctor for a cold. For that I was kicked with steel toed boots. Over the years I had therapy. I became a parent that stopped the cycle of abuse this generation. I visited NY every year or so and that seemed to be sufficient. As they got older and more frail, I fretted about what to do. My sister said she forbid me to take them to Minnesota. I spent hours on the phone trying to get home services for them, but they had too much money for aid but not enough to get services. It was a mess.

I don't remember when, but I had a very clear message from my birth mother. She wanted me to take care of the old man and my step-mother. Because she loved him, and I loved her, I agreed. Now that the old man is on anti-depressant, he is much easier to deal with, although he can still be a very nasty bastard. At one point I was seeing a therapist to deal with the way he was able to push my buttons, calling me stupid and lazy.

My goal, all along is to be able to say when they die that I have no regrets, that I have done everything to make their last years good ones. I do not know what happens when you die, but I do not want to spend another lifetime or eternity with these particular people. I want to finish our business this life. Over these past years I have grown in patience. I can sit at a restaurant and watch them share a cup of coffee. I can watch her dip her dentures in her water glass with total equanimity. I can sit patiently while he takes an hour to eat stone cold pancakes. But a day like yesterday is very trying.

It is not the bogus complaints. It is not the time spent with them that upsets me. It is the realization that I have not come to a place of not being resentful of the time they take and how l still want to be appreciated. Nobody expected them to live six more years. I know it is me keeping them alive. They have to stay and teach me the lessons I need to learn until I get it right. I look at myself, I want a job in the helping area. I want to join the Peace Corps when I retire. But right here, right now, I have a volunteer job in service to others. It is hard to look the mirror of my hypocrisy.

Something is screwed up.

2010-11-26T23:28:00.000-06:00

Something is out of kilter. We seem to have gone wrong.

It offends me that retailers make their employees work on Thanksgiving. I understand essential services such as hospitals, fire, police, snow plowers. I even understand the mini mart for gas and whipped cream. But does Dollar Tree need to be open? Does Sears and Wal-Mart? Isn't this our national day of celebrating family and friends. Isn't this a time for time off with our families and friends?

My coworkers and I asked each other if we went out at 3 AM for Black Friday bargains. None of us had. I said there was nothing I wanted bad enough to go stand in line in the cold for. Then I changed my answer. I said I would shop in the middle of the night if I could get world peace. Sharon thought that most people wouldn't get out of bed even for that.

Today I demonstrated a Keurig coffee system. This is one of the single cup coffee makers that use little cups of coffee grounds to make one perfect cup of coffee. I can see it in an office where you offer clients a fresh cup of coffee. It is a nifty device, very clean and super easy to use... but. Yeah, but it costs a whole bunch for convenience. No grounds to clean up, no filters to replace. But how much time are we trading hard earned pay for? I can make a cup of Swiss Miss cocoa for about fifteen cents. Boil the water, dump the mix in a cup and then add water. Use a Keurig kcup and get it for at least fifty cents and under a minute. I am not afraid to clean a few grounds. One man complained that it couldn't be tied to a water line. He was upset that he would have to fill the reservoir. I kept pushing the ecological reusable filter cup that can be used with any coffee or tea.

At six o'clock, Sharon, Nita, Kathy, and I cleaned up. I had used six pitchers of water for the coffee demonstration and after refilling them a few hours before I had to dump four pitchers of clean water. It occurred to me how hard some people had to work for water that I was throwing away, how many miles they had to carry water from not so clean sources and here I was just dumping it down the drain. There was no way I could send it over to poor people. Sharon was pretty upset that she had to dispose of an unopened case of Tropicana Juice. There was nothing wrong with it but it had sat on her cart for two hours and could not be returned. OK, but it could not be given away. I would gladly have run it over to a shelter, but no. We couldn't take it home either. That would be stealing. How is it stealing if it was paid for?

Then I watched the news. Did you see the man who was almost trampled at the Buffalo Target? Did you see anyone trying to help him up? I saw people rushing past him to get their bargains and it made me sick. I have lived frugally for many years. My daughters went to school looking as slick as the rich kids because I am a bargain hunter extraordinaire. But there is nothing available in any store that would tempt me to abandon my humanity. It is just stuff and I wonder what those pushing, shoving people will think when they see themselves on the news. I hope it makes them as ashamed of themselves as I was for them, and that they will take a hard look at the hysteria they bought into.

On a lighter note, my bathroom is full of shredded toilet paper. The boys have figured out that I put it in a basket on the back of the toilet and have knocked it over. It can't stay on the holder because they unroll it. Pretty soon I am going to have to hang it from the ceiling. What good kitties!

Bean salad, an easy decision, a hard balance

2010-11-24T01:48:00.000-06:00

Today I was hawking Paisley Farm 100% natural four bean salad. "If you like 3 bean salad, you'll love a fourth bean. $5.39 for a half gallon jar. You can throw half away and still come out ahead because you can't make it for this price. And you still have a jar to collect buttons." Oh, I was quite amusing and think I probably made my 25 jar quota. I did notice one thing though, people either love bean salad or hate it. There just is no middle ground.

It was funny to be calling out about the bean salad and see the reactions. People would come running over to sample it or they would visibly shudder. I am of the shuddering group and had no trouble commiserating with those who dislike it. I was very frank when people asked me what I thought of it. I said that people seemed to love it but I had a real dislike for canned green beans, my mother used to boil them.

I spoke with a number of women and told one to get herself a small portion from a regular deli if she liked it. There was no reason she couldn't enjoy something just because her husband didn't. I told her to treat herself better and she really seemed to appreciate it. On the other hand I told a woman who hated it but her husband liked it to either buy a small amount for himself or go to a restaurant.

There were foods my husband liked that I did not, such as beets and winter squash. On rare occasions I would prepare them. There are things that I like that nobody else in my family would eat, such as pickled herring or smoked salmon and whitefish. I wouldn't buy a jar of herring just for myself.

Over the years my husband and I grew apart in interests. He was a bike racer and when the children were young we attended many races. I liked art things and reading and being a stay at home mother. I went back to school and when we started the business I took a banquet server job to provide an income while we were working towards future success. I worked long crazy hours and was always tired and my feet hurt all the time.

My husband was a very talented semiprofessional singer and joined many choirs. I was tired and jealous of all the outside interests while our business limped along. I didn't know how to have fun. In later years, while I was working for the labor council, the most fun I had was marching through a Wal-Mart. I laughed with such abandon. We used to love to dance and I would laugh and laugh.

What does all this have to do with bean salad? I should have done more to enjoy my life. I should have bought and done things that brought me pleasure, (not bean salad, though) and I shouldn't have sent him off to find his own fun. I should have worked harder to provide pleasure at home and he should have worked harder including me in his interests. We both should have prioritized having fun together.

But all this is water under the bridge. What I want to convey is for couples to do things together, to try to accommodate each other's taste. You don't have to agree on bean salad, each person has their own tastes. But one doesn't have to give up one's own preferences to be a good spouse. And I bet, if asked, the other spouse doesn't want you to anyway. Go ahead and eat your bean salad if that is what you want. Surprise the other one with something they like that you don't. It is the little things that show self respect, and respect for the other that make a successful relationship, a balance of likes and dislikes and a fondness for creating happiness.

Great Big Reality Check

2010-11-12T05:20:00.000-06:00

I joined a wonderful health and fitness center and have made a financial commitment to getting in better shape. No excuses, there are classes in everything from aerobics to Zumba. On Tuesday, I tried water exercise before work and afterwards felt quite energetic for the rest of the day. On Wednesday, I had a one on one meeting with a personal trainer. She did a health assessment, taking measurements, (don't ask, I won't tell) and setting goals. I was really honest and didn't just say what I thought she wanted to hear. There is no way I would drive all the way down there to work out on the machines and weights by myself, not even for a half hour. I'm a social person and need others to motivate me with someone leading the way. Trouble is, after the first session, personal trainers are not free. So classes it is. Which brings us to yesterday. Oy!

Since I didn't have to be in to work until noon, I decided to try Forever Fit Strength, "Our famous low impact exercise class designed to improve muscle tone, strengthen the heart and lungs, and burn away calories. Very popular with exercisers over 50 but is open to everyone." I'm 58, sounds perfect, no little chickies. I entered the studio to find I was in the company of old people. I had to have been the youngest one there by at least ten years. I introduced myself to the instructor and told her I have exercised induced asthma and didn't have an inhaler with me. (I'm having a physical on Saturday morning.) She told me they started out slow and to do what I could, take breaks when necessary. I took up a position a few rows back so I wouldn't be in front of the mirror and off we went. Sandy took us through quite an energetic warm up, no problem. Then we started working with hand weights and I was still OK. Then she took up the pace and I thought I would die. I lasted exactly fifteen of the forty-five minutes. It did feel weird to have to leave a room full of people much older than me who were keeping up. ("If you have a hip replacement, do this one straight on.")

Although I tried to avoid the mirror, it was impossible. The room was all mirrors and I got a really good sideways view. I laughingly refer to myself as round but muscular. That isn't quite right. Barrel shaped would be more accurate. I am not one of those people with a large middle and skinny legs. Nope, big middle, big thighs, and powerfully big calves. I am mostly in proportion, except for my middle. Problem is the the proportions are too big.

As I was getting dressed, another woman stepped on the scales. There is a digital readout that I was close enough to see. In my mind, I was built much the same, but she weighed thirty pounds less. Whoa, reality check! I do not look like I think I do, much less like I want to. I am not as strong as I assumed I was. Big muscles do not mean a thing if the most important muscle is out of shape. I see that my priority has to be strengthening my heart. I will do that while strengthening and improving all the other muscles.

I used to belong to Curves and went every other day for a couple of years. The repetition of music and workouts bored me to tears. I didn't have a buddy, basically I was on my own with other people on their own. I lost twenty pounds and it took two years to put it back on and another three to add another ten. Clearly I have my work cut out to get back down to chubby.

Why will this time be different? Will I make the connection, as poor Oprah, the human yo-yo espouses? I can't look at the big picture or the time commitment needed (the rest of my life) or I get defeated before I begin. I can look at the small picture. There are so many good classes, Tai Chi for balance, Zumba for fun that I won't be bored.

I guess I should go back to bed for awhile. Water aerobics at 8:30 and a full day of work at ten. No pie in the sky (or on my plate). I have had a reality check and need to get real.

3:33, I kick the cat

2010-11-11T04:31:00.002-06:00

I awoke at 3:33 on the clock. Something was biting my ankle, nip, nip. I reached down and brought Little Mister Mischief up to cuddle. He sniffed my face and put his little paw on my arm. Aw, isn't he cute? Soon he walked back down the bed and I was almost asleep again when I felt another nip on my ankle, a big one. Yow! I kicked the cat. Yes, I flung him off my leg. That really hurt!

Lately, we had cooler weather and I made up a warm bed. Pure cotton sheet on the bottom with a very light and velvety fleece blanket used as a top sheet and a brand new, light, down-alternative quilt. Lovely, lovely, lovely. Then a few warm days had me sleeping with my legs out again; not so lovely to find them being bitten by the kitten.

So I got up and followed Little Mr. He was standing in the kitchen waiting for me. When he had my attention he walked over to his bowl and stood up on his hind feet. So I put one small scoop of kitten chow in his bowl. He looked down, and I could feel him thinking, "That's it? Where is the good stuff?" He gave me the that blue eyed Siamese stare and started to walk away. Uh, uh, kitty; you woke me up, chew on this. I put him back by the bowl, he shrugged his shoulders and dug right in with gusto.

This is the time for analogy. I know what it reminds me of in my life. I wonder what it means to you. (Hungry cat, feed the damn thing, I know, I know.)

The watcher within

2010-11-08T15:28:00.000-06:00

I just wrote a blog about someone who I think is abusing the system. I was full of righteous indignation. I talked about how I try to practice compassion and try not to judge but, talking points 1, 2, and 3....

I had to deal with something and when I got back to the computer I realized I was just using excuses to be mean spirited because I was jealous. We each have our own history and karma and pointing a finger does not make me better.

Oh, I wanted to continue the rant. I really did. The watcher within showed me exactly what I was doing and I had to stop. The watcher within saw how I can deal with this situation and that is by trying to understand the unhappiness in their life and seeing the benefit of their actions in a larger world view as they become more positive.

It is hard to be as mean and petty as I want to be when the better me is always watching.

(On the other hand, the watcher within loves to laugh, dance, and have silly fun and thinks I look ten years younger when I am having a good time.)

False Eyelashes

2010-11-06T21:55:00.000-05:00

OK, I can't get the damn things on, my own short lashes are gunked up with glue. I'm sweating, makeup is melting, oh I am not so good at this girlie stuff. Funny thing is that I used to be an expert. Mary Quant and Twiggie, I did the whole thing. Then I became a hippie, no makeup. Just a natural beauty.

Well, the glue is now dried and I can begin again. At my age, I need all the help I can get. But no false eyelashes. Maybe I'll wear a Wonder Bra instead. (But not on my eyes). Yep, a real natural beauty.

I couldn't find a good YouTube version but here are the lyrics to a great song.

LOU REED
LOVE IS CHEMICAL

When I see the way you paint your lips
and I smell your perfume
when I see the brand new color
that you've dyed your hair, too
I know, you know, it's more than physical
My love, my love, my love, love is chemical

Well I know the saying goes
that all in love and war is fair
but I've never stood a chance
against your chemical warfare
The polish on your fingernails
mascara on your eyes
the lotion you rub on at night
to make sure your hands ain't dry
My love, my love, my love, love is chemical

(My, my, my love is chemical)
(my, my, my love is chemical)
I know, I know, it's more than physical, hey baby
My love, my love, my love, love is chemical

Well I hope that you won't take offense
it's not that you're not pretty
it's only that I feel like
I'm in love with test tube city
I know with you, I'm on the pinnacle
I'm on the pinnacle, babe
My love, my love, my love, love is chemical
we're not just talking physical desire here

(My, my, my love is chemical)
(my, my, my love is chemical)
I know with you, it's more than physical
much more than just carnal lust
My love, my love, my love, love is chemical

My, my love, oh, love is chemical
my, my, my love is chemical
It's so much more than physical, honey
it's much more than physical
My love, my love, my love, love is chemical

My, my, my, my love is chemical
hey baby, my, my, my, my love is chemical
So much more than physical, honey, why don't you come here
my love is chemical
I'd like to communicate with you directly
my love is chemical

So much more than physical

Great day for change

2010-11-02T12:30:00.000-05:00

It is not enough to whine and bitch about my life. It even bores ME. But how does one change? First thinking and then doing. Make plans and try to keep them but make plans rather than lie in bed. Today is a busy day for me and I'm home for just an hour between things.

7 AM, get up, make bed, take shower, get dressed, check email, eat apple.
9 AM, oil change.
9:45, credit union
10:00, Jimmy Johns for the best BLT with sprouts
10:15 vote!
10:30 visit JCC (Jewish Community Center) get tour and apply for scholarship.

This summer I enjoyed the outdoor pool at the condo nearly every day. I noodled around and felt better for having moved limbs about. I also met my neighbors and had fun conversations. There is a very good exercise room here with Precor equipment but gosh it is hard to go that few feet down the hall and around the corner to use it. In the course of work I talked to one man who told me that the best pool in the city was at the JCC. Then I talked to a woman who told me about the water aerobics class there and that they had a sliding scale for fees. She encouraged me to apply for a scholarship.

Exercise is hard for me, getting to it and keeping my interest. I am so very easily bored. I don't like to do it on my own. I am a social creature. I am also fat and out of shape. The condo is literally situated between Bally's and the city recreation center. Yet I do nothing. The woman at work told me about the water classes at JCC. They are from 8:30 to 9:15, on my way to work at 10. Today the membership guy told me they use a special filtration system that uses very little chlorine in the pool.

I have often said that if I make effort, Grace is there to do the rest. All I needed to do was prove my need, (check stub and bank balance) and I was accepted. It won't be free, but it won't hurt either. When we walked over to the exercise wing we looked into a Zumba class. I can't wait to get started. I am excited to take cultural classes and meet new people. Part of the marriage dissolving has been the trying to create new community and to some extent I have succeeded.

Now, the next little step is sending out lots and lots of resumes again. I know if I make the effort, there is Grace to help me.

12:30 pick up the thousand year old parents to go vote.

In the path of hate

2010-10-29T17:13:00.002-05:00

Today I was working as a breaker. That is going from station to station relieving the demonstrators. Gelato was wonderful but pork loin not so much. Anyway I was standing there saying "Pork loin, $2.19 a pound, great on the grill" and such when a middle aged couple comes up and says, "What's that?" "Pork loin," I answer, "Would you like to try some?" Many people say thank you, or no thank you, or ask about sodium or say they don't eat meat. Fine, I don't care, eat what you want. I have never had anything like this happen, though.

The man started to pound his chest and scream, "Allah akbar, Allah akbar! I don't eat pork!!" I see thousands of people each day and the muslims are always polite asking if the pizza or whatever has pork. Never that kind of ridicule. I said, "Please sir, can you be a little sensitive? We have many Muslim people working here and also customers." He started shouting at me and sending hate my way and so did his wife. His final rant was that I would probably vote for Mark Dayton. I turned away from him and gave him no more energy but it was scary to be in the path of so much hate.

I was shaking for a little while but people were so nice and friendly, clearly embarrassed by the way these Americans acted and I soon got over it in time to go relieve the Waffle Fries lady. But I couldn't help thinking about these people on and off for the rest of the day?

What did that man accomplish? Did he accomplish anything remotely positive with his sarcastic, hateful rant? Is the world a better place for his being alive?
I don't think spewing hate and degradation on any religion makes my beliefs more valid. It might attract other haters but it didn't attract others to his cause. It made people around him uncomfortable, and as one woman remarked, it put a hateful energy into the atmosphere.

Unless there is something one can do to improve a situation, screaming about it is not enough. Ridiculing Muslims is no way to make friends and influence enemies. It just made him look like the fear filled ignorant person he is. He did not make the world a safer place at all.

I am so proud of not arguing with him, of quickly disengaging. I said what needed to be said and then ignored him. Clearly nothing I would say would be of any use. Right after I went to the next station, a coworker came by to criticize how I was doing something telling me I would get in trouble if a supervisor saw how I was putting out the pizza. I said, "Give me a break, I can't live in fear." And that is the crux of it. Yes there are Muslim extremists. Yes they have done and continue to do some awful things, no doubt about it. But I will not condemn millions of people for following their hearts and worshipping as they please. There are extremists all over spreading hate in God's name.

People of faith know that the Creator doesn't work that way. You can say you are doing God's work, but unless you are doing it with love, all you are doing is spreading fear.

I chose not to live in fear. I choose to live as a positive person who tries to keep the personal space I live in as a positive port. Let my actions, thoughts, and words comfort others and let others find comfort in my presence.

Clearing the air

2010-10-24T22:33:00.000-05:00

Today I was able to get rid of some negative stuff that has been bothering me for quite awhile. Short story, after I lost my job, a colleague in the same exact position but in another city retired. I applied for her job and got back a letter saying they would not interview me because I didn't have enough experience. I was livid. I'd been doing the job for over 4 years. I thought the man in charge was doing it on purpose to hurt me.

I was demonstrating raisin bread toast and butter today and a man walked by and said he recognized my voice. I recognized his face and asked his name. It was the man who did not interview me. He asked whether I worked there. (Duh, I come in and make toast for strangers for fun.) I was able to say that it was his decision to hire anyone he wanted for that position but quite hurtful to get a letter saying I didn't have enough experience. He apologized and said the letter could have been worded better, but he only interviewed two people.

And then it was over. That string tying me to a past resentment came undone and I am free of bad feelings toward this person. It is over. Should I have let sleeping dogs lie? Not when the last time he saw me I was in a position of power and now I am doing menial labor. I am glad I said something, I am glad to have an apology. Nothing has changed except my perception of an event and it no longer has the power to hurt.

It does make me wonder how many little hurts we carry inside and don't even realize the harm they do to our psyche? I freely give them up, I don't want them anymore! The problem is that many are so deeply hidden. There is almost a fear that if I start to dig them up I will fall in the hole. So maybe it is more like zits. The poison is under the skin and works it's way up to a point of exposure. It is ugly and hurtful but once on the surface it can heal.

I've always been lucky with good skin and dealt with blemishes as they appeared. So, too, with living.

For humans with breasts

2010-10-20T09:56:00.000-05:00

I just came back from my annual mammogram and I feel good. A little smushed, but that is a small price to pay for early detection of breast cancer.

Lately there has been conflicting news about when women should start getting mammograms. Here is the low down that I got from the technician:

History of breast cancer in mother- ten years before it was detected. So if your mother got breast cancer at age 40, you should get a baseline mammogram at 30.

No history, start at age 40 and yearly thereafter.

If insurance says age 50, tell them that was a bad study and the gov't says 40. If you do not have the insurance to cover a mammogram, go on the internet and find who gives low cost or free mammograms. You know all those runs and walks and fundraisers? They are for just that reason. Do not let pride or lack of money prevent you from getting checked.

My mother died of breast cancer at age 42 leaving three children and a grieving husband behind. That was in 1958. My step mother is a 31 year breast cancer survivor soon to be 97 years old. That is the difference in early detection.

Men, this is not only your lady's concern. If during lovemaking you feel a lump or something a little different, bring it to her attention and MAKE her see a doctor. Very often it is just fatty tissue or something else non-threatening. But it needs to be checked out. Check your own male breasts also. Men DO get breast cancer, if you find a lump... check it out with a doctor.

(One last thing, if you have enhancements and are worrying about that, there is technology to get an image that won't ruin your implants. Talk to your surgeon for a recommendation.)

Wishing everyone good health and long life!

Great day for shaking it like Shakira

2010-10-19T23:01:00.000-05:00

Today was a terrific day for me. I slept as much as I wanted to, took a shower and got lots done. Flu shot, credit union, library, fed a friend's cats, and had delicious food. Then I came home to continue the fun.

There is something absolutely lovely about living alone. No one can see me if I draw the shades.

Tonight Shakira was performing on Dancing With The Stars. I tried to keep up move for move. Of course I looked like one of the dancing hippos from Fantasia, except they are a bit more graceful. Doesn't matter. She popped her pelvis, I popped my pelvis, she reached down, so did I. I was shaking it like a polaroid. (Good thing no one took a picture!)

Then I realized if I had a video of Shakira singing and dancing and I followed along, I could have a lot of aerobic fun without watching some hard body in a "routine".

Going to have to look into that, finding a Shakira video. Maybe on Netflix?