Small Joys

Today's email brought several small joys that I want to share because they made me happy. God knows I have no qualms sharing the things that annoy.

There is a site called storypeople.com that sends me a snippet of a story each day. Here's the Story of the Day:

"No Regret
I sometimes wake in the early morning & listen to the soft breathing of my children & I think to myself, this is one thing I will never regret & I carry that quiet with me all day long."

The days of me listening to my babies sleep are long over. I chose to be a stay at home mother when they were young and although it set me back professionally, and income wise, I do not regret a day. I hope one day to be able to listen to grandbabies sleep in my arms. I love the bumper sticker, "Kids are a blessing, so feel blessed." I do feel blessed.

The second email was from Hennepin County Library Author Alert:
The following titles have been ordered by Hennepin County Library:
Nan fang xi xue gui xi lie: ye fang liang chen zhen / by Harris, Charlaine.
Nan fang xi xue gui xi lie : wang zhe ju le bu / by Harris, Charlaine.

I have been reading Charlaine Harris for years. She is the author of the southern vampire, Sookie Stackhouse series that has been made into HBO's True Blood. She is a fine writer and I enjoyed her other series. Because she is someone who has worked hard and brought me hours of reading pleasure it tickled me to see she is published in Chinese AND that my local library is ordering it for patron use. I love Minnesota truly becoming multicultural.

Today I got a lovely wish along with this list. It made me smile. (I am going to try to apply number 12 in my own life.)

New Year Resolutions for Pets

15. I will not eat other animals’ poop.

14. I will not lick my human’s face after eating animal poop.

13. I do not need to suddenly stand straight up when I’m lying under the coffee table.

12. My head does not belong in the refrigerator.

11. I will no longer be beholden to the sound of the can opener.

10. Cats: Circulate a petition that sleeping become a juried competition in major animal shows.

9. Come to understand that cats are from Venus; dogs are from Mars.

8. Take time from busy schedule to stop and smell the behinds.

7. Hamster: Don’t let them figure out I’m just a rat on steroids, or they’ll flush me!

6. Get a bite in on that freak who gives me that shot every year.

5. Grow opposable thumb; break into pantry; decide for MYSELF how much food is *too* much.

4. Cats: Use new living room sofa as scratching post.

3. January 1st: Kill the sock! Must kill the sock! January 2nd - December 31: Re-live victory over the sock.

2. The garbage collector is NOT stealing our stuff.

AND the Number 1 New Year’s Resolutions Made by Pets…

1. I will NOT chase the stick until I see it LEAVE THE IDIOT’S HAND!

Tonight I will put on a pretty dress. I will do my hair and make-up and walk into the ballroom where I first met so many of my new friends. I will dance, and laugh and have fun with no expectations beyond having a nice time. I will be careful driving home and tomorrow morning waken in my own home. I will thank the benevolent forces in my life for the gifts I have been given.

Happy New Year, dear friends. Wishing you love, laughter and health, today and everyday.

Magazine Invaders

Sometime last year the old man signed me up for US Weekly, a truly awful piece of crap. Then Northwest/Delta sent me a letter telling me that my measly miles were not lost! No I could spend them on free magazines. I had to do it by November 30th, though. I filled out the form and forgot about it. Now my choices are coming home to roost. Oy vey. What was I thinking?

First came Vogue, the new designer youth edition with Rachel McAdams on the cover. The clothes are awful. Truly and regrettably awful pieces of garbage that look straight out of the thrift stores but cost the earth. Coco Channel and Pierre Balmain would be rolling in their graves if they knew what outrages are being done in their name.

Next came W. I had always heard it was interesting but I cannot get past the picture of Demi Moore photoshopped to look exactly like a Barbie Doll on the cover. I've seen her in real life, a beautiful woman. Why do they have to make her look so ridiculous? Is that any kind of incentive to buy clothes? I don't think so.

Next came something with a torn cover and something about Elin Woods rage or revenge. I thought it was US Weekly and turned to the back to see who the Fashion Police were lambasting but couldn't find it. Huh? Guess what? It was People magazine. Talk about dumbing down an already dumbed down publication. Makes met think of the olden days before my time; before Charmin and indoor plumbing. Just right for the outhouse.

Aha, something a little intellectual, The Atlantic. The cover poses the question: Did Christianity Cause The Crash? How preachers are spreading a gospel of debt. Plus: The Cash-Only Religion. Yes, that one will definitely go into the bathroom for light perusing. If I didn't have a stomach ache going in, I can easily get one just by reading. At least I was wise enough not to renew Mother Jones, the doomsday magazine for bleeding heart liberals like myself. (I would look at the cover and put it directly into the recycling; I am depressed enough.)

What is this last one? Eating Well? Did I order that? Oh my gosh, real food that I might actually cook. A recipe for cauliflower with cherry tomatoes? I have cauliflower and cherry tomatoes in my fridge. Another recipe for salmon that uses everyday ingredients. Unlike the frou-frou recipes in the soon to be defunct Gourmet magazine, or the ghastly ones in the Kraft Family Food, I can see myself cooking some of these.

I have been trying very hard to keep this new place tidy. But with US and People arriving every week and the others once a month, I feel overwhelmed and overrun. I will bring some to the clinic, I will send some straight to recycling. I will stay on top of them. I do not need to know about all the generic blondes and their stupid lives. I don't have to look at pictures of ugly clothes. I can read what interests me and not feel guilty about the rest. And I can cook cauliflower with cherry tomatoes. I hope it tastes as good as it looks.

Speaking of What Was I thinking?, here is a very cute video done to the inestimable Christine Lavin's song of the same name. Enjoy.

Oddly Sweet Christmas

Christmas Eve has always been kind of low key for us. The girls used to be able to open one gift. By the time S started singing for the mega church everyone was grown and gone. I went a few times with one or the other of the daughters and last year they went and left me home. One tradition for us is Christmas Eve potato latkes, a Chanukah dish.

I wonder if my daughters, 28 and 32 will ever get along. I wonder if the younger and her husband will learn to talk to each other without sniping. I don't even think they are aware of it, but it fills me with dread and stress. I want them to treat each other with more kindness. I think they are basically very happy with each other. I just do not like that kind of communication. It is similar to the old man and old lady and S and me at our worst.

Here is the oddest part. Today, my oldest daughter and S came over for lunch. There was too much snow to go up north. Afterward we walked, (yes, this is so much fun, we walked) a few blocks over to the movies and saw Sherlock Holmes. We walked back and all was well. My first Christmas in my new place, I spent with S in friendship. Who would have thought that could happen?

I received three pair of earrings, a cd copy of my favorite book on tape, cute sox, a tote bag, and a nice little toolkit. The one thing that would have made this Christmas complete would have been knowing I had a job on Monday. I am grateful for what I do have, including this fractured family coming together in a new way.

The Sleeping Single in a Double Bed Shuffle

Start out in the middle,
Soon gravitate to one side.
Wake up soaking.
Get out of bed freezing,
Strip off nightie.
Dry legs and body.
Find new nightie.
Climb into other side.
Leave wet spots to dry
Before I do it again.

(Second verse,
same as the first,
a little bit more tired,
a little bit worse.)

Sidney and Harriet, a love story

Sidney was a delicate child. Through no fault of their own, he and his two brothers were placed in an orphanage even though their parents were alive. It was a hard life and each fought for themselves. There was enough to eat, but most of it was boiled chicken and soup. By his mid teens Sidney was living out on the street trying to survive the Depression. In later years we would ask him where he went to college and he would always say, "The school of hard knocks." I am not sure where he met my mother, Fay, but they worked together in the Baltimore shipyards during most of WWII. They were married seven years before having my brother, and waited five years before I was born and nearly another five before having my sister.

Like many children of chaos, order was very important in his life and my mother took care of the details and made his life go. Fay treated him like a prince. She was diagnosed with breast cancer when my sister was about a year old. She died within the next year leaving Sidney with a two, six and eleven year old.

Harriet says she can remember being in the womb and her birth. Her mother was terribly ill and they told her to nurse the baby to get the poisons out. She says she remembers darkness. Both survived, three younger sisters came after. They lived behind her father's tailor shop and Harriet taught herself to knit using her mother's hairpins before she ever went to school. She memorized the reader the first graders used and the teachers did not know she could not read. She was and is not stupid, but had a learning disability.

Harriet developed early, was extremely pretty and hated school where she was taunted and called dummy. Her parents apprenticed her to a hairdresser when she was fifteen. She became an excellent beautician and her wages kept the family going through the Depression. All her sisters married before she did and she continued to live at home until she was swept off her feet at thirty-one. They married one month after they met. She and Jesse could not have children and he took care of all the details of daily life. He treated her like a princess. She worked three days a week in a beauty shop and went shopping and saw her sisters and their families on the other days. One day, as the saying goes, he wrapped his car around a tree. She was not equipped to be a widow and her in-laws stole Jesse's business. (The laws of inheritance have been changed since.)

After WWII there was a housing crisis all over the country. In the mid fifties the City of New York Housing Authority built Bayview Houses in Canarsie, Brooklyn. Working class people flocked to the new middle income development. Sidney and Fay lived there and so did Harriet's three sisters. My mother's best friend lived in the same building as Harriet's sister Sally. Each had suffered a loss and got to talking.

Sidney brought his two year old along on his first date with Harriet. She thought he was too young for her but really liked the baby. He proved to be just a year younger and they started dating. She was very pretty with curly platinum blonde hair and lovely clothes. She started staying over, "on the couch" every weekend and her mother told her that people were talking. I guess they really tore up the sheets! Against all advice from her family, she agreed to marry Sidney.

The first I, at seven years old, knew of the wedding plans was when they came home one afternoon and my father said, "This is your new mother." We hadn't even been invited. That night, I puked all over the hallway to the bathroom. What an introduction to motherhood.

It wasn't an easy alliance. The Prince was used to my mother rising at 5:00 AM to make his breakfast before he went to work as a sheet metal worker. The Princess was used to sleeping as late as she wanted and a husband who took her out to dinner several days a week. Neither of them were well suited to their particular marriage. Harriet had never taken care of children, nor was she prepared for our particular problems. Sidney had never put a woman's needs above his own. Someone had to give and it was Harriet. But she made him pay.

As children, we needed a mother and Harriet tried. She sometimes would ask me in despair what I wanted from her. I would only be able to articulate that I wanted her to "be the mother." I wanted my mommy, the one who knew me. I wanted to be able to talk about her. I wanted the one who knew to ask me for papers from school, who was able to drive, who took me to the library. I didn't learn until 2005 that my father was the one who hid the pictures and wouldn't allow us to talk about Fay. He couldn't handle it. Harriet wanted to be able to talk about her dead husband but Sidney was jealous.

I do not remember Sidney being violent while Fay was alive. She dealt with things so his life ran smoothly. He had no coping skills and survived the year after her loss by the skin of his teeth. He expected a six year old to bathe and put herself to bed. He had to take care of a sad, neglected baby. He had a pre-pubescent son getting into all sorts of trouble. Having been in the orphanage he had only one goal. He was going to keep his family together. No, different cousins could not have this or that child. We were a family and he would not break us up.

Meanwhile Harriet was trying to get pregnant. She was in her mid forties and knew she was married to a potent man. I think that sex is what kept them together. She says it was the children. I remember her talking about leaving and my brother and I saying we would go with her, not to leave us with our father. And she loved having a little girl who clung to her the way my sister did.

Everyday we would dread Sidney's arrival home from work. We weren't sure why, but we knew we would be hit for something. My mother never bothered him with daily concerns and Harriet was overwhelmed with cleaning and cooking and childcare and absolutely no help. She would tell him what we had done and we would be beaten.

The years went by and one by one all three children left within months of graduating high school. We all looked for love wherever we could find it. My brother tragically died at age twenty-one in a terrible accident. My father retired in 1975. Sidney and Harriet joined many senior groups, they traveled, they continued to fight and make each other pay. But through it all they had a very strong connection and still do. He needs her and she needs him.

They hold hands and miss each other when one goes somewhere. They had an active sex life well into their eighties and he really misses it. She ties his shoes and he wants her to have nice things. She has to put on makeup everyday and although she would like to let her hair go white, he wants her to stay strawberry blonde. He says white hair makes her look old. I say dad she is ninety-five years old. He doesn't want her to look old. He looks great.

Although there have been periods of estrangement over the years, I rescued them from Brooklyn where she was stuck in the apartment and he could not get out of a nursing home. I brought them to Minnesota where they live in an assisted living apartment. Here they have thrived. They are nearly ninety-six and ninety-five and although frail, still enjoy life. For love of my mother Fay, I have learned to put up with a sometimes very nasty man. Harriet and I have made great strides in our relationship and I accept her more.

It has been fifty years since they married in City Hall on a snowy December afternoon. They don't want a big celebration. Today I am making a small reception in their apartment for my children and several other people.

Happy Fiftieth Anniversary Mom and Dad.

Then and now

I spent several hours on Friday at the house. I have been in the condo now about a month and have avoided going back to deal with the den. So many pieces of paper. The bottom drawer of the desk is where I kept papers and cards that were important memories. I hadn't gone through it in many years.

Along with home made valentines and birthday cards I came across a note I had written to S in 2000. In it I am demanding counseling or I was out of there. Why has it taken nine years? Because he did agree to Marriage Encounter and we tried to work it out. No one can say we didn't try.

In the past coming across something like that would have filled me with rage. Why did he waste my time? Why did I hang on and on wasting my own time? Maybe that time wasn't wasted. Maybe we both needed it. Maybe there is another timetable that isn't based on the calendar.

My mother died at forty-two; I was six. My brother died at twenty-one; I was sixteen. From that time until I learned meditation at twenty-one, I always felt I was the next one to die. I wanted to have as many experiences as possible before I died. I lived life very hard in those five years. Of course my idea of living a tough life differs from the conventional model. I never got into drugs because I am a wuss and gave up drinking at age twenty thinking I was too old to feel that bad. Even then I had guardian angels.

When I learned to meditate, when I was given "Knowledge" I had a very strong experience of knowing that I need never fear dying again. If I could be in this moment, and the next, I could understand eternity. I have never been scared of dying since. Now this might make you think I am easygoing about time. Unfortunately I am totally schizoid about it. I like to be on time and hate to be kept waiting. Obviously I am not in the moment at those times.

Here it is, after four in the morning. I have had about three hours sleep. I am not unhappy. I am at peace.

Risk and side effects

Risks and Side Effects.


I woke up a while ago with the words risks and side effects bubbling around the front of my mind. I lay there in the semi dark thinking of where I heard them and what those words mean in real life.

There is a sleeping pill that has caused people to sleep walk or even drive without being aware of their actions. They can also get up and eat and not know it. They will be aware, though, of the terrible taste in their mouth caused not by eating and going back to sleep without brushing, but by the drug itself. I remember killer bad breath after having general anesthesia. If it is like that, it is pretty bad.

There is a drug to stop smoking. Unfortunately one of the possible side effects can be suicidal thoughts. Unfortunately suicidal thoughts often lead to death; a sure way to stop smoking.

This is not a diatribe about drugs. Knowing that I am much less creative while on anti-depressants, and knowing how much I love painting, I still choose to take the drug and create less. I understand the side effects and choose being fairly sane over cutting off my ear. (figuratively speaking) It is only in the recent past that drug companies disclose in easy to understand language what the possible risks and side effects of their products are. Personally, I would rather play on the computer and eat ice cream that I am aware of, than take a sleeping pill. Yet when it comes to drugs I choose to take, I accept the possible risks to reap the measurable results.

But what about life? Do we take the same approach? Do we think that the child we joyfully conceive might be less than perfect? Does it occur to us that the one we give our hearts to might not want it? What about speech? Do we think that our words have power and withholding what needs to be said can be just as harmful?

Some risks are obvious. Play in traffic and the chances are excellent of getting hit by a vehicle. Some risks are less apparent. Drink from someone else's glass and there is a chance of meningitis. We weigh those risks subconsciously. I will take a sip of water from the glass of someone I share kisses with but not from a strange glass sitting on a dirty table.

Yesterday a friend came over to visit. He wanted to meet somewhere neutral and buy me lunch but I blew the time and arrived an hour and a half early. I ate lunch alone and when I finally connected with him he came over to my place. He had something to tell me and didn't know how. Finally he told me he had stopped drinking. He wasn't sure how I would take it. I asked him if he thought I would tell him that was unacceptable and he should stay drunk. No, it turns out he was working his program again and was in the asking for forgiveness step. He felt he hadn't been a very good friend while drinking and had been avoiding me. There was a risk in his mind that I would give him hell and the side effect would have been a tirade. What he got instead was support. What I got was my friend back.

What are the risks in living every day? What are the risks in being yourself? What is the side effect of taking risks? Could your heart be broken, people think you are uncool? What is the risk in being kind and understanding? Will someone take advantage of you? What is the side effect of sharing your abundance? Will others benefit and will that benefit come back to you? There are no promises in this life. I don't want to die knowing I always played it safe and never took risks. I accept there might be some negative side effects but there could also be happiness, self awareness, satisfaction and joy.

Happy and not and happy again.

I am so lucky to be alive in this place and this time. That doesn't mean there are no problems, but right now I am happy.

I look good. I feel good. The sap of life flows through my veins. And the sappiness of happiness makes my face smile.

I have friends and family and a fine place to live. There is food in my fridge and cabinets. Clean sheets on my bed.

Sunday morning I woke up in a pool of sweat, not quite freezing but cold and damp. The phone rang and it was a girlfriend inviting me to a movie. So far so good. I am supposed to see S later today to talk about finances and bills which I always took care of.

I called S to arrange times and he told me he was going to Spin Class. We discussed this for a minute and I found out he used to belong to the Y and would go to Spin every day. Not only did I not know he went to Spin, I didn't even know he belonged to the Y.

We are not together anymore, but why should it hurt to find out just another of the ways he kept secrets from me? Why does he insist he told me? I immediately wanted to go back to sleep and forget it. I just want to avoid, avoid, avoid.

I'm not sure how to "let go". I think I have to tell myself it isn't about me. It is about him and his problems. I need to stop avoiding, just go over and deal with the bills. I need to smile and kill him with kindness. I need to not confront him about anything. Just the facts, Ma'am.

OK, I am happy to have some chocolate in my cupboard and a life to appreciate at all moments, pleasant and not so pleasant, precious all the same.

Part 2.

Here is a follow up to say what happened next.

I met with my friend at the Walker Art Center to watch the British Advertising Award winners film. As usual, it made me laugh and squirm. I do not know why the American car commercials are so boring and the British so creative. Dumbing down?

I called S to tell him I would be over later and took a nap before I went over. We had a moment of tension and got over it. We dealt with bill paying procedure and then had a talk about what is going on in his life. It was a good talk and we were both at peace when I left. I was able to say that I am still in mourning and he was able to respect that.

Being able to acknowledge feeling the loss of a relationship is positive. Admitting that I do not want him or the relationship we had in the past years is realistic. Looking back for the good times when we and our children were young is called nostalgia. Understanding that I am where I should be at this time of my life is priceless. I pray each day for that understanding, and some days it comes and those days I move forward.

Triggers

There is a school of thought that says to listen to your body, to listen to your gut. If there is tension in your neck, what caused it? If suddenly your stomach feels funny, what caused it? Then once you have isolated the cause, you can decide what to do about it to release the tension or bad feeling.

I read something recently that made my tummy feel bad immediately. In one minute though, I knew the reason. In a couple more minutes I was able to stop taking it personally and disassociate. The trick is not to embrace the bad feeling and wallow in it. That is the the safe and familiar response. It takes more courage, and the rewards much more fulfilling to look at the situation with a dispassionate eye and realize I do not have to feel this way.

To connect this philosophy to real life, I am going to be more sensitive to who is with me and try not to say things that might hurt others. For example, last night my grandson's aunt was saying how wonderful his mother was in front of my daughter, his stepmother. Or if you are invited to a private party, please don't talk about it in front of other people who were not invited. I don't see it as censorship or political correctness, I see it as an act of kindness. And we can all use a little kindness.

Mercedes G55o

When I was a young teenager I longed for real Bass Weejuns. I wanted a bleeding madras shirt and soft wool sweatsocks that turned a particular shade of off white. What I got instead was a printed plaid shirt, cotton socks that got baggy and Brand X loafers. I don't think I really wanted the Weejuns as much as I wanted to fit in. I wanted the confidence of knowing the right kind of socks to buy. Thank God for the hippies! I could dress out of thrift stores, wear holey jeans, long skirts, buffalo leather Indian sandals and fit right in.

I have never cared about a car as more than transportation. I am driving a 2000 Camry that just turned 200,000 miles and put on 90,000 mile tires at 185,000. When, in the course of time I get another car, it will probably be something small with great mileage. So it was with great humor that I saw one of the stupidest looking cars ever. It was this huge black thing that looked straight out of the 40's. There was a young blonde mother waiting to pick her kid up from private school in the drivers seat.

The car was a Mercedes G550 V8. I looked it up and it goes for over $100,000.00. Yes, a hundred thousand dollars for a SUV that you will never take off road. I read some of the reviews and it seems to be a sweet ride. The reviewers were skeptical to start but loved driving it.

The argument for buying this piece of conspicuous consumption is that it is fun to drive and rides much better than a Hummer. ??? The old man tells me I don't understand; that money means nothing to people like that. They can afford it, so why not? I don't know why not, just that it feels wrong to me. But then again, I don't care about cars. (If anyone wanted to give me an Audi tt, I would not turn it down, though.)

I will probably never be rich on my own because I haven't put much effort into it. After the old folks die I would like to do some Peace Corp or NGO work. Then maybe I will settle down and find a nice guy with a pension. The old lady, 95, often declares it is just as easy to love a rich man as it is to love a poor one. That may be so, but it is much harder to meet one. Maybe I should have asked the hot young mother where she found hers. Am I too old and round to be a trophy wife? Probably. But you know what? Aside from wishing I could have afforded a better swim club for my kid and a tummy tuck, I am pretty happy with my life and old car.

Thanksgiving Confidential

How funny, I had to leave a club at 12:15 because I was turning into a pumpkin and now I have lots of energy. Contrary as usual.

When we first started talking divorce one thing I said is that I didn't want to give up his family. I love them and they love me and they have been part of my life for over 35 years. So there wasn't any awkwardness except that S was late and everyone was asking where he was. How liberating to say I didn't know. I did my part and when he got there, he got there. No anxiety on my part.

Of course there was a ton of food and dinner was a leisurely affair. My parents had two glasses of wine before eating and a glass of champagne with their meal. I had to cut them off because of medication and equilibrium issues. The old man insisted he only had one glass of wine and suckered Eri into giving him more. The old lady passed out in a comfy chair for awhile. They hardly ever drink and Moscato D'Asti is so very delicious.

After dinner we did a service project for Meals on Wheels. We made tray decorations for Christmas and signed 100 cards. I got tired of signing Carol, and switched off to Beth, then Eli, Sid, Harriet, Tori, Candy, Candee, and Candi with a heart over the eye. LOL. This family really enjoys being with each other and family friends from Chile had a great time, too. About six hours after picking them up, I dropped the old folks back home.

There was time for a nap and then off to a club to hear a wonderful Reggae Band with some friends. It was such a great cultural experience. The men danced alone for quite awhile before any women or couples joined them. I was reminded of ritual mating dances some male birds do. Jamaican men dance very smoothly; I enjoyed watching and then dancing. While I was out on the floor doing my own dance I realized I was probably the oldest one there. I don't look as old as I am and I certainly did not feel out of place.

I am loving my little condo and enjoying life. I have a wonderful feeling that if I am open to whatever comes my way and don't limit myself or others, wonderful adventures await. I have a line on two jobs, both different from the nonprofit work I did before. Having the security of the condo means I can take lower paying jobs. I am not saying no to new ideas. I am saying lets see what happens. I'll keep you informed!

The old folks secret

I took the old lady and old man to the gerentolgist yesterday. He spends a lot of time with them and he was asking them some personal questions. Since my parents have NO boundaries the old lady told him about how much sex they used to have. The old man just smiled and nodded.

Then Dr. S said that they always impress him. He said that for 94 and 95 they are incredibly active. They pooh poohed it saying they were frustrated at all they couldn't do. He said most people don't go out every week to the movies and dinner at their age. My father was aghast. Why?

I said to Dr. S that I thought they didn't think of themselves as old. The old man does not want the old lady to have white hair because it makes her, at 95, look old. Dr. S thought that is the case. They don't see themselves as old.

All this is true. But I will tell you the real secret of their vitality. It is me. It is having a daughter who has arranged that they can live their declining years in a state of ease. It is me, I am who keeps them alive.

He's The Best!

Monday night at about ten the old man called to tell me that his mouth was broken. His teeth had fallen apart and he was scared that he was going to die. "Why will you die, Dad?" I asked. Because if he couldn't eat he would starve to death. He did not want to see his regular dentist, he wanted to see the "good one."

From experience I have learned to actually check out what is going on before making an appointment. Too many times I have taken him to the doctor for some ailment like a bleeding back only to find smooth skin when he takes off his shirt. When confronted he will answer something like, "What the hell do I know?" So I went over yesterday morning and looked in his denture cup. One of his old bridges had fallen off. I took it to the "good one" and he said it could be sandblasted and rebonded.

The old man is in a special program run by an HMO and the dentist of choice is not a member. But he is such a fine person, good dentist, and overall mensch that the old man has no trouble actually paying for services. Dr. W took care of some old decay and rebonded the bridge. It should last him the rest of his life. The old man does not give compliments easily and gave this praise, "He has heart, he's the best."

Have you ever been to a fine craftsperson and even though the work was good, didn't ever go back? Why drive a little farther to eat at a little place when fancier restaurants are closer? It is heart. It is knowing that you are valued when there. It is knowing there is a person behind the service, not a computer and knowing you are not just a number in a line.

Dr W., I salute you. To my friends in blogland who do a little more for others, who make a difference in a customer's day, be it with a smile or problem solving, I salute you, too.

The cable guy came this morning and couldn't get the internet to work. He was flummoxed and is sending the boss over tomorrow, so for now, from the Hennepin County Library, goodbye and good luck. (Maybe I'll be able to piggyback on someone elses internet later, maybe not.)

Enjoy this clip, definitely not Dr.W!

Laughing Again

It is a long time since I lived alone and so far, I AM LOVING IT! I am making myself turn off lights, put away dirty dishes, make my bed, and hang up towels in the hope that as I begin, so I will continue.

When I left the Ashram in 1975 I asked to live in a house with some other followers. They welcomed me but one woman warned me that S really, really, liked me. I asked her why she thought that and she said, "He laughs at everything you say whether it is funny or not." I told her I could handle it. We married later that year and laughed together for a long time. Our house was full of laughter.

How did I know something was wrong in our marriage? The laughter was gone. It was so grim. Every once in a while we would laugh like we used to and I would become hopeful that all would be right again. Alas, it was not meant to be.

Since moving out S and I have spoken several times and shared laughter again. Yesterday he dropped off some books and we were both so happy we had to hug. We were laughing again and it felt so good. It was bittersweet. We were happy because we weren't together. I felt that pang for a minute and then realized that loving someone means wanting the best for them. In this case it means living apart and starting new lives.

He wants the best for me and I want the best for him. Be happy my forever friend. Be happy and laugh.

My Last Night In This House

Thirty-four years and tonight is the last night I will share a roof with my husband. It is 54 degrees and he has decided to sleep on the porch. He hasn't shared my bed in close to four years.

In early January 1975 he entered my bedroom to wake me for meditation. I opened my arms and he came to me. We made love and I saw green light. Later I looked at the calendar and thought I might have gotten pregnant. I asked him what he would do, he said he would marry me. I asked what he would do if I wasn't pregnant, he said he would marry me anyway. We married in September 1975 and our first daughter was born in March 1977.

I am not looking through rose colored glasses; we had problems, but I trusted him and we were pretty happy. On paper, we are perfect. I will never get an answer as to why, but he chose to go a different path from mine. Unfortunately he never told me where he was going and I kept waiting for him to come back. I never cheated, I never looked at another man. I always thought he was kind and so very good looking. He was a wonderful father and still is. He wants our divorce to be fair and has gotten me the money to buy a small condo in a very good neighborhood.

I thought I would have more time to get ready and pack. The nephews are only available tomorrow so I know I will be coming back all next week to pack books and go through papers, etc. Tomorrow we will take the furniture and some boxes.

In a few minutes I will go upstairs and clear boxes off the bed. I will lie on "my side" and look at the moon shining through the tree outside the window. This is the last time. Soon, the new place will be home and this house just somewhere I once lived.

The best part of being grown-up and living in my own home is not having to stay in bed all night. I can get up and read or play computer games or anything else I want. I woke up a 3 AM, (what else is new?) full of ideas for packing. The spice bottles can go in a Sketchers box I found in the other bedroom.

Yesterday a friend came over with some boxes and stayed to talk to me while I cleaned out the bottom of a closet. He sat on the bed and listened to me as I packed. He said I had a lot of shoes, do I? How many is too many? Are five pairs of red shoes excessive? Maybe a man would just put purses in a box, but I had to explain how much I liked each one and where it was purchased.

I had to show him the clothes I had made over the years. The dresses from my ashram days and the cowboy shirt I had made for S before we were married. I am leaving it here. He will probably throw it away, but I can't. I had to show the embroidery on a jumper and tell the blue gown story. I showed him my pathetic Revlon and Ginny dolls and the sock clothing we had made for them. I realized we didn't even use good socks. The toys of my childhood.

Later in the day my friend sent me this text, "It was nice to see you today. I hope you dont suffer from a memory overdose". I am not a big packrat, but I do keep some things. I am not crying over anything, but they are a part of me. Eri made me throw away all the barrettes and ponytail holders from when she was little. Thanks, kiddo.

Part of keeping the house is S having to store things the girls want saved for them. He becomes the keeper of the papier mache' Tinkerbell. He has to keep the needlepoint chairs from Great Grandmother Myrtie. I am starting out taking only the things I want to take. But with only one bedroom, I am not sure where I will put all of it! I'm sure to cull more as I go.

Oh, it is exciting and I am so very glad to be moving on.

Machines of Loving Grace

Tonight I was able to find my way downstairs without any trouble. Between the full moon and the LED displays on various appliances it was quite bright and brought to mind this poem by Richard Brautigan:

All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace

I like to think (and
the sooner the better!)
of a cybernetic meadow
where mammals and computers
live together in mutually
programming harmony
like pure water
touching clear sky.

I like to think
(right now, please!)
of a cybernetic forest
filled with pines and electronics
where deer stroll peacefully
past computers
as if they were flowers
with spinning blossoms.

I like to think
(it has to be!)
of a cybernetic ecology
where we are free of our labors
and joined back to nature,
returned to our mammal
brothers and sisters,
and all watched over
by machines of loving grace.

— Richard Brautigan,1967

He could be a little maudlin, but so evocative.

The Pill Versus the Springhill Mine Disaster by Richard Brautigan

When you take your pill
it’s like a mine disaster.
I think of all the people
lost inside of you.

Richard Brautigan comitted suicide in 1984 at the age of 49. He had many demons including alcohol. He left a very small body of work, some genius, some awful. I for one am very glad to have known of him in his heyday.

Mothers and daughters

I love both my daughters. I used to say one was like a butterfly and one like a tank. Guess which one is most like me? Yeah, the one that runs over anything that gets in her way. One other thing, we are LOUD. She hates it when I tell her to keep her voice down. She tells me all the time to keep my voice down. Yesterday we stopped by to see family with twin babies and we kept startling them with our voices. Sorry, little bunnies. I was born in NY, but I wonder why E is so loud?

E does not like the way I drive, so I leave it to her. As a passenger I get to look around and make comments. I have been told that I "could not BE any more obvious". I have begged for a break. She is so snarky to me! I really can not stand it. She acts like I am an idiot.

And yet, my stalwart girl is always there for me. She came with me to the closing, insisted on taking a picture with me handing over the check. What a cornball. The closing went very well. Because I do not have a mortgage, I only had to sign one document. Totally amazing.

I have given E a key to my new place. She has become my emergency contact. In a few hours she will come over and help me pack. If I want her help, I have to accept that she has her issues with me being me. She told me she expects more from me than living in the past. She has always told me that I am her hero, someone she admires, so I cannot let her down.

I think the line is "To the future and beyond!"

My hope chest

Back in the day I used to watch American Bandstand and read my friends Seventeen magazine. I couldn't imagine the kind of life where one would spend $5 on a pair of socks. I couldn't imagine how one got cool enough to dance on TV. But there was something both those outlets promised. I knew that when I was a senior in high school I could get a miniature Lane Hope Chest. They said so in Seventeen magazine. It was promised on Bandstand.

It turned out that senior girls in certain high schools in certain states could get a miniature hope chest. As in so much else, I was shit out of luck. When I left home at 17, it was with a duffel. I married at 23, out of a commune. I didn't have a wedding shower, hope chest or much else. We moved into a mobile home with 2 melmac plates, 2 sets of cutlery and bowls, a wok, a cast iron frying pan and a used mattress.

Over the years I aquired it all. I even was left a set of sterling silver flatware from a beloved older cousin. My house is full of stuff! Now that I am getting my own place I have started a kind of hope chest for myself. Oh, it is so much fun.

I have new towels and some of the old. I bought a new set of cookware, a new pie pan, and today I bought a Vita-Mix. Yes! After looking at them for 35 years, I bought a Vita-Mix at a wonderful price. The young man demonstrating at Costco made me the most delicious sherbet from grapes, pineapple and spinach. I could do that! I would eat sherbet all day long if it weren't for the sugar. But making my own in three minutes...I can do that. I WANT to do that.

I have a new iron that doesn't leak, and closet organizers. I bought a flat basket for my make-up. I have hope in my heart and sometimes I am so happy at the thought of moving that my smile hurts my face and I almost cry for joy.

There is a lot of work that needs doing on the new place. There is still work that needs doing on me. Just seeing someone from my last job on Saturday brought up how much forgiveness is still needed. I can forgive my husband, my crazy old father, even George W, but I can't give up being angry at the woman who manipulated me out of my job. I vow to work on that. I have to forgive myself for being becoming a victim of her machinations and not seeing what was happening.

Here is the contents of my heart's hope chest:
Forgiveness for myself and others who have hurt me.
Eagerness for each new day.
Kindness to others.
Desire to be a good person.
Appreciation of gifts given, be it a sunrise or pearls.
Awareness of consciousness and the Creator.

A fowl comparison

I heard someone on the radio say "She is more of a Mother Goose than a spring chicken." I even wrote it down so I would remember it. That got me thinking about spring chickens.

I remember watching Peggy Lee on Ed Sullivan. My dad had the hots for her and my mother would call her "your girlfriend". He would disparage Ms. Lee and say she was no spring chicken. Lately he has told me I'm no spring chicken either.

Well, I'm not. For about 5 years I was Mother Goose, though. Since going to dances I realize I am not a pretty peacock (though the showy ones are male).

I used to collect swan images because they have the mythology of being very discerning. Supposedly they can separate milk from water and only drink the milk. Given reflection, that is crazy. Swans don't drink milk at all.

Each year at the State Fair I love seeing the fancy chickens. They are the ones with gorgeous feathers of every hue. Some of the black ones are irridescent and some are speckled, some have topknots and all are beautiful. I love the ones with bootlike feathers around their feet.

So no, I am not a spring chicken and not Mother Goose. I am not a peacock or a swan. I am more like a plump hen with beautiful feathers. You can hold me and pet me and I will hardly ever bite.

(Just a note, I do not have a tiny brain, beady eyes or lice; nor do I peck around in the dirt.)

Lucky ticket

There is a group on facebook called "Be Excellent to Each Other". My niece's mother invited me to join so I did. Tonight was their fundraiser for various children's charities. I asked several friends to go, then my daughter, then my son-in-law who agreed to come out.

The affair was very alternative and I saw tons of tattoos. One was quite nice indeed. I had twenty dollars and after buying one coke had seventeen left. I bought three raffle tickets for $5.00 each. We walked around the tables and tried to decide which prizes we wanted. Spent one ticket on Star Wars collectibles, one on haircuts and waxing, and the final ticket went to Wii games.

It was interesting watching the dynamics going on. I was easily one of the oldest people there and I looked quite nice, almost hip. Ha ha ha. We were laughing and having fun pointing out silliness to each other. We really enjoyed the Karaoke/Guitar Hero/Rock Band. Teams would get up and sing and try to play the faux guitars and drums.

The drawings began at 11. John kept checking our numbers. We didn't win the collectibles; we didn't win the day of beauty. Suddenly John was yelling, we won the Wii games and sword controller! "My son-in-law won!" I told everyone around me. Lots of congratulations. The prize was worth over $275.00!

John was very happy with his prize. I was happy to spend some time with John. He always gets quiet when at my house and he tells me that my daughter gets snarkier with me than anyone else. He always knows who is on the phone just by her tone of voice. He was so nice when she was overseas and I couldn't understand why he had changed. Tonight, we reestablished a good relationship and I'm not going to let my daughter ruin it again.

They say we dislike in others what we dislike in ourselves and I think I push all of her buttons. They also say you can pick your friends but you can't pick your relatives. Oh well...

Screaming Fox

I have never been a good sleeper but last night looked like it might be a good one. First I was awoken by VERY loud music at 12:25. It was Annie Lennox rocking out, the bass thumping through the floor and the voices coming through. Relax, I told myself, don't say anything. At 1:04 I ran downstairs and yelled over David Gilmour that it was late and I was trying to sleep. I did not find out until this morning that there wasn't work for S today. Oh.

But then I went back to bed with my heart thumping and just as I drifted off to sleep I heard a terrible cry. I couldn't figure out if it was a cat or raccoon or even a bird of prey. Then the motion sensor light below my window went on. I jumped out of bed to see what tripped it. It was a fox and it was SCREAMING. Going across one side of the dirt driveway to the other side into the trees. It was alone and screaming. It came out at the end of the trees, screamed, and then went off up the road.

There is a resident fox across the road in a small nature area. Sometimes I will see it at daybreak. It is always silent. I think that something was threatening its territory and it followed it over to our place. Inspection of the area doesn't find anything alarming.

When I first moved out here our neighbor used to feed the raccoons dog kibble. I had never seen such huge raccoons. They would lumber up out of the ravine and eat the kibble. One got in our basement and left huge paw prints and a big turd. Definitely not the cat! Thankfully those neighbors moved and the buffalo raccoons left too.

It will be strange to live in a city again. The building I am moving to is right on a park with walking trails and a small lake. The park leads into a nature preserve. I wonder if I will see deer and foxes and hawks and owls. Living here on my hill has been good. I will miss my porch and the tree outside my window. It will be strange to look across a pool over to a building. Here, I have been isolated and spoiled. I am looking forward to planting shrubs in boxes and doing gardening on a very small scale. I hope there won't be any screaming foxes.

Catching up with changes

I haven't blogged in quite a while because I have been overwhelmed with changes, overwhelmed with life.

In a nutshell, my incredibly wonderful loving brother and sister-in-law are buying my husband and my share of his mother's lake home. They have taken a loan and have given me the proceeds.

I made an offer on a condo in an area that I really like. We will be closing on November 2, 2009. I will move shortly and then begin my life without my husband. We can't divorce until I have health insurance, but we can be legally separated.

I am excited, and scared, and happy and sad. I am a wreck, but a hopeful wreck.

I thank the Creator for the many examples of love at work in my life. Now it is up to me to do my part.

Lousy haircut

A while ago I talked about leaving my hairdresser of many years and finding someone new. I left Katie, not because she wouldn't do the hair for Eri's Sunday wedding, but because of the way she rejected the idea. She did not say sorry she didn't work weekends or that if she did it for me she would have to do it for others. She just brushed me off saying she didn't work weekends. Then it hit me, we were not friends, we were just customer and hairdresser. I found Gina who was kind of crazy but did nice work. Then she had hand surgery and someone else cut my hair and it was fine.

I had been letting it grow out and it was curly but out of shape. Today I went in and had a stranger cut my hair. She really was strange. She looked at least my age but was ten years younger, skinny, and I mean skinny, had teased black hair with a fire engine red streak and odd clothing. I told her what I wanted and then closed my eyes. I have a lot on my mind to think about and enjoyed the silence. When I opened my eyes I found she made my hair much shorter. Then she blew it out and I looked old.

I took a nap this afternoon and when I got up it looked better. Still too short, but not as old ladyish. And as I tell myself, it will grow. In the grand scheme of life, a rotten haircut is not much to worry about.

God Wants Me To Know

There is an application on facebook called "God Wants You To Know". This is my message for today:


"On this day of your life, Carol, we believe God wants you to know... ... wealth does not come from your bank account, wealth comes from the depth of your heart.
What you really want is happiness. You might believe that a fat bank account will get you there, but that's false. Happy people are happy rich or poor, unhappy people are unhappy rich or poor. Money simply masks your real being by giving you activities to occupy your mind. Don't fool yourself, recession or not, your true wealth comes from your heart and is always only there."


Absolutely right! Now here comes the but...I need to pay bills, etc.


And suddenly I realize it is true. Wealth does come from my heart and the love I have inside. Wealth comes from appreciation of life. Wealth is more than money. It is true that we all need to take care of the physical side of life and there is nothing wrong about having enough to be comfortable and have a cushion. But wealth, real wealth comes from understanding the gift of life. From getting joy over seeing a leaf turn red or a baby in a papoose.


Those of you who know me, know I experience depression in varying degrees. I've had some hard days where I have felt like giving up, that I have nothing more to live for. That I was too old to do any good in this world and no one to experience love heart to heart. And I have had good days, where I see that life is playing out perfectly. I might not understand where the story is going, but I am enjoying the ride.


I love quirky movies. I like to sit down and not know what is going to happen. I want a surprise, a twist, a story within a story and an unpredictable plot line. I loved the first Rocky. I don't see all the movies about the underdog overcoming the front runner. I could write them myself.
Give me enthusiasm, give me fun. Make me laugh...God knows I do enough crying. And help me remember that true wealth comes from within.

Thoughts

At what point do I have to stop calling my younger daughter baby girl? To me she is a beautiful grown woman, but when I am concerned, she is still my baby girl. There was an article in USA today that says mothers and daughters should not be too close. That mothers need to let their daughters grow up, not become "best friends" but maintain a closeness that allows their daughters autonomy. Sounds good.

I have been blessed with a wonderful mother in law. She was there when I needed her but kept her nose out of my business. I want to be a wonderful mother and mother in law. I was recently concerned about her and used the phrase "I don't know what to do" and my brother in law told me I didn't have to do anything, it wasn't my problem. Wow. I have enough to do to take care of my parents and he was letting me know he was taking care of his. Fair enough, but I will be concerned and I will let her know I care and am there for her if she needs me.

This has been a funny Labor Day Weekend. I thought I might go away or to a party but mainly just took the folks out to a free outdoor concert at Lake Harriet and to dinner at the Chatterbox in Edina. Sunday I went to Big Lots and spent lots and today watched a video. It was Woody Allen's "Sweet and Lowdown". It was good, but not great. Wonderful performances by the ensemble but the story went nowhere. It was a "mockumentary", totally fabricated fiction. Not based on a real person at all. Just before the end I said I didn't know how they could end it. A moment later someone on screen says they don't know what became of the main character. I thought it was a cop-out.

I hope my baby girl feels better.

Warning: Feeling jangly

I am having a hard day and need to vent If you don't want to hear about it I won't mind if you leave. OK. Forewarned!

This month had more days than money and that is always hard.

I'm sad because I was going to be in my own place by September 1st and I am not. The person who I was going to share a house with could not commit and I can not find a place I can afford on my own. We have not been preapproved for a mortgage so I can't go forward on getting a condo. I do not have a job so cannot get my own health insurance and a divorce. I feel like I am falling into the pit of despair and know that my attitude is going to make all the difference in the world. I am also feeling as hormonal as anything.


Still having computer problems so I am typing this at the library. Hennepin County Library is really wonderful and has a ton of computers both out in the main room and here in the Lab. I like working in the computer lab because it is quiet. Just the sound of keyboards and scanners. Someone had a loud headset on and I asked him to turn it down and he attacked me. I asked if it was bothering anyone else and someone said yes. The guy asked why nobody said anything and I said, "Because they are Minnesotans!" Blessed silence.


I am not a Minnesotan although I have lived here longer than anywhere else in my life. I like it here but I do not have the homegrown reticence to avoid confrontation at all cost. I don't like making others feel uncomfortable, but I hate getting more and more resentful because no one is brave enough to say anything and call attention to themselves. Your right to listen to crappy music ends where my right to a quiet room begins. Your right to smoke ends where my right to breathe clean air begins.


I am on the horns of a dilemma. Someone came to my house and acted rude to me and my guests. Do I say something or let it pass? What if I see it as indicative of other, worse, behavior? Do I say something or let it pass? And the worst part is that I do not trust my own judgement. My father is a real piece of work. But then he can be so nice. Then he will treat me poorly and I will get mad because I trusted the good part more than the bad. So too, do I trust the rude guest. When he is good, he is very very good, but when he is bad, he is horrid. I want to believe that I am seeing aberrant behavior and that he isn't hurting someone I love dearly.


My marriage has gone south as the saying goes, but at one time it was good. I know what kindness looks like and I know what alarms me. The behavior I am seeing is not violent or verbally abusive, but it is not kind. It is passive aggressive and that is very hard to counteract.

Yesterday I did what I had to do for the old man. I bought him a new lamp, just what he wanted. I also dealt with some of his banking. He has little bits of money all over the place. I closed out one account for $600.00, transferred some from a savings to a money market, and wrote another check for $1500. from the money market into his everyday checking. Then I went to another obscure bank that he had found and transferred all of his $500. account into the old lady's account and closed that checking account. He asked me how much he actually has and I told him about $60,000. In truth, he has less than $10,000.

Someone on facebook has a dog on dialysis. I mentioned that I thought it was time to consider the quality of life and let the dog pass over that rainbow bridge to doggy heaven. A woman with MS says she supposes that I think she should be put on the bridge, too. Yeesh! There is a difference between dogs and humans! And just for the record, I think when life is too painful, and all quality is gone, people should have a choice. I know there is a difference between depression and end of life issues. Many people do not, so I guess to protect everyone we don't allow people to make that choice for themselves. At least legally we do not. If someone wants to die, they will arrange it somehow.

I remember how easy it was for Marshy. One moment she was alive, and before the injection was finished she was gone. I remember how Lily died in her own time, and up to that last day she was happy. And I remember how my little Siamese suffered up to and including the last trip to the vet. Marshy was in distress and we made the right decision. Lily seemed to be doing OK and I feel like we made the right decision, too. But Baby was in distress and we did not make the right decision. We let him suffer too long, when we could have eased his last few unhappy, disoriented days. I still feel bad about that, we just didn't think he would last so long.

Alright, here is an affirmation so anyone who reads this doesn't feel like putting their head under the blankets. "That which doesn't kill us, 1. makes us stronger, 2. teaches us something, 3. lets us keep on living." The other message which I am sending myself is to stop being such a drama queen and get over myself. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Adrenaline Rush

When I let myself get so upset it takes days to get over it. My meltdown on Friday left me quite lethargic on Saturday. But the bat that scared me on Sunday morning really got my adrenaline going. I was out of the bed with the door slammed in no time at all. It was quite hard to fall asleep afterwards with cats climbing on top wanting to join me on the couch. Eventually I did fall asleep and have been quite cheerful since.

Mr Tolliver Grote, in Going Postal is full of noxious home remedies such as putting sulphur in his shoes and bread pudding poultices. He claims that it "clears the tubes". I feel like my tubes are cleared now and it is full speed ahead. Just after I get a few hours more sleep.

Hysteria and Perspective

As this week has progressed, I have been crazier and crazier about losing the phone and internet lines. It wasn't because I need them so much; I have a cell phone and can use the internet at the library. It was because I was being lied to, manipulated by outside forces and generally felt out of control. It was like everything I wanted to do was being controlled by the stupid lies.

Today, I totally lost it. I just lost it. I was in a frantic state and could hardly breathe and was crying upset to the point of craziness. I called Erica and she thought someone had died. She calmed me down, took the information and called Qwest. She told me to lie down and I did. I read a little Dave Barry and actually smiled. When I was calm I went out for a while. I came home and the technician came and made sure I had service. When I went online I found out that a friend's son had died in a skydiving accident.

Not to get all hippy trippy, and totally accepting that I have been working myself up all week, I think my hysteria and when my friends heard about their son was about the same time. I don't know if there is any correlation or I was super sensitized to what was happening.

The young man, Eli Thompson, was 36, a professional stunt diver, husband, and father of two little girls. His wife is eight months pregnant with their son. I remember when my brother Stuart died. My parents were devastated, as are my friends. But I think of this pregnant woman, trying to make sense of anything and comforting her daughters, and trying to be comforted and my heart goes out for the terrible pain that is spreading through their family and friends.

Oh my, oh my...I make a fuss because I am feeling manipulated. As Erica said, she thought someone had died. Someone had, I just did not know it.

"Is there any remover of difficulty save God? Say: He is God, all are His servants and all abide by his bidding." -The Bab.

Ranting and Raving

Monday evening I lost phone and internet service. I called Qwest repair and they told me I didn't have trouble on the line. Next morning I called the billing office to see if I hadn't paid the bill or something. They had not shut off the service so I called repair again. They told me someone would be out between 3 and 7, no later than 8. I asked if it was ok for me to go out before then and was told that was fine. At 8:15 I was told there was no repair order. I got pretty upset and asked to speak to a supervisor. He calmed me down and told me someone would be there between 8 and noon today. At 12:30 I called back and asked where the repair person was. I was told he would be there by 4:30. I went ballistic. I wanted to know why they couldn't call me to say why they would be late?

At 4:15 a repairman came and tested that I did not have service. Duh. He followed the line and found that it must have been pulled down on purpose in my neighbor's yard. He tried to get a bucket truck but was not successful. I was just called on the cell phone asking if it would be ok if they came out tomorrow morning? Please.

So here I am at Hennepin County Library using their computers and internet and realizing that as we get more and more dependent on the internet, we are becoming more vulnerable to technology. No electricity or gas or phone, and I as a semi-modern woman am lost. I can stand an occasional weekend in a rustic cabin with an outhouse and pump. But I want my ATM and phone banking. I want to pay bills online. I want modern life.

There are people in Africa and other parts of the world who walk miles for dirty water. When my phone service is restored I am going to make a donation to Play Pumps International as a gift for being so blessed in my life and for the awareness of how spoiled I can be.

My great niece and nephews.

Today I had the fabulous experience of holding Owen, (what a chunk a bunk) while watching Emma hold a sleepy Dylan. Ethan was talking to me and little Linnea slept in her swing. Oh it is so precious, dear nephews and nieces. Enjoy these little bunnies; their tummy aches, and ear infections are nothing compared to the joy of holding them, experiencing their smiles and knowing you are the center of the world.

The old ladies used to say "It goes so fast!" They were right. Sleepless nights pass, as do hours spent at the pool or soccer field. I believe you can have a full and happy life without children, but I sure am glad to have had mine and I will always admire these miracles of love where and whenever I come across them.

I love being a Grauntie!

Ten days without blogging...something and nothing to say

First the nothing. I have not gotten a job yet, nor am I closer to living on my own.

I went up to Barnum earlier in the week to see Betty's mechanic and body shop men. Aubrey, the mechanic took a look at the Camry and thought it well worth repairing. Said I needed new light bulbs and to have a welder look at where the exhaust pipe came off the engine. Otherwise I was fine. He thought ten dollars more than fair for his time. Gotta love it. Then we went over to Tony Grimm's shop and he wrote up an estimate of $450. to fix the bumper and light assembly and another forty to knock the rear bumper back into alignment. That was Monday. I came back on Wednesday night and dropped it off at 8:30 on Thursday morning. It was done this morning. I had been missing a front wheelcover and he found one that sort of matched and threw it on for free. Then he decided to only charge $470. for a job he estimated at $490. Some things are better in small towns for sure! Thank you Betty.

After we dropped the car at the body shop we went back to the house and had a quiet morning. After lunch we went in the lake. It was so warm. I was very glad to be wearing my rubber shoes though. Clams and stones and weeds, oh my. Dinner at Hanging Horn Village where they have big city prices. I think their food is fine, but not all that wonderful. It is, though, the only decent place around for miles. As usual Betty knew some people there.

Today we went to Jay Cooke State Park. I haven't been there in at least ten years. The rock formations were as timeless as ever. We had a good time hiking around and enjoying the scenery. We arrived around nine and left at eleven, just as crowds were getting there. I loved looking at the water and rocks and Betty was able to tell me about some of the flora. We walked down to a protected part of the back water and Betty identified deer, wolf, and bear tracks. I thought they were just holes in the sand. I bow to greater knowledge.

Betty gets around so well it is hard to remember she is 84 years old! I saw some of her hesitation and helped her down over some of the rocky trails. Although she is easily offended, she took none as I offered my hand. I told her it put my mind at rest to see her accept help when she needed it. I reiterated how sensible she was and that we would not have to worry about her being alone in the house when it got too much for her.

Here is the problem. She is stubborn and can not hear very well and thinks people are talking down to her. When we sat at the gas pump I asked her what side the door was on. She got all defensive and told me she knew where her gas door was and hated when people treated her like an idiot. I sat for a moment and said I was only asking because a man was filling a gas can on the other side and sometimes I went to the far side and pulled the nozzle behind the car. I was just asking, I wasn't telling her what to do. She had to regroup and apologize but did tell me it drove her crazy when people spoke to her in words of one syllable as if she was an idiot.

When we were at Autumn Voices choir practice on Monday, she had to have everything repeated. She has no idea of how deaf she is. Scott says he would like to fit her with new hearing aids that would help her singing. Betty tells me she has two swim suits, one that I bought her, and one she bought on her own. But what she goes swimming in is just awful. She wears an ancient pair of bleach splotched shorts and a Helly Hanson singlet that not only is full of holes, it is almost indecent. The yoke is grey, but the chest is white nylon, so her nipples show through. Oh boy. I asked if she has a philosophical objection to the suits. She finally admitted that she is not going to be 130 pounds again and doesn't like the way she looks in a bathing suit. But she doesn't mind her nipples showing, I asked. She did laugh and admit it was silly.

When we were at Jay Cooke we were told that the water was Root Beer colored. I said I always heard it called tea colored. Later on when we were in the lake I mentioned that when she was on her back, she was having a Root Beer Float. Aren't I the witty one? And if she washes her hair in the lake, which she does, that when she is all lathered up she is a root beer float with whipped cream. Big groan, but I liked it and would have gone on ad nauseum, but took the hint and shut up. How lucky I have been in my in-laws. Poor Scott has not been quite so lucky.

This week my breasts have been so tender, and I was experiencing cramps, just like I was expecting my period. Imagine my surprise to get a period after eleven months. I thought I was done and didn't miss it for a minute. I was so looking forward to September to be able to say I was there, in menopause. I am fifty-seven years old and really ready to be done. The PMS I had this week was truly awful. I lost my temper with the old man and could have hurt him.

On Tuesday night the old lady said the old man was crying that he wanted to go to the beach. I knew I had to get up to Barnum but I said I would take him on Thursday at 2. About ten to two I called to say I would be late. The old lady couldn't hear me so the old man got on the phone and I gave him the message. By the time I got there at 2:20 he got himself into a snit about why I was late. Now the last thing I wanted to do was go to the beach and here he was giving me shit about my time management skills. I told him I called, he insisted I did not. We got in a shouting match and I hit him with a towel. I am so appalled at my action that I feel like I should be put in jail. I haven't hit anyone in over twenty years. I can't begin to tell of my shame at hitting this frail old man with a towel. I know he can push my buttons, but this was like lighting a flame to dynamite. When I saw my blood on Thursday, I was relieved. I am still mortified at my actions, but can blame it on my hormones. That doesn't make it right by any standard, but at least it makes it understandable.

I've just listened to the phone messages. My mother called to say "Thank you, thank you, thank you for making my life easier. I love you." Oh my God, I feel like such a heel.

Comedy of Errors, Confederacy of Dunces, or: My Day and Welcome to it.

I couldn't sleep well last night, knew I had to be somewhere at noon. I was in a deep sleep at 9:30 when the phone rang and woke up sort of jangly. It was my father. I told him I would pick him up at one for his appointment. He told me they were out of "everything". I told him to make a list and we would go to Cub after his appointment.

Every now and again I get called to take a taste test. I got to the place and saw posted places where I should park as opposed to general parking. Don't ask me why or how, but I turned into a spot and promptly scraped a brand new, no plates yet, van. I pulled out and parked in the empty next row. I did not even stop to look at my car. Oh my goodness, what have I done? There is a part that wants to run away and pretend it never happened. That is the bad karma creator and the price paid is more than any deductible! I found the owner who was just lovely to me. She had only had the van since Friday and was totally mellow. Not me. But as she pointed out, the work needed to be done whether she flipped out or not. What a woman. She has my information and I am going to pay her deductible. It is not fair for her to suffer for my stupidity. I don't know if I will fix my car or what. New front bumper and light and who knows what? Maybe look into getting something new, or newer. I would like something like an old time Volvo, built like a tank but with better mileage. OY.

Nice taste test. Amazing they can make food that has no smell or taste, but there you have it. If I told you what the product was I would have to kill you. Got the old man to Dr. Stockman and found out he almost weighs 140 pounds. That is good. I wish I weighed that much. Of course at one point I had to leave the room for the obligatory questions about Viagra. Dr. Stockman pointed out that not only do those drugs not work for him, he has a wife who is NOT interested in sex anymore, and hasn't been since she was eighty-eight.

Off to Cub Foods for ice cream and cereal. The old man picked out eleven, count them, eleven boxes of cereal. Everything from Raisin Bran to Reeses Puffs. "Dad, that cereal is chocolate and peanut butter." I was told to mind my business. By this time his ice cream was starting to melt. He picked out two large Bryer's, four Haagen Dazs, and three Ben and Jerry. I managed to put two of the Haagen Dazs away behind his back as he was studying Ben and Jerry. Nathan's hot dogs, buy one, get one free! He also is becoming addicted to precooked Johnsonville Brats.

By the time I got home I was wiped. I realize that my attitude doesn't help. I am not patient and kind. I am impatient and pissy. Can I blame it on menopause or should I just bite the bullet and blame myself? I am not where I want to be doing what I want to do.

I asked Dr Stockman what was the old man's life expectancy. He said he had already exceeded it. I asked if he could live another five years and was told it was quite possible, or he could pop off at anytime. I have taken on the burden of my parents quite voluntarily. Doe tried to prevent me but it was something I felt I had to do. Now I have to see it through, no matter how long it takes. Please, dear Creator, help me do it with love.

This, that, and the other

1. This

Yesterday I looked at places to buy on Craig's List. It is definitely a buyers market. I decided to drive down Cedar Lake Road and look at some of the addresses and see what was happening at open houses. There was an open house in Greenbriar at a town house I can't afford but I had a great talk with the realtor. She is going to show me some things she knows about. I liked two addresses in Ridge Drive. I do not like the ones way down on Cedar Lake Road. They can't seem to give them away. But here is where my philosophical mind gets active. Is it right to ask for a lower price from people who are already in distress? Does this create bad karma, or at least bad real estate karma? As far as short sales go...the bank owns them, I think. If I wanted to live in Brooklyn Park I could get a townhouse for less than sixty thousand. I do not want to live in Brooklyn Park or Center. I do not want to live north. One realtor I spoke with on the phone is going to look into the building near Excelsior Grand. I would love to live on Wolf Park.

It is looking like I can only afford a one bedroom. This makes me a little sad because I have been toying with the idea of doing foster care. I thought of taking in teenagers. This is probably a bad idea because you can't pick and choose and say only give me kids who need temporary shelter while Mom is in the hospital. Don't give me messed up abused kids who need so much more than I can give. Still, the idea of a sweet teenager who needs me is appealing. I am not always a realist.

2. That

After driving around looking at neighborhoods I had an omelet at Perkins and went to see Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. It is a conundrum, alright. How to cut the book and still keep the essentials of the story? Erica and I have eaten up all the books on CD. Jim Dale does a fabulous job of reading. The mind can form a picture so quickly from the words, but it does take a very long time to listen to twenty or more discs. Laurel has not read or listened to the books and only knows the story from the movies. She is enjoying each installment and getting the essentials. But I can't help wishing there was more to the films. The suspense of getting across the lake to the false horcrux is just a fraction of the book. The entire battle at Hogwarts is eliminated and although Dumbledore has the same end, the spell he puts on Harry so he can not assist is not shown. Too much quiddich for me, although I can see that the children needed a way to ease the tension. All in all, it was a good film. Was it as good as the book? No, but it did what it needed to do.

3. The other

My sweet sister turned fifty-three years old yesterday. Only grown-ups have sisters that old. If I am four and a half years older, am I grown up? Is she grown-up? Happy birthday, Doe! May this year bring laughter and love and fun and adventure. And, as always, wishing you the very best of health. You deserve it!

Buttons Part 2

Last night I wrote about my own buttons. This morning I pushed some myself. I didn't mean to, honestly I didn't. That is the worst part, I just don't know what I can say that won't cause a reaction. I hate walking around on eggshells. I hate watching every word that comes out of my mouth. I hate living in silence for fear of pushing buttons. I hate hiding upstairs.

Today is a good day to find a place I can afford to rent.

Buttons

I was going to write about the old man and the way he can push my buttons. And he does, push my buttons, that is. He acts like a petulant child and I go off my rocker. He doesn't learn, and I don't learn. Then I started thinking about other buttons. Scott and I were talking about a conversation we had and he said I said something and I said no I said something else and we each pushed the other's annoyance button. I think he doesn't listen and he thinks either I don't know what I said or that I was unclear. Oh yeah, we all have buttons. Sometimes we see it happening and other times it takes a while to understand that our buttons have been pushed.

I started thinking about other buttons; how we react to other stimuli. Show me a baby and I smile. I can't help it. Kiss the back of my neck and I melt. Be kind to me and I forgive. But what about the more subtle buttons? Show me that you care for me and I care for you. Look like you need me and I will give to you. What is automatic and what is thought out action?

There is a lot of talk about living a mindful life. Of weighing one's actions before acting. About thinking about what we are doing before doing it and seeing if what we are about to do is of benefit to self, community and planet. Sometimes I am defiantly mindful. I know this ice cream or chocolate is not good for weight, cholesterol, or diabetes, yet I eat it. I want what I want when I want it.

What I really want is a positive life with purpose. Right now I can't seem to achieve it. So instead of focusing on working harder at what needs to be done, I will have some ice cream. It makes no sense except that it is something that I can have right now.

There are some phrases that describe my dilemma, ie: can't fight my way out of a paper bag, can't get myself arrested, my own worst enemy, self defeating behavior. I know I have to do it on my own, but I really wish I had a twin who would keep me motivated and on task. (That or a good friend to kick me in the ass.)

What are the buttons I can push to achieve my goals? I'd love to know.

Roses are red...

I'm not much of a gardener. I have tried, though, and my results have been abysmal. I have no patience. I don't like digging in the dirt. I don't like weeding and and usually have very little luck with most flowers and veggies. I can't see spending a bunch of money on a pot with a tomato plant that isn't going to produce for me when I can get good ones from the farmer's market. Petunias get rangy every time but I can grow geraniums, begonias, and roses in pots.

My mother-in-law is green to her elbow. She can grow anything and her house plants are the best. She tells me she has never been able to grow roses. Roses are easy. They just want to be told they are beautiful every day. They like encouragement over every bud and exclamations of just how miraculous each blossom is. Oh sure, once in a while you have to spray or add some fertilizer, and it is important to keep them watered, but roses like the personal touch.

Geraniums and begonias like to be told how nice they look too. They do well with compliments. But they are like the chorus of dancers in a ballet; all looking alike and best in bunches. A simple, "You are looking beautiful today, girls" and in passing, "I'll bring you some water tomorrow" and they are happy to bloom for one and all.

Roses, though, are like the prima ballerinas. Each plant has very few blossoms and they are all precious. Each takes a turn opening up a bud and revealing the lovely color and fragrance within. After each star's turn, the stage goes dark and days or weeks go by until there is another show. Roses make you get involved. They demand daily tribute and attention, if only to say, "Look, another bud." They want to know you notice.

Last year I spent a ton for brand name roses. I had to start them from bare roots and never really got many blossoms. This year I went back to Home Depot and bought what was on sale. This year there is no theme. One plant produces huge red roses, the others have smaller blooms in a salmonish color, or white with pink edges or lovely pink. I bought one plant that is silvery lavender. I treat them as annuals, knowing that they will last only one season. Last year I learned it is wise to use new soil in the planters each year. That was a real case of "who knew?" I will tell you who knew, people who know how to garden is who.

I jokingly say I am a delicate flower. I would like to think of myself as a rose but I know I am not. Years ago a friend told me I was a Pink Carnation, strong and spicy, common and complicated, and very long lasting. I guess I can live with that. I can grow with others and stand alone or in a group. I don't have thorns and can be a welcome sight. No one gets upset over the price of a pink and no one jacks up the price of carnations for holidays.

My list for Tuesday

I don't sleep at night. I never have been what is called a good sleeper. Yet, I do need a lot of sleep. Several years ago I was diagnosed with sleep apnea, but the machine doesn't seem to help very much, when I can stand to use it. Consequently I am up a lot at night, like right now. I will probably fall asleep at about six, and then sleep until ten. It is not a good way to live.

Here, in no particular order other than just thinking about it, is my list for Tuesday:
Find out which bank the old man is bouncing checks on and try to get some answers!
Bring up Coke tops to enter into the computer. I hate that.
Fold towels
Pay phone and electric bills
Call Prostaff and Intrepid agencies
Vacuum the upstairs and stairs, yeah, right.
Get that letter to Credo started.
Call Extrados
Change sheets on bed
Put away laundry
Go to JR's for Patti's birthday.

Patti is a pretty conflicted woman. She is sort of nuts around me. Half of her is still mad over a remark I made over a year ago. I apologized profusely and sometimes she accepted and sometimes she didn't. Finally I said "Look, I'm sorry, but that is the last time I will apologize." What she didn't realize is that every time I said I was sorry, it brought up the thing she did to hurt me that prompted my remark. And never once has she apologized for that. But, I do like the Tuesday night get together and she is part of that group. I picked up some little Mikasa Christmas votives at The Hope Chest for Cancer for $2.00. She collects that crap, so I know it will be a big hit. If it is the thought that counts, what does that say about me? I'm thoughtful and super cheap.

Here is what should be number one on my list:
Be a good person with love in my heart for myself and all of Creation! And get off my ass and do stuff.

What just happened?

My birth mother, Fay, had a good friend. I think they went to Brooklyn College together at night. Her friend had three children, Michael and his two sisters. Michael loved my brother Stuart and some years ago we found each other online. When I joined facebook, he became a friend and we would chat quite often. He liked hearing about my life and he often bemoaned how much he missed Beverly, a woman who had grown up in my building and now lived in Montreal. They would see each other every other month or so. He recently told me about the vacation they were planning and how much he was looking forward to spending two weeks with her in Maine. I remember asking if they were camping and if they were going to go to Kennebunkport. My last question was if he was flying or driving. I logged out and didn't think much more about it. Tonight when I checked my email I found this message:

Carol,
As you know I am in a long term relationship that is extremely important to me. I think talking with you is inappropriate and therefore it is best that we no longer communicate through facebook or any other means.
Mike

I had a real wtf? moment. What was going on? What had changed? Was I inflaming his imagination and had become a threat. And did I care? After some thought I wrote back to him:

Oh my goodness. I had no idea we were doing anything more than light conversation. I never want to be a source of pain for anyone, male or female and hope I have not hurt Beverly or you. What a shame to lose an old friend, but I will respect your wishes.
Be well,
Carol

I have never entertained any sexual thoughts about this man. The fact that Beverly, who I always thought of with the highest respect was in love with him blew my mind. Believe me, he is not the gods gift to women. But people are strange, and maybe he created something that wasn't there except in his mind. I know it is not the first time someone has had a totally imaginary affair and as I don't want him to mess up his relationship with his girlfriend, I agreed not to contact him. I can accept almost anything if I can figure out a reason. I am sure I was one of those children who constantly asked why? The only problem I have with this whole thing is that by not contacting him again I cannot ask "Why? WTF?"

Since joining facebook, I have reconnected with many people from my youth. There are so many I do not recognize, not even their names. I have to ask myself why they want to know me now? That was another life, and it wasn't always happy. But I think some people come in and out of our lives for a reason that we can't always see, and I am happy that people want to be friends.

Michael, I did not miss you when we didn't communicate for thirty years. I wish you well. And in a strange and twisted way, thanks for thinking of me as a femme fatale. The mind is a terrible thing to waste! (Oh, and by the way...if you don't want your chat read by others...remember to clear your chat.)

Addendum: Was contacted by a friend who was contacted by this man and knows about several others. It isn't only me. Readers, be careful of who you deal with online.

Going to the cabin

I am going up nort' to da cabin. My friend has invited me for a couple of days, we leave today and come back Thursday. No weekend traffic. If being unemployed is good for something, it is being able to take off in the middle of the week. There! A silver lining.

This is a real cabin, and the first time I walked in I had such a flashback to when I lived up in the mountains and rented a tiny house. It smelled the same. (I have an idea it might be dead mice...) There is a sleeping porch, and when I sat up in bed the first morning, there was the great outdoors. No windows, just screen and nature. Of course the call of nature had to interfere and off to the composting outhouse. It is not supposed to stink, but it does. There is a pump for fresh water, and electricity for the fridge and gas for the range. Not really roughing it, but not a modern place either. Generations of orphaned china, glasses and blankets have found their way here. Some great grannies wedding silver resides here, too. Yes and all the dull knives from various cousins kitchens too. But...there is also a toaster, microwave and coffee maker. Old games and modern music via a cast off stereo system. Someone with a bit of whimsy in their soul put up crazy Christmas lights. I recognize the chili pepper lights.

The last time I went up I experienced true relaxation. I didn't expect anything and there was no where to go. I slept and played cards and ate good food. I laughed and cooked and washed dishes in a pan with water heated on the stove. I don't think I want to live this way, but it is a lovely way to spend a few days, a peaceful interlude to break up the week. Look at the time! I have to pack (but I don't need much).