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.