Y2K+10

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

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

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

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

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

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

While my hair turns purple

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

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

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

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

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

There goes the timer now.

A Different Christmas

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

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

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

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

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

Bending time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Decreasing Holiday Stress

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don't disrespect your spouse

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

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

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

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

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

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

Magazine covers

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

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

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

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

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

Optimism and Depression

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

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

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

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

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

I dreamed of Snooki

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something is screwed up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bean salad, an easy decision, a hard balance

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great Big Reality Check

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3:33, I kick the cat

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

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

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

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

The watcher within

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

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

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

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

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

False Eyelashes

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

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

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

LOU REED
LOVE IS CHEMICAL

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So much more than physical

Great day for change

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the path of hate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clearing the air

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


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


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


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


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

For humans with breasts

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

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

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

No history, start at age 40 and yearly thereafter.

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

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

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

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

Wishing everyone good health and long life!

Great day for shaking it like Shakira

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

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


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


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


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

Mr Mischief

Look at him lying there on top on Piper. Makes you think he is just a sleepy kitten. Just a defenseless little baby who gets taken advantage of by his big brother. Don't you believe it for a minute! This is one mischievous personality in a tiny body. This one doesn't know he's smaller. He is funny, but not very sweet. Piper is sweet. This one is Mr Mischief, Mr for short. And I think I love him.

Halloween Party

I went to a wonderful Halloween Party at a hotel last night. People really outdid themselves this year. Pirates seemed to be the most popular theme and there were some really wonderful outfits. Ghouls, zombies and sleazy women abounded. I put on a business suit and name badge. I used the backside of the badge I use at work and printed in red, Endangered Species. Below that in blue was printed: Fully employed at a job with good pay, benefits, and dignity. I wore a pretty pink and gold eye mask, but somehow everyone knew it was me. (Could it have been my shoes?)

A friend was there in his famous "Camille Toe" costume. It is a padded suit meant to look like an aerobics instructor from the eighties, complete with pigtails. He looked at my badge and said, "Carol, you are so strange." I looked at him and said, "Me? Look at what you are wearing!" He had to admit it was the pot calling the kettle black when it came to weirdness. Frankly I think he won.

It takes guts to go to a party like this where couples abound and I am single. Everyone seems to have someone to have fun with. But it is much easier than going to a singles party. I remember working one when I first started as a banquet server. Most of the women were the age I am now and it felt like the dawn of the dead. I cleared the tables and watched the goings on and the competition for the few decent men there and thought how grateful I was to be married and that if anything ever happened to husband or marriage I would sit home alone rather than do that.

The truth is I get lonely and can very easily turn into someone who stays in bed reading rather than go out. Now that I am working and exhausted from talking to people all day long, I really want to stay home. (Then I can feel sorry for myself while others are out having fun.) But last night I talked to people, admired friends' costumes and danced with Darth Vader. He can really dance, old Darth.

They say the recipe for a successful party is to put too many people in too small a room. It worked last night for sure. It also helped that most people really wanted to have fun and got in the spirit of the party. Good security that kept out underage drinkers was a real plus. It was fun to see the bouncer give a couple of kids the bum's rush. Keeping alcohol in the room and not allowing it to enter or leave kept the registration area cool. I left before midnight having only drunk water and now am getting ready to take a friend to the airport before hawking something at work. I left a pair of jeans on the floor of the bathroom and the boys are curled up with each other sleeping on them.


Life certainly can be interesting.

Of little kittens, sharp old ladies, and happy lights

I awoke to use the bathroom and found half a roll of toilet paper on the floor. Had there been more than half a roll left, it would have been on the floor, too. I can't even say, "Bad Kitty!" because I am thinking just how clever that little guy is. How do I know it was the tiny Siamese? Let's just say all evidence leads to  him. Right now he is leaping between two shoes alternately attacking each one and a pen that is on the floor between them. These aren't just any shoes; these shoes fight back. You should have seen his face when he got caught by the velcro. After I pulled him loose the first time, he attacked with gusto and cunning. Piper watched in fascination. I think I have found the right name for him, Chief, short for chief mischief maker. It seems to fit, although he is so very small.

Yesterday evening I went to game night with some of the elderly ladies in my building. We play a version of a game called hand and foot.  The cards were brand new and slippery. Shirley, sitting quietly on her walker seat was cleaning our clock until she went to get some coffee. Betty and I shuffled and shuffled and shuffled. Betty has arthritis in her hands, and I am just inept. Shirley was quite surprised to find she wasn't getting all the face cards and jokers anymore. We'd leveled the field. She still won by a huge margin.

While we were having coffee, cake and pistachio ice cream things got interesting. Mary asked what happened to my frosting and I told her I didn't eat it. She took a moment to digest that and shortly thereafter started offering second pieces. She said, "What's the matter? Don't you like my cake?" Then she laughed and told how her mother used to push second, third and fourth pieces that way. I remembered a Garrison Keillor story about his aunt, the best baker in the world, talking her way out of a prize at the fair because she kept apologizing for the dryness of her moist and delicious cake. That opened up a whole discussion of why women were that way. They attributed it to a false humility that didn't allow for praising one's own work. Not only that, they didn't allow others to praise either. I remember how some of our elderly hearing aid customers would go on and on about how they were so sorry to be such a bother. He would explain that they weren't being a bother, this was his business. He hated that belittling of self because it put him in a game he didn't want to play. Nearly all the ladies are old enough to be my mother and they agreed it was the older generation of their mothers that did it. Gerry sat there confused as heck because she does it all the time.

I demonstrated AmLactin Body Lotion at work yesterday. I didn't think I would sell any, but I sold out and was sent home early. I really think I could be a flim flam man (woman). Maybe I have a future in sales. I don't know whether I could demonstrate the slicing, dicing, chop, knead, and bring peace to the Middle East machine, but I can sell one on one. I would take someone's hand in mine and say, "Watch how much I use." Then I'd pump a pearl sized drop on their skin and tell them to rub it in. It would be enough for both hands. Oh I could give the spiel just fine. As men walked by I would say, "You know she loves it when you have soft hands." Say yes, say no, it didn't matter to me. I was standing for hours in the glow of The Happy Light by Verilux. Man, that thing really works! ($49.99 at Costco.)

A Single Man

I can't get this movie and the acting by Colin Firth out of my mind. It was so extraordinary. I wanted to see it when it was in the theaters but hesitated because I had seen one clip over and over on talk shows. It was the scene where he sits alone crying. I somehow got the impression that it was an hour and a half of a grieving man and nothing else. Very wrong impression. It is the story of a grieving man's day and all the people he meets. There is a part where he is trying to get comfortable so he can do something that had me laughing out loud. There was a part where he declares his love that made me understand how hard it must have been to be gay in the post WWII years and into the sixties. Indeed, through most of the twentieth century.

On National Coming Out Day, I want to say to the GLBT community that I am glad you do not have to live closeted lives unless you want to and I am sorry that some people still need to be secretive for their safety. I look for the day when people are not judged by their sexual preferences and their unions celebrated openly. I look for the day when the goodness of anyone's heart is the standard of excellence for all.

I'm sorry I have no tact or sublety

The last time I saw Scott he was still in the hospital, in pain. He looked like himself, but very uncomfortable. Today, for the first time in almost a month I saw him again. He looked awful and I told him so. I kept saying, "You look terrible." Yeah, no tact or subtlety. No, "I'm happy to see looking so well and up and around." He was always thin, but now he is gaunt. He's been inside and has lost most of his healthy color and he is still in pain. He says standing is the hardest and he was holding himself stiffly. Poor guy.

His ribs are a little caved in on the right side and he has lost muscle tone and his arms are so thin without muscles. But as his mother and I spoke this evening, he is very lucky to be alive and I am very glad he will recover. I did feel bad about telling him how awful he looked so called tonight to apologize. He thinks in a few weeks he might go to the health club to start light spinning to get back some muscle tone and stamina. That would be good. Ten minutes on a stationary bike is like an hour for me, an hour is like ten minutes for him.

I have always thought he was one of the best looking men I have ever known, and no one looks better in a tux. But a month of pain and suffering has aged him. I hope the ice cream and pizza will start to put some padding on those rib and fill out his face. I hope that when the pain leaves for good, he will smile and have happy eyes once again.

So here's to Scott! On the road to recovery and beyond.

Everyday vs gourmet

It is an interesting life under the visor and hairnet. As an observer of people it is fun to watch their reactions to the samples we give out. It is fun to manipulate my spiel to the product.

Yesterday another demonstrator was sampling a very froufrou fresh gourmet ravioli. It had proscuito and chestnuts and apples, (oh my!) I was sampling a frozen spinach and cheese one. It was funny to watch the people go from the other station to mine. When I saw them throwing the gourmet sample away I added the information that mine was a more traditional ravioli. Aside from the wonderfulness of the taste I sold the re-closable bag. Just use what you want.

Was anything wrong with the fancy kind? Not really. And I would have sold it appealing to the adventurous who wanted to expand on their ravioli experience and you can bet I would have told them to expect the sweetness and suggest how to serve it. Tell them who they are and why they want what I have.

Sometimes in life we want the everyday. Most times we want what is comfortable. Truffle oil is not for everyday. Caviar is for a special occasion. Go into any restaurant and get baffled by the choices. Sometimes I feel I need a decoder. There is a local pub with very good food. Their most popular item? Homemade macaroni and cheese served in a crock.

I don't know what the hell I want. Toast or a fresh baked croissant? If I start eating croissants, I want about three and am still not satisfied. One slice of whole wheat is enough. But I do not want soft mushy whitebread with no character and no mouth memory. I guess I want a balanced life, one with oatmeal and special dishes. I want an appreciation for both the everyday and the gourmet. I want to appreciate the deliciousness of life.

Piper and Sweety

The boys are getting along quite well, lots of wrestling, biting, howling, running around, eating their food and using the litter box!

I just caught them snuggling on a chair by the dining room table. Yes I think Sweety and Piper are going to be great buds and my little condo is now a home.

Visibly Invisible

If, as a woman, you want to feel both invisible and sexless, put on a hairnet. Suddenly you are generically female, unattractive, and totally forgettable. If a man wears a hairnet, it is noted. "Hey, there's a guy wearing a hairnet, doesn't he look stupid?" Except for Ester, who is 92 and tiny, we all look the same. We can be 40 or 70, lunch ladies all. The other day I was recognized twice. First it was my internist. Then it was someone I worked with at the Hilton. What made them look twice at me was my voice. And they did have to look twice.

Uniforms are funny things. I did not grow up wearing one and used to envy the Catholic School kids who did not have to decide what to wear each day or keep up with fashion. I later learned that the kind of white sox or saddle shoes or loafers became just as important to them as the fads in the public schools. As an adult the only uniforms I've worn have been in food service. The uniform allowed me to go up to a table of strangers and talk to them.  The uniform allows me to stand in Costco repeating drivel about pizza to the multitudes. "Made in Maple Lake by your neighbors Ole and Guido!" (I made that up for laughs. Also Sven and Tony, and Lena and Maria, a takeoff on the old Ole and Lena jokes.)

Why do we put people with weapons in uniforms? Why do monks, nuns and priests of different religions wear identical clothing?  Is it easier for individuals obey authority if they are all perceived as the same? There is no ego, just a soldier, or a religious. In Buddhism the monks and nuns all shave their heads and wear the same robes. I wonder if there is a cool way to wear them that only the evolved know?

Yesterday I stood in front of a mirror and tucked all my hair under a net and stared at my naked face. I looked old and ugly, and after adding an apron, sexless. I know that I don't look my age, am pretty and a desirable woman. At the local upscale market the product demonstrators wear pretty blue jackets and present dainty tidbits. They have their hair and makeup just so and look like the suburban women they are. I know the hairnet doesn't actually change me, just the perception people have of me. I become just the sample lady with the pizza who is cutting as fast as she can.

Name that kitten!

I found a little Himalayan/Siamese mix and took him home. He reminds me of Baby, the tiny little Siamese I used to have, but noisier! I think the new one protests too much to take seriously. Piper is wrestling and biting him. The new one is howling and carrying on... but not running away. I think he is just a noisy one. I have a feeling they are going to be real buds and I have not been bitten or scratched in twenty-four hours. (I just separated them and put the little one near his hiding place. He did not hide, he turned around and ran after Piper. They are having a high old time.)

Piper came to me at 4 weeks and less than a pound. He is now just short of three months and so pretty. He has nearly tripled his weight. This new one is a small eight weeks and feisty. He has seal point coloring, light beige with dark brown ears, legs, feet and tail. His face is a mask with dark in the middle, getting lighter towards the eyes and chin, and a flattish nose. So he looks very Siamese all over but his Himalayan nose. 

What should I name this blue-eyed babe? I have been thinking of Chatty, because he talks all the time and chat is French for cat. Or Talker, or Squeaks. Not very imaginative, I know. I wish I had a picture to show. (Or knew where my camera was!) 

Suggestions? Please! We've already used Baby, Honey, Buddy, Hunter, Slinky, Marshy, Lily, Parsley, Pepper, David and Anastasia on past pets. If you had a noisy, feisty little kitten, what would you name him? (Lucky?)

Make new friends but keep the old.

I went to the sweetest party on Saturday night. So sweet, like honey, like nectar, like love. A dear old friend turned 60. Tim and his brother Peter, who is also an old friend, decided to invite all the old gang to a party. They used to have a band and brought in the singer, Ron, from Ohio. They played the old songs and it was so incredibly sweet. At the end Peter told me he and his wonderful Deb are moving to upstate NY for a job. This might be the last time I see Peter and Deb and it shook me. I AM grateful to facebook, indeed.

This get together did not feel like nostalgia. Nostalgia hurts, this gathering healed. It was fun to see each other with gray hair. We are still the same, but gray. The boy who was so young in 1973 is just about my age in 2010. Three years is nothing at our age. The redhead is now brown. But we are the same loving hearts. They were happy to see me, and I was happy, so happy to see them. I left before the end so there was no letdown, just peace and love and the reminder that I am blessed with the gift of joy.

Peter and Debbie, this is for you, with love and affection and all best wishes for future happiness.

Day is done

Almost midnight and September 20, 2010 will be over. Just a day like any other day, but a day I put an importance to. A long time ago Maharaji spoke about birthdays. Why do we only celebrate on that particular day? After all, the next day after your birthday is just as significant. Why don't we celebrate our birthday and three days? Why is anniversary 35 so much more significant than 33 and 34, both of which we ignored after our healing ceremony? It must be the decimal system. Still being legally married while living apart has it's own stresses (I need his health insurance). That was shown in the past week when S was released from the hospital, not into my care, but chose instead to go to a friend to recuperate.

So this morning I cried that I was old and poor and unloved. I got into it good. I cried just short of making myself sick. Then I went out and did errands and went to work. Even a crappy job is better than staying at home feeling sorry for myself. I was giving out "Roasted Garlic and Black Bean Nine Grain Tostito Artisan Chips". Try saying that hour after hour and you would get a little punchy too. This one old couple came by and the man asked me if his wife would still kiss him if he smelled like garlic. I asked if she would kiss him before he ate the chips. They both smiled. I said he must be a good kisser and they both really smiled. So I told her to eat a chip too so they would both smell the same and go home and spend the afternoon kissing. They walked away with a real spring in their step, they had to be at least eighty and still very fond of each other.

Earlier I asked a tall woman if I could borrow her even taller husband to clip something on a sign I could not reach. Her name is Carole with an e and she agreed all the best people are (Carols). I started to joke that the chips were 100% natural, we did not add any gravel or plastic soldiers. Oh yeah, I knock myself out at times. I saw an old man with bluish fingers and asked if his hands were cold? Always. I said mine were always hot and rubbed his for a moment. His little old wife laughed when I said he should warm them up under her armpits. (Will I get fired for my big mouth? Not if I keep flogging these samples and pushing the product.) I admired every baby I saw and engaged all the little kids. I showed a little girl how to click her ruby slippers and say, "There's no place like home." I tell you, I sold over 100 bags of expensive chips and stopped feeling sorry for myself.

As an aside, I just want to say I am very proud of the many customers who do take the time to read the nutrition information on labels. America has set the standard in nutritional labeling and foreign manufacturers know they have to meet those standards to sell in the US. We might be fat, but we are informed.

Well, it is now September 21st, 2010 and my first great-nephew is four years old today. Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, and today is a gift. That is why they call it the present. Happy Birthday Ethan, I love you.

Day is done
Gone the sun,
From the hills,
From the lakes,
From the sky.
All is well,
Safely rest,
God is nigh.

Attachment

He who is overly attached to his family members experiences fear and sorrow, for the root of all grief is attachment. Thus one should discard attachment to be happy. -Chanakya 

Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go. -Herman Hesse

This has been a hell of a week to be an almost ex-wife. 

As far as I know, Scott is doing as well as can be expected. They released him on Wednesday. Erica picked him up and he is recovering at the home of a friend.

So thanks for all your good wishes.

Kitty tales and life under the visor

1.
I woke up a few minutes ago to find Piper sleeping between my feet. I started to laugh as I thought back seventeen years. My tiny Siamese kitten, Baby, would nestle between my legs and I'd say, "Look, I have a furry little pussy between my legs." My daughters, fifteen and eleven, would yell, "Mom! Stop it" but I would only laugh. I totally cracked myself up embarrassing them. It was the height of motherly fun.

How can that be seventeen years ago? How can I have gotten Baby Boy for my forty-first birthday and how can he be gone for three years already? He made us laugh as a kitten and three months after his death, he made us laugh again. One day in May a friend called S and asked what he was doing. I could only hear this end and it went like this: "Burying a cat... February... in the freezer... in a box... with a label!" It was true the ground was too hard to bury him under the day lilies with our other cats when he died. So we lovingly wrapped a shoebox in tin foil and a Ziploc bag and put him in the freezer. After the phone call we wondered what would have happened if the police had looked in our freezer and found a box labelled: Baby, died February 1, bury when ground thaws.  We laughed and laughed. I loved that little cat.

Spray bottle aversion therapy seems to be working on Piper. He is not biting as often in play and has started letting me pet him while he rests without attacking my hand. I usually find him somewhere under the covers when I wake up. He purrs when he sees me and purrs when I pick him up. I find it comforting to have someone greet me when I come home from work.

2.
For the first time I understand why guys like to wear ball caps. It is the very reason why I don't like wearing one; restricted vision. You can't see above the visor without bending the neck back. It keeps one focused looking straight ahead and down. My job as a demonstrator requires me to wear one and I am always looking down and ahead to a very small area between aisles. I do not get spaced out when I am under the visor. (Sort of like blinders on a horse.)

It is interesting pushing product. There is no ego involved. I put out the product and talk about it. I don't have to like it or dislike it. I talk facts, ten grams of protein and only three grams of fat. It doesn't matter if people take it or decline. The time goes fairly quickly until about three when traffic gets real slow. Then it is four o'clock and time to clean up. Out by four thirty and taking a nap by five. Then, because I slept in the evening, up again at three to blog. It is a funny old life.

Like having a toddler

Having a young kitten around is similar to having a toddler. Piper gets into everything and is having a hard time understanding the word no. He is a biter. If he were still with his mother he would be wrestling and biting his litter mates. If he bit mom too hard, she would bite back. I don't (and won't) bite back. For a while he would cease biting at a sharp word, but now it is the water bottle. Bite me and get spritzed.

I once read that there is a particular moth that is used in scientific research because all specimens react exactly the same. There is no personality to get in the way. Not so humans, and not so cats. I can not remember any other kitten being such a biter. Of course, no other kitten came to me so young. I am a mother, but not a cat mother and must use other skills. Just as when my daughters were tiny, I have to find what works.

When our oldest was a baby we had very little furniture and the stereo equipment sat on the floor. She would approach it and S would say in a very firm voice, "NO!" She would back off and leave it alone. By the time the younger reached that age the stereo was up on a shelf. It didn't matter what we did or said, she was going to touch that equipment; the little Fisher-Price music box turntable would not do. She had her eye on the Bang and Olufson. We finally gave in and taught her how to use it, including how to hold a record.

Well cats are not kids and Piper doesn't want to use a piece of equipment. He wants a piece of me, and frankly if he doesn't stop biting, he is going to be one wet kitty. Have water bottle, will spray. Bring it on you cute thang! (He's sitting in front of the computer purring.)

About that kitten

About five weeks ago I brought an abandoned kitten into my life. The vet thought he was about four weeks old. At twelve ounces, he weighed only three quarters of a pound. We know he spent at least one night alone after being thrown from a car because his sister was rescued from a drainage pipe the day before and luck alone that his rescuers thought to go back and search for siblings. They found one other, my boy Piper.

Time for a progress report. He is getting huge! I am not sure what he weighs but he has doubled in size and  quadrupled in fun. He is going to be long legged tall and long all over. Right now he reminds me of a skinny ten year old boy, always hungry, putting away a ton of food. He makes his own fun. Sometimes in the night I hear a little ball being batted into walls. Right now he is having fun playing soccer with a bottle cap. He carries things from room to room in his mouth amassing his treasures under the bed. So far he has bottle caps, a ribbon, a taffy wrapper, and every used tissue and paper napkin he can steal.

He bats gently at my ankles following me wherever I go and I am learning to look down before stepping backward. He emerges stretching from under the skirt of an armchair when I come home. He greets me and welcomes guests, but only if they are with me. 

At age forty-one I asked for a kitten. I needed something young to offset the independence of teenage daughters. Baby Boy was just right at the time. I loved him dearly all his life and was not looking for another kitten. Piper and I have fallen into each other's life. I rescued him from a short existence in the wild and he repays me with purrs and nips and absolute trust. 

What a kitten! What a cat! 

(I will post pictures after I find where the camera is hiding.)

A Time To Love

The old lady laments that she can't have nostalgia with the old man because he doesn't remember anything. The old man says there is nothing worth remembering, that these are the good old days. Maybe he is right. But if you don't remember the past do you ever learn anything? I want to remember this time and enjoy it too. Not everyday is a party, but isn't everyday a time to love?

Our honorary niece, Crystal, married her love high on top of a ski slope on Saturday. We took the chair lift to a sweet tented pavilion set up for the ceremony. Looking down we could see this beautiful, verdant area and because the sky was so clear we could see downtown Minneapolis. The words were simple and simply said, to love each other. Our extended family sat together in a state of bliss. We were loving love and that expression of love by two people we loved. I think we all got a little verklempt when we saw the lovely bride and when she and Mark faced each other and held hands.

I know that time of marriage with S is over. I don't really miss him as much as I miss working towards the goal of a good life together. As I watched Crystal and Mark, I wanted so much to tell them not to let life get them down. Let life bring you together.

This evening I took the old man and old lady to Chez Daniel in Bloomington. They love the rack of lamb, which is cooked to order. We spent a very easy two and a half hours in a nice setting enjoying good food. We did not have to go anywhere and the old lady said it was like being on vacation. I think back to when they first came out here and the agony of eating out with them. Being in a state of peacefulness and love certainly helped to enjoy the meal. I did not get indigestion. Were they any better? Not at all. My father was rude to the wait assistant and my mother took out her teeth and rinsed them in the water glass.

The awareness of love is a gift. Although it is always there, surrounding us and keeping us alive, the recognition of love is precious. And for all the times I forget, right now I am remembering that the time to love is now.

Mother's helper

The old lady called and told me there is something wrong with her TV. She hears a voice at about three in the morning yelling, "Wake up, wake up!" followed by the sound of birds. She said she has heard the birds for a couple of days but last night was the first time she heard the wake up words. I can't find any alarm on her set or on the remote. I called Dynex and spoke to someone with a heavy accent who assured me that any kind of alarm on the set would be a beep. The old lady wears a talking watch and while I was there it announced that it was 10 AM. Since it was late afternoon I knew her watch was wrong.  How she got it fapoopled I don't know. I said I thought the setting for the alarm was off, too, and that she must have selected something other than the usual rooster. She insists it is the TV.

The old man wasn't wearing his dentures and hearing aids. He was taking tiny little shuffling steps, and wasn't using words, just a kind of sign language. He is a mess and I got him talking and when I asked him if he was wearing his teeth he was genuinely amazed to realize he hadn't put them in. The little radio/cd player he takes out to the gazebo is screwed up and I left with a talking watch, the radio and the realization that these people are exceeding all life expectancies at 95 and 96. I thought last summer was the last time the old man would go in the lake but he surprised us and was able to float around with Erica  twice this summer. I can't imagine, even if he makes it another year, that he will be able to go in the lake again.

This evening was the last Wednesday concert for the summer at Wolfe Lake Park. The Sounds of Simon is a very talented Simon and Garfunkel tribute band. Once again I am in awe of the poetry and songwriting skills of Paul Simon and grateful to be living in a lovely area. I thank again the people who have made it possible to be here and also there for my parents when they need me.

How not to impress me

Be careful what you wish for!  I mentioned that I would like to meet a man who isn't shy and is an interesting conversationalist. I said I was tired of carrying the conversation. Well! I forgot to say make sure he lets you talk too and is not a windbag. Everyday is another learning experience. The lesson? None of us is as interesting as we think we are. Hence the short entry.

Pride and Papa

There is an old saying that pride goeth before a fall. I think it doesn't have to be before a fall; it can be before a step down. When I first lost my job, I was confident I would have a new one before the unemployment ran out. I was not going to take a job that paid less than what I was making. That did not happen. Here is another way of looking at it. Using "goeth" for goes, pride must leave before one can take a step down. One must get rid of pride before anything can happen. Five years later pride is gone, I am open. I am at a point financially that I became willing to look at jobs that I otherwise would not consider.

Today I took a drug test to prove that I am safe to hand out samples at Costco. (In fact I had to take three because I didn't give them enough the first two times. Not much pride in sitting in a waiting room for hours nursing cups of water.) I am excited to have a job. I hope I am good at it and don't lose my cool with the customers. As soon as they get back the criminal background check, I'll start my training. (Veggie chips? Right over here sir.)

Yesterday I had to take the old man to the dermatologist where they carved away a little more of his skin, this time on his arm. While we were in the car I told him about the job and the criminal check. I joked that those ten years at Leavenworth will look bad on my record. Then I asked him if he ever was in jail and he answered, "Sure." I asked what for and he told me because he had nowhere to stay. He was thirteen or fourteen. How many times? He thought maybe eight times. Then I asked him what happened, where did he go after jail? Did he find a place to stay? He went back to the streets and found a grate. My heart broke for that poor scared child. I never knew that.

He had a mother and a father, grandparents and cousins and no one to take him in. He wasn't a bad child, a thief or a criminal, just unwanted and overlooked. He is deeply flawed, and in his mind he did his best to keep his family together after my mother died. He provided a home and a step mother. He was a madman it is true. It was only when he was 90 and started taking antidepressants that he became a fairly decent person and still he can be awful.

The Dalai Lama talks all the time about compassion. It is only by imagining ourselves in another persons place that we can try to understand and have that compassion. When we were kids we'd ask the old man where he went to college and he would respond, "The school of hard knocks." He has kept most of his early life a secret, let out in dribs and drabs as he ages. It was hard to have any compassion for him before I knew the story of the orphan asylum. We only knew what we could see, and what we saw was violence and anger. Yet there would be glimpses of a loving heart at times. I've had compassion for the man who lost his wife and had three children to raise and compassion for the father who lost his twenty-one year old son. But I had no compassion for the way he was because I didn't understand how he got that way. Having that compassion makes it hard to stay mad at the stuff he says and does.

The medical intuitive Carolyn Myss says that there are entities we meet before birth with whom we make a sacred contract to achieve a goal in this life. I thought for quite a while that maybe the old man was here for me to learn forgiveness, but maybe I am here to help him end his life feeling safe and secure. (Either way, I still want to end it with him this incarnation.)