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

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

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

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

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

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

Machines of Loving Grace

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

All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace

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

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

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

— Richard Brautigan,1967

He could be a little maudlin, but so evocative.

The Pill Versus the Springhill Mine Disaster by Richard Brautigan

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

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

Mothers and daughters

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

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

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

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

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

My hope chest

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A fowl comparison

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucky ticket

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

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

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

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

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

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

Screaming Fox

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

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

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

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

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

Catching up with changes

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

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

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

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

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

Lousy haircut

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

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

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

God Wants Me To Know

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


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


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


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


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


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

Thoughts

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

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

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

I hope my baby girl feels better.

Warning: Feeling jangly

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

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

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


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


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


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


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

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

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

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

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

Adrenaline Rush

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

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

Hysteria and Perspective

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ranting and Raving

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

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

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

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

My great niece and nephews.

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

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

I love being a Grauntie!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This, that, and the other

1. This

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

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

2. That

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

3. The other

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

Buttons Part 2

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

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

Buttons

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roses are red...

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

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

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

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

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

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

My list for Tuesday

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

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

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

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

What just happened?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Going to the cabin

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

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

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

The Number at the Bottom and the Message at the Top

At the very, very bottom of the page there is a tiny widget called sitemeter. It records how many people check out my blog. This week it worked out to eighty-two visits. It doesn't record how many are repeaters, or who they are. Because no one ever leaves a comment, I have no idea of who is actually reading my blog. A dear friend sent me a personal note when I was depressed earlier. That really touched me. I had no idea she followed me. As I said, I really don't know who reads this (at times) drivel.

At the very top, next to my name is the message: next blog. Whenever I post or read another blog on Blogger I hit that link. It is always a surprise, always. Most time it is written in another language and sometimes in a different alphabet. Sometimes it is advertising or a business blog but more often it is personal. This is what someone in another part of the world is passionate about. I have seen travel blogs written in Japanese about bicycle trips through the Western United States and also travel blogs about bicycle trips through the wine country in California written by natives. Fans of Michael Jackson around the world were quick to post pictures and commentary in every language you can think of, and many you can't.

In America we do not get much global news if it doesn't affect us as a nation. I sometimes watch and listen to the BBC and find out about unrest or politics in far off places. I am sure it is not unbiased, but it is the best I can do for now. Once I was in a deli and saw Al-Jazeera TV. I was surprised at how balanced it was. I thought it would be Anti-American, but what I saw while I was there was not at all inflammatory. It was just a round up of stories; good journalism. The blogs are different.

Whether written in Cyrillic, Sanskrit, Korean, or Thai, I understand the pictures posted by proud parents and grandparents. I enjoy travel journals, or some one's teapot collection. Pictures are universal and I love seeing other's. I was a holdout against a digital camera until I could get a tiny one. Then I was scared to learn how to post pictures. I am a bit of a technophobe. The camera I bought last week intimidated me, hell the new Exilim, which I am familiar with, intimidates me but not as much. And as soon as I do learn how to use it, people all over the world can see my roses.

Getting What I Want

There are several ways of achieving satisfaction. One way is to do no research, go to the store and take your chance. Another is to meticulously research the subject and purchase the top rated item. Then there is my way, not always the best way, but as I say, my way. And that is to decide on an intangible idea and try to get the closest thing to it tangibly.

I lost my cute little Casio camera and had a three hundred dollar Costco rebate. I went to the store and got totally confused. I wound up buying a bigger Panasonic with a better lens. I am not happy with it. It is too big. So tonight, while most people are sleeping, I did research on the web. I am definitely going back to a smaller camera. Whether I do the Casio again I am not sure. But one thing is for sure. I am going back to my idea of what I want, a tiny light camera that I can carry with me all the time.

My roses are beautiful and I need to record their beauty to enjoy in the cold days to come. I can grow roses in pots. I cannot grow petunias but I can grow and enjoy roses. Having beautiful roses outside the door makes me very happy.

Getting stuff done

In my gussied up Fringe Festival Volunteer shirt last year

The pastor who counseled my friend Connie Greco before her marriage many years ago told her that she should make her bed first thing everyday. It makes the bedroom look pulled together and discourages getting back in bed. Good advice and thirty-four years later I am putting it into action. New linens always inspire me, but even without new bed clothes, I like the philosophy. Now, that doesn't mean I won't lie down on the porch, but it gets me out of bed. Today I am getting things done and that is always a good thing. I have made many phone calls and checked web pages. My bed is made, I am dressed, I have taken my meds, made plans for the evening.


Tonight is a Fringe Festival Showcase. Thirty acts in three minute intervals. I don't think I will volunteer for the Fringe this year. They have changed the policy and volunteers do not get to sit in on the shows they are working. Plus I cannot just give away the free tickets I get. I have to go with a punch card. Not volunteer friendly enough for me. As a volunteer coordinator I know you have to keep the volunteers happy and appreciated. This new policy does not do it for me. It makes the administration happy so we will go our separate ways. Going to the Showcase tonight will determine whether I see any of the full length shows. I admire anyone who puts themselves out there to be seen, who has faith in their talent and performance.


Depression is helped by taking action. Taking action is the last thing I want to do when I am depressed. It is a terrible conundrum and for today I am happy to be taking action and happy that I am not feeling the crush of depression. As my friend Michael says, blessed be.

Salt, Moonlight, Typing with a cat in my arms

When I got up and walked into this room I wondered what was causing the brightness outside. A neighbor's security light? Then I walked downstairs and the light was so bright it was casting shadows in the kitchen. Clear night, full moon, beautiful.

I had a hankering for sauerkraut and potato chips. You should see my ankles. Salt is not my friend.

Picture this, an open laptop on the table, a cat laid out before it with his head resting on my right elbow, back paws resting against left upper arm and me trying to type. I am feeling so guilty right now because this cat, Hunter, doesn't look so good and it is all my fault. He has thick white fur which covers all my furniture. I begged and begged Eri to shave him like she did her own cats. Finally she agreed but only got about half done because he was soooooo freaked out. I'm sorry Hunty Bunty. He knows how to play that guilt card and has been getting lots of extra love. I wonder what he will look like when the hair grows back?

That's it for now, from the night time rambler. I am feeling a lot better, but tomorrow is Saturday with the folks. Like a lotus I shall rise above it...yeah, that's the ticket.

Celebrate Life

I had a facebook message from someone who attended the funeral of my friend's 19 year old son with me. She asked if I was alright because I didn't seem like myself. Yeah, I don't usually attend tragic events. I realize that this funeral was not a celebration of life. It was a marking of a senseless death, and that is a big difference. When my father-in-law Donald died we had a wonderful ceremony. We cried and we laughed and we celebrated the man we loved. We knew his death was a good thing, that his health had failed and he dreaded becoming a burden. We knew he was at peace, his affairs in order. He went quite quickly, the way we all want to go. It was time.

What do you say about a nineteen year old? He loved to fish and golf. He loved music and sunflower seeds and I can not help thinking he was just a sketch, the Creator had not filled in the lines yet, he was a work in progress that will go no further here on this earth. Now, I only know what I believe and what I know is that I don't know. Maybe he needed the next manifestation to progress to where he needs to go. I don't know. His parents and family are crushed. His friends are confused and his pastor, well, I just don't know what to say about his pastor.

I believe that Jesus was a very great spiritual leader who showed his followers how to experience the Creator within. I think since his death, his followers have taken his words out of context and created something Jesus would not recognize. I can't be a Christian because there is a huge disconnect for me. I just don't get what the Virgin Birth, the Crucifixion and Resurrection have to do with me. I don't see how God sacrificing his only son gives me eternal life. I don't get it. The church talks so much about eternal life, but what about THIS life? What about living the ideals Jesus set forth and preached about, charity and love?

The pastor talked about that friend the boy had in Jesus, who died so he could be reborn with him in heaven. How Jesus was waiting there as his best friend to welcome him. Someone said that the sermon was like Sunday school, maybe it was, I have never been. But what can you say about a teenage boy whose life was a barely written page? How can you comfort the parents and grandparents, siblings? What words of comfort are there? For a Lutheran pastor the words have to be the official church line, Jesus died for our sins and since this boy was baptised, he would have eternal life with his main homie, Jesus, and the crew in heaven. Believe me, this was not a celebration of life. I'm just glad that there was no condemnation for taking his own life.

The songs were of Salvation and I hope that those people who believe the official line have comfort. I pray for the peace that only time can bring for those that loved him. My friend will never be the same. The child's father will mourn quite deeply. This is a sorrow that I can only observe and hope not to deepen. What a damn shame.

Feeling a great deal better

Well, Monday was a very sad day. I wrote as much in my blog. Today was some improvement. Made a list and did a few things on it, so that is good. But the best thing is I was able to talk to a friend who just listened. Then I spoke with Scott. I told him I was starting to look for an apartment. I told him some other stuff too and his response was that each day he wakes up wondering if he should just stick it out or kill himself. I said I thought about that too, or doing away with him. He reiterated to me that he wants to be fair and wants me to land on my feet.

Later I told him how shocked I was to hear him say that. I know thoughts of ending it all flit through MY brain, but I never thought he felt that way too. We agreed we must change the way things are going and I think we both feel better for having spoken.

So whether I buy something right away, and he is thinking I should get a house, not a condo, or just rent for awhile, I am going to try to move soon, by the end of the summer if not sooner. Anything to end the inertia.

On a serious note, tomorrow I will attend a funeral for a nineteen year old boy. I think it is a suicide, I will know more later. I remember going to Jerusha Kessler's funeral and telling Harriet about it. She said "She got confused." I always remember those words when I am despondent and think there is no use in going on. I will always remember that it is confusion that makes one feel that way. Confusion passes, death does not. Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem and I will NEVER cause my family the heartache it creates. This is a promise.

Like a wave, watch out for the undertow

Unless you have experienced true depression, and I hope like hell you have not, you cannot understand what it feels like. Hopeless, helpless, and so very sad. It is like a wave that washes over and you have to fight the undertow because if you let it take you, you will die. It is hard to remember that life is beautiful. It feels like laughter is something that happened to someone else and joy is only a concept. When this happens to me, as it is happening now, there is only one thing that keeps me going. It is knowing that it will pass and like the tide, it will ebb.

As I sit here writing this, tears trickle down my face and I wipe them off and blow my nose. tomorrow is another day and I hope I can wake up and face it. I wish someone would come and help me make a list and give me direction. But I have to do it myself.

Many years ago I went on a retreat alone. I wished someone was with me but understood that ultimately we walk alone. It is nice to have a companion but I am the only one who can move my feet. Left, right, and left again. Do not retreat to the bed and hide under the cover. But now it is almost one and I will go to bed, maybe to sleep, maybe not, and hope to feel better soon.

A Different Fourth of July

Before I started this post I read my niece Hilary's post. So sweet. I remember the old ladies telling me to enjoy my babies, that this was the best time of my life. I don't want that to be true. I want there to be other best times of my life. But having babies is pretty wonderful, having toddlers using their words is so much fun. Being the center of their universe is a feeling like no other. And yes, I am a little jealous, and nostalgic.

While I have been standing still, life progressed around me. Things that I took for granted, that we would all spend holidays together...well that has gone. Maybe it will come back once in a while, but I think that all my nieces and nephews and their children and lovers are all going their own way and that big sweet family is something of the past. Maybe after the divorce goes through things will be different. I think everyone is uncomfortable with being with me and Scott these days. I remember telling him that I did not want to give up his family, they mean too much to me. Betty tells me I will always be her daughter.

The job with McKnight Foundation did not come through. I didn't even qualify for an interview. Unemployment stands at 9.5%. Employers have a huge pool of desperate people to choose from and wages are either stagnating or being lowered. I am pleased that Scott is making a good living at Costco. He works very hard. I wish I could find something that I could work hard at and come home exhausted and happy.

Fourth of July was nice. I enjoyed being with Clara's family. Three of her brothers, one sister, and two spouses were there along with her mother. Ernie invited some Chilean friends and I brought the folks. Eri and John were there without Gavin. Scott spent a lot of quality time with the old lady and the old man brought his Speed Graphic to Ernesto. He really enjoyed showing him how it worked and Ernie will keep it for awhile, or forever. I like seeing the folks acting generously. It is good for them.

I am still not happy with the old man. I talk to him as little as possible. When I feel stronger I will try to tell him what he did to make me so angry. I feel petty about the way I am treating him. Two wrongs do not make a right, I know, but I am so tired of his crap. Let me tell you, he is not going easy into that goodnight. He is really fighting to keep his identity and independence. I respect that, but not at my expense. I wish I was a better person and could accept everything with compassion and equanimity.

Fireworks in Excelsior with a friend. We parked a couple of blocks away on Water Street and walked way over to the park. So many people think it is too crowded close up and think they have to sit far away by the docks. But I know Minnesotans, they always leave room between groups. We put down our blanket in a great spot and had a fine view of the show. It only took a little over a half hour to get out of town! We had to go south to Lake Lucy Road in Chanhassen, then over to 41 before going north. I remember years when it took over an hour to get out of Excelsior. So here you have it from the biggest worrier: You can go to the Fourth in Excelsior at 9:30, get good seats and have a good time. You do not have to be there all day. Hooray!

A hard day with the old man

I lost it again today. I totally lost it at the movies. Why should a 57 year old woman get so angry at a 94 year old man? Why should what he does affect me? Why can't I get over thinking some day he will change and be the loving soul he was created to be? Why do I give a damn? When will I finally learn that he is a fatally flawed human who cannot change.

I got a fortune in a cookie that said I look for the good in people. Oh God, I really do look for the good. I want to believe that my own father is a good person. And I have seen the reality of that but every time I start to believe it, he does some stupid shit that makes me ballistic. I can't breathe.

I went to see the movie "UP" the other day and really enjoyed it. It has had nothing but good reviews. I took them today and the old man laughed and seemed to enjoy it. The old lady was entranced. But as soon as it ended he told me how horrible my choice was and that he wasn't coming with me again and what a shitty movie it was.

He cannot be gracious. He has to be mean spirited. That is all there is to it. If he doesn't enjoy something, he cannot allow someone else to enjoy it. What kills me, what absolutely pushes all my buttons is to be abused for trying to provide entertainment for him. I had the opportunity to go up to a lake cabin in Walker this weekend but I said I couldn't go because I take my parents out every Saturday. I wanted them to have a good time, but he wouldn't allow it. I dropped him off at home and took the old lady out to eat, but not before I had a good cry. I am frustrated. Nothing is ever good enough, and nothing is ever appreciated.

Whether I bring him to Ernesto and Clara's for July 4th is up to me. If I can forgive and forget enough to be be in the same car with him is a question. But if I leave him home the old lady will fret. So either way I lose.

Steely Dan sings they have a name for the winners in the world and I want a name when I lose. Call me Deacon Blues.

Not your run of the mill mother-of-the-bride dress

Yesterday my friend and I went into Herbergers looking for clearance bargains. I moseyed over to the dress section because I like wearing dresses. They are so easy. Put on underwear, throw one over your head, add pantyhose in winter, sandals in summer, and presto! A pulled together look without having to coordinate more than earrings and shoes. Formal dresses were on sale, dowdy, champagne, beige, or pastel with jackets and beads; real mother-of-the bride dresses. I looked at them and realized anew how pleased I am with the dress I wore to Eri and John's wedding. No dowdy look for me! I wore this dress to a New Year's Eve party and look forward to having many more enjoyable outings in style.

Speaking of weddings and dresses...Connie and I saw "The Hangover" before going shopping. It got such "laugh a minute" reviews but we didn't think it was that funny. It was totally cringe making. There were a few gut busting laughs, but not many. The bride in that movie wore a very elegant strapless gown that had a black ribbon sash. The flowers were white hydrangeas and they had more in front of the alter than we had in the whole room. I look at pictures of Eri in her pretty dress with the blue sash and think, just as so often happens, we were ahead of the fashion, style makers we. (We done good!)

I miss

I sometimes am oblivious, but oftentimes quite observant. Today, while walking I saw many interesting plants and flowers. What intrigued me most was a driveway blocked off with hay bales. On top of the bales was brown dirt and in the dirt was an assortment of vegetable plants. I will be keeping an eye on this alternative garden.

The title of this blog is "I miss". Although I have memories of the experiences, I still miss the reality of these things in my life.

I miss being married to my best friend and having his eyes light up when he saw me.
I miss being able to talk to him about everything.
I miss the happy parts of my marriage.
I miss working together for common goals.
I miss the physical union.
I miss being needed.

I miss my baby girls and my growing girls and my teenagers.
I miss going on school trips and driving to swimming.
I miss taking them to Excelsior Beach.
I miss talking to them and lying in bed reading together.
I miss planning surprises and parties for them.
I miss being needed.

I miss having friends who love me and live near.
I miss having a job that I was good at and did good there.
I miss having a purpose driven life.
I miss having something to wake up and look forward to each day.
I miss people calling me for help.
I miss solving problems.
I miss being needed.

I miss my enthusiasm and creativity.
I miss my energy and deep sleep.
I miss looking forward to new books.
I miss my thinner face.
I missed years of my fifties lost in depression.

I can feel depression closing in on me.
What saves me is knowing it will pass.
Being busy, if I can, will help.
But oh! I miss being needed.

Oprah and impossible weight expectations

This is copied from a blog I wrote last night on Blogher. Why it is coming out white, I do not know, nor do I know how to fix it. Hmmm?

We all do it, look at magazines that tout the secret of losing baby weight in weeks and how Heidi Klum will do it after her fourth child. And we say to ourselves that if all we had to do was have someone cook for us and work out with a personal trainer, we would look great, too. Then we read about Oprah Winfrey, one of the most successful women on earth and her struggle to keep the weight she loses off permanently. She has a personal cook. She has a personal trainer. She works out and has even run a marathon. If she can't do it, how can we?

I read a heartfelt essay by Oprah in O magazine in a waiting room. This time she would really make the connection. This time it was a spiritual quest and she would succeed. No she won't. I do not wish her ill, not at all. She won't succeed in creating the body image she is looking for because she is not built that way. She has tried and tried to live in a body that she manipulates into looking a certain way and time after time her body reverts to what is right and natural for her body type.

Mma Ramotswe, the heroine of Alexander McCall Smith's Number One Ladies Detective AgencySeries is a "traditionally built" woman from Botswana. She is much, much heavier than Oprah will ever be, but Oprah is traditionally built, too. She has a bosom and a booty and is all curvy. I think she is beautiful. Her ancestors aren't from Northern Europe, or tall rangy African stock. I am nearly five foot four inches tall with a twenty eight inch inseam. I cannot be long legged. I can have shapely, muscular legs and appreciate them. I can be in the best shape for my shape. I can be healthy, and you know what? I can be happy, too.

Oprah! Please listen to me. You are a wonderful woman who has done so much for yourself and others. Being heavy is not a spiritual failing. Being mean and selfish is a spiritual problem and everyone knows how generous you are. You strive everyday to live a life with intent and you inspire others to do so. You eat healthy foods and exercise. You try to have balance in your life. It is time for you to accept yourself as the beautiful, healthy woman that you are. Don't make yourself miserable trying to maintain an artificially thin body. Enjoy this life, curves and all.

Picture of Carol, June 1964

Facebook has shown me some real surprises. I have found out a lot of people want to be friends with me and I have reconnected with some old schoolmates. It has been fun finding myself in old school pictures. Today someone posted this picture from sixth grade. I am the very pretty girl in blue seated between the two girls in yellow. I see the boy, the most popular boy in my class, who used to call me Smelly Smoller and I see he really was trying to get my attention. It sure as hell was not the way to get it, though.

Scott came home and I asked him to pick me out. He pointed to the girl in the headband standing behind me. He pointed out a happy, but fat face, Shelly Berger. He doesn't remember me as the thin girl he married. Why should he? I have been overweight since Eri was born it seems. And it seems that thin pretty girl is a lifetime away. And when I see just how lovely I was, in this picture and the one from ninth grade, I want to slap my father.

He could not tolerate fat people. He disliked my best friend because she was chubby. As I developed my hips got bigger and he would call me a big ass bird or fat fat the water rat. What a stupid asshole. If he had any kind of memory he would have remembered that his first wife had large hips and a flat chest. It is his second wife that has slim hips and a big chest. Idiot. But he is not the first or last man to mess up his daughter's self esteem. I had a boss who told his daughter all kinds of things he thought were joking about how she shouldn't eat this or that or she would get fat. Here was the kid, on vacation, worrying about every bite she took, and she was perfectly beautiful.

Should I be thinner? You bet. My health would improve. But does my self worth balance on the scale showing a particular weight? No, it doesn't. Either I will lose weight or I won't. Who I am, and the kind of person I want to be are separate from what I weigh. And as Maharaji said, all those years ago, there has never been a fat skeleton after you are dead. Everyone loses weight eventually.

Prayer

Sometimes I will read stories of great mystics, or people who want to be great mystics. They spend hours and hours in prayer. I have never been able to do that myself. My prayer is more like short sharp bursts of Morse Code; S-O-S, mayday, thank you, oh help, disregard, and I love you. I believe in two things, Grace and effort. I believe Grace is always there but I need to be putting forth effort to recognize it. So my prayers are a jumble of thank you and help me put forth effort and resignation and supplication.

Years ago, when we lived in Flagstaff, I wanted the job as a Community Center Director. I wanted it with a hunger. I was in a torment of wanting and trying to surrender. One day I was able to surrender. I was able to pray with a very clear intent. My prayer was that if I was supposed to get the job, that I get it. And if I was meant to stay a waitress, let me do it with joy. I remember the feeling of peace that engulfed me; it really didn't matter whether I got the job or not. (I did.) So I remember what that is like, but achieving it again is not easy.

There is a story in "Tales of the Hasidim" about a woman who goes to a holy rabbi and asks for help in conceiving a child. The rabbi tells the woman about his mother who went to the Bal Shem Tov for the same reason. She brought him her finest possession, a shawl. The Bal Shem Tov told her to go home and soon after she was with child. The woman being told this story says she has a shawl that she can bring him, and the rabbi basically replies that it won't work because she knows the story. His mother, you see, didn't know the story.

In much the same way, it is hard to pray for work. I already know the story. I cannot repeat the experience I had back then. I can't use the surrender I had then, now. I need a new prayer, a new surrender, a new openness in my heart. So what I ask for now is to keep on keeping on, not getting distracted by the weather, or my parents, or my own busy mind. Apply effort and keep applying effort and opening my eyes and heart to Grace.

I have always felt beloved of God. And as a child I have pushed that parent to see my boundaries. Can I go this far and will you still be there? Can I go farther and farther and will you still be there? I know I have had many opportunities that I just didn't see because I was focused on how sad I was. I am trying to open my eyes, and as a young heroine, Tiffany Aching, often says, "Open my eyes again." It is through my efforts and Grace that I will see what is really there.

A short look at obliviousness

Robert Benchley has a piece where he talks about photographs of historic happenings. He notes that there is usually someone in the corner going about his business not having a clue of the significance of the moment. He says that would be him, the little guy looking in the wrong direction. I think it might be me. I can be pretty oblivious myself.

Several years ago I met a man who grew up in the same housing development where I lived. He lived down the block in 5995 and in some ways it could have been anywhere for all the attention I paid. I was pretty localized to 5935 and rarely went down the block. He told me that his father and grandfather were pastors in a black church and that Martin Luther King Jr. used to come talk to them. He remembers them all sitting on the terrace at 5995. I wish someone had taped their conversations; I wish I had been a moth on the wall. History was taking place down the block and I was probably trading Beatles cards with my friends.

Friends

Cassie Garberg, Monica Oakes, Carol Smoller, catching snowflakes a long, long time ago

My dearest oldest friend called me last night. An hour went by in a minute and I am left hoping she will come to visit me soon. We met when we were four years old in the elevator of the building where we both lived. She lived on seven and I lived on eight. She remembers that I was sitting in the stroller. My sister must have been born but I can't imagine where she was if I was riding. We were friends, we weren't friends, we were friends again. On and off, but mostly on as we both grew up. I married and had children first. She married and had two more children than I have. We both love our kids. Our lives have taken very different paths. She is now a semi-retired teacher with children still at home. My friend is well educated and an educator. She is a woman of distinction, honored by many. She has traveled the world as a teacher. I admire her immensely.

Why do people become and stay friends? It is not absolute acceptance of the other, no matter what. I came closest to abandoning my friend when I found out she voted for W. It was incomprehensible to me. Of course, I got over it. We love people in spite of themselves and in spite of our own selves, too. One wise woman I once heard said that friendship needs proximity, and shared interests to grow. But I think about my closest friends, one in Jersey, one in Colorado, and one in California. We have no proximity, and our interests are varied. But heart to heart, we are always there. We can pick up ten or twenty years from our last meeting and, bingo! no separation, no awkward moments. We are there. Just like I can with my sister. We are sisters of the heart.

When people meet me they are sometimes taken aback. I don't hold back. I am who I am and you don't need to sift through many filters to get to who I am. What you see is what you get. This is not an act, I yam who I yam and that's who I yam. Sometimes, if someone has hurt me, I will remove my personality. There was a man on a committee who hurt and humiliated me several years ago. At our next meeting I did not contribute to the discussion. He went to my boss to complain about my behavior. I turned it around by making him apologize for his actions, though. My friendship is a gift I freely give. I will forgive and forget, giving many chances to heal rifts and become friends again. And then, there will be a last time, and for my own protection, I withdraw. I have not done it often, and it is always as last resort. I am a peacemaker (when I am not actively fomenting dissent, that is) and really don't understand why we can't all get along.

I am envious of those women I see walking together, having coffee, shopping. I don't have very many people to do those things with. I am not an easy friend to have. I demand, by my very presence, that the people I am with be real. I can't do superficial well. It is so very boring. I expect a lot from my friends; big hearts, generosity, compassion towards others and towards me. I will give my friends anything in my power. Sometimes that is overwhelming and I have to be told "Don't fix me- just listen and be there for me."

Life is not a popularity contest. The one with the most friends does not win. The one with a few real friends of the heart is luckiest. I am a winner.

(But I do miss being the best friend of someone I loved. Ah, well...)