It only takes a minute

I brought the old lady a new lamp today. It is a cheap gooseneck in bright fushia with a low energy bulb. She needs it to put on her makeup. Ninety-six years old and legally blind, she still wants to look her best. Frankly, she doesn't do too badly.

I told the old man I bought the old lady a lamp and he wanted to see it. I started out of the living room and there was a bang. He had gotten up too fast and fell over knocking the old lady over too. The glass top on the little table got knocked off and there was candy and nuts everywhere. The old lady was able to get up once I pulled his weight off her, but the old man just was confused. He could not figure out how to get up on his knees and pull himself up on the couch. Somehow I got him up. He is so frail and brittle, it is amazing he did not break a hip. Thank goodness the old lady takes the bone strengthener. She was unhurt but the surprise made her pee her pants. What a circus.

It only takes a moment for a life changing experience to occur. They both could have been terribly hurt. The old lady told him in no uncertain terms that he was to use the walker when they went to the dining room for dinner. He agreed.

I know this is the beginning of the end for him. It hurts me to see him so frail and confused. He doesn't understand why he is so weak. He doesn't understand how much he is declining. The other day he wore a crazy outfit. Not that that is anything new, but this was so very weird. He wore a torn t shirt with a Golden Nugget logo on it under a suit. If there is anything the old man is, it is vain about dressing nicely. If he was in his right mind he would never wear that. Sure he has never understood color, but he would never wear something worn out.

I hope it is quick. Who thought they would still be alive five years later?

Feeling liberated

I am not someone who quietly grows like a lotus. I am someone who springs up like a weed. I am someone who can not keep a secret, nor do I want to. Being told I couldn't talk about the demise of my marriage was a cancer to me. I rotted on the inside and a foul odor surrounded me I am sure. The isolation I felt was debilitating. I never want to feel that shut up again.

Some time ago I started to rediscover my femininity. It was fun and liberating and I needed to talk about it. I needed somewhere safe and non judging. I needed to talk and be listened to, I needed support. I was lucky enough to find an adult website that fulfilled these requirements and blogged my heart out for about a year. Then my membership ran out and I couldn't justify the cost of joining again. For six months I tried blogging other places and was not satisfied. Mainly because I didn't get feedback and support. So I joined again for half a year. I started posting more of my general blogs here on this site, and although I got lots of feedback on the other site, I have only gotten six responses here. Once more I let my paid membership go.

It has been two days and I am feeling liberated from the addiction I had to checking responses on the other site. How many people read my blog? How many responded? Who else has posted? Do I have any responses? What is going on in the forums and how can I have spent all day there? Guess what? I don't miss it at all.

I am hoping that more people will read my blogs and find them interesting. During the last year I have found myself blogging about my thousand year old parents and their antics, and more general subjects. I am realizing I need to make more connections and not just rely on the people who stumble by. Here's the deal, I'll read and reply to you, if you will read and reply to me. What a bargain! Cheap at twice the price.

Mr Bigstuff, who do you think you are?

There comes a time when hearing aid users need servicing. Both the old lady and the old man needed theirs worked on and I made an appointment to have them see S. He is selling more in 2 days than we used to sell in a month when we were in business for ourselves. (Sigh) Incredibly busy but if he has a few moments between appointments he will try to deal with walk-ins.

He was still helping a woman when we arrived and there was a very large man waiting outside the test booth. I asked him to move so I could sit my parents down. I asked if he had an appointment? He answered with a strong Russian accent he just dropped by to see S. I told him that we made an appointment. The assistant asked if he wanted to schedule a time to see S. No, he would come back sometime.

Finally the woman left and as S escorted my folks into the booth he asked where Mr E had gone. That is Mr E? Our eldest used to swim with his youngest. I said I told him we had an appointment and he should make one. S said he never does, just expects to be waited on.

Mr E was an incredibly powerful business man. He was CEO of a fortune 500 company and flew about the world in a private plane. He had assistants and his assistants had assistants. It was a huge deal if he ever came to a swim meet. Now he is retired and expects to be treated more importantly than others. But he isn't Mr E of the big company. He is just another customer and my thousand year old parents, who had an appointment, usurped his assumption of personal importance.

I have been reading a book about ignoble things royalty has done and said and the way they died. No matter who you think you are, you live and then you die. It is how you treat others that counts more than what others think of you.

Mr E! S will see you and fix your hearing aid ... you just have to make an
appointment.

Noisy!

This condo is quiet. I mean really quiet. I am on ground level with spancrete above me and a fire wall between me and my widowed neighbor. Sometimes I hear the elevator and some plumbing. Usually, I don't hear anything. Since it has warmed up, the birds have been chirping nonstop.

This morning I heard children laughing. So cool. I love it. And this afternoon all kinds of people are on their balconies. My building opens onto a park filled with people. Easter Sunday in Minnesota. Not too many bonnets, but families everywhere.

Easter is not from my tradition. I did small baskets for the girls when they were young. They were shocked, and I mean shocked when I didn't do baskets after they were out of high school. I did buy everyone a Dove solid bunny and make Matzoh Brei for breakfast, though. These past years with just S sometimes around even that has gone by the wayside.

I saw S on Monday and made a list of some things I would like from the house; my bicycle and planters. We also have to do taxes. He told me he would come over Sunday afternoon. I just called him. He said I bet you are wondering where I am. Our daughter and her husband had been over at the house getting their bikes and he was just loading up my stuff. I told him where to dump the dirt from the planters and we laughed. Whether he gets here before dark is anyone's guess and whether he will have the papers I asked for is doubtful. It is too easy relax into old habits and expectations. I found myself going there and stopped. I looked at what I was doing and made myself stop.

I had been feeling a little blue. Poor me, all alone on Easter, not invited to be with anyone. How I was missing my old life. No chocolate bunny, nobody to share the Matzoh Brei. Big deal. Not a big deal at all. Just a beautiful spring day, the sun is shining and children shrieking while the the birds endlessly sing.

She really IS losing it

When I went to pick up the old lady for her doctor appointment today, the old man was dressed in his going to the clinic outfit. It is a dark velour tracksuit that he goes commando under. I told him it wasn't his appointment but he decided to go with us anyway. As luck would have it, he got to be seen for his itchy back too. "See? You don't know everything!" It is true they've written libraries about things I don't know.

Trying to give the old lady regular assessment tests is difficult. She is legally blind and only has peripheral vision, plus she is a functional illiterate. So spelling tests are always interesting. They asked her to count backwards from 100 by 7. My gosh, can you? Well her stress and anxiety level went through the roof. No! Do not give her math. The last time she had these kind of tests she was truly insulted. They asked her to name animals and she could only name a few. This time she was prepared; zebra, tiger, lion, elephant, cow, dog, cat, mouse, snake and whale! Ha ha! They wouldn't fool her again. But she could not remember a list of three words given at the beginning. The clock face she drew showed her poor vision. But the joy of getting things right was intense.

She had some blood drawn and a urinalysis. No infection anywhere. Dr S told us that by age 85 one in three people had Alzheimers, and by her age, 96, it went up to two out of three. Eventually, if you live long enough, you probably will get some form of it. So he felt she was in an early stage. Not to be confused with Early Onset Alzheimer Disease which can strike as young as 35. She does not want to take any medication for it, though. The old man got furious at that. Why not? He feels you should fight at all costs. She feels like when it is time to go, then go.

He, of course, for five years running complained about his back itching. Before we left the house I said it was the same old dry skin and he had two choices, die or itch. Turns out they are going to put him on a tiny bit of prednisone, a steroid. I joked that he didn't have to worry about his balls shrinking (they are almost halfway to his knees these days) and he said it didn't matter if they did shrink, they were no good anyway. Dr S was so funny as he explained those were completely different steroids. He was concerned because the old man is down to 130 pounds. The old lady is thrilled that she is down to 137. They have both shrunk in size and Dr S made her cane shorter which added to her comfort.

Then off to Byerly's for pancakes and eggs. They make their own sausage and his was about five inches long and as fat around as a hot dog. While waiting for him to finish I did some grocery shopping for them. Coca Cola and ice cream, the real essentials of life. When I came back he was yelling at her for not knowing something, to the discomfort of the other patrons. Oy vey is mir.

On the way back to their apartment the old lady commented on what a wonderful day it had been, just like a vacation. She really is losing it.

Be Kind

At Costco I saw an older woman standing behind her car in a handicapped space. She had big boxes in the cart and I asked if she needed a hand getting them into the car. She said no, her husband was coming. And here he came, a great big white haired man leaning heavily on his cane. I realized she still saw him as quite capable. She told him what I asked and said, "Isn't she kind? She is so kind."

What had I done? Nothing, as it turned out because he put their stuff in the back seat. I had only asked, yet she was stunned that someone had stopped to ask. Has kindness gone the way of the horse and buggy? Something to be hauled out and put on parade and put away all other times? Something the old lady says her mother used to say is that it costs no more to be nice.

I am talking beyond nice. Nice is a dime a dozen, nice is the cashier saying have a nice day. Kind isn't always nice. There is a song "Cruel to be Kind". I just listened to it and I'm not sure that I agree with all the sentiments. Nick Lowe sings "You have to be cruel to be kind in the right measure..." and that is true of all kindness; in the right measure. We kindly remove a child from danger even though the child is furious.

It isn't kind if your actions take away another's independence and strokes your own ego. Kindness is in the way you live. There is another word used a lot these days, mindfulness. Being mindful is in essence being kind to ourselves, our family, our community, our world. Being kind is trying to live in way that doesn't intentionally hurt others. Being kind does not mean being a doormat, not at all.

The one thing that attracted me to my husband and his family are their innate kindnesses. It was a wonderful treat to be with people who are kind. They are not saints, and have their own mishegass (Yiddish word meaning quirks and craziness) but are kind, whether opening their home to mother from Chile whose child was in the U of M hospital, to opening their hearts to a Jewish girl from Brooklyn.

Kindness, mindfulness is not a destination. It is the daily journey, with diversions along the way. It is a road to keep coming back to. At the end I want this on my headstone: She tried to be kind.

Let's all try, let's all do. I want kindness to be as ubiquitous as the auto, always there, not a buggy hauled out for a parade.

She is losing it

On the way to New Jersey this month, the old lady, 96, kept asking me to tell her what we were doing that evening. After the fifth time I told her that Bob was picking us up and Iris was making dinner I said, "Mom, don't get senile on me now."

My step-mother Harriet is smart without being educated. She memorized the reader before she entered first grade. When called to recite, she was word perfect although she couldn't read. In a class with 60 children she was passed on to the next grade where they found out she couldn't read and put her back. She hated school and left at age fifteen to become a hairdresser. She still does her own hair, although I color it. She has been legally blind for years. She learned to cope by feeling the food she was cooking. And until recently, she could still design and knit or crochet her own clothing. I taught her to read a pattern about 35 years ago and she made the most amazing creations. Even with her awful eyesight she can still do nicer crafts than the other ladies at her building.

One thing that drives us all batty is that she never forgets. She remembers the dress her mother made her for a show when she was in grade school. She remembers something I said at eight years old and she remembers every slight and every compliment ever given. But now she is losing her short term memory and I am wondering how to deal with it.

We went out to a Chez Daniel in the Embassy Suites on Saturday. They make a really wonderful rack of lamb that they enjoy very much. In between the soup and the entree they serve a little ball of sorbet to cleanse the palate. The old lady loves it and finished it in a trice. After our dinner plates were taken away she asked where the ice cream was. I said, "You mean the little scoop of sorbet? We already had it." We talked about it for awhile and then the server brought us chocolate covered strawberries. She asked why we hadn't had the ice cream. I told her we already ate it. I said, "Mom, do you remember we just talked about it?" No, she didn't.

My parents do not sugarcoat reality. In fact the old man scrapes away any sugar that might make life sweeter. I said I was concerned about her memory and I hope it wasn't the beginning of the end. She said she'd had a good run.

The thing about short term memory loss is that it is so very frustrating for the people around it. The one whose memory is failing doesn't remember that she asked that same question or told that same story many times in a short period. It is hard to keep patience with her. I'm not an awfully patient person to begin with and self centered repetition drives me crazy. (As my ex used to say, "And for you it is a very short drive.")

Tomorrow I will call the gerontologist and leave a message. I am not sure whether this is the start of something worse or what but her doctor should know. She is a frail old lady with a grip of iron and a zest for life. If she dies before my old man I will have no choice but to place him in long term care. It won't be long term though. He will fade away without her.

Here is the great Jimmy Durante singing September Song:



"As the days dwindle down to a precious few
September, November, December,
These precious days I'll spend with you"

Updated wonderfully for your enjoyment, the great Lou Reed sings September Song. The picture is of Kurt Weill.

Just answer the question!

Me: What time do you want me to come over?

Friend: What time do you want to come over?

Me: You are the one making dinner, what time should I come?

Friend: Well what time do you want to come?

Me: You are the one doing the inviting, just tell me what time I should arrive.

Friend: Anytime you want.

Me: What, 5 or 6 or 8?

Friend: How about 5:30?

Me: Fine, see you then.

Why is it so damn hard to get a direct answer to a direct question? Frankly, that is an abridged conversation above. It would have been too boring to have transcribed it if I could have remembered it all. At this point, my stomach is all clenched and I don't even want to go to dinner. Is it just this question? No, of course not. It is that whole way of not communicating.

Please, I beg of you, even if it will hurt my feelings, just answer the question, whether it be big like "Do you want to stay married?" or small like the time to arrive for dinner. Don't make me work for the answer. I just can't play that game, not ten years ago and not now.

Double Feature

Most of the people on this site probably never experienced an old fashioned double feature. First a cartoon, then a movie, then another movie, all for one price. Well I couldn't get the cartoon tonight but I certainly enjoyed a first class double feature. I went to the cheap theater in Hopkins and saw two Academy Award nominees. Well worth the $3.00!

The Blind Side is a really lovely film about a big homeless boy and the family that takes him in and helps him along in his future. It was based on the book written by the woman of the family, played by Sandra Bullock. It was a wonderful cast including a really precocious little boy and Tim McGraw as the father of the family. I am sure there were many altercations within the family but I wasn't bothered by seeing rich people in love living a generous life. The football was well choreographed and fun to watch.

I followed it up by walking, not sneaking, not sneaking at all, into Invictus. I am so impressed by Clint Eastwood's projects. Taking on a film about Nelson Mandela and the 1995 Rugby World Championship is taking a risk. Matt Damon was very good as the thoughtful team captain. Morgan Freeman was terrific as Nelson Mandela, who is one of my personal heroes. The graciousness and humbleness of this man was inspiring. If he can forgive his captors and do what is right for his very damaged country, then I can take a lesson.

The best part for me was at the end of each film, during the credits they showed photographs of the real Michael Oher and the Tuohy family. Real pictures of Nelson Mandela and the South African Rugby team, The Springboks. Of course some dramatization took place for the sake of the story, but real people inspired them. One changed a boy and family's life, and the other changed a nation. I walked out of the theater inspired and would recommend either or both to anyone.

Nice work if you can get it

Twenty months after returning from Kuwait my daughter finally has a job. During this time of unemployment she married a man who works twenty-seven hours a week for a large corporation that has promised him full time as soon as the hiring freeze is over. She came home with twenty-three thousand dollars in savings. Needless to say it is all gone and by last summer they were six thousand dollars in debt. A bond that was bought when she was a baby by my parents came due and they got out of debt and bought a few Christmas presents.

They pay two thirds of their income for rent. I slip her money when I see her and make care packages. I fill her gas tank so she can visit. They turn down invitations because it will cost too much in gas. Every outing is figured in terms of mileage. For my birthday I gave her a rebate check so she could buy me a gift. It wasn't that I needed anything, she just needed to be able to buy me something.

So what is this job? She will be working as a security guard at a beauty college. Four days a week her hours are from 5:30 to 9:30 AM and Friday and Saturday From 3 to 11 PM. She has Sunday off. That is right, working six days a week for thirty-six hours at $11.00 an hour. This is not a sitting at a desk security position, this is a roaming on your feet being a presence.

Her husband suggested she could go to college in the afternoon and I mentioned it gave her time to look for something else. She burst into tears and said, "Let me at least start working before you tell me I can do better!" This period of unemployment has been hard on this highly intelligent woman. I am sorry I was insensitive and forgot that all work has dignity.

So good luck darling, you are a wonderful human being and always a success in my eyes.

At the Jersey Shore

Last Thursday, my daughter and I took my parents out to New Jersey for the wedding of a beloved niece's daughter. It took place in the area of the state known as the Jersey Shore. When some guests found out Eri was from Minnesota they started making "Fargo" noises. She quietly explained that comparing Minnesotans to the movie Fargo was like comparing them to "The Jersey Shore". Boy did that get a reaction.

I had last been in this area as a teenager. It has changed so much from a sort of sleazy, sort of nowhere resort area to lovely redeveloped coastal towns full of nice restaurants and upscale condos. The old cottages have largely disappeared, at least in the areas I saw. The friend who took us out for lunch one day did point out that, as in many areas, the low income people have been pushed out as their housing was razed for development. This is not a new story and takes place everywhere from San Francisco to Philadelphia.

What has not changed, though, is the ocean. Wild and grey with rain, it called to me as we ate our lunch in a waterfront restaurant. I love my friend and her son was as beautiful as a model, but they could not keep my attention from the windows and the grandeur outside. The old lady has a friend from the East at her senior building. They both agree that lakes are nice, but there is something about the ocean that is so much more; it is the smell of the salt and they miss it. (of course I had to be a smart ass and say I would mix some salt water, add cat food and run a fan by it.)

It rained and rained and rained the entire time we were there and I have heard it is still raining. In honor of the stoic and classy New Jersians here is a silly version of the song about raining for 40 days and nights.

Sucking the life

As time goes by I will be debriefing the trip to NJ with the thousand year old parents but for now, just things I have been thinking about.

It was kind of hard being in a hotel without power on Saturday night and Sunday morning. My daughter Eri and I took them slowly up the steps to our rooms on the second floor and undressed them by flashlight. Somehow we managed. But as I was running around on Sunday morning trying to get them to brunch and back to our rooms to pack someone asked me how I was doing. I said, "They are sucking the life out of me."

I started thinking about it. Why the hell shouldn't they suck the life out of me if they were using and enjoying that energy and I wasn't? Why shouldn't the ones that appreciate the life force get it anyway they can get it? I certainly wasn't enjoying my life and wishing the incidents over. I was wishing the precious time I have away.

The medical mystic Caroline Myss, says that there are some people who are energy vampires. They get their energy from others and don't give any back. They take and take and if you are not vigilant, they will drain your very life's energy. My parents can be that way.

When I am feeling good, feeling alive and in tune with the wonder of Creation, I am easy to get along with and don't mind what I have to do for the old folks. I can laugh it off. At that time I become a conduit for energy. The more I give, the more I get. But let stress, tension, resentments, worry, and negative energy of any kind take hold and I get blocked up. Spiritually constipated would describe it. Then the good energy drains and I have nothing to replenish it with. Then the vampires can drain me dry.

To help unblock the stoppage, I am doing a few things. I erased hurtful, and loving messages from my phone. All text messages are gone. The next part is a little harder. Holding on to resentments and bad thoughts are comfortable in an uncomfortable way, if you know what I mean. I release all negative thoughts and resentments. I empty myself of negative energy so to be receptive to the love that wants to manifest and fill me. It is always there, just waiting for me to be open.

And we're off!

Getting in a last little blog before picking up the folks for the trip to New Jersey. Whee!

Here is our itinerary:

Thursday:
E and J pick me up at 10:30
Pick up parents at 11:00
Get to airport by 11:30
Getting 94 and 96 year olds through security and to gate, infinity
Get to NJ at 5
Get picked up by cousin B
Dinner at B & I's house
Hotel.

Friday:
Parents rest up for rehearsal dinner
E and I meet my best friend of 54 years!
Rehearsal dinner

Saturday:
Brunch with other cousins
E and I go to church ceremony
Parents rest up for reception
Reception from 5-10:30, good chance parents have to leave early.

Sunday:
I pack them up
We have family brunch
Back to Newark Airport
Back to Minneapolis by 4
Drop them home
Come home and turn on computer.
Hope someone cool is on booty call.
Blog about trip.

Sidney and Harriet go to a wedding, Carol keeps her cool and has funny, I hope, stories to tell.

Gearing Up

We are starting to gear up for the big trip to New Jersey.

A wonderful cousin's daughter is marrying on Saturday and my parents are so excited! This wedding is the highlight of their year and I think it may be the one thing getting them through this rotten winter. Frankly, when I heard about it last spring, I never thought they would be able to go.

They are so excited. Tomorrow I have to take the old man to the barber shop. He is going to have "the works". Haircut, hair on ears cut, eyebrow trim, and shave. For over fifty years the old lady (96) has been cutting the old man's hair. He is almost 95 and still has a full head of thin white hair. The old lady started working in beauty and barber shops 80!, yes 80 years ago at age 16. She is very propriatorey about letting anyone else cut his hair. It doesn't matter that she is legally blind, and cuts by feel. She has to sit down between each cut.

I put color in her hair on Sunday. She is now flaming strawberry blond and she will give herself a trim today or tomorrow. She likes to do her hair like Barbara Walters. Good thing she can't see very well, otherwise she would see it looks NOTHING like Barbara Walters. I will pack for them on Wednesday.

This is not an easy trip and my younger daughter is coming along to help. This is not a vacation for me; so why am I doing it? Because they want to go so very much. It is good for me to take on a challenge and see if I can do this with humor and love. They were so frail and sick when I moved them from NY, and now they are frail and forgetful, but full of anticipation for a party. The old lady is looking forward to being the matriarch and the old man is looking forward to wearing his pretty suit and shiny shoes.

I try to live by the Golden Rule and do unto others as I would have others do unto me. If it is true that what goes around comes around, I will be loved and cared for in my old age, whether I deserve it or not. I pray I am worthy.

My daughter in Argentina

My daughter, my thirty-two year old baby girl, is working in the Mendoza wine region of Argentina, right over the mountains from Chile. She sent out this email to the family:

"Well, I am sure you all heard about the earthquake... I sure did feel it this morning - it shook me awake, and then kept shaking. Apparently Chile loses an average of 1 cm every year... they might have lost just a bit more this time. I haven´t heard anything exactly, yet but I think, from my limited experience with earthquakes, that over here it was at least 4.5 to 5. The lights were swaying and car alarms were going off. In town, they were evacuating the hospitals. We felt the big after shock, but then the unrelated 6.0 in Northern Argentina, I didn´t feel at all. The major bummer here is that my roommate worked in a town not 50 km from the epicenter last year and he is having a hell of a time getting any information about anyone. Also, just happens to be a major wine region and I can´t imagine what it has done to the wineries. But, no worries here. Everyone is fine." She is in the little town of Mendoza, in the upper right hand corner of the map. It was actually measured at 8.8
map of earthquake and Mendoza

There has been pretty bad destruction of the older parts of some of the towns and some loss of life, but not on the scale of Haiti. There hundred of thousands of the worlds poorest people died in one blow. Here, in a developed economy, things are bad, but not catastrophic to the same degree. They have resources for rebuilding and their President says not to send aid until they ask for specific aid.

The good news is that it is not worse and the better news is that fears for a Tsunami have been down graded. Here is a good link.
Earthquake overview

Thank you to the friends who have inquired about my daughter.

The right to privacy

So much has been written and discussed about Tiger Woods. Personally, I don't care who he has been cheating with. It does not affect me in any way but one. I am tired of having his life and problems foisted on my consciousness. Aside from living in a cave, one cannot avoid it. I feel strongly that our right to privacy has been compromised.

If I ran for office and they asked me about my religion I would say that my spiritual life is private. If anyone were to bring up my sexual life, I would tell them it is none of their business, it is private. And if anyone wants to make me think that some celebrity's sex life is news, I want to be able to invoke my right to privacy from hearing about it.

You might or might not know that the reason abortion is legal is broadly based on the right of woman to have privacy to do what she wants to her body.

The most frequently quoted statement by a Supreme Court justice on the subject of privacy comes in Justice Brandeis's dissent in Olmstead v. U. S. (1928):

"The makers of our Constitution understood the need to secure conditions favorable to the pursuit of happiness, and the protections guaranteed by this are much broader in scope, and include the right to life and an inviolate personality -- the right to be left alone -- the most comprehensive of rights and the right most valued by civilized men. The principle underlying the Fourth and Fifth Amendments is protection against invasions of the sanctities of a man's home and privacies of life. This is a recognition of the significance of man's spiritual nature, his feelings, and his intellect."

Why do I carry on about privacy when I write about my own life? Not very private at all. It is my choice. You choose to read about it. I don't choose to read about Tiger. Why doesn't he get the right to privacy? Why doesn't his wife and children? I do not believe I have the right to know the details of anyone's life for my gratuitous interest.

Do I need to know if someone is a murderer before I hire them to care for my aged parents? Yes. Do I need to know how many people he slept with before murdering his mother? There are some things we need to know, but there are other things that can remain private.

I am not a lawyer or a constitutional expert, this is just my opinion on privacy, mine and yours and Tiger's.

The language of love

"Of the countless ways we can show love to one another, five key categories, or five love languages, proved to be universal and comprehensive—everyone has a love language, and we all identify primarily with one of the five love languages: Words of Affirmation, Quality Time, Receiving Gifts, Acts of Service, and Physical Touch."
- From The 5 Love Languages by Dr Gary Chapman

I woke up feeling wonderful this morning and wondered why. Then I remembered; I was loved.

I have two wonderful daughters, one shows love by the very thoughtful gifts she gives. She hears what I say and thinks about what to give me. It is not easy because I am very hard to gift. But she will find me the blanket, or little bedside light that are just right. She bought me a small quiet fan that I enjoy all summer. Unfortunately, I am not as good a gift giver. I don't always discern what is desired.

My other daughter gave me a most appreciated gift yesterday. She gave me a gift of service. She came to my home and colored my hair and then gave me a pedicure. She worked so gently on my feet, sitting on the floor which was not very comfortable for her. We talked and laughed and watched the Olympics. Afterwards I made her a grilled cheese sandwich which she said was very delicious. I had one too, and I can tell you it was just muenster cheese on whole grain bread. What she found delicious was the love with which it was made. She was eating love. There are so many jokes about mothers pushing food on family and what is not understood is that we are just showing love.

To one degree or another I give words of affirmation, and loving touch, and the gift of quality time. But what is easiest for me to give and understand is the language of service as love.

"Point a finger

... and three come back at you."

It is a cliche' that I find to be true. Another one is "Wherever you go, there you are."

So here I am, in my own little place, looking to assign blame, but I can't. Point that finger and here I am in a heaven or hell of my own making. What will it be? When will I understand that it is my effort that reveals Grace in my life?

Right now, intellectually, I understand that I AM light. But there is a tightness around my heart that is keeping me in the dark.

I am the Founder and President of the Procrastinators Club. I've had therapy, I've had past lives read. I had negative forces that were holding me back purged. And yet ... I put things off. I've prayed, I've sprung up and attacked tasks.

The thing about presenting a strong persona to the world is that no one knows how much help I need. Maybe it was losing my mother at a young age and being raised by clueless parents. Maybe it is the depression. And maybe it is just being bloody lazy. I don't know. But I do know that all the fingers are pointing in my direction and I cannot run because here I am.

Is this the right place to share dark moments of the soul? Probably not. Should you worry? No.

"Is there any remover of difficulty save God? Say Praise Be God, He is God! All are His servants and all abide by His bidding!" Baha'i prayer.

What game were we playing?

The other day I spent time with a friend who'd had outpatient surgery. My role was to see to it that she got her pain pills and to keep her awake until the next dose. We decided to play cards. I was amazed that she could see to do it. We had some laughs as she made some plays that I thought were completely illegal. We both compromised but it made for a rather weird game.

Well, I have been playing cards on the computer and guess what? We were both right for the games we were playing but we were playing different games! She was playing a form of Rummy and I was playing Gin! Nearly the same, but significantly different. In Rummy you can add on to the others run and keep going or vice versa. In Gin you have to have a discard to go out, but not in Rummy.

Isn't that just like life? How many times have I been at cross purposes with someone and not known why? I will explain and explain and accuse the other of either not listening or willfully misunderstanding, when actually we weren't playing the same game. Or not on the same page, and sometimes, not in the same universe.

I have lived in Minnesota for over 35 years and I still misunderstand and am misunderstood. I come from NY and inadvertently hurt others by being direct. I also get in trouble for not knowing the code. For example, I planned an event for a certain day and my boss told me to try to find another date because she "wasn't comfortable with that day." I could not find another day that worked and went ahead. She confronted me and asked why I did it when she told me not to. I explained that she didn't say not to do it, just that she would prefer it on a different day if possible because she wasn't comfortable with it. How could I play when I didn't know the rules?

How much of the misery of what had been a happy marriage was because we were miscommunicating? All the communication workshops in the world can't help when one person is trying to state as clearly as possible what she is trying to say and the other is speaking in a subtle code. She gets louder, in hopes of being understood and he gets quieter and stops trying. Subtlety is lost on me.

I am not a mindreader. I have hurt the people I love by sometimes saying the way I think or feel in a less than tactful way. Recently I realized that someone I care about was giving off waves of dislike while trying to smile. Sometimes it gets through to someone as clueless as me. I care about this person and every person in that household. I am so sorry for making them feel bad.

What game am I playing? Am I winning or losing? I sure hope to have fun participating whether I know the rules or make them up on the spot.

Woman at the mercy, a girl stuff entry

Hormones. There you have it. Women spend a great deal of their lives at the mercy of their own hormones.

Aside from doing it myself, I have watched my own daughters go through puberty. One seemed to float through it, as she floats through life, and the other had it hit her with full force. One time when she was particularly unhappy I asked her if she'd had a period recently and she burst into tears. When she realized what she had was premenstrual stress she started being aware of it and learned to anticipate the bad moods and deal with them.

When I was young I learned to lessen the effects of PMS by use of calcium and vitamin E. That is not to say I didn't get a little nuts, I did, but only for a day and not a week each month.

My first pregnancy played havoc with my hormones. My behavior changed to such a degree that within days of conception people started asking me if I was pregnant. When I asked why they were asking, my co-worker said I had turned into a bitch overnight. I couldn't stand being touched by the veins in my husband's arms and other nutty behavior.

By being aware of what I have been feeling and the calendar, I have been able to deal with my hormones messing with my mind. But going through menopause changes all the rules. I think it is the unpredictability that starts all the stories about crazy menopausal women. We don't understand that it is our hormones making us nuts. Now I can have PMS for a month and think I am just depressed and suddenly feel the heavy breasts and wonder, "Am I getting a period?" Nah. Yep. I don't know. Oh, is that blood? I guess I AM getting a period.

They say the ages of menopause are 38-62. You are not officially done until you can go a whole year without a period. Now I will have to start counting again.

Attitude

Have you seen this magazine called "More"? I read it at the dentist yesterday. It is geared towards the woman in middle age, which can be from 40 and up. Ahem. Anyway I picked it up because the cover had a teaser about the ten best careers for women in midlife.

Number one was the job I lost a few years ago. I loved it as a community services manager. It was different everyday and I got to help lots of people. As I read the article which laid out the salary from 42-80 thousand, yeah right, more like 32-50, I was assailed with negativity. Where the fuck are these jobs and why can't I find one? I can't remember the other nine jobs.

I came home and got ready to go out. While in the shower I wondered if my attitude was the problem? Instead of looking at that article with a jaundiced eye, maybe I can say, cool. Maybe I can change my attitude to one of great, there are jobs out there that I can do and all I have to do is be open. Can't hurt.

So between the negative and positive energy, I am spinning like an atom.

High Maintenance

Several years ago at work some of the guys were talking about people who are high maintenance. I innocently thought that because I don't wear much makeup and my hair is generally short or a mess that I couldn't be high maintenance. My friend Michael started to hoot, "Carol," he said, "you are extremely high maintenance!" I didn't understand it at the time.

I really am not that vain unless something I am attached to gets messed with. Then I am so self conscious, I become one pointed. In 1987 I needed to get a front tooth pulled but lived in total pain until the false tooth was ready. I would not go even one day without a front tooth.

I've been blessed with really good skin. It has few wrinkles. I have a fairly light case of rosacea that mostly shows up as pink skin. Little by little the pinkness is turning into tiny blood vessels close to the surface. Not like Uncle Bill the heavy drinker. I finally had the laser treatment and all I can say is "Oh my God! I have a pizza face."

They warned me it would look worse before it looked better. The first day it was swollen. The next day I did look like hard drinking Uncle Bill with the veins turning almost black. And now today, I look like an old witch with acne.

I didn't take my parents out today. I scared a delivery guy and I definitely did not go to a White Trash Party I was invited to. Hope springs eternal and I had a great costume complete with turquoise eyeshadow. But by this afternoon I knew that partying was out for me. My daughter tried to convince me to add a few false warts and I would fit right in. Um... no.

The old lady, 95, has a couple of sayings. She says that you have to suffer to be beautiful. After this treatment, I totally agree. She also says that every day of your life you are in a beauty contest. I opted out of the competition a long time ago and skated on being young and cute. It is quite a shock to pass the mirror and see someone not young, and believe me with a face like this, not cute either.

I've often heard that true beauty is on the inside. I don't really care what my innards look like. I'd rather be superficially good looking on the outside. So there you have it, my dark and vain high maintenance self exposed at last. (Bwahahaha!)

Cleaning up loose ends

Blogging is two sided. I write for me, and I write for you. If it was only for me I would mark it as a private diary entry. Sometimes I hit a nerve and someone will send me an email or leave a comment.

I have been enjoying my own place and putting off going back to the house to deal with the den/office. Being back at the house is like a field full of unexploded and hidden mines. L is still in town and she promised to help me. We were in the process of throwing away a bunch of old paper and she said, "I told Dad he should get a shredder and he is going to get one." Bang! There goes one now. I said that I tried to tell him that we needed one and he said they were too noisy and we didn't need one. "Why will he listen to you and he wouldn't listen to me?"

After awhile I said that one can't help the way they feel, and sometimes feelings change. What I have the hardest time forgiving, though, is his assertion that he wanted to stay married while building a new life without me. I wasted so much time waiting for things to get better, to go back to normal. We each lied to ourselves and each other. I should have packed my bags as soon as I knew his feelings had changed.

So I am mad at him for not being honest and mad at the way I put myself in this position. I am sorrowful at wasting time, years, waiting for the bad patch to be over and laughter to begin again.

Tomorrow, today actually, is another day. We have some more sorting to do. I want to be able to look at the stuff as stuff and not assign an emotional value to anything. I want to walk in, do what needs to be done, and leave.

Yeah, that is over

For some reason, I invited S and L to come over and watch Vikings game on my flat screen. I guess I didn't want to be alone and I thought they would enjoy it. I am not much of a football fan, although the coverage is much more exciting than in the old days before cams on cable. I used to like the Jets when Joe Namath played (boy does that age me) and I dated Bruce Taylor of the San Francisco 49ers back when I was young and stupid. He was young and stupid too.

L wanted to prepare a dinner with me. We picked out a recipe and she went shopping for the ingredients. I had to laugh when she came home with a rotisserie chicken and a bag of frozen french fries. Masala naan, humus and pickles rounded out the meal. S came over after working out. They ate watching the game and I ate at the table.

The first half of the game was pretty exciting and they were happy. I had enough football and went into the bedroom to read. Then the shouting started, the cursing, the hopes of the faithful being shattered once again. Nine minutes left in the fourth quarter and I decided to go to the grocery to get some fuzzy water. I didn't want to be here.

Lovely wandering the aisles, looking at fancy stuff, hearing the game in the background. Oh no, it went into overtime. Being the only person in Byerly's, I chatted with the staff who happened to be from Africa. We talked about crazy soccer fans, comparing them with football fans. Finally, I could put it off no longer and went back to my place. Still in overtime, you could cut the tension with a knife. Sudden death field goal and New Orleans had won. S got up and left without a word. L gave me a kiss and went back to the house.

I turned to the Smuckers cavalcade of stars on ice. Happy, joyous young athletes skating their success in winning nationals. I was smiling from ear to ear with them. S is the past, I don't need him and I don't want him. We will always be parents and grandparents, and on some level we will always be tied. But instead of in the past where he had a life without me, and I was lonely, I now have a life without him. I realize I might be alone, but my, my, my, it is so much better than being lonely with him.

Is there a time when we realize all we need to know? Is there a tool that measures understanding? I think it is only by living everyday that we achieve any understanding of ourselves or others. I do not subscribe anymore to the theory that any part of life should take a particular amount of time. Well, pregnancy is the exception to the rule. But a child walks and talks in their own time. Love is it's own timetable. Mourning, healing, taking steps towards health are all individual endeavors.

There is the realization that my time here on Earth is finite. There is the perception that after youth, life is all downhill. I am here to fight that perception. Maybe I will be able to create a successful career at 57. Maybe I will achieve financial security. But maybe I will only be able to work part time, maybe I will live on a fixed income counting all my dimes. I don't know. I have spent so much of my life worried about all the bad things that could happen. Now, in this time of rebuilding, I want to enjoy life and the blessings that are mine. There is a bunny that frolics in the snow outside. There is a warm bed and good book waiting. Yes, the Vikings have lost again, but for me, life goes on.

I needed this

I have been such a crazy bitch for several days. Depressed, eating everything not nailed down and some that was. I picked a fight with the old lady. When asked what I was going to have for dinner, I told L, "Indigestion." Sleeping, not sleeping, easy to offend and probably offensive.

First I was blaming the grey weather, the nasty skies and roads and just missing the sun. Then it occurred to me... hormones. I was having a bout of PMS. Post Menstrual Syndrome. Good old menopause. My first impulse is to wail, "Does it ever end?"

On the way home I stopped at the store and bought chocolate and coffee ice cream, lace cookies, and other munchies. Got in the house and had some right away. I'd just had a healthy dinner of rainbow trout and spinach, two favorites. I wasn't hungry. But after eating the ice cream, I seemed to exhale for the first time in days. It makes no sense, but I feel better.

There is a party I was invited to tonight. Lots of interesting people, loud music, and not a chance anyone there wants to share my mood. I think I will stay home and watch figure skating. Beautiful young women in sparkly outfits jumping on the ice, falling on their butts, getting up with a smile and finishing. I am ready to be impressed and inspired.

1. Three amazing minutes 2. Letting go and going down

1. Three minutes

Do you ever waste time? I do. I spend hours on the computer surfing, perving, playing games, and of course facebook. Do you ever wish time would go faster? If only it would be tomorrow or next week or the baby was born or in school, or all grown up. If only it was Friday or the next party. I have sat down to meditate and instead of meditating, wishing the time was over and I could get on to the next thing. It is so very rare that I am truly totally alive and present.

I am spending a few days at a resort in Wisconsin Dells with a friend. There is an indoor water park and an indoor theme park. Today we went to the theme park. We went on the bumper cars and I had a wonderful time. I loved driving the little cars and avoiding or ramming someone. I wish I could have had the whole floor to myself and gone around and around. As it was I could not believe how long we got to stay on the cars. There weren't that many people and we got to go again. Just for curiosity I asked the attendant how long the ride was. Three minutes!

Then we tried the go-carts. I rode around and around on the right side and no one was ahead of me. My cart had super tight steering and it took all my concentration to keep it going fast around the curves. This was a super long ride. No wonder there was a line. As I exited, exhilarated, I again asked the attendant how long the ride was. Three minutes!

How could that be? How could each second last so long? How could I be so totally in the moment that three minutes felt like fifteen? And how can I attain that degree of awareness in every day life? Suddenly I understood X-treme sports; for when go-carting just won't do.

2. Letting go and going down

Although I loved roller coasters and scary rides when I was young, I had an anxiety attack at the top of a drop about twenty years ago and have not gone on anything with a vertical drop since then. Today I went on a mouse ride, a one car roller coaster. I was very scared of the drop. I did not realize I was looking at the chain drive part that steeply brings the car to the top. We zig and zagged our way down the rails with two short vertical drops. When it was over and I had not died of a heart or anxiety attack I asked why we hadn't gone down the really steep part. It was the uphill. After a while I volunteered that I wanted to go again to desensitize myself about dropping and dropping dead.

Last night I went on a very high water slide on a two person float. I was apprehensive to say the least. I don't like letting go and not having control. I knew that once in the tube, that was it. Did I love it? No. Do I want to do it again? Not really. Will I do it again? Probably, maybe, for sure and surely not.

What have I learned? That the fear of the fear is worse than the experience. I have harbored the fear that if I would ever go on a roller coaster again that I would die. I did not die. I have learned that when circumstances say let go, to let go and let the water or the ride take me down. My crazy brain is not going to kill me.

Many years ago when I learned to meditate, I experienced this moment as eternity. I want to reconnect to that consciousness in my everyday life and not have to wait for a bumper car. I feel ready to try again.

IMHO

IMHO: In my humble opinion. NOT!

"Everyone is entitled to my opinion", placard my sister sent me.

"My favorite way home is past the cemetery since it's about the only place in the whole town where people keep their opinions to themselves" www.storypeople.com

Uriah Heep was a character in one of Charles Dickens' books. He was a smarmy toad who referred to himself as humble. Other people can call one humble; a truly humble person never would.

I am one of the most opinionated people I know. My sister hit it on the head. I will stop people on the street to tell them how fabulous they look, or to disagree with the way they parked, although I am getting better at minding my own business. Is it age or exhaustion or am I finally learning boundaries?

It is hard to watch grown-up children make choices I would not make. It is even harder to shut up and not voice them. My in-laws were so good about that. I know they bit their tongue on everything from vegetarianism, to following a spiritual leader, to not baptizing our children. They were just there for us, loving and keeping their judgements to themselves. And when we started eating fish but not beef, they didn't argue, just made fish.

My daughter made a mistake and was quite upset. She came over and I made her some comfort food and listened to her. I wasn't quite as good as her grandmother. I could not help give advice and it wasn't what she wanted to hear. Sometimes my other daughter will have to preface her statements with telling me she isn't asking for advice or fixing, she just wants to talk.

So I am learning to let them live their own lives. It is what we do from when they are babies. We do everything to make them strong independent people. I heard someone say they would love to keep their babies in a bubble and not let them grow up. I know what she meant but what a hell that would be. A dear friend's child never aged, stayed newborn mentally as her little body got bigger. Hell.

Today, and I can't promise I will make it past the next ten minutes, I am going to try not only to keep my opinions to myself, (Ma, are you OK?) I am also going to try not to judge anyone harshly. Today is give the world a break from my humble opinions day, except of course, this blog.

Big Mac Disappointment

Not talking McDonalds here, talking Apple.

I am an old, old Macintosh user. My first computer was an Apple Lisa, the precursor to the Mac. In the 90's I owned two Performas. I was not happy to switch to a PC for business reasons and when I was ready to get a new Mac for home use my daughter gave us her Dell. When the Dell died we got another PC.

I was so attached to the Mac. I remember telling a brain surgeon who was computer illiterate to get a Mac. I told him, "It isn't brain surgery." (God I crack myself up) So when I moved to my own place I left the PC and ordered myself up a nearly new, refurbished ibook G4.

Frankly, I am disappointed. This is not the easy to use Mac I remember. I have a problem downloading anything because it will tell me it doesn't recognize the program and I have to choose another, yet whatever I choose is wrong.

I have downloaded Open Office but can't open it. I can't upload photos to LL. Now the Epson printer is not responding even though the right driver is loaded. And this morning the wireless mouse stopped working. I am so disappointed and saddened to be back at the library.

I don't have a lot of money so I am hoping to get a Mac wizard to help me on a barter system. Since most of them are probably young enough to be my grandchildren (provided I had kids at 18) I will offer home made meals.

Wish me luck.

Small Joys

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New Year Resolutions for Pets

15. I will not eat other animals’ poop.

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

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

12. My head does not belong in the refrigerator.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. The garbage collector is NOT stealing our stuff.

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

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

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

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

Magazine Invaders

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oddly Sweet Christmas

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

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

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

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

The Sleeping Single in a Double Bed Shuffle

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

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

Sidney and Harriet, a love story

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Fiftieth Anniversary Mom and Dad.

Then and now

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

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

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

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

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

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

Risk and side effects

Risks and Side Effects.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy and not and happy again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part 2.

Here is a follow up to say what happened next.

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

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

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

Triggers

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

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

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

Mercedes G55o

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

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

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

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

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

Thanksgiving Confidential

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

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

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

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

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

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

The old folks secret

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

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

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

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

He's The Best!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy this clip, definitely not Dr.W!

Laughing Again

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

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

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

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

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

My Last Night In This House

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

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

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

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

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