Great Big Reality Check

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3:33, I kick the cat

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

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

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

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

The watcher within

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

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

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

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

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

False Eyelashes

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

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

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

LOU REED
LOVE IS CHEMICAL

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So much more than physical

Great day for change

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the path of hate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clearing the air

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


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


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


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


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

For humans with breasts

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

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

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

No history, start at age 40 and yearly thereafter.

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

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

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

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

Wishing everyone good health and long life!

Great day for shaking it like Shakira

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

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


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


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


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

Mr Mischief

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

Halloween Party

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

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

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

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

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


Life certainly can be interesting.

Of little kittens, sharp old ladies, and happy lights

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

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

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

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

A Single Man

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

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

I'm sorry I have no tact or sublety

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

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

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

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

Everyday vs gourmet

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

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

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

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

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

Piper and Sweety

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

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

Visibly Invisible

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

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

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

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

Name that kitten!

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

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

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

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

Make new friends but keep the old.

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

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

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

Day is done

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

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

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

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

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

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

Attachment

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

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

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

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

So thanks for all your good wishes.

Kitty tales and life under the visor

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

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

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

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

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

Like having a toddler

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

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

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

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

About that kitten

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

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

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

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

What a kitten! What a cat! 

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

A Time To Love

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

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

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

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

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

Mother's helper

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

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

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

How not to impress me

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

Pride and Papa

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Wake Up Call

I usually wake up quite early, feed the kitten and myself and go back to bed for a few hours. (Sounds tough, I know.) This morning I woke up for the second time on my knees by the bed holding my head. I had no idea how I got there or why I was seeing stars. It felt like I had smashed my head on a car door. The only thing I can figure out is that I must have fallen out of bed and hit the corner of the night table on my way down. I got a package of frozen food and put it on the lump and kept it there until my forehead was numb. The cold pack was probably a good move because what could have been a huge ugly bruise is only a slightly discolored lump and can be covered with hair.

I am calling this my wake up call to remind me to get up and enjoy the day I have been given and this precious life. I can sleep when I'm dead. I am also going to sleep more centrally in the middle of the bed.

Addendum: 8 AM, up, dressed, bed made, good breakfast, cat fed, litter box cleaned. No going back to bed today.

How I am doing

Since we only have this moment, I mean this one, not the one that just passed, no, no, this one... well you get the idea, I am doing fine, this moment. Beautiful breakfast of tuna salad made with wasabe mayonnaise and dill weed on caraway rye and very garlicky marinated cucumber salad. If people have pancakes for dinner, why not lunch for breakfast? It makes sense to me. (Sometimes I love being a grown-up.) I have had a lot of ups and downs these past two weeks, but since I only have this fleeting now, I choose to let those experiences go and focus on the positive now.

I am in a 16 week diabetes research study where I have to record all my numbers and now in the fifth week  I am adjusting insulin to the data I submitted. It is a study for a new computer program that will advise dosages on a personal scale that goes according to blood glucose. It is hard to explain.

Furry little Piper is doing well. His abscess is gone and I don't think I have to give him any more antibiotic. He is full of beans and into everything. He is not an abandoned baby anymore but a cute and cuddly six week old growing every day. There has never been an ugly kitten, but gosh, he is so cute. If he hadn't fallen in my lap this way, I would have adopted an older cat. I forgot how much energy kittens take! He needs lots of playtime and has wrestled my arm and hand into submission. He gives little bites, but does not break skin. The one good thing about having neuropathy in my feet is he can chew toes and it doesn't hurt. He enjoys the computer, watching fingers fly and laying his head on the warm laptop. Sometimes he sleeps in a position that looks just like the tiger in Calvin and Hobbes. I had the opportunity to drive cross country with my daughter but what would I do with the kitten? Hmm, a complication I hadn't thought about. As my father would say, "Caught like a rat in a trap!" More like caught like a pet owner with a new pet.

I've applied for an $11. an hour part time job. I sure hope I am not overqualified. Why did I attach my resume? Knucklehead. I have also been in my pool almost every day this summer and have actually lost two whole pounds in the last month. Instead of looking at it as just a fraction of how much more I need to lose, I am looking at it as two pounds I didn't gain. There is perspective for you, clear thinking and positive outlook. Wouldn't you hire me?

The phone just rang! She will interview me on Tuesday at 1:30. Be still my heart!

When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping again

First off, Baby Piper is doing just fine. The vet was able to drain his abscess and formulate a tick medicine for his weight. I've washed all the bedding again though I look awful with scabby bites all over my body. They wouldn't be so bad if I didn't scratch, so of course I scratch all the time. Time for Benadryl or it's generic equal and off to Walgreens.

Then to the Unique Thrift Store for some bargains. I love the Unique. You can find what you are looking for and other things not even on the radar. I didn't buy the dolls from the 50th anniversary of It's A Beautiful Life, or another glass bowl or stuffed dog. But I did get what I went there for, a Diaper Genie! I don't have an infant nor do I provide daycare, but I am cleaning out a catbox daily. This gets rid of the paper bag and the mess and smell. $3.95 well spent. I also got a standing lamp and shade, a like-new cat carrier and (drum roll please) a genuine Louis Vuitton handbag shaped like a bowling bag.

It is over $1,400.00 new, $500 used on eBay and mine for $5.95. It has a tiny tear on the lower piping and shows use on the inside, but I am jazzed.  Will I keep it or give it away? If this is something your heart has been crying for, let me know. I truly believe that possessions find their owners.

Lay down with kittens, wake up with fleas

The vet combed the kitten and couldn't see any fleas. She warned me they might be in the egg stage. I have a feeling they are not eggs any longer. I still can't see them, but something has me all bitten up! Quick search on Google tells me Piper is too young to use chemicals on and that I will be washing every bit of bedding AGAIN. The treatment is to bathe him with Dawn dishwashing detergent. Thank goodness he is tiny and my sink is deep. I think I can do it by myself. 

We were lucky that our daughters never caught lice. Dumb luck since elementary schools are the place even the cleanest of kids get them. There was a time when my nephews and niece got lice and kept getting re-infested. Their mother had to wash all the bedding and all their clothes time and time again. What a job! 

Right now he is running across the top of the couch and ducking down under the pillows in the corners. He is as cute as cute can be, fleas and all. 

Dear Readers, if you have hints on how to deal with this pesky problem on a tiny kitty and a carpeted apartment, please let me know. Thanks! 

Piper!

Yesterday my friend gave a home to a kitten that was found in a drainage pipe. Today it occurred to her that there might be be another kitten abandoned. I am now the owner of a little boy kitten. He is all of 3/4 of a pound and only four weeks old. He likes being held and has a squeaky little voice and a very quiet purr.

I don't know why people just throw animals out of car windows. Don't they know they can take them to the Humane Society, a no kill shelter? (Why do people put newborns in the garbage when any fire station or hospital will take the infant?)

My friend named her little girl Nefertiti. I looked at Egyptian names but thought since he was found in a pipe, he should be Piper. He has eaten a little sliced turkey, lapped at a little formula, and pooped in his sleeping box.  Hopefully tomorrow he will use the litter box.

Thank you

To my daughters, thank you for making me a mother. It was the best job on earth and I am privileged to have watched you grow into wonderful women and the most decent of human beings.
To my son-in-law and his son, thanks for making me a mother-in-law and instant granny!
To my nieces and nephews, thank you for making me an auntie, and now a grauntie. It is wonderful to be a part of your life, be you near or far.
To my generous in-laws, thank you for helping me achieve independent living. My debt is immeasurable.
To my almost ex, thank you for going through much of life's adventure with me and not smothering me in my noisy thrashing sleep! Thanks for staying a friend.
To my sister, always there, and there always, thank you.

To the men and women sounding the sirens, thank you for being available to help those in crisis.
To the municipalities that provide clean water available twenty-four hours a day at the touch of a faucet, thanks.
To the growers, pickers, drivers and retailers in the supply chain of food, thank you for making life delicious.
To the hallway cleaners at the condo, thanks for all your efforts to keep my home beautiful.

To the teachers who taught me with passion, thank you.
To the taxpayers who funded my education, thank you. I will always remember the next generation.
To bosses who showed me respect, thank you and you have my respect.
To bosses who did not lead well, thank you for showing me what not to do.
To the administrators and aides who work with our seniors to keep them healthy and in their own homes, thanks.

To my old man, who makes demands, rarely says thank you, and doesn't appreciate what is done for him, thank you for being my father.  Contrary to your example I have become a giving person who is learning patience and forgiveness. When your actions annoy me I have the opportunity to assess my reactions and see the direction I want to grow. Being with you and learning more about your life has made me more compassionate. It has shown me that each minute brings a choice, to be miserable and make life miserable for those around us, or live in light.

Call me Sunbeam.

Thinking about kindness and compassion

On a daily basis, I try to be kind. I try to see the other's point of view (if I can look beyond my own). But how about compassion? A few examples; a dithery kind of nosey old lady came to my door to invite me to something happening in the building. I stood in the doorway and gave her the information. I did not invite her in, as I would most anyone. Was I unkind or just practical knowing it would be hard to get her to leave? A man from an online site contacted me that he was going to be in the area fairly regularly because he had a mother who lived here. It turns out that he is married and she does not know he contacts other women. Would I even meet him for a friendly lunch? No. I do not want to be part of another woman's unhappiness. Is it unkind not to make a new lunch pal? The practical part of me says, "Take care of you. Don't waste your time with people who are not of interest to you." But the part that looks over my shoulder says I could  have been kinder. I play a non-monetary betting game on line and often let the person with the fewest points win. Talk about random acts of kindness! It would be impossible to be any more random.

Several years ago I was lucky enough to see the Dalai Lama in person when he came to Minnesota. One story he told was of his friend, a monk who spent 20 years in a Chinese prison. When asked about the hardest part he said it was keeping his compassion for the Chinese. I knew I was quite far from that high place.

I was one of the biggest anti-Bush people around. I could not watch him speak or look at his face. One year my nephews gave me a life size George W cutout for Christmas. I screamed and threw it on the floor after opening it. Then I jumped on the effigy. Too bad no one caught it on tape; that would have won the prize. Much to my surprise, at the Obama inauguration I felt real compassion for him as outgoing president and human being. No one wanted to shake his hand. He looked so sad and lost. He truly didn't understand that his game was over and no one wanted to play with him anymore. As his helicopter flew away, I felt a weight come off my shoulders. It would take years to fix the country he and his friends broke. But I did feel compassion for that sad man. I admit it will take more years, if ever, for me to forgive Rove, Cheney and that pack of thieves. Heck, I am still angry at the damage done by Reagan.

It is all bound up together, kindness, compassion, and forgiveness. I am not sure I can have one without the others. It is Monday, a good day for working on all three.

ADDENDUM:
A man made a date with me last week for lunch today. He stood me up, no call, text, or email until this afternoon when he sent me a fb message saying he had been in a meeting he could not get out of. OK, I told him all the alternatives he could have done and that he left me looking like a fool. I showed no compassion, kindness, or forgiveness. I am not really mad, but I wanted him to feel bad... I have such a far distance to go to be the person I want to be.

ADDENDUM 2:
I accepted a nice apology.

Missing our mothers

Today on fb I reconnected with a friend from back in the day. It has to be well over 40 years since we had seen each other. We both lost our mothers at a young age. She wrote, "I was so young when she died, and have spent a good deal of time learning who I am based on that single event (and how it changed me)."


Oh my goodness. I was six and I remember only good things about my mother (and one time that she got mad at me for breaking a lamp) and the aspirations she had for me. She got me my first library card at four years old and I still read voraciously. I can still see the sun making the children's room at Grand Army Plaza golden. I learned to ride a bike because I remember my mother showing me a picture of college girls riding through the autumn leaves and telling me I would do that. None of that came to pass and when my father was most out of control I would often wonder how different my life would have been had she still lived.

My father is a man who cannot handle change, based on his own horrific upbringing and my mother kept him in check. He was left with and 11, 6 and 2 yr old. He remarried a woman ill prepared to cope with all of it about a year after my mother died.

When my eldest was six I went for grief counseling and the therapist told me it was natural for me to feel anger at the one who died. But I didn't because I knew deep in my soul that she NEVER wanted to leave me, never, never, never. I have had a rocky life with the old man and in 2005, I moved him and my stepmother from Bayview to assisted living in a suburb of Minneapolis. The crisis commuting was too much.

She is 96 and he is 95, married over 50 years; I have no doubt that I did the right thing even though they have taken five years of my life. Their declining years are peaceful, especially since the old man is on an anti-depressant. How I wish we could have got him on something years ago. What a change for the nicer, although he can still be a pain in the ass.

We will always miss our mothers. The old lady still misses her mother who died in 1969. I went to the cemetery back in 1996 and just howled with grief when I saw her headstone and quite alarmed my 19 year old daughter. The best I can do to honor her memory is live a good life, or a life of goodness. I have been so lucky to have had a wonderful mother-in-law and even though I am not married to her son any longer, she still considers me her daughter. 

I look forward to a long life as a mother. I am learning to keep my mouth closed and treat my daughters as the strong women they are who don't need my advice. They just need my love and acceptance, which they have in bushels.

The worst that could happen

When I was a young girl shopping with my step mother in NY I thought the worst that could happen was getting separated and lost among the crowds of shoppers. As a young mother I thought it might be going to jail. These things never happened. As a woman in my late fifties I found myself saying that the worst had happened and I lived through it, no fear. I lost my marriage and job and found myself saddled with demanding old parents and no income. But these are not the worst that could happen. Oh, no, not by a very long measure.

I live in a beautiful little place in a nice neighborhood. My children are healthy, I have some friends. The refrigerator is filled with good things to eat. Hennepin County has a fabulous library system and a program that keeps old people in their homes and healthy. I just took a shower in water that is piped to my condo, both cold and hot. My health is fine and If I am not happy, it is because I am focusing on a few blades of crabgrass in an otherwise verdant lawn.

In parts of this world women are stoned to death for adultery. Villagers walk miles to get water from suspect sources. Children go to sleep and wake up hungry as their parents are helpless to feed them. A huge population of children in Africa have lost their parents to AIDS and the lucky ones have a grandmother to raise them. Displaced people are roaming the earth looking for a safe shelter that they can call home. Brides are being burnt in India, yes, there is a whole long list to make one sad. In North Minneapolis a day doesn't seem to go by without a shooting incident of some kind. Call me Debby Downer if you must.

I truly do not know the answers for all the problems in this world. I know though that I must acknowledge the suffering. I can't say that a young woman cast out of her village for having a fistula is not my problem and since there is not much I can do about it I don't need to know about it. It seems to me that by appreciating my life, by seeing how very blessed I am, an energy is given me. By gaining perspective, I gain in compassion and understanding.  The Dalai Lama talks so much about compassion because it is only through that compassion we put ourselves in a mindset where we can work for the betterment of all. Today, I am striving for compassion and I hope I achieve some. Why not? What is the worst that can happen?

A conversation for the birds

Up very early, before the sun listening to the birds. I swear it sounds like conversation.
"Chirp?"
"Go back to bed, sun isn't up."
"Chirp, chirp?"
"It is Sunday, let me sleep a little longer."
"Chirp... chirp.... CHIRP!"
"We'll eat soon."
"Chirp?"
"I don't know... where do YOU want to go?"
"ChIrp's?"
"We can go to McDonalds anytime, let's go someplace different."
"Chirp?"
"The bistro with the outside tables. Bound to be french fries on the sidewalk."
"Chirp, chirp, chirp chirp ChIrp's!!!"
"If you want McDonalds so badly, ask your father to take you."

I think they have gone to forage because the chirps have really subsided and the earlier discussions are over with just a few early morning greetings here and there. I really love this time of morning. Wishing all a wonderful day, and remember to eat breakfast. It can be the best meal of the day, worms aside.

One of a kind

At a senior assisted living apartment building, people come and go. Mostly they go to the hospital and then rehab. Sometimes they come back.  I saw a friend of my parents last week when I took my father to the gerontologist. She was in great spirits and looking forward to coming back. She visited the building on  Friday and my mother remarked how happy she was to see her. You don't need to know her health problems, suffice it to say they were severe.

Shirley died this morning. My mother is devastated. We are in agreement that we're glad she did not have to suffer very much and that she got to see her friends before she died. Then my mother gave the greatest eulogy a person could have. She said, "Shirley was one of a kind. She was tolerant with a good word for everybody. She was a friend to all. She was kind to all. I am going to miss her."

Goodbye dear lady, may we all be as graciously remembered.

A day at the beach, and after

I brought my thousand year old parents to the beach to enjoy the warm weather on Saturday. It was a bit of work because I had to go back to the old house, find the floats and chairs and then set up at the beach before I picked them up. The old man, 95, had his jams and a sun-safe shirt on. He also wore sandals and a sun-safe hat. The old lady, 96, wore white shorts and a little top, sandals and a straw hat. She sat in the shade while Erica and I took the old man out on the lake. It takes two to get him on the float and four to get him off and on his feet up on the beach. Since Eri was on another float and both were on a long rope tied to the buoy, I got to play on flotation noodles with my nine year old grandson. John sat with Bubby up on the chairs.  Afterward we all went to the Soho Cafe and ate NY style pizza.

Later, talking to John at the condo pool, I said that I never expected them to live this long. I truly thought last summer would be the last time my old man would be on the lake. He really is much weaker this year, and I don't see myself bringing him to the beach without assistance like before. I brought him to the doctor earlier this week when he was running a fever and John asked why I keep on taking care of him when I profess I can't wait for him to die. Now that I started taking care of him I just can't stop and say he is on his own. I took on a job and have to finish it. Some people have told me I have done more than anyone could expect. That is probably true but it isn't over until they are gone. I've been told I will miss them when they are gone. We shall see.

I have never been a good sleeper but after my hours at the lake and pool I slept almost nine hours, got up for awhile and went back to sleep for another three hours! I was thrilled when Pete and Les invited me out for dinner. It's fun to drive down Nicollet Avenue, commonly called "Eat Street" and chose from the  myriad of ethnic dining choices. We went to the Noodle Bowl, a newer Vietnamese restaurant that Laurel and I found last week where we had wonderful Pho'. Today we enjoyed three distinct tastes; curried chicken, seafood stir fry and an incredible beef chow fun. We didn't order anything spicy but that beef nearly blew my head off. Pete said it reminded him of Singapore and it was the best thing he had in a long time.

Later today a friend is coming over with his pasta maker and we are going to spend the day making noodles and sauce. In between we will run out to the pool and relax. Later we might go to the movies. Isn't life different than we think it will be? All the worry and plans, hopes, expectations and sometimes disappointments works out to something different. The family get together turns into three different days, some time with family, some with a friend, and some just all alone. And rather than the usual picnic/barbeque food I get to enjoy pizza, amazing Asian and later, home made pasta. If I can remember that each day is an opportunity to be amazed with wonder at life, what a wonderful life it can be.

As my friend Michael ends his email, blessed be.

An Unusual Fourth of July

Independence Day is another name for July 4th. I started thinking about freedom and independence and what it means to me. 

Janis Joplin sang: 

"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose
Freedom ain't worth nothing but it's free." 

Recently Martina McBride recorded a song about a woman who gets her revenge on an abusive husband:

 "Let freedom ring, let the white dove sing let the whole world know that

Today is a day of reckoning let the weak be strong, let the right be wrong 

Roll the stone away, let the guilty pay, it’s independence day".

Well! I guess if I had to choose (and I don't) I would roll Janis' way. I never really looked for freedom. I liked having encumbrances and responsibilities. I liked having people depend on me. These days I feel rudderless, without an anchor, and I don't really like it. 

For me, July 4th is right up there with Thanksgiving as an important family holiday. Our dear friends who usually host the get-together at their lake home are unable to this year due to an accident. Our host and hostess go out of their way to make it a special day for us. I wish I could take away our hostesses pain and make it a special day for her. So far I will be alone. I know there will be people here at the condo hosting their families by the pool. Maybe one or both of my girls will come by. I would like to see my son-in-law and grandson. Maybe I will be invited somewhere. (Hint?)

I have also been thinking about my responsibility as an American. The founding of this country as a democracy was an experiment never seen before. On paper it was wonderful. What a goal, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Of course it was more wonderful for land owning white men than it was for their wives or slaves, servants, or native peoples as the case might be. As those founders died off their words lived on. So many people have come here looking for a better life, either financially, politically or spiritually and many have found what they are looking for. We are a people who pursue happiness. Drive by the parks this weekend and see the families being happy together. (Hey, who forgot the ice?) It is the national pastime and each of us as free to pursue it in the manner we please.

On paper it still is a pretty wonderful thing and over the years we have tried to foist it on peoples around the world who haven't the historical context to apply it in their cultures. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't and sometimes corruption takes place instead. I want America to be the good neighbor, setting by example a standard  for the world to emulate. I want the words on the paper to be ones we actually live by. One sad thing for me was finding out that what I thought was altruism was just capitalism. Another is knowing that we talk about freedom of speech, but in truth, pointing out the Emperor isn't wearing clothes can get me into trouble. I have never believed in "my country right or wrong." Nor do I believe our way is the only one that God approves of or that God blesses America more than any other nation.

Our time here on Earth is finite. Our lives are but a grain of sand in the vastness of the universe. Our form of government can't even be measured in the wheel of time, two hundred plus years is too small to notice. This Independence Day I say, "God bless the whole world, no exceptions." 

Be well and heal soon dear Clara.