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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Machines of Loving Grace

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

All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace

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

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

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

— Richard Brautigan,1967

He could be a little maudlin, but so evocative.

The Pill Versus the Springhill Mine Disaster by Richard Brautigan

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

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

Mothers and daughters

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

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

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

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

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

My hope chest

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A fowl comparison

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucky ticket

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

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

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

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

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

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

Screaming Fox

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

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

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

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

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

Catching up with changes

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

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

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

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

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

Lousy haircut

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

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

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

God Wants Me To Know

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


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


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


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


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


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

Thoughts

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

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

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

I hope my baby girl feels better.

Warning: Feeling jangly

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

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

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


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


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


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


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

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

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

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

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