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.)