The Number at the Bottom and the Message at the Top

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

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

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

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

Getting What I Want

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

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

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

Getting stuff done

In my gussied up Fringe Festival Volunteer shirt last year

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


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


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

Salt, Moonlight, Typing with a cat in my arms

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

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

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

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

Celebrate Life

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

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

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

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

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

Feeling a great deal better

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

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

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

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

Like a wave, watch out for the undertow

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

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

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

A Different Fourth of July

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

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

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

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

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

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

A hard day with the old man

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I miss

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oprah and impossible weight expectations

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

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

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

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

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

Picture of Carol, June 1964

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

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

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

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

Prayer

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

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

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

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

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

A short look at obliviousness

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

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

Friends

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Missing Cousin Harriet

I first met Cousin Harriet when she was 93. For six years I had the absolute pleasure of knowing her first hand and up close. She was a woman who loved to laugh, loved God as she knew him, laid down to sleep each night with no regrets, and woke up each morning ready to enjoy the day. She hadn't had the easiest of lives, yet didn't feel hers was particularly hard either. The main thing she knew was love. She loved her parents, and loved her husband though she didn't marry young. She insisted that her parents live with them and she took care of them through their aging and dying. Her goal was to live longer than 102 which is how old her mother was when she died. She only made it to 99, but I pointed out to her that she was not gaga like her mother was.

I used to go over between shifts at the Hilton and she was always glad to see me. I would try to bring her a new joke, and oh, she would laugh. She especially loved an off color joke that made her think. Her eyesight wasn't good but she loved to read and took her time. We brought her "Memoirs of a Geisha" and she admitted never knowing anything about that kind of life. Who did? She read the first Harry Potter book and thought it too sophisticated for children. She liked a good Danielle Steele but had to say she thought they were getting repetitious.

Harriet was Scott's grandfather's first cousin, which made her Scott's first cousin twice removed. The first year we brought her home for Christmas she was so happy. She watched us open presents and played cards with ninety years of cunning. She kept saying it was an old fashioned Christmas and she loved it. She became part of our Thanksgivings and Christmas celebrations and all the kids loved her. I was so proud of my nephews and the hugs and kisses they gave her. Not so easy for teenage boys, but they were loving and lovely. It is a testament to my nephews and niece and daughters to say they were wonderful and open to this old lady who came into their lives so late in her life. 

She listened to my problems at work and when I was fired she encouraged me to find the work I wanted. She was so happy when I got the Liaison job. I wish she was encouraging me again as I search for work. I look at the furniture that I was able to buy due to her leaving me a legacy. Who was I to her? Really a stranger who became family of the heart. I was in a unique position to see her often and whatever I used in gas was more than repaid with friendship.

Throughout my life I have always gotten along with old ladies. So many of them have influenced me. I think about Mibs and Gracie and the other Celebrate ladies. They taught me that learning and creativity need not stop with age. They taught me that the qualities of learning and being open are what growing older are all about. I recently heard that William F. Buckley was ready to die because he had done everything and had nothing left to do or want to do. Harriet and Mibs taught me that each day is to be enjoyed, that there is always something new to learn. There is always something to live for.

This morning, as the birds begin to sing and the sky starts to lighten,  I remember with fondness dear Harriet, and Mibs, and confused but sweet Gracie and hope that I will be a beacon for other young women; that I will have influenced someone too. The only way to do that is to get out of bed and live life to it's fullest. Today, I am ready. As Yoda says, "There is no try."

Silly fun

Tonight I went out with friends to a bar in Arden Hills and sang Karaoke. I had a wonderful, wonderful time. I drank a little Coca-Cola and had a shot of Baileys. I danced and was with friends who knew they were being silly and we were all silly together. It was so much fun. We sang and sang and danced and had fun.

We cheered for everyone and nearly everyone took a turn. I never sang alone and went up a few times. The first time I sang Que Sera Sera. This is a song my birth mother used to sing, (along with Doris Day) and I think about her dying at 42, que sera, what will be, will be. It is such a sweet song and everyone sang along with me. I also signed the group up for "All you need is love", not realizing there were actual lyrics before the all you need is love chorus. Then I got two friends to sing Wild Wild Life with me. I felt like I was in Real Stories. "I'm wearing fur pajamas..."

I love to sing in a group. I am a terrible singer and Tony said I sounded like the nicest dying buffalo he ever heard. I had to laugh. My my my Sharona! There is a 68 measure break in that song. I remember singing at the first Celebrate Yourself I ever attended. What a very good time I had without feeling self conscious. I remember singing at Epcot during the laser light show. "Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me." That is one of my favorite songs ever. The girls were mortified but I just sang my heart out. Let it begin with me.

Something a little sad was going to a Unitarian holiday event to hear the choir and they led the congregation in song. Everyone was enjoying the feeling you get when everyone sings together and I felt like my heart was breaking. I felt so cheated and excluded. Where I could have been part of that family of like thinkers, I had been excluded. I had to leave.

Now tonight, I was not really with like thinkers. I was just with friendly accepting people who liked me. They were happy to see me when I came, and happy to sing and dance with me. A new group joined us later and Tony asked me to introduce his group to the people who were already there. I was about to leave and did my best to remember names. I got a lot of kisses and regrets from the new people that I was leaving. Instead of feeling excluded, I was included and left feeling very light. I put the cruise control on 60 and sailed home.

What are the differences that divide us? How can we be as one? For me, I think it is the desire to stop judging and start seeing the loving hearts we all possess. It is saying take me as I am and I will take you as you are too. There are some people in this world who are haters. I think of Dick Cheney and Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter. I try not to be a hater. I am not at the point of loving people who hate and cause hurt, but I am at the point where I can look at an old guy at the VFW and see more similarities than differences. We all want to have a good life. We all want to laugh. Maybe some people will disappoint me. Maybe some will hurt me with their sick venom. I have a choice, though. I can be open and strengthen myself with layers of love and acceptance or close up and harden my shell. I have made my choice, and I choose happiness.

Laundry day

I really do not mind doing laundry. I have a washing machine and dryer, an indoor line and good detergent. I don't mind folding. And if someone else will carry it all up, I don't even mind putting it away. What I do mind is never finishing. Every dirty thing is clean and put away. What a sense of accomplishment and then...you take off your underwear and start the pile all over again. Aarrgh! To me, hell would be working in an industrial laundry at a hotel or hospital where it literally never ends. But then I think about places like India where they wash the clothes in the river or a pond...no, I do not mind doing laundry. And I am grateful for all I have.

Across the years

My first boyfriend contacted me through facebook. What a surprise. He looks damn good and so does his wife. I always liked her. Forty years together is quite an accomplishment and I congratulated them. I also told about what was going on in my life and I copy part of it here because it is an affirmation that things are fine, different but fine.

"It has been said that man proposes, but God disposes. I was happily married for many years and have beautiful daughters. When the girls were growing up and we were building our business, we moved in step. Unfortunately my husband has decided to walk a different path, one without me. On paper, we are perfect, and we are still good friends. A few years ago, when we were deciding to divorce, I had to move my 90+ year old parents from Brooklyn, and lost my job. Everything was put on hold.

So here I am 57 years old, no job, no marriage, and our house has not sold for what we need to get for it. And I survive, living like a sister to my spouse, caretaking thousand year old parents, and competing with younger people for a job with health insurance.

But you know what? I am happy, and looking forward to whatever life has to offer. I know that the best is yet to come. The things I have worried about have come to pass and I have learned that they are not the worst things. Life is different from what I thought, and life is an adventure."

There you have it in a nutshell. I'm just fine.