Small Joys

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New Year Resolutions for Pets

15. I will not eat other animals’ poop.

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

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

12. My head does not belong in the refrigerator.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. The garbage collector is NOT stealing our stuff.

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

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

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

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

Magazine Invaders

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oddly Sweet Christmas

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

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

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

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

The Sleeping Single in a Double Bed Shuffle

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

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

Sidney and Harriet, a love story

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Fiftieth Anniversary Mom and Dad.

Then and now

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

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

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

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

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

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

Risk and side effects

Risks and Side Effects.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy and not and happy again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part 2.

Here is a follow up to say what happened next.

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

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

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

Triggers

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

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

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

Mercedes G55o

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

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

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

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

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

Thanksgiving Confidential

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

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

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

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

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

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

The old folks secret

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

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

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

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

He's The Best!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy this clip, definitely not Dr.W!

Laughing Again

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

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

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

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

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

My Last Night In This House

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

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

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

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

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

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.)