My daughter, my thirty-two year old baby girl, is working in the Mendoza wine region of Argentina, right over the mountains from Chile. She sent out this email to the family:
"Well, I am sure you all heard about the earthquake... I sure did feel it this morning - it shook me awake, and then kept shaking. Apparently Chile loses an average of 1 cm every year... they might have lost just a bit more this time. I haven´t heard anything exactly, yet but I think, from my limited experience with earthquakes, that over here it was at least 4.5 to 5. The lights were swaying and car alarms were going off. In town, they were evacuating the hospitals. We felt the big after shock, but then the unrelated 6.0 in Northern Argentina, I didn´t feel at all. The major bummer here is that my roommate worked in a town not 50 km from the epicenter last year and he is having a hell of a time getting any information about anyone. Also, just happens to be a major wine region and I can´t imagine what it has done to the wineries. But, no worries here. Everyone is fine." She is in the little town of Mendoza, in the upper right hand corner of the map. It was actually measured at 8.8
map of earthquake and Mendoza
There has been pretty bad destruction of the older parts of some of the towns and some loss of life, but not on the scale of Haiti. There hundred of thousands of the worlds poorest people died in one blow. Here, in a developed economy, things are bad, but not catastrophic to the same degree. They have resources for rebuilding and their President says not to send aid until they ask for specific aid.
The good news is that it is not worse and the better news is that fears for a Tsunami have been down graded. Here is a good link.
Earthquake overview
Thank you to the friends who have inquired about my daughter.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
The right to privacy
So much has been written and discussed about Tiger Woods. Personally, I don't care who he has been cheating with. It does not affect me in any way but one. I am tired of having his life and problems foisted on my consciousness. Aside from living in a cave, one cannot avoid it. I feel strongly that our right to privacy has been compromised.
If I ran for office and they asked me about my religion I would say that my spiritual life is private. If anyone were to bring up my sexual life, I would tell them it is none of their business, it is private. And if anyone wants to make me think that some celebrity's sex life is news, I want to be able to invoke my right to privacy from hearing about it.
You might or might not know that the reason abortion is legal is broadly based on the right of woman to have privacy to do what she wants to her body.
The most frequently quoted statement by a Supreme Court justice on the subject of privacy comes in Justice Brandeis's dissent in Olmstead v. U. S. (1928):
"The makers of our Constitution understood the need to secure conditions favorable to the pursuit of happiness, and the protections guaranteed by this are much broader in scope, and include the right to life and an inviolate personality -- the right to be left alone -- the most comprehensive of rights and the right most valued by civilized men. The principle underlying the Fourth and Fifth Amendments is protection against invasions of the sanctities of a man's home and privacies of life. This is a recognition of the significance of man's spiritual nature, his feelings, and his intellect."
Why do I carry on about privacy when I write about my own life? Not very private at all. It is my choice. You choose to read about it. I don't choose to read about Tiger. Why doesn't he get the right to privacy? Why doesn't his wife and children? I do not believe I have the right to know the details of anyone's life for my gratuitous interest.
Do I need to know if someone is a murderer before I hire them to care for my aged parents? Yes. Do I need to know how many people he slept with before murdering his mother? There are some things we need to know, but there are other things that can remain private.
I am not a lawyer or a constitutional expert, this is just my opinion on privacy, mine and yours and Tiger's.
If I ran for office and they asked me about my religion I would say that my spiritual life is private. If anyone were to bring up my sexual life, I would tell them it is none of their business, it is private. And if anyone wants to make me think that some celebrity's sex life is news, I want to be able to invoke my right to privacy from hearing about it.
You might or might not know that the reason abortion is legal is broadly based on the right of woman to have privacy to do what she wants to her body.
The most frequently quoted statement by a Supreme Court justice on the subject of privacy comes in Justice Brandeis's dissent in Olmstead v. U. S. (1928):
"The makers of our Constitution understood the need to secure conditions favorable to the pursuit of happiness, and the protections guaranteed by this are much broader in scope, and include the right to life and an inviolate personality -- the right to be left alone -- the most comprehensive of rights and the right most valued by civilized men. The principle underlying the Fourth and Fifth Amendments is protection against invasions of the sanctities of a man's home and privacies of life. This is a recognition of the significance of man's spiritual nature, his feelings, and his intellect."
Why do I carry on about privacy when I write about my own life? Not very private at all. It is my choice. You choose to read about it. I don't choose to read about Tiger. Why doesn't he get the right to privacy? Why doesn't his wife and children? I do not believe I have the right to know the details of anyone's life for my gratuitous interest.
Do I need to know if someone is a murderer before I hire them to care for my aged parents? Yes. Do I need to know how many people he slept with before murdering his mother? There are some things we need to know, but there are other things that can remain private.
I am not a lawyer or a constitutional expert, this is just my opinion on privacy, mine and yours and Tiger's.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
The language of love
"Of the countless ways we can show love to one another, five key categories, or five love languages, proved to be universal and comprehensive—everyone has a love language, and we all identify primarily with one of the five love languages: Words of Affirmation, Quality Time, Receiving Gifts, Acts of Service, and Physical Touch."
- From The 5 Love Languages by Dr Gary Chapman
I woke up feeling wonderful this morning and wondered why. Then I remembered; I was loved.
I have two wonderful daughters, one shows love by the very thoughtful gifts she gives. She hears what I say and thinks about what to give me. It is not easy because I am very hard to gift. But she will find me the blanket, or little bedside light that are just right. She bought me a small quiet fan that I enjoy all summer. Unfortunately, I am not as good a gift giver. I don't always discern what is desired.
My other daughter gave me a most appreciated gift yesterday. She gave me a gift of service. She came to my home and colored my hair and then gave me a pedicure. She worked so gently on my feet, sitting on the floor which was not very comfortable for her. We talked and laughed and watched the Olympics. Afterwards I made her a grilled cheese sandwich which she said was very delicious. I had one too, and I can tell you it was just muenster cheese on whole grain bread. What she found delicious was the love with which it was made. She was eating love. There are so many jokes about mothers pushing food on family and what is not understood is that we are just showing love.
To one degree or another I give words of affirmation, and loving touch, and the gift of quality time. But what is easiest for me to give and understand is the language of service as love.
- From The 5 Love Languages by Dr Gary Chapman
I woke up feeling wonderful this morning and wondered why. Then I remembered; I was loved.
I have two wonderful daughters, one shows love by the very thoughtful gifts she gives. She hears what I say and thinks about what to give me. It is not easy because I am very hard to gift. But she will find me the blanket, or little bedside light that are just right. She bought me a small quiet fan that I enjoy all summer. Unfortunately, I am not as good a gift giver. I don't always discern what is desired.
My other daughter gave me a most appreciated gift yesterday. She gave me a gift of service. She came to my home and colored my hair and then gave me a pedicure. She worked so gently on my feet, sitting on the floor which was not very comfortable for her. We talked and laughed and watched the Olympics. Afterwards I made her a grilled cheese sandwich which she said was very delicious. I had one too, and I can tell you it was just muenster cheese on whole grain bread. What she found delicious was the love with which it was made. She was eating love. There are so many jokes about mothers pushing food on family and what is not understood is that we are just showing love.
To one degree or another I give words of affirmation, and loving touch, and the gift of quality time. But what is easiest for me to give and understand is the language of service as love.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
"Point a finger
... and three come back at you."
It is a cliche' that I find to be true. Another one is "Wherever you go, there you are."
So here I am, in my own little place, looking to assign blame, but I can't. Point that finger and here I am in a heaven or hell of my own making. What will it be? When will I understand that it is my effort that reveals Grace in my life?
Right now, intellectually, I understand that I AM light. But there is a tightness around my heart that is keeping me in the dark.
I am the Founder and President of the Procrastinators Club. I've had therapy, I've had past lives read. I had negative forces that were holding me back purged. And yet ... I put things off. I've prayed, I've sprung up and attacked tasks.
The thing about presenting a strong persona to the world is that no one knows how much help I need. Maybe it was losing my mother at a young age and being raised by clueless parents. Maybe it is the depression. And maybe it is just being bloody lazy. I don't know. But I do know that all the fingers are pointing in my direction and I cannot run because here I am.
Is this the right place to share dark moments of the soul? Probably not. Should you worry? No.
"Is there any remover of difficulty save God? Say Praise Be God, He is God! All are His servants and all abide by His bidding!" Baha'i prayer.
It is a cliche' that I find to be true. Another one is "Wherever you go, there you are."
So here I am, in my own little place, looking to assign blame, but I can't. Point that finger and here I am in a heaven or hell of my own making. What will it be? When will I understand that it is my effort that reveals Grace in my life?
Right now, intellectually, I understand that I AM light. But there is a tightness around my heart that is keeping me in the dark.
I am the Founder and President of the Procrastinators Club. I've had therapy, I've had past lives read. I had negative forces that were holding me back purged. And yet ... I put things off. I've prayed, I've sprung up and attacked tasks.
The thing about presenting a strong persona to the world is that no one knows how much help I need. Maybe it was losing my mother at a young age and being raised by clueless parents. Maybe it is the depression. And maybe it is just being bloody lazy. I don't know. But I do know that all the fingers are pointing in my direction and I cannot run because here I am.
Is this the right place to share dark moments of the soul? Probably not. Should you worry? No.
"Is there any remover of difficulty save God? Say Praise Be God, He is God! All are His servants and all abide by His bidding!" Baha'i prayer.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
What game were we playing?
The other day I spent time with a friend who'd had outpatient surgery. My role was to see to it that she got her pain pills and to keep her awake until the next dose. We decided to play cards. I was amazed that she could see to do it. We had some laughs as she made some plays that I thought were completely illegal. We both compromised but it made for a rather weird game.
Well, I have been playing cards on the computer and guess what? We were both right for the games we were playing but we were playing different games! She was playing a form of Rummy and I was playing Gin! Nearly the same, but significantly different. In Rummy you can add on to the others run and keep going or vice versa. In Gin you have to have a discard to go out, but not in Rummy.
Isn't that just like life? How many times have I been at cross purposes with someone and not known why? I will explain and explain and accuse the other of either not listening or willfully misunderstanding, when actually we weren't playing the same game. Or not on the same page, and sometimes, not in the same universe.
I have lived in Minnesota for over 35 years and I still misunderstand and am misunderstood. I come from NY and inadvertently hurt others by being direct. I also get in trouble for not knowing the code. For example, I planned an event for a certain day and my boss told me to try to find another date because she "wasn't comfortable with that day." I could not find another day that worked and went ahead. She confronted me and asked why I did it when she told me not to. I explained that she didn't say not to do it, just that she would prefer it on a different day if possible because she wasn't comfortable with it. How could I play when I didn't know the rules?
How much of the misery of what had been a happy marriage was because we were miscommunicating? All the communication workshops in the world can't help when one person is trying to state as clearly as possible what she is trying to say and the other is speaking in a subtle code. She gets louder, in hopes of being understood and he gets quieter and stops trying. Subtlety is lost on me.
I am not a mindreader. I have hurt the people I love by sometimes saying the way I think or feel in a less than tactful way. Recently I realized that someone I care about was giving off waves of dislike while trying to smile. Sometimes it gets through to someone as clueless as me. I care about this person and every person in that household. I am so sorry for making them feel bad.
What game am I playing? Am I winning or losing? I sure hope to have fun participating whether I know the rules or make them up on the spot.
Well, I have been playing cards on the computer and guess what? We were both right for the games we were playing but we were playing different games! She was playing a form of Rummy and I was playing Gin! Nearly the same, but significantly different. In Rummy you can add on to the others run and keep going or vice versa. In Gin you have to have a discard to go out, but not in Rummy.
Isn't that just like life? How many times have I been at cross purposes with someone and not known why? I will explain and explain and accuse the other of either not listening or willfully misunderstanding, when actually we weren't playing the same game. Or not on the same page, and sometimes, not in the same universe.
I have lived in Minnesota for over 35 years and I still misunderstand and am misunderstood. I come from NY and inadvertently hurt others by being direct. I also get in trouble for not knowing the code. For example, I planned an event for a certain day and my boss told me to try to find another date because she "wasn't comfortable with that day." I could not find another day that worked and went ahead. She confronted me and asked why I did it when she told me not to. I explained that she didn't say not to do it, just that she would prefer it on a different day if possible because she wasn't comfortable with it. How could I play when I didn't know the rules?
How much of the misery of what had been a happy marriage was because we were miscommunicating? All the communication workshops in the world can't help when one person is trying to state as clearly as possible what she is trying to say and the other is speaking in a subtle code. She gets louder, in hopes of being understood and he gets quieter and stops trying. Subtlety is lost on me.
I am not a mindreader. I have hurt the people I love by sometimes saying the way I think or feel in a less than tactful way. Recently I realized that someone I care about was giving off waves of dislike while trying to smile. Sometimes it gets through to someone as clueless as me. I care about this person and every person in that household. I am so sorry for making them feel bad.
What game am I playing? Am I winning or losing? I sure hope to have fun participating whether I know the rules or make them up on the spot.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Woman at the mercy, a girl stuff entry
Hormones. There you have it. Women spend a great deal of their lives at the mercy of their own hormones.
Aside from doing it myself, I have watched my own daughters go through puberty. One seemed to float through it, as she floats through life, and the other had it hit her with full force. One time when she was particularly unhappy I asked her if she'd had a period recently and she burst into tears. When she realized what she had was premenstrual stress she started being aware of it and learned to anticipate the bad moods and deal with them.
When I was young I learned to lessen the effects of PMS by use of calcium and vitamin E. That is not to say I didn't get a little nuts, I did, but only for a day and not a week each month.
My first pregnancy played havoc with my hormones. My behavior changed to such a degree that within days of conception people started asking me if I was pregnant. When I asked why they were asking, my co-worker said I had turned into a bitch overnight. I couldn't stand being touched by the veins in my husband's arms and other nutty behavior.
By being aware of what I have been feeling and the calendar, I have been able to deal with my hormones messing with my mind. But going through menopause changes all the rules. I think it is the unpredictability that starts all the stories about crazy menopausal women. We don't understand that it is our hormones making us nuts. Now I can have PMS for a month and think I am just depressed and suddenly feel the heavy breasts and wonder, "Am I getting a period?" Nah. Yep. I don't know. Oh, is that blood? I guess I AM getting a period.
They say the ages of menopause are 38-62. You are not officially done until you can go a whole year without a period. Now I will have to start counting again.
Aside from doing it myself, I have watched my own daughters go through puberty. One seemed to float through it, as she floats through life, and the other had it hit her with full force. One time when she was particularly unhappy I asked her if she'd had a period recently and she burst into tears. When she realized what she had was premenstrual stress she started being aware of it and learned to anticipate the bad moods and deal with them.
When I was young I learned to lessen the effects of PMS by use of calcium and vitamin E. That is not to say I didn't get a little nuts, I did, but only for a day and not a week each month.
My first pregnancy played havoc with my hormones. My behavior changed to such a degree that within days of conception people started asking me if I was pregnant. When I asked why they were asking, my co-worker said I had turned into a bitch overnight. I couldn't stand being touched by the veins in my husband's arms and other nutty behavior.
By being aware of what I have been feeling and the calendar, I have been able to deal with my hormones messing with my mind. But going through menopause changes all the rules. I think it is the unpredictability that starts all the stories about crazy menopausal women. We don't understand that it is our hormones making us nuts. Now I can have PMS for a month and think I am just depressed and suddenly feel the heavy breasts and wonder, "Am I getting a period?" Nah. Yep. I don't know. Oh, is that blood? I guess I AM getting a period.
They say the ages of menopause are 38-62. You are not officially done until you can go a whole year without a period. Now I will have to start counting again.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Attitude
Have you seen this magazine called "More"? I read it at the dentist yesterday. It is geared towards the woman in middle age, which can be from 40 and up. Ahem. Anyway I picked it up because the cover had a teaser about the ten best careers for women in midlife.
Number one was the job I lost a few years ago. I loved it as a community services manager. It was different everyday and I got to help lots of people. As I read the article which laid out the salary from 42-80 thousand, yeah right, more like 32-50, I was assailed with negativity. Where the fuck are these jobs and why can't I find one? I can't remember the other nine jobs.
I came home and got ready to go out. While in the shower I wondered if my attitude was the problem? Instead of looking at that article with a jaundiced eye, maybe I can say, cool. Maybe I can change my attitude to one of great, there are jobs out there that I can do and all I have to do is be open. Can't hurt.
So between the negative and positive energy, I am spinning like an atom.
Number one was the job I lost a few years ago. I loved it as a community services manager. It was different everyday and I got to help lots of people. As I read the article which laid out the salary from 42-80 thousand, yeah right, more like 32-50, I was assailed with negativity. Where the fuck are these jobs and why can't I find one? I can't remember the other nine jobs.
I came home and got ready to go out. While in the shower I wondered if my attitude was the problem? Instead of looking at that article with a jaundiced eye, maybe I can say, cool. Maybe I can change my attitude to one of great, there are jobs out there that I can do and all I have to do is be open. Can't hurt.
So between the negative and positive energy, I am spinning like an atom.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
High Maintenance
Several years ago at work some of the guys were talking about people who are high maintenance. I innocently thought that because I don't wear much makeup and my hair is generally short or a mess that I couldn't be high maintenance. My friend Michael started to hoot, "Carol," he said, "you are extremely high maintenance!" I didn't understand it at the time.
I really am not that vain unless something I am attached to gets messed with. Then I am so self conscious, I become one pointed. In 1987 I needed to get a front tooth pulled but lived in total pain until the false tooth was ready. I would not go even one day without a front tooth.
I've been blessed with really good skin. It has few wrinkles. I have a fairly light case of rosacea that mostly shows up as pink skin. Little by little the pinkness is turning into tiny blood vessels close to the surface. Not like Uncle Bill the heavy drinker. I finally had the laser treatment and all I can say is "Oh my God! I have a pizza face."
They warned me it would look worse before it looked better. The first day it was swollen. The next day I did look like hard drinking Uncle Bill with the veins turning almost black. And now today, I look like an old witch with acne.
I didn't take my parents out today. I scared a delivery guy and I definitely did not go to a White Trash Party I was invited to. Hope springs eternal and I had a great costume complete with turquoise eyeshadow. But by this afternoon I knew that partying was out for me. My daughter tried to convince me to add a few false warts and I would fit right in. Um... no.
The old lady, 95, has a couple of sayings. She says that you have to suffer to be beautiful. After this treatment, I totally agree. She also says that every day of your life you are in a beauty contest. I opted out of the competition a long time ago and skated on being young and cute. It is quite a shock to pass the mirror and see someone not young, and believe me with a face like this, not cute either.
I've often heard that true beauty is on the inside. I don't really care what my innards look like. I'd rather be superficially good looking on the outside. So there you have it, my dark and vain high maintenance self exposed at last. (Bwahahaha!)
I really am not that vain unless something I am attached to gets messed with. Then I am so self conscious, I become one pointed. In 1987 I needed to get a front tooth pulled but lived in total pain until the false tooth was ready. I would not go even one day without a front tooth.
I've been blessed with really good skin. It has few wrinkles. I have a fairly light case of rosacea that mostly shows up as pink skin. Little by little the pinkness is turning into tiny blood vessels close to the surface. Not like Uncle Bill the heavy drinker. I finally had the laser treatment and all I can say is "Oh my God! I have a pizza face."
They warned me it would look worse before it looked better. The first day it was swollen. The next day I did look like hard drinking Uncle Bill with the veins turning almost black. And now today, I look like an old witch with acne.
I didn't take my parents out today. I scared a delivery guy and I definitely did not go to a White Trash Party I was invited to. Hope springs eternal and I had a great costume complete with turquoise eyeshadow. But by this afternoon I knew that partying was out for me. My daughter tried to convince me to add a few false warts and I would fit right in. Um... no.
The old lady, 95, has a couple of sayings. She says that you have to suffer to be beautiful. After this treatment, I totally agree. She also says that every day of your life you are in a beauty contest. I opted out of the competition a long time ago and skated on being young and cute. It is quite a shock to pass the mirror and see someone not young, and believe me with a face like this, not cute either.
I've often heard that true beauty is on the inside. I don't really care what my innards look like. I'd rather be superficially good looking on the outside. So there you have it, my dark and vain high maintenance self exposed at last. (Bwahahaha!)
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Cleaning up loose ends
Blogging is two sided. I write for me, and I write for you. If it was only for me I would mark it as a private diary entry. Sometimes I hit a nerve and someone will send me an email or leave a comment.
I have been enjoying my own place and putting off going back to the house to deal with the den/office. Being back at the house is like a field full of unexploded and hidden mines. L is still in town and she promised to help me. We were in the process of throwing away a bunch of old paper and she said, "I told Dad he should get a shredder and he is going to get one." Bang! There goes one now. I said that I tried to tell him that we needed one and he said they were too noisy and we didn't need one. "Why will he listen to you and he wouldn't listen to me?"
After awhile I said that one can't help the way they feel, and sometimes feelings change. What I have the hardest time forgiving, though, is his assertion that he wanted to stay married while building a new life without me. I wasted so much time waiting for things to get better, to go back to normal. We each lied to ourselves and each other. I should have packed my bags as soon as I knew his feelings had changed.
So I am mad at him for not being honest and mad at the way I put myself in this position. I am sorrowful at wasting time, years, waiting for the bad patch to be over and laughter to begin again.
Tomorrow, today actually, is another day. We have some more sorting to do. I want to be able to look at the stuff as stuff and not assign an emotional value to anything. I want to walk in, do what needs to be done, and leave.
I have been enjoying my own place and putting off going back to the house to deal with the den/office. Being back at the house is like a field full of unexploded and hidden mines. L is still in town and she promised to help me. We were in the process of throwing away a bunch of old paper and she said, "I told Dad he should get a shredder and he is going to get one." Bang! There goes one now. I said that I tried to tell him that we needed one and he said they were too noisy and we didn't need one. "Why will he listen to you and he wouldn't listen to me?"
After awhile I said that one can't help the way they feel, and sometimes feelings change. What I have the hardest time forgiving, though, is his assertion that he wanted to stay married while building a new life without me. I wasted so much time waiting for things to get better, to go back to normal. We each lied to ourselves and each other. I should have packed my bags as soon as I knew his feelings had changed.
So I am mad at him for not being honest and mad at the way I put myself in this position. I am sorrowful at wasting time, years, waiting for the bad patch to be over and laughter to begin again.
Tomorrow, today actually, is another day. We have some more sorting to do. I want to be able to look at the stuff as stuff and not assign an emotional value to anything. I want to walk in, do what needs to be done, and leave.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Yeah, that is over
For some reason, I invited S and L to come over and watch Vikings game on my flat screen. I guess I didn't want to be alone and I thought they would enjoy it. I am not much of a football fan, although the coverage is much more exciting than in the old days before cams on cable. I used to like the Jets when Joe Namath played (boy does that age me) and I dated Bruce Taylor of the San Francisco 49ers back when I was young and stupid. He was young and stupid too.
L wanted to prepare a dinner with me. We picked out a recipe and she went shopping for the ingredients. I had to laugh when she came home with a rotisserie chicken and a bag of frozen french fries. Masala naan, humus and pickles rounded out the meal. S came over after working out. They ate watching the game and I ate at the table.
The first half of the game was pretty exciting and they were happy. I had enough football and went into the bedroom to read. Then the shouting started, the cursing, the hopes of the faithful being shattered once again. Nine minutes left in the fourth quarter and I decided to go to the grocery to get some fuzzy water. I didn't want to be here.
Lovely wandering the aisles, looking at fancy stuff, hearing the game in the background. Oh no, it went into overtime. Being the only person in Byerly's, I chatted with the staff who happened to be from Africa. We talked about crazy soccer fans, comparing them with football fans. Finally, I could put it off no longer and went back to my place. Still in overtime, you could cut the tension with a knife. Sudden death field goal and New Orleans had won. S got up and left without a word. L gave me a kiss and went back to the house.
I turned to the Smuckers cavalcade of stars on ice. Happy, joyous young athletes skating their success in winning nationals. I was smiling from ear to ear with them. S is the past, I don't need him and I don't want him. We will always be parents and grandparents, and on some level we will always be tied. But instead of in the past where he had a life without me, and I was lonely, I now have a life without him. I realize I might be alone, but my, my, my, it is so much better than being lonely with him.
Is there a time when we realize all we need to know? Is there a tool that measures understanding? I think it is only by living everyday that we achieve any understanding of ourselves or others. I do not subscribe anymore to the theory that any part of life should take a particular amount of time. Well, pregnancy is the exception to the rule. But a child walks and talks in their own time. Love is it's own timetable. Mourning, healing, taking steps towards health are all individual endeavors.
There is the realization that my time here on Earth is finite. There is the perception that after youth, life is all downhill. I am here to fight that perception. Maybe I will be able to create a successful career at 57. Maybe I will achieve financial security. But maybe I will only be able to work part time, maybe I will live on a fixed income counting all my dimes. I don't know. I have spent so much of my life worried about all the bad things that could happen. Now, in this time of rebuilding, I want to enjoy life and the blessings that are mine. There is a bunny that frolics in the snow outside. There is a warm bed and good book waiting. Yes, the Vikings have lost again, but for me, life goes on.
L wanted to prepare a dinner with me. We picked out a recipe and she went shopping for the ingredients. I had to laugh when she came home with a rotisserie chicken and a bag of frozen french fries. Masala naan, humus and pickles rounded out the meal. S came over after working out. They ate watching the game and I ate at the table.
The first half of the game was pretty exciting and they were happy. I had enough football and went into the bedroom to read. Then the shouting started, the cursing, the hopes of the faithful being shattered once again. Nine minutes left in the fourth quarter and I decided to go to the grocery to get some fuzzy water. I didn't want to be here.
Lovely wandering the aisles, looking at fancy stuff, hearing the game in the background. Oh no, it went into overtime. Being the only person in Byerly's, I chatted with the staff who happened to be from Africa. We talked about crazy soccer fans, comparing them with football fans. Finally, I could put it off no longer and went back to my place. Still in overtime, you could cut the tension with a knife. Sudden death field goal and New Orleans had won. S got up and left without a word. L gave me a kiss and went back to the house.
I turned to the Smuckers cavalcade of stars on ice. Happy, joyous young athletes skating their success in winning nationals. I was smiling from ear to ear with them. S is the past, I don't need him and I don't want him. We will always be parents and grandparents, and on some level we will always be tied. But instead of in the past where he had a life without me, and I was lonely, I now have a life without him. I realize I might be alone, but my, my, my, it is so much better than being lonely with him.
Is there a time when we realize all we need to know? Is there a tool that measures understanding? I think it is only by living everyday that we achieve any understanding of ourselves or others. I do not subscribe anymore to the theory that any part of life should take a particular amount of time. Well, pregnancy is the exception to the rule. But a child walks and talks in their own time. Love is it's own timetable. Mourning, healing, taking steps towards health are all individual endeavors.
There is the realization that my time here on Earth is finite. There is the perception that after youth, life is all downhill. I am here to fight that perception. Maybe I will be able to create a successful career at 57. Maybe I will achieve financial security. But maybe I will only be able to work part time, maybe I will live on a fixed income counting all my dimes. I don't know. I have spent so much of my life worried about all the bad things that could happen. Now, in this time of rebuilding, I want to enjoy life and the blessings that are mine. There is a bunny that frolics in the snow outside. There is a warm bed and good book waiting. Yes, the Vikings have lost again, but for me, life goes on.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
I needed this
I have been such a crazy bitch for several days. Depressed, eating everything not nailed down and some that was. I picked a fight with the old lady. When asked what I was going to have for dinner, I told L, "Indigestion." Sleeping, not sleeping, easy to offend and probably offensive.
First I was blaming the grey weather, the nasty skies and roads and just missing the sun. Then it occurred to me... hormones. I was having a bout of PMS. Post Menstrual Syndrome. Good old menopause. My first impulse is to wail, "Does it ever end?"
On the way home I stopped at the store and bought chocolate and coffee ice cream, lace cookies, and other munchies. Got in the house and had some right away. I'd just had a healthy dinner of rainbow trout and spinach, two favorites. I wasn't hungry. But after eating the ice cream, I seemed to exhale for the first time in days. It makes no sense, but I feel better.
There is a party I was invited to tonight. Lots of interesting people, loud music, and not a chance anyone there wants to share my mood. I think I will stay home and watch figure skating. Beautiful young women in sparkly outfits jumping on the ice, falling on their butts, getting up with a smile and finishing. I am ready to be impressed and inspired.
First I was blaming the grey weather, the nasty skies and roads and just missing the sun. Then it occurred to me... hormones. I was having a bout of PMS. Post Menstrual Syndrome. Good old menopause. My first impulse is to wail, "Does it ever end?"
On the way home I stopped at the store and bought chocolate and coffee ice cream, lace cookies, and other munchies. Got in the house and had some right away. I'd just had a healthy dinner of rainbow trout and spinach, two favorites. I wasn't hungry. But after eating the ice cream, I seemed to exhale for the first time in days. It makes no sense, but I feel better.
There is a party I was invited to tonight. Lots of interesting people, loud music, and not a chance anyone there wants to share my mood. I think I will stay home and watch figure skating. Beautiful young women in sparkly outfits jumping on the ice, falling on their butts, getting up with a smile and finishing. I am ready to be impressed and inspired.
Friday, January 15, 2010
1. Three amazing minutes 2. Letting go and going down
1. Three minutes
Do you ever waste time? I do. I spend hours on the computer surfing, perving, playing games, and of course facebook. Do you ever wish time would go faster? If only it would be tomorrow or next week or the baby was born or in school, or all grown up. If only it was Friday or the next party. I have sat down to meditate and instead of meditating, wishing the time was over and I could get on to the next thing. It is so very rare that I am truly totally alive and present.
I am spending a few days at a resort in Wisconsin Dells with a friend. There is an indoor water park and an indoor theme park. Today we went to the theme park. We went on the bumper cars and I had a wonderful time. I loved driving the little cars and avoiding or ramming someone. I wish I could have had the whole floor to myself and gone around and around. As it was I could not believe how long we got to stay on the cars. There weren't that many people and we got to go again. Just for curiosity I asked the attendant how long the ride was. Three minutes!
Then we tried the go-carts. I rode around and around on the right side and no one was ahead of me. My cart had super tight steering and it took all my concentration to keep it going fast around the curves. This was a super long ride. No wonder there was a line. As I exited, exhilarated, I again asked the attendant how long the ride was. Three minutes!
How could that be? How could each second last so long? How could I be so totally in the moment that three minutes felt like fifteen? And how can I attain that degree of awareness in every day life? Suddenly I understood X-treme sports; for when go-carting just won't do.
2. Letting go and going down
Although I loved roller coasters and scary rides when I was young, I had an anxiety attack at the top of a drop about twenty years ago and have not gone on anything with a vertical drop since then. Today I went on a mouse ride, a one car roller coaster. I was very scared of the drop. I did not realize I was looking at the chain drive part that steeply brings the car to the top. We zig and zagged our way down the rails with two short vertical drops. When it was over and I had not died of a heart or anxiety attack I asked why we hadn't gone down the really steep part. It was the uphill. After a while I volunteered that I wanted to go again to desensitize myself about dropping and dropping dead.
Last night I went on a very high water slide on a two person float. I was apprehensive to say the least. I don't like letting go and not having control. I knew that once in the tube, that was it. Did I love it? No. Do I want to do it again? Not really. Will I do it again? Probably, maybe, for sure and surely not.
What have I learned? That the fear of the fear is worse than the experience. I have harbored the fear that if I would ever go on a roller coaster again that I would die. I did not die. I have learned that when circumstances say let go, to let go and let the water or the ride take me down. My crazy brain is not going to kill me.
Many years ago when I learned to meditate, I experienced this moment as eternity. I want to reconnect to that consciousness in my everyday life and not have to wait for a bumper car. I feel ready to try again.
Do you ever waste time? I do. I spend hours on the computer surfing, perving, playing games, and of course facebook. Do you ever wish time would go faster? If only it would be tomorrow or next week or the baby was born or in school, or all grown up. If only it was Friday or the next party. I have sat down to meditate and instead of meditating, wishing the time was over and I could get on to the next thing. It is so very rare that I am truly totally alive and present.
I am spending a few days at a resort in Wisconsin Dells with a friend. There is an indoor water park and an indoor theme park. Today we went to the theme park. We went on the bumper cars and I had a wonderful time. I loved driving the little cars and avoiding or ramming someone. I wish I could have had the whole floor to myself and gone around and around. As it was I could not believe how long we got to stay on the cars. There weren't that many people and we got to go again. Just for curiosity I asked the attendant how long the ride was. Three minutes!
Then we tried the go-carts. I rode around and around on the right side and no one was ahead of me. My cart had super tight steering and it took all my concentration to keep it going fast around the curves. This was a super long ride. No wonder there was a line. As I exited, exhilarated, I again asked the attendant how long the ride was. Three minutes!
How could that be? How could each second last so long? How could I be so totally in the moment that three minutes felt like fifteen? And how can I attain that degree of awareness in every day life? Suddenly I understood X-treme sports; for when go-carting just won't do.
2. Letting go and going down
Although I loved roller coasters and scary rides when I was young, I had an anxiety attack at the top of a drop about twenty years ago and have not gone on anything with a vertical drop since then. Today I went on a mouse ride, a one car roller coaster. I was very scared of the drop. I did not realize I was looking at the chain drive part that steeply brings the car to the top. We zig and zagged our way down the rails with two short vertical drops. When it was over and I had not died of a heart or anxiety attack I asked why we hadn't gone down the really steep part. It was the uphill. After a while I volunteered that I wanted to go again to desensitize myself about dropping and dropping dead.
Last night I went on a very high water slide on a two person float. I was apprehensive to say the least. I don't like letting go and not having control. I knew that once in the tube, that was it. Did I love it? No. Do I want to do it again? Not really. Will I do it again? Probably, maybe, for sure and surely not.
What have I learned? That the fear of the fear is worse than the experience. I have harbored the fear that if I would ever go on a roller coaster again that I would die. I did not die. I have learned that when circumstances say let go, to let go and let the water or the ride take me down. My crazy brain is not going to kill me.
Many years ago when I learned to meditate, I experienced this moment as eternity. I want to reconnect to that consciousness in my everyday life and not have to wait for a bumper car. I feel ready to try again.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
IMHO
IMHO: In my humble opinion. NOT!
"Everyone is entitled to my opinion", placard my sister sent me.
"My favorite way home is past the cemetery since it's about the only place in the whole town where people keep their opinions to themselves" www.storypeople.com
Uriah Heep was a character in one of Charles Dickens' books. He was a smarmy toad who referred to himself as humble. Other people can call one humble; a truly humble person never would.
I am one of the most opinionated people I know. My sister hit it on the head. I will stop people on the street to tell them how fabulous they look, or to disagree with the way they parked, although I am getting better at minding my own business. Is it age or exhaustion or am I finally learning boundaries?
It is hard to watch grown-up children make choices I would not make. It is even harder to shut up and not voice them. My in-laws were so good about that. I know they bit their tongue on everything from vegetarianism, to following a spiritual leader, to not baptizing our children. They were just there for us, loving and keeping their judgements to themselves. And when we started eating fish but not beef, they didn't argue, just made fish.
My daughter made a mistake and was quite upset. She came over and I made her some comfort food and listened to her. I wasn't quite as good as her grandmother. I could not help give advice and it wasn't what she wanted to hear. Sometimes my other daughter will have to preface her statements with telling me she isn't asking for advice or fixing, she just wants to talk.
So I am learning to let them live their own lives. It is what we do from when they are babies. We do everything to make them strong independent people. I heard someone say they would love to keep their babies in a bubble and not let them grow up. I know what she meant but what a hell that would be. A dear friend's child never aged, stayed newborn mentally as her little body got bigger. Hell.
Today, and I can't promise I will make it past the next ten minutes, I am going to try not only to keep my opinions to myself, (Ma, are you OK?) I am also going to try not to judge anyone harshly. Today is give the world a break from my humble opinions day, except of course, this blog.
"Everyone is entitled to my opinion", placard my sister sent me.
"My favorite way home is past the cemetery since it's about the only place in the whole town where people keep their opinions to themselves" www.storypeople.com
Uriah Heep was a character in one of Charles Dickens' books. He was a smarmy toad who referred to himself as humble. Other people can call one humble; a truly humble person never would.
I am one of the most opinionated people I know. My sister hit it on the head. I will stop people on the street to tell them how fabulous they look, or to disagree with the way they parked, although I am getting better at minding my own business. Is it age or exhaustion or am I finally learning boundaries?
It is hard to watch grown-up children make choices I would not make. It is even harder to shut up and not voice them. My in-laws were so good about that. I know they bit their tongue on everything from vegetarianism, to following a spiritual leader, to not baptizing our children. They were just there for us, loving and keeping their judgements to themselves. And when we started eating fish but not beef, they didn't argue, just made fish.
My daughter made a mistake and was quite upset. She came over and I made her some comfort food and listened to her. I wasn't quite as good as her grandmother. I could not help give advice and it wasn't what she wanted to hear. Sometimes my other daughter will have to preface her statements with telling me she isn't asking for advice or fixing, she just wants to talk.
So I am learning to let them live their own lives. It is what we do from when they are babies. We do everything to make them strong independent people. I heard someone say they would love to keep their babies in a bubble and not let them grow up. I know what she meant but what a hell that would be. A dear friend's child never aged, stayed newborn mentally as her little body got bigger. Hell.
Today, and I can't promise I will make it past the next ten minutes, I am going to try not only to keep my opinions to myself, (Ma, are you OK?) I am also going to try not to judge anyone harshly. Today is give the world a break from my humble opinions day, except of course, this blog.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Big Mac Disappointment
Not talking McDonalds here, talking Apple.
I am an old, old Macintosh user. My first computer was an Apple Lisa, the precursor to the Mac. In the 90's I owned two Performas. I was not happy to switch to a PC for business reasons and when I was ready to get a new Mac for home use my daughter gave us her Dell. When the Dell died we got another PC.
I was so attached to the Mac. I remember telling a brain surgeon who was computer illiterate to get a Mac. I told him, "It isn't brain surgery." (God I crack myself up) So when I moved to my own place I left the PC and ordered myself up a nearly new, refurbished ibook G4.
Frankly, I am disappointed. This is not the easy to use Mac I remember. I have a problem downloading anything because it will tell me it doesn't recognize the program and I have to choose another, yet whatever I choose is wrong.
I have downloaded Open Office but can't open it. I can't upload photos to LL. Now the Epson printer is not responding even though the right driver is loaded. And this morning the wireless mouse stopped working. I am so disappointed and saddened to be back at the library.
I don't have a lot of money so I am hoping to get a Mac wizard to help me on a barter system. Since most of them are probably young enough to be my grandchildren (provided I had kids at 18) I will offer home made meals.
Wish me luck.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
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.)
Sunday, December 20, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
