Successes or Failures?

Whereas I just write what is on my mind and heart, my niece, Emma, takes it one step further. She asks her readers to reflect on the subject at hand and how it relates in their lives. One recent posting, http://emmawilhelm.com/2011/01/23/successes-or-failures/ discusses whether we learn better from success or failure and asks how it manifests in our lives.

For me, a harder question is whether a success really is a success or is a failure really a failure? Is there some way to turn it around to look at it from the other side? If I have grown from a failure, can it be counted as a success? If I have stepped on others to achieve success and in the process have damaged my soul, isn't it really a failure?

Words, words, words, words, words. With words we can bestow feelings of success on ourselves and others. And words can hurt. I remember my boss extravagantly praising something I did well and I felt it wasn't sincere and didn't take it seriously. I remember my dad telling me I was a failure. I told him I was only eighteen, how could I be a failure? I couldn't take him seriously either.

When a woman is pregnant, she doesn't wish for a genius or an athlete. She wishes for a healthy baby. That is success. I was very grateful to have beautiful, healthy children and although I hope they have material success, it is more important that they are decent human beings. Thirty years on, I look at them as people who are ethical, honest, loving, and real. Real successes.

When I lost the job where I excelled, it didn't hurt at first. I had done good work and felt successful in what I left behind. But as time went on and I realized how a supervisor had manipulated me into feeling scared and bad, I felt like a failure.  The abandonment I experienced balanced against the praise I had received from the national office was quite confusing. Sort of like winning a battle but losing a war.

I learn from failure, but it can hurt and cause discouraging inertia and fear of trying. It is much more satisfying to learn from success. It makes me want more and give more. It seems to me, when there is a chance to be positive, I should choose the light. I know I will eventually get there again from failure, but oh, getting out of the hole can be exhausting. Let's make a pact to help each other out of the pits, or better yet, encourage the road without the gaping chasms.

The incredible fun of learning

Gosh, oh golly, gee whillikers, and whoa mama! (Doesn't she have a way with words?) I love learning. I love it, love it, love it. It can be any kind of class, from storytelling to grammar. If there is a chance to participate and use my brain and energy, I love it. It is a pleasure I have long denied myself. I forgot just how much fun it can be.


Last night I attended a class on writing. I had seen a volunteer opportunity for writing tutors for adults and thought this was something I would like to try. I was asked to observe the class. What a revelation. From the course syllabus: Writing Fundamentals is the first of our series of three writing courses. It is designed to teach participants how to recognize the basic parts of a sentence, thus beginning the process of learning to write effectively. Participants work primarily with isolated sentences, either editing sample sentences provided in class or for homework, or composing their own sentences and then submitting them for feedback. This course's six lessons emphasize subject and predicate identification, verb structure and tense, noun and pronoun usage, and capitalization. This is a six week course on the parts of the sentence! Last week they started with nouns and verbs. This week we had nouns, verbs, helping verbs and apostrophe. Lively discussion on compound nouns, and I was deep in the fray.


I don't know if I was put in advanced reading and never had much grammar, or if my head was in the clouds, but I do not remember ever learning predicates or how to break down a sentence. Just looking through the course material shows me how much I need to learn or relearn. I know how to write, I just don't know how I know.


My experience is way different from the other people in the class. On the volunteer application I had to write what I expected to get from volunteering. I said that I wanted to see if I could be a tutor and if this was something to which I wanted to devote my time. I would also like to make a difference in someone's life. The participants were there for many reasons including being court ordered to attend. The organization's mission is to get people out of generational poverty and into productive work situations. They work with people who are in other situations too. Two men, one young and the other much older, are in the class as part of anger management training. They know how to write a sentence as do many of the others. A young woman who is trying to get her children back from foster care has been journaling since sixth grade. But there are others with minimal education who need to learn how to write better to get a job. The teacher is fantastic, engaging his students and keeping it light. They all have contracts and he lets them know exactly what is expected of them. 


Is there a timetable for emerging from a deep depression and embracing life again? If there is, I don't know it. I had five years to take classes, do crafts, volunteer, exercise, do whatever I wanted and all I wanted to do was sleep. My daughter gave me a class at the Art Center as a present but it wasn't right for me. She gave me a class at Bobby Bead, but it wasn't right for me. My sister gave me gorgeous beads, they sit in the closet. I will look for a class that feels right. Maybe the long darkness I have been living in is lightening. I can see the gradual changes that I am making back to being the happy person I long to be.


I don't know if I will ever be able to thank my brother and sister and mother in law for providing the means for me to live in my little condo. Here I met my neighbors and have been welcomed by a group of great old ladies who read books and play cards. Here I've played in the pool with my family and have learned to be with my grown daughters on my own. I've got a job where I have learned to sell and be with tons of different people each day. I'm learning patience and acceptance. It is not a career, but it is a step back into the work world. There was a long time when I lost who I was; it is a pleasure finding joy in the things I love. I can't wait for next Wednesday and the next grammar class.

What I am looking for in a date

1. Mentally sound, with good dental and physical hygiene. Must wash hair and clothes. You've been to the dentist and laundromat? No visible nose hair? Good, proceed to level two.
2. Employed or financially stable. Don't need my (nonexistent) money? Proceed to level three. 
3. Sense of humor, must love to smile and laugh easily. Stonefaces need not apply. Your wrinkles come from laughter? Proceed to level four.
4. Big hearted, not mean spirited, compassionate. Cares about others. A good parent, son and friend. You know how to put yourself in the other guy's shoes? Proceed to level 5.
5. Good conversationalist, reads, shares ideas. You talk and listen? Sweet! Proceed to level 6.
6. Likes short, roundish women in their late 50's. You are at least 50? Proceed to level 7.
7. Knows how to get in touch with me and isn't shy to do so. We can discuss level 8 over coffee.

This isn't Oprah's book club

When I tell people I belong to a book club, they always ask, "What are you reading?" Then I tell them it is a different kind of book club. We all read whatever we want and report on our choices, then if possible, we exchange books. It leads to the most interesting conversations. Most people are impressed and think it is a very good idea.

Reading for pleasure should be a pleasure and sometimes having to read a certain book by a particular date imposes stress, resentments, and guilt. In our book club, if we don't have something new to report on, we can introduce an old friend from the shelf. At one of the first meetings I went to, someone had just reread an old classic. Some of us knew it and were able to discuss it, and others asked pertinent questions. 

The members all live or lived in my condo building. I, again, am the youngest member by at least eight years and in some cases, by almost thirty years.  I love these ladies who are showing me by example how to stay sharp and interesting as we age. Two of them have Kindles! One woman can remember the names and dates of all the characters in the historical novels she reads. It drives the other ladies a little crazy, but we manage to get her not to give us a summary of all five hundred pages. 

Last night I heard reports on James Patterson's newest. Mary liked the story but could have done without the graphic sex. Rita gave herself permission to not finish a book that although good, was very much like the one she had just read. Edith read The Confession by John Grisham on her Kindle. After the discussion of the story, there was a lot of curiosity about the Kindle. We all like the portability, but... we also like the tactile experience of holding a book in our hands. The fact that you can read in the dark, every readers dream, makes the devices sound enticing. Downloading books, not so much.

I have a wonderful collection of humor. Most of it is from the first part of the twentieth century; Robert Benchely, James Thurber, Clarence Day, Anita Loos. I've shared from contemporary humorists such as Bailey White and others. Someone brought me a large Bennett Cerf collection of jokes, stories, and humorous sketches from the late 1940's. Over the past month I plowed my way through it and was really struck by the misogyny, prejudice, stereotypes and racism in the anecdotes. It was codified. It was accepted, and it was 100% privileged white man. Reading it after the upheavals of the second part of the twentieth century, I am amazed that it took so long for those changes to happen. 

Books are products of the time. The authors in my collection reflect their society, but are never intentionally dismissive of whole populations. They laugh at themselves. No one does this better than James Thurber in The Night The Ghost Got In. Robert Benchely always puts himself as the put upon one with such gentleness and grace. But Bennett Cerf makes others the target of his humor and does not do it with compassion for the bimbos and ethnic people. I have no problem with Mark Twain. It is offensive to see the n word, but it is part of the story, and reflects the time when it was written. Edith told me she didn't want the Cerf book back and I thought I might throw it away but our discussion intrigued Gail to take it.

I reported on New Stories from the South, 2010: The Year's Best. It was a Christmas present and I am doling them out, just one or two a week to make them last. The writing is delicious. The discussion about the art of short stories alone was stimulating and thought provoking. I love this group. It certainly isn't Oprah's book club but it is ours and unique.

I couldn't give it away

There used to be an old nun who sat in the Fourteenth Street subway station in NY. She had a little stool and a basket that sat in her lap. I never had a clue what she was supposed to do. Looking back, I think she was begging. She never asked for anything, and once in a while I saw a nickel in the basket. She was old and didn't have much energy. Maybe she was saying the rosary and having an incredible experience of Grace. Maybe she was looking for Jesus in every commuter. Hard to say.

It was dead at the warehouse store today and people were buying the basics. I had a rather dubious product to sample, a "zero calorie nutrient enriched water beverage".  It wasn't even one of the good ones with 100% of Vitamin C. The first three ingredients were water, preservative, and sucralose. I hope there wasn't a secret shopper because I was warning people with children that it had artificial sweetener. When people thought it tasted awful, like cheap Kool-Aid, I agreed. It was so slow, and I couldn't give it away for free.

About four-thirty, I tried doing isometrics, then leg lifts and neck rolls, etc. I looked like a nut. So then I decided I was going to look for the divine in each person who came by. I started smiling more and was a welcoming presence. I had an interesting conversation with a vegetarian who I told how to cook tofu. A man and his three children and I had a talk about manners. I told one of his kids that I couldn't give him anything until he asked please daddy. Then I told him what wonderful manners he had. The few people in the store trickled by. I didn't try to sell them the product, how could I? Did I want the children of God to be drinking this stuff? Really, I couldn't give it away.

I think about that nun, sitting day after day, year after year in that dirty subway station. Was it something she looked forward to? Was she seeing God in the humanity that passed by or was it a penance, a way to pass time until her heavenly reward? What about me? What am I doing with my time? Am I waiting for my heavenly reward or making my own heaven? I don't know what will happen when I die. I know what I hope for, but sort of doubt will occur. So I had better search for the divine in every moment and make my actions worthy of the gift of life. 

Inspired by a boy

I have an old friend who is a dentist in NY. On his fb page he wrote a touching post. "Today, after examining one of my twelve year old patients, I told him that he did not have anymore baby teeth. With great joy and excitement in his eyes he looked at me and asked, "Does that mean I am a man now?"


I can't stop thinking about this child and wishing I knew him because I remember waking up on my twelfth birthday and wondering how I would ever make it to my eighteenth and thinking six more years with despair. That phrase, great joy and excitement, says it all. He was excited for his life, now, and raring for the future. What does it mean to him to be a man? Clearly, it was a very desirable state of life with opportunity and privilege.


I remember being a tiny girl and lying on the sofa as my mother made breakfast for my father before he left for work. It was quite early and I was told I could stay as long as I was quiet. They spoke softly to each other and I felt quite sorry for my brother who had to go to school. I never wanted to have to leave the safety and comfort of being with my mother. I was one of those children who howled the first day of Kindergarden and can still see my mother looking in the window with concern.  She died of breast cancer within three months of that day. I wonder how sick she was and how important it was to her that she could see my first day of school. I remember, too, her showing me a little box in our pink refrigerator and telling me not to touch it because it was dope.


I have very few memories of my father before my mother died. And I do not have good memories of after. He was ill equipped to raise three children on his own. My sister was only two years old. Because of his lightning quick temper, he soon became someone to be feared. I did not look forward with "great joy and excitement" to growing up. I thought of it as the day of salvation when I could finally get away from the violence and chaos.


I am not the only one who has had a challenging childhood. The old man himself had a horrific childhood and vowed to do better for his children. I am sure that had my mother lived things would have been very different. Looking back, I think he laid hands on my step-mother, too. One of Harriet's sisters who knew my mother, told me that she kept him in check and never accepted that kind of behavior, that he was a different man.


I left home two months before my eighteenth birthday. It wasn't in my mind that I was a woman now. I was a child escaping. I have been lucky enough to have two beautiful daughters, now grown. I did better for them than the way I was raised. They are wonderful women, raised with love. I am not saying there weren't times that life was chaotic. I hope they looked forward with great joy and excitement to becoming the women they are.


Thanks to Marc Bienenstock for sharing his story. 

"You should teach a college course!" he said.

Sometimes life gives you a break. Getting to demonstrate Peanut Brittle made in the bakery was easy and fun. Just the right product after being gone because I had been ill for a week. This peanut brittle bore little resemblance to the tooth breaking hard stuff that comes in a box from the drugstore. This peanut brittle was more peanuts than brittle, if you know what I mean. Of course I had to make sure every child had permission and quite a few adults told me that they couldn't eat peanuts either. "You wouldn't want to see what would happen to me," one man said. I replied that I wouldn't either.

This was really primo brittle, nearly all glossy, big peanuts in a buttery sweet base. It broke easily and tasted fine. One lady said it had sugar. Yes, it is candy. One man said it had fat. Yes, it is candy. I teased a man who declined a piece while his wife took one. I joked that he was too skinny, have a piece. Wowza! I hit a very sore spot indeed. He turned and said that America was too fat, that he had a perfect BMI. I agreed and told him I was joking. Another woman said it wouldn't fit into her New Year's resolution. I said, of course it would since her resolution was to gain some weight, wasn't it? She laughed and laughed, but she really could have stood to gain a pound or ten.

Peanut Brittle brings up many memories. More than one person said their father or grandfather loved it. I would suggest they get a tub to give as a gift. Many people said it was always a Christmas time treat. But the best reaction came from one older man.

He stood at the cart sampling the product. He said his wife loved it, that it was her favorite candy. I said he should get some and surprise her. I told him that she would probably be quite pleased that he thought of her. This was a very nice man but you could see that the idea of a spontaneous gift of thoughtfulness had never crossed his mind. I told him to tell her he saw peanut brittle and he thought about how much she enjoyed it. Then he thought he should show her the package and see if she wanted some. (She was somewhere in the store.) I gave him an especially nice sample and told him to bring it to her and say the same thing about how he had been thinking of her. He said to me, "You should teach a college course!"

Several minutes later he came back. I was standing in front of the cart at the time and he came up and hugged me. "You were right!" he cried. She loved it and she was amazed and thrilled that he thought of her. He wanted to know how I knew. I said everyone wants to be thought well of, and noticed. That it was nice to get a tangible token of that notice. It didn't have to be expensive, just thoughtful. He kept saying I should teach a course. Can you teach common sense?

It is common sense to show the ones you love that you are thinking of them. It could be showing them an article on something you know interests them, or bringing home a cd of their favorite artist. It can be noticing fatigue and taking over a chore. We do it for our children all the time. Of course they depend on us for all their needs, but the care to get the right super hero underpants when white would do just as well is another way to show our love.

Remember, not all of us are mind readers, in fact very few are. So, let's not just think good thoughts of each other. Let's also bring home some peanut brittle. The rewards might be great.

Compassion means

Compassion means being able to put yourself in another's shoes, if only for an instant.

I often post quotes from the Dalai Lama. He is always talking about compassion. That the answer to the world's problems is compassion. If you really see the opposition as human, as being the same as you, then you can work together. It sounds so simple that I don't understand why we don't do it. When I see mean spiritedness, it always knocks me out. I just want to shake the dense one. I usually don't understand why I have gotten upset and why I can't make my point.

The press conference in Mississippi was playing on the TV in the break room on Friday. Two sisters who had life sentences for armed robbery were being released from prison on the condition that one give the other a needed kidney. Turns out they only got $11.00 during the robbery. Turns out that one of them had three children, seven, three, and eleven months who are all grown up now. I do not know the details of the crime and trial. But I know that the punishment did not fit the crime and you have to be pretty desperate to commit armed robbery, especially if you are not good at it.

While I was sitting there watching the press conference, discussion was going on around me. One man insisted that "If you did the crime, you had to do the time." He was insistent that they should have thought about that before they held the man up. He COULD NOT see any other point than his own. He could not put himself in their shoes for just a minute. (Bold, capitals, and underlining is to make the point of how unable he was to show ANY compassion.) He could not imagine being a young, impoverished, uneducated, ignorant, desperate unwed mother of three in Mississippi. I tried to tell him how little money a woman like that would get in Minnesota, no less Mississippi, one of the poorest states in the nation, but he could not understand. For him, it was all about thinking first and consequences.


I believe in consequences. I do. But I also know that none of us is perfect and that there have been times I paid too much for the little I did, and other times when Providence did not make me pay as much as I should have, all things being equal. 


Because the Arab States do not see the right of Israel to exist, and because the Israelis do not see the Palestinians as equal partners, strife exists. Because the legislators who have government health care do not have compassion, millions of Americans have either inadequate or no health care coverage. Because people of all parties and persuasions have an I, me, mine, attitude, true progress cannot be made to alleviate the suffering of the world.


When corporations, who are not separate entities, but are made up of people, have no compassion for the people who create their riches, pollution of land and wholesale despair of workforces occur. Give the workers as little possible. Do not provide enough latrines or time to use them, and two things occur. Either you create a criminal class who cannot live that way, or one of scared, hopeless people. These are outrages that happen in the athletic shoe factories of Indonesia. Yet it has been documented that outrages such having to urinate while standing in a chicken processing plant also occur in the United States. It is not only the low paid who have to sacrifice. There is a young, mother of three I know who makes a good salary but had to take home hours of work every night. Her life belonged to the corporation too.

What is it that we as individuals can do? We can try to see our opposition as humans with human characteristics. We can try to stop demonizing anyone who thinks other than the way we do. Paul Wellstone was amazing at being friends with people with whom he did not agree. We can try to be a little nicer. We can work a little harder for the things we believe in.

I suffered for eight years of the Bush presidency without a shred of compassion for the President. I still don't know what our and his karma was. I don't think I will ever understand how his election occurred. But the day I saw a confused, unpopular man walk onto the inauguration stage, and then fly away, I learned compassion. I saw him as human and I could no longer hate. I also saw I had to give up hating him, which in some weird way I enjoyed. Don't get me wrong. The actions of his administration are still an anathema to me, but I can't hate him personally anymore. Unfortunately I have not come to a compassionate point of view towards Cheney, Rove, and the other band of criminals.

I have been sick all week and seem to be getting better. Thank you modern medicine. It feels like I am thinking more clearly. If someone reads this and thinks I am a wooly-headed bleeding heart, I have to say this is the way I am and I hope you can see my point of view, if only for a minute.

Let's all have a good laugh. Enjoy.

In the blink of an eye...

... A fall on the ice, and life changes dramatically.

My mother-in-law, Betty, is one of the strongest, most independent, and stubborn women you would want to meet. We love each other deeply. After I married her son thirty-five years ago she made only one comment, "I always thought you would find your God and your bride in the choir loft of the Presbyterian Church," to her son before thoroughly embracing me as her daughter. Not as her daughter-in-law, but as her daughter. She and Donald taught me so much about parenting and also being a mother-in-law. And when we went to her several years ago and told her the marriage was over she told me that I would always be her daughter and that my name remained on the deed to her property. It is through her generosity, and that of my ex and his brother and sister-in-law that I have my little condo.

Friday, she fell on the ice outside her house and broke her ankle. Somehow, this 85 year old wonder crawled across the snow and ice, up her stairs and back into the house to call for help. Living on property set back from the road, the only alternative was to die of hypothermia. Pretty scary indeed. Right now she is hospitalized in Duluth receiving good care. After the hospital comes the challenge.

How do you tell someone that their home has become too dangerous for them to live in? How do you tell someone who is fiercely independent that she will have to depend on others for a change? I went through this six years ago with my own parents, who were older and much more frail. It was a hard, wrenching move for them, especially my father, who never got to go home from the rehab/nursing home before being moved to Minnesota. I was lucky to have a place pre-planned for them. The year before I told them the line my cousin used to get her parents to move closer to her. "You are killing me. I can't do the commute, and I stay up at night worrying about you." They asked me to hang on to the application and we were lucky enough to get an apartment when they needed it.

Cousin Harriet, who lived to be 99 was savvy. About the time she turned 90 she decided to sell her home and car. She moved into a lovely senior building and didn't look back. The woman who sold us our first home moved into a senior building because her family thought the upkeep on her little bungalow was too much. When, after several years, she hadn't died, she said if she knew she would feel this good she wouldn't have sold her house. She didn't realize that not being in the house was why she  felt so well. Cousin Harriet knew that the easier life was what was keeping her alive. As my own parents get more frail they do understand that they could not live totally independently anymore, but it was a hard sell to get them to agree that it has been a good move for them.

Betty has her marbles, and she has her pride. (I do wish she would wear those hearing aids, though.)  She cannot return to her house at this time without someone there until the snow is gone. It is just too dangerous and impractical. If she can understand that she does not have to give up her home forever, just until spring, the move and subsequent healing will be for her best. I would gladly have her come stay with me. I like sleeping on my couch. Other family members have better facilities and I think there will probably be some rehab involved, letting the matter of next winter rest for now.

As my generation ages we face the challenge of aging parents. The balance between treating them as the adults they are and doing what is right is quite difficult. We do not want to take away dignity and independence, nor do we want to see them die of stupidity and pride. It is a rope many of us are walking, hoping that good intentions will provide a net.

Y2K+10

I wasn't one who put any energy into the Y2K hysteria. It seemed so Chicken Little to me, and after all the hoopla wasn't much more than an acorn falling on a chicken's head. To commemorate the occasion I purchased two drastically reduced tapestry calendars for posterity. They are in a box somewhere and in about three hundred years will be worth at least double what I paid. Too bad no one else was as farsighted (evil little chuckle).

Here it is ten years on and what has changed? It has been a decade of highs and lows, movement and inertia. I got out of food service and into a good job helping other people. Lost that job and spent years trying to get over that rejection. Now I am doing a strangely different food service job and seeing that I have sales skills. I understand that if I believe in a product I can sell it and if it doesn't interest me, I don't do a very good job. I adored the triple cream brie but could not enthuse over peanut butter creme sandwich cookies. I mean, what was the point? (Written by a true butter and chocolate enthusiast.)

In 2005 I moved my 90 and 91 year old parents from their home in Brooklyn, NY to an assisted living apartment in a suburb of Minneapolis. It was a hard adjustment for everyone and I am amazed to think we will celebrate the old lady's 97th birthday on February tenth. The handicapped sticker will expire in April. We all laughed at expiration date of 2011. No one thought they would live this long. I have been up and down with them, losing my temper in a big way every year and a half or so. At this point, although she can still annoy me, the old lady and I have a very good relationship. At least she SEES that I do a lot for them and tells me thank you. The old man is a mess. Skinny, weak, stubborn, sometimes on the ball, sometimes confused, and often very demanding. In some ways he reminds me of an old cat or dog. The difference is that one day the pet owner can make a decision to end that life, but as humans and caretakers we make sure life goes on. My late father-in-law once referred to pneumonia as the old folks friend, and when his mother who had terrible Alzheimer's Disease got sick, they didn't treat it and she soon passed peacefully. My father has had it twice and good antibiotics and excellent care saw him through. I might have to resort to a padded hammer. (That is a joke, folks.)

This has been a decade of hurt and hope and endings and beginnings for me personally. My marriage suffered a crisis, then a period of rebuilding, then a realization of ending. We had a healing ceremony and freed and forgave each other. But it is hard to part with an investment of over thirty years and sometimes I feel completely over it, and sometimes I hurt, and sometimes I cry. But mostly I am happy. I have dated some nice men who made me feel lovely and like I have a lot to offer. I have come to the realization that if I am not adored and adoring, I would much rather be alone. I'd like some companionship it is true, but I like my own company far too much to waste time dating the wrong people. I am open to the possibilities of a relationship should it come along.

Depression can be a killer and I experienced quite a long period of inertia, of only getting out when I had  to deal with something. I wondered why I was living, what was my purpose in life, or had I already fulfilled it and was it time for the next level? Meeting new people, taking care of my parents, and loving my daughters got me through those years as did medication. I will not say I am completely over it because depression is sneaky and sometimes comes down like a slow curtain and other times attacks like a sniper. The biggest weapon in my arsenal to fight depression is the perspective that it will pass and the faith to ask for help from the Creator. To understand that it is part of my life, but not who I am.

So, as this decade ends and a new one starts I wish for myself what I wish for others, love, compassion, success, good health and the ability to laugh at myself and enjoy this life. Happy New Year.

While my hair turns purple

While my hair turns purple, or more correctly burgundy...

Last week everyone was preparing for Christmas, guests, family, big dinners and party food. Watching what people put in their carts this week is a return to reality, vegetables, fruits, bread and the basics. No more giant hunks of beef and rack of lamb. No more trays of appetizers and boxes of truffles. Yet the demonstrations for salsa and hummus go on and on and on.

Working, even at a crappy job, has been good for me. I seem to have lost these past few years. I can't recall anything of any significance happening. I spent a lot of time in a depressed daze and doze. I remember feeling helpless and hopeless. I was walking on eggs, and, in fear of breaking them, just stopped walking. It was a hard situation for everyone to observe. I will always be in debt to S's family for providing a way out of purgatory.

Living alone has been good for me. Living with the boys, Piper and Little Mister, has been even better. Not that it will be a surprise to anyone who knows me, but I am a rotten housekeeper. There is a great satisfaction in having a clean house. I just haven't made the connection to keeping it pristine. I think at my age I never will. The only solution is to become wealthy and hire a keeper.

Which brings me back to working. As this year ends, I am going to try to find a better job. If anyone knows of a position for an erudite, creative woman with burgundy hair, please think of me. I have lots of experience in many fields.

There goes the timer now.

A Different Christmas

This Christmas was going to be different. This year I would be alone on Christmas day. We celebrated on Christmas Eve and I wasn't sad or lonely. I wrote in my blog that I was looking forward to spending some quiet time. But a friend invited me to spend the day playing games and eating with her parents and I wound up having a delightful time. I was not with the family I usually celebrate Christmas day, but they were still with me.

It is funny how our lives interweave. Erica was recruited to the National Guard by my friend Michele's ex husband. She used to babysit for them when their son was young. Then I met Michele in an online group and we became friends. Her parents are about my age and we had clicked immediately. While we were exchanging histories and stories, I felt my family near. I talked about my dear in laws, daughters, great nephews and their parents. I talked about my son-in-law and grandson. My parents, cousins, so many people.

The person I felt nearest to was my sister. She has a distinctive way of talking, fluttering her eyelids, moving her hands. She is uniquely beautiful and I love her dearly. Michele has those exact mannerisms; it is oddly wonderful and very entertaining.

We played a board game called Aggravation. We played Boggle and now they are addicted. (I only won by one point, eek!) Our dinner was delicious, prime rib. I have never liked that cut of meat in my life. I said I needed mine well done and it was cooked to perfection. It wasn't beef I was eating, oh no. It was the love and affection Michele and her mother had for each other. It was the hospitality and warmth to a stranger that I was eating, and as I said, it was delicious.

Isn't it great to be open to what each day brings?  I am the one who usually invites yet now I am the invited. This has been a wonderful, peaceful day. The boys welcomed me home. I am so happy to be alive.

Bending time

Little Mister Mischief, chief sweetheart and trouble maker thought it was about time that I got up and did what a human was supposed to do; feed him. He tried to be nice, rubbing against my back and purring, but I did not respond. Then he started pushing things off the night table, making as much noise as possible. I yelled, "Stop it!" three or four times and finally surrendered. They are fed and sated. Whether felines philosophize about the nature of time, I will never know.

Tonight, Christmas Eve, I am making Chanukah latkes for my daughters and son-in-law. It doesn't matter that Chanukah, a very minor Jewish holiday is long over, Christmas Eve dinner is latkes. Friends of mine have been making plans to celebrate their holidays at one set of parents one week, and with others on Christmas day. A birthday celebrated within the month is quite acceptable these days. It doesn't seem to matter what the calendar says, we bend time to suit ourselves.

It wasn't always like this. In the beginning, if we are to believe scripture, God created the world in six days and on the seventh rested. For centuries, people observed the Sabbath. Growing up in NYC, stores were closed on Sunday. You didn't have to rest or go to church, but few people worked. I don't remember when driving to Long Island to shop at Valley Stream covered mall became a Sunday destination. It relieved the boredom of football and golf on black and white TV.

Now, we live in a 24 hour society. Shop anytime at home or pick up milk at three AM. Who is staffing all these opportunities? People who have their Sundays on Wednesday. When the girls where young, dad worked Monday through Friday and the weekends were for bike races. When we started the business, Saturdays were for customers and when I started working banquets, all schedules for me flew out the window. I worked when there was work, not realizing the havoc no set schedule was making in our life. I was so excited to get a real, 9-5, weekday job. I thought we could go back to having a regular life, but time had moved on and nothing was the same.

A farmer knows one can't really bend time. It might be more convenient for him to plant in the fall and harvest in the spring; the cows can't wait months until he has the time to milk them. There are still schedules that are immoveable and the consequence for not obeying can be starvation.

I always thought I had enough time. I am a terrible procrastinator, and the kind of person who can make it come together at the last minute, or not at all. I can convince myself that I will do it later and it will be fine. Sometimes that works, but not all that often. Sometimes the opportunity is lost and never comes back. Applications not sent in on time, bills piled up accruing late fees, retirement not funded, and chances for love and affection set on the back burner to grow cold.

At one point I went to a shaman to ask why I sabotage myself by procrastination. She told me that in past lives I had made some really bad decisions, so am scared to move in this life. Be that as it may, (or may not) it didn't help this life. I can bend time to eat Chanukah food on Christmas Eve, but I can't turn back time. I am still 58 and in a precarious position. I am not in my 30's trying to establish a career and can't bend time back to make different life choices. Now is now.

And now is all anyone really has. I am going to try to use it wisely, but I am not making any promises.

Decreasing Holiday Stress

Working as a demonstrator at a warehouse store has shown me a whole new world of human behavior. And some of the time it isn't very good. I see the best and worst of people. I see parents teaching their children manners and I see other parents being manipulated by their kids. Once in a while I will look at a child and say, "I know I didn't hear you talk that way to your mother. I know you always ask nicely. Why don't you try it again?" But most of the time I just admire the babies and tell the little ones how wonderful they are. I compliment parents all the time on their children. Everyone is happy then. Oh, those babies. They are so beautiful.

Today I was demonstrating a 100% natural spinach, artichoke and parmesan dip. It is really tasty and I used 16 thirty-one ounce tubs in six hours. That is a lot of dip to portion out by the teaspoon. One man told me I should add more spinach and artichoke and take out the mayo. Didn't he understand that was what was holding the dip together? Didn't he understand that I only served it, I didn't cook the stuff? Didn't he understand that this is free food and if you don't like it, don't eat it? Nope, he stood there berating me. Oy.

People are stressed. The parking lot was full and people drove round and around. My niece, who works at the Mall of America could not find a place to park and actually went home so her husband could drive her back and drop her off at work. The supervisors are stressed. The cashiers are pressured to work faster. One woman I know who is working seasonal at FedEX is supposed to unload 1000 packages an hour. All for the holiday. Minnesota has wonderful snow removal, but people are stressed by the thought of more snow coming.

This year, my personal holiday is nearly stress free. I will make latkes for Christmas eve, and for the first time in 35 years, I will spend Christmas alone. I can go up to see my mother-in-law along with daughter and ex, but it is time to separate. I will still have a relationship with her because we do love each other, but the time has come for me not to be part of S's family celebration. I am thrilled to have a whole day for myself. Christmas was never part of my tradition and I could use the break. One daughter did tell me that I made Christmas happy for her as a child and hearing that meant a lot to me.

For those of you planning huge spreads this Christmas, give yourself a break. What your guests will remember is the love you put into the food you serve. Whether you get the finest proscuito or some a little cheaper, don't make yourself crazy. If you only have one appetizer instead of three, don't sweat it. There is no way you can fulfill everyone's wishes and no way you can make the holiday "perfect". Uh, uh, it isn't going to happen. There is nothing wrong with having high expectations, nothing wrong at all. But change the expectations from unattainable perfection to filling your get together with laughter and acceptance. Concentrate on making each other smile. Enjoy the ones you love, and try compassion on the ones who irritate.

I'm going to try to heed my own advice as we enter the homestretch towards Christmas. I will smile, smile, smile, no matter what. (That isn't a facial rictus, it's a peaceful smile. Can't you tell?)

Don't disrespect your spouse

I was flogging some kind of soup today when an old man came to get a sample. He liked it and I suggested he buy some. He would, he said, except for his shit for brains wife wouldn't eat it. I said, "Sir, please don't disrespect your wife." Then I turned away.  I wonder if that man realized how bad talking about his wife made him look? Not good at all, and very hard to respect. One of my coworkers was standing next to me and she was pretty shocked, too.

I told her the story of long ago when we lived in Jordan, MN. We hired a babysitter to watch the girls and off we went to the old theater in New Prague. It was a beastly cold night. At one point some teenagers behind us were making a lot of noise and I turned and told them to be quiet. One of them called me a bitch and S faced them and told them they were not to disrespect his wife. Then he went to the manager and had them kicked out. We spent the rest of the movie sitting stock still, wondering if they were going to beat us up when we left. As I said, it was a beastly cold night and they were gone when we got out. Whew! What a relief. If you gave me a million dollars, I still couldn't remember anything about that movie, we were that scared.

I am not a delicate flower, never was. Although S was always athletic, he was never a tough. He is better at intellectual argument where he will wear his opponent down with facts, either real or made up. So having my husband jump to my defense was a really wonderful thing. He had my back and I felt safe and secure. Another time when my folks were visiting the old man made me cry. At one point I said to S, "If you love me, you will call in sick today. Don't leave me alone with them." He went up to my father and told him that although I was his daughter, I was also his wife and he would not allow anyone to talk to and disrespect his wife that way. The old man is still leery of him.

This is the holiday season, a time for family. It is not always a happy time by any means. One way to weather the emotional storms that can come when families don't get along well, when there is poor communication or years of resentments that never were resolved is to be there for each other. Be a unit. What is done to one is done to both, and both do not accept poor behavior towards their spouse. There is such strength in being each other's best friend.

That is what I miss about being alone now; knowing there is no one at my back. That is what I want for all my married or committed friends and family, a certainty that the one you love will be there for you, through good times of laughter and scary nights at the movies.

Love and respect each other. There is so much strength there. You can take on the whole world... together.

Magazine covers

Today, I spent 5 hours pushing clam chowder across the aisle from a magazine rack. Every once in a while I would look at the covers. Elizabeth Edwards on People, gingerbread house on a cooking magazine, you get the idea. But there was one that really bothered me. On OK magazine, in large yellow letters: KENDRA LOSES HER BABY! Exclamation mark and all. I understand that this woman lives a public life, but come on, is this news? Is this any way to treat a personal tragedy? It made me embarrassed to look at it and realize we are living in such a shallow, voyeuristic society. After a while I crossed the aisle and put a photography magazine in front of the offending magazine.

Cosmo was interesting, though. 60 sex tips! It made me think that for me the first 50 would be about passionate looks and kisses. Then I noticed this teaser: Look Leaner When Naked! I had to scratch my head, stand sideways? Use dim lights, or get a full body Saran Wrap before taking off clothes? How much fat can one person suck in? Well, I never did read the article but bet that the only way to look leaner when naked is to lose weight and get toned.

It reminds me of comedienne Susan Voss. She said she was willing to do anything, ANYTHING, to get a fabulous figure. Anything, that is, except diet and exercise.

So on that note, I want to say I'm getting a little better everyday. Even made it to water exercise this morning, and although I wanted to go home, worked a full day. Thank you everyone for your kind messages of hope and love.

I've been humming this song, but I only knew the first verse. Enjoy.

Optimism and Depression

I am an optimist most times. I want to believe the best of people. I try to see the good in most situations. Most people consider me a happy person. Intense, for sure, but happy. I love to laugh and have a loud laugh. I giggle most inopportunely and love to express having fun. Sometimes reading funny books, I can hardly breathe because I am laughing so hard.

November is usually a hard month for me. The light dwindles, the sky gets grey, and I get sad. This year I bought a "Happy Light" by Verilux and started exercising at morning water workouts at the JCC. Last Wednesday my dad was in very bad shape with the start of pneumonia. I got a cold and needed to sleep more and missed class. Dad responded well to antibiotics and had a great time at Gavin's birthday dinner. I spent an good evening with a friend from out of town. I wasn't at the top of my game, but I was coping pretty well although I'd had a hard day or two around the anniversary of my mother's death.

Depression is a physical drain, it is an energy sap. It comes like a wave and I could feel it suck me in. It is physical and it is mental. And it is very, very real. I want to hide in bed. I want to sleep, and shut out the world until it passes. In past years that is exactly what I did sometime. Now I have a job and must go to it. Last night I saw S and when he asked how I was doing, I asked for a hug. Today, though, I could hardly stand and get through the day. All I could think of was when I could lie down again.

Having someone speak badly of me was a trigger. Having the cats spread trash all over was another. Having an upset stomach lowered my resistance. Worrying about family, watching the news, all affected my equilibrium and I got caught in the undertow of depression. It is exhausting and bleak and I know I have to go through the cycle, I just pray it is not a bad one.

What helps is knowing there will be a day, and I hope it is soon, where I will feel fine. I will have come out of the trough of depression and will be standing on solid ground. Even though I am depressed and have barely the energy to get out of this chair, I am still an optimist.

I dreamed of Snooki

This morning I awoke to the sound of cats playing with my earring hanger. I was loathe to open my eyes because I was watching a game show with that little Jersey girl, Snooki. She and her partner were debating a really easy question. Now I will never know the answer.

I don't know anything about this girl except what I have seen on the covers of magazines and SNL. but it occurs to me that her parents called her Snooki Wookums as a baby and never stopped, so people still call her Snooki. My own daughter, Erica, had a funny nickname as a baby. It came from a neighbor child calling her Ewita-tootie. Everyone called her Tootie. We moved when she was three and that was the conscious end of Tootie. Cute at three, not so adorable as an adult. (Just the name, she is still pretty cute!)

I am sitting by my Happy Light. It is a cold and grey day. Minnesota at it's worst late autumn. I had a hard day yesterday with my folks. On Tuesday I got a call from the old man, 95, that his foot was swollen. That reminded me that the old lady asked me to make an appointment to see a lady doctor. So on my break I called the clinic and was able to make two appointments for the next day, one at ten and one at eleven. Then to call the assisted living people to have my mom ready at nine-thirty and the old man at ten-thirty. I would make two trips because there was no way the old man could be ready before ten-thirty. Then I had to tell my boss I would not be in on Wednesday.

I got the old lady, 96, to the clinic and the complaint seemed to be going away. They told her the same thing I tell her all the time, she has to actually drink some water!!!!! The burning will go away if she drinks water, or juice or tea or anything but coffee. Coffee does not hydrate. I left during her exam so I could get the old man.

He is so weak. He is very vain and does not want to use a walker, so he falls. He has finally consented to a cane. It is hard as hell to watch him die by inches. He is very caustic and a clear, nasty speaker. Yesterday I asked him if he had his teeth in because he was slurring his words. He has some congestion of the chest, too.

I had told the old lady that I would take them both out to lunch, but when they started talking x-rays and ultra sounds I took her home so she could have lunch in the dining room. She was disappointed and started to complain. She wanted to have lunch out, I said well I wanted my life back. Then she started to say she wanted to die. How I didn't say, "I do, too" I will never know. I am glad I controlled myself, though. After we got to the car she said that she was calmed down and didn't mean it. I said I was glad.

They've ordered some physical therapy for the old man. They will teach him to use the cane. They haven't called me to say whether he has pneumonia, so it is probably just a cold. It was too late for lunch at the building so I took him for an experience. I brought him to Costco. He was able to get in an electric Scooter they have and drive around looking for bargains. He realized he didn't need anything. We shared a hot dog and slice of pizza. He enjoyed it and realized that he really doesn't want to drive anymore.

In February, it will be six years since I rescued my parents from NY. The old man was in a nursing home and the old lady was isolated in an apartment in the projects. Had I left them there, both would be dead by now. My sister disapproved of what I did, but came from California to help me pack and move them. During this time I lost my job. There was one six week period that I took my father to a wound clinic three times a week. After my mother got new dentures, I brought her back to have them adjusted twenty-three times, a new dental office record. I take them out every Saturday or arrange for one of my daughters to do so.

I left home at seventeen, the last time my father beat me. Why? I hadn't gone to the doctor for a cold. For that I was kicked with steel toed boots. Over the years I had therapy. I became a parent that stopped the cycle of abuse this generation. I visited NY every year or so and that seemed to be sufficient. As they got older and more frail, I fretted about what to do. My sister said she forbid me to take them to Minnesota. I spent hours on the phone trying to get home services for them, but they had too much money for aid but not enough to get services. It was a mess.

I don't remember when, but I had a very clear message from my birth mother. She wanted me to take care of the old man and my step-mother. Because she loved him, and I loved her, I agreed. Now that the old man is on anti-depressant, he is much easier to deal with, although he can still be a very nasty bastard. At one point I was seeing a therapist to deal with the way he was able to push my buttons, calling me stupid and lazy.

My goal, all along is to be able to say when they die that I have no regrets, that I have done everything to make their last years good ones. I do not know what happens when you die, but I do not want to spend another lifetime or eternity with these particular people. I want to finish our business this life. Over these past years I have grown in patience. I can sit at a restaurant and watch them share a cup of coffee. I can watch her dip her dentures in her water glass with total equanimity. I can sit patiently while he takes an hour to eat stone cold pancakes. But a day like yesterday is very trying.

It is not the bogus complaints. It is not the time spent with them that upsets me. It is the realization that I have not come to a place of not being resentful of the time they take and how l still want to be appreciated. Nobody expected them to live six more years. I know it is me keeping them alive. They have to stay and teach me the lessons I need to learn until I get it right. I look at myself, I want a job in the helping area. I want to join the Peace Corps when I retire. But right here, right now, I have a volunteer job in service to others. It is hard to look the mirror of my hypocrisy.

Something is screwed up.

Something is out of kilter. We seem to have gone wrong.

It offends me that retailers make their employees work on Thanksgiving. I understand essential services such as hospitals, fire, police, snow plowers. I even understand the mini mart for gas and whipped cream. But does Dollar Tree need to be open? Does Sears and Wal-Mart? Isn't this our national day of celebrating family and friends. Isn't this a time for time off with our families and friends?

My coworkers and I asked each other if we went out at 3 AM for Black Friday bargains. None of us had. I said there was nothing I wanted bad enough to go stand in line in the cold for. Then I changed my answer. I said I would shop in the middle of the night if I could get world peace. Sharon thought that most people wouldn't get out of bed even for that.

Today I demonstrated a Keurig coffee system. This is one of the single cup coffee makers that use little cups of coffee grounds to make one perfect cup of coffee. I can see it in an office where you offer clients a fresh cup of coffee. It is a nifty device, very clean and super easy to use... but. Yeah, but it costs a whole bunch for convenience. No grounds to clean up, no filters to replace. But how much time are we trading hard earned pay for? I can make a cup of Swiss Miss cocoa for about fifteen cents. Boil the water, dump the mix in a cup and then add water. Use a Keurig kcup and get it for at least fifty cents and under a minute. I am not afraid to clean a few grounds. One man complained that it couldn't be tied to a water line. He was upset that he would have to fill the reservoir. I kept pushing the ecological reusable filter cup that can be used with any coffee or tea.

At six o'clock, Sharon, Nita, Kathy, and I cleaned up. I had used six pitchers of water for the coffee demonstration and after refilling them a few hours before I had to dump four pitchers of clean water. It occurred to me how hard some people had to work for water that I was throwing away, how many miles they had to carry water from not so clean sources and here I was just dumping it down the drain. There was no way I could send it over to poor people. Sharon was pretty upset that she had to dispose of an unopened case of Tropicana Juice. There was nothing wrong with it but it had sat on her cart for two hours and could not be returned. OK, but it could not be given away. I would gladly have run it over to a shelter, but no. We couldn't take it home either. That would be stealing. How is it stealing if it was paid for?

Then I watched the news. Did you see the man who was almost trampled at the Buffalo Target?  Did you see anyone trying to help him up? I saw people rushing past him to get their bargains and it made me sick. I have lived frugally for many years. My daughters went to school looking as slick as the rich kids because I am a bargain hunter extraordinaire. But there is nothing available in any store that would tempt me to abandon my humanity. It is just stuff and I wonder what those pushing, shoving people will think when they see themselves on the news. I hope it makes them as ashamed of themselves as I was for them, and that they will take a hard look at the hysteria they bought into.

On a lighter note, my bathroom is full of shredded toilet paper. The boys have figured out that I put it in a basket on the back of the toilet and have knocked it over. It can't stay on the holder because they unroll it. Pretty soon I am going to have to hang it from the ceiling. What good kitties!

Bean salad, an easy decision, a hard balance

Today I was hawking Paisley Farm 100% natural four bean salad. "If you like 3 bean salad, you'll love a fourth bean. $5.39 for a half gallon jar. You can throw half away and still come out ahead because you can't make it for this price. And you still have a jar to collect buttons." Oh, I was quite amusing and think I probably made my 25 jar quota. I did notice one thing though, people either love bean salad or hate it. There just is no middle ground.

It was funny to be calling out about the bean salad and see the reactions. People would come running over to sample it or they would visibly shudder. I am of the shuddering group and had no trouble commiserating with those who dislike it. I was very frank when people asked me what I thought of it. I said that people seemed to love it but I had a real dislike for canned green beans, my mother used to boil them.

I spoke with a number of women and told one to get herself a small portion from a regular deli if she liked it. There was no reason she couldn't enjoy something just because her husband didn't. I told her to treat herself better and she really seemed to appreciate it. On the other hand I told a woman who hated it but her husband liked it to either buy a small amount for himself or go to a restaurant.

There were foods my husband liked that I did not, such as beets and winter squash. On rare occasions I would prepare them. There are things that I like that nobody else in my family would eat, such as pickled herring or smoked salmon and whitefish. I wouldn't buy a jar of herring just for myself.

Over the years my husband and I grew apart in interests. He was a bike racer and when the children were young we attended many races. I liked art things and reading and being a stay at home mother. I went back to school and when we started the business I took a banquet server job to provide an income while we were working towards future success. I worked long crazy hours and was always tired and my feet hurt all the time.

My husband was a very talented semiprofessional singer and joined many choirs. I was tired and jealous of all the outside interests while our business limped along. I didn't know how to have fun. In later years, while I was working for the labor council, the most fun I had was marching through a Wal-Mart. I laughed with such abandon. We used to love to dance and I would laugh and laugh.

What does all this have to do with bean salad? I should have done more to enjoy my life. I should have bought and done things that brought me pleasure, (not bean salad, though) and I shouldn't have sent him off to find his own fun. I should have worked harder to provide pleasure at home and he should have worked harder including me in his interests. We both should have prioritized having fun together.

But all this is water under the bridge. What I want to convey is for couples to do things together, to try to accommodate each other's taste. You don't have to agree on bean salad, each person has their own tastes. But one doesn't have to give up one's own preferences to be a good spouse. And I bet, if asked, the other spouse doesn't want you to anyway. Go ahead and eat your bean salad if that is what you want. Surprise the other one with something they like that you don't. It is the little things that show self respect, and respect for the other that make a successful relationship, a balance of likes and dislikes and a fondness for creating happiness.