Conversations

Eri calls from the nursing home, "Bubby says to bring her something else to wear."
 -"Where are her clothes? Didn't they bring them back from the laundry yet?"
 -"I don't know. She says she is tired of wearing the same thing."
She doesn't know who to ask, there have been some accidents and she wants different pants. I say I will bring more clothes. I stop by the apartment and get a few more outfits.

"Hi, I am Carol, Harriet's daughter. Where are her clothes? They told me on Tuesday that it would take up to two days for the laundry to mark them."
  -"Where are her clothes?" asks the beautiful nurses. They are beautiful, too, one represents West Africa with a round, dark face and braids. The other represents East Africa with a lighter, thinner face and long hair. Both smile and take me in stride.
 -"That is what I am asking you."
They tell me how sweet my mother is and call down to the laundry. They will find her clothes.

"Hi Mom."
She looks up at me with sad eyes and says, "How long do I have to be here? When can I go home?"
 -"Mom, why are you here?"
 -"Because I'm weak?"
 -"Yes, and what do you have to do?"
 -"Eat?"
 -"Yes, and what else?"
She doesn't have a clue. "You need to walk with the walker. You can't go home if you aren't walking."
 -"No one takes me, they leave me alone all the time."
 -"I will talk to the nurses."

"I would like my mom to get out of bed and go to activities."
  -"She doesn't want to get out of bed."
  -"Tell her that her daughter wants her to get out of bed."
  -"We can ask her, but it is her decision."
  -"Can someone walk her?"
  -"Yes, we walk her to the bathroom and back."
  -"That isn't very far. Can she walk to the dining room?"
 They tell me they think that is too far and she should use the wheel chair. They really are as sweet as they are beautiful.

"Mom, lets go for a little walk in the hallway."
 -"I feel weak."
 -"You won't get any stronger if you just stay on your bed. I will help you."
I find her shoes and help her to sit up. She can barely stand, but once up tells me she has to use the bathroom. She walks like a thousand year old mummy. I can't believe it. How has she gone downhill so quickly? She needs help getting the pants and Depends down. She needs help getting them up again too. She tells me she is too tired to walk in the hallway and I help her back to bed.

We talk for awhile. She is bored and no one comes to see her. I tell her in the past four days I have been there three times, Leslie once, and Eri and Gavin were there just that day. She is amazed it has only been four days, it seems like a month. She tells me she believes me, she just can't remember. I suggest that the next time she thinks no one has visited she tell herself that she's forgotten. This is a woman who claims she can remember her own birth, and believe me, remembers slights for decades. We all say be here now, but I don't think that is working for the old lady.

While we are talking, another beautiful young African lady comes in with Harriet's clothes. She tells me she was off a few days and there was a backlog of labeling when she got back. She takes the other apparel I have brought to label. I feel much better.  On the way out I stop by the nursing office to thank them for finding the missing clothing and tell them that they are right. She is too weak to walk to the dining room. They smile at me and I thank them for the good care they are giving my mother. I ask if they think she is imminently dying and they both shake their heads no. I agree that though she is weak, the life force is strong.

As I walk to the car I find myself wondering how long I will need to visit every day. I am a little resentful, and kind of mentally tired. Then I remember the goal I have set for myself once again; not looking for an end, but accepting the process of living and dying and doing it all without resentment however long it takes. Doing it with patience, and hopefully experiencing joy.

Both hard and easy

This morning I got out the old red suitcase. It was dusty because I haven't been on vacation in a long time.  I brought it over to the assisted living apartment where my mother lives. While Patty, the hospice nurse gave her a shower, I filled the suitcase with nighties and underwear, sweaters, slacks, shirts. Pictures went in a tote with some toiletries. Between Patty and myself we got her into the car and off we went. for me, that was very hard. I knew this day was approaching, but I still got quite sad.

I drove up to Shalom Home West, found a wheelchair and luggage trolley. From that point, everything became easy. The staff welcomed her, the Hospice social worker made sure everything went well. The old lady said she was hungry and she went to lunch where she sat with others and ate some soup. I was able to kiss her goodbye and promised to return tomorrow morning.

The Shalom people have been doing senior care for over 100 years and they really have been lifesavers. They run Menorah Plaza where my folks lived and also have a huge campus with memory care and senior apartments, assisted living, hospice and nursing home. When you walk into their facilities, you cannot smell nursing home, not in the lobby, not on the floors. My mother, who is being supplemented by the county and the state is getting the same care as private pay patients. Thank you dear taxpayers, thank you.

We have told her that if she eats, gains some weight and mobility she can come home. I am at the point where it is OK either way. I am here for the endgame too.

Getting ready for death

Today, the old lady and I had a little discussion about death. We had come back from eating soup at a deli. She laid down on the bed and I told her to skootch over and I sat at the edge. I asked her if she was giving up. She didn't seem to eat much anymore. She told me again that she missed my father. She told me again that he loved my mother, that one did not have to do with the other. And I told her again that I knew the heart had many rooms. Did not her own mother love all five of her children?

She asked me if she would see her husband and I told her that I didn't know. I believe that we come from love and we return to love. I think it is a different existence without a body and we can't imagine it. I asked her if she was afraid and she said no. What is to be afraid of? I told her to think of it as another adventure and she was always ready to try something new. Didn't she take on the adventure of being a mother to three children at the age of 44? Everyone told her not to do it but she did. It wasn't a hard childhood because of her; in fact she alleviated some of the suffering. It was hard because my father was a mad man. He never confronted his losses and it ate him up inside.

She has always been an incredible clothes horse and when she had to move to a smaller apartment we needed to weed out enough so she had room in the closet. Now she can't find anything to wear so I took away most of the dresses and suits and summer clothes. She was grateful to have the room. I told her I would bring back her summer things when it got warm. She remarked if she was still here.

I do not begrudge the time I am spending with her in this limbo before she passes.  I am grateful for the opportunity to talk about things that really matter to both of us. We have both grown a lot in the seven years since I moved them from NY. I thought at the time they couldn't last more than a few years. I was wrong. She will be 98 on Friday and I am hosting a small dinner party at her favorite Chinese restaurant on Saturday. One day at a time, that is all anyone has, Mom, you, or me.

How the computer places me

I joined an online dating service. You answer a zillion questions and it can be quite interesting to compare your answers with potential dates. Under the "Personality" tab is a graph that shows where your answers sit in comparison to others. That too, is interesting. Potential dates can see that I am more spiritual, more pure, more compassionate, progressive, political and kind, in that descending order. They can also see I am, (according to their statistics) less adventurous, less experienced in love and life in ascending order. How they reach these conclusions is a mystery to me.

But it does make me wonder. How well do I see myself? How well does anyone? It seems to me that we look at ourselves with either rose or mud colored glasses, and very rarely do we see clearly. I know for me it is always a shock to look at photographs and see how short I am. When I look down, the floor is far away. I can't imagine what the view is for my 6' 8" nephew. I watch little kids. They are the center of their world, at home in their own space.

Many years ago I was pregnant and every night my spouse would rub pure cocoa butter on my tummy. I smelled like chocolate and was under the impression that I had no stretch marks. Then I disrobed in a cubicle with a full length mirror. I had big red stretch marks on the underside of my bulge. They had been there all the time but not having a mirror, I hadn't seen them. (Oh, big, big freak out! Why didn't you tell me? I thought you knew!)

In my mind, I am brave and oh so street wise. I am a woman of the world who chooses to stay home and uses excuses not to travel, either the parents or money. How can I be less experienced in love and life? How? I don't know, but I guess I am, because the computer says so. And we all know the computer never lies. (Garbage in, garbage out.) It does explain why most of the matches they send me are old hippies. What rich guy wants someone more spiritual, and pure? It even makes me kind of nauseous. It does make me wonder, just who I am. I won't spend a lot of time wondering, though. Because, like Popeye, I yam what I yam, and have the forearms to prove it.

Well wishers, uncross your fingers

There is a scene in a book I love, Vision of Light, where Margaret is seeing amazing things and finally asks God if He is giving her a sign. A voice answers that yes, apple blossoms in winter and all the other phenomena were to get her attention. I, too, have had amazing messages, time and time again that I totally ignored. They were too subtle for me. (I could write a book about missed opportunities.) But the other day I was sitting at a table in Costco eating some frozen yogurt and opportunity came right up to me and offered me a job.  

When I was a demonstrator cooking steak or fish, I often stood by the young man in the heating and air conditioning kiosk. I would give him samples and talk to him about his life. When he saw me on Thursday, he left his booth and came to talk to me. They were looking for someone to talk to potential customers and make appointments at another store. Would I be interested? On his say so, and without an interview, I started training on Saturday. I did another 4 hours today.  Tomorrow I will go into the office and meet the boss and fill out paperwork.

 

It isn't like cooking steak where folks flock for a free sample; it can be boring, waiting for people to approach. Either they are looking for a new heating and air conditioning system or they aren't. But then you get to visit with potential customers and for a couple of minutes have an interesting conversation. I don't have to sell anything, I just give info and get info. He said I did great and his boss was real impressed with the five appointments we made these past two days.

There is a part of me that really did not want to take this job. It does not pay enough and there are no benefits. But there is another part that says it is a job and I should take it. See how I do, be open to opportunities that come my way. Who knows where this might lead? But more than anything, when an opportunity takes the time to offer me a job when I am eating ice cream, I know it is a sign that I'd better pay attention, abandon what I think I know and be open to learning something new.

Someone asked me what my resolutions are for the new year. I only have two. I want to be more positive and try not to be negative. Here are Bette and Bing to sing about it for you.

Meaningless numbers

Today I took my 97 year old mother to the Jane Brattain Boutique to be fitted for a new prosthesis and brassieres. She is by far the oldest lady they have ever fitted and in many ways, most challenging. Many skinny old ladies who have lost a breast just stop wearing bras altogether and I can see why.

My father met her in 1959 when she was in her forties. She was a knockout and wore a 36 D bra for a long, long time. She is a 32 year breast cancer survivor and has never looked back or mourned the loss of her breast. She is happy to be alive. Some years ago she became so lopsided that her doctor sent her for a reduction on that side and she liked her smaller breast.

Four years ago she measured as a 38B. But she has lost more weight and her bras are hurting her. Today she still measured at 38, but they didn't feel good. The kind young woman finally found that worked best is a 40AA. The old lady was flummoxed; how could those be her numbers? She had never been that small or that large. As she has shrunk vertically, and as her back is bending, the rib cage is expanding. As she has lost weight, all the fat in her breast is gone leaving flat skin. The fitter put in an evener, kind of a lifter, on the good side to even her out.

Well, this is a lot of information and I will finally get to the point. It is about arbitrary numbers and what we think of those numbers and how we let them affect our thinking and lives. 40AA? She is so very skinny, and not even when she was twelve did she wear a double A bra. "But I've always been so busty" she kept repeating. And size 40 chest? The old man only had a 36" chest before he died.

I remember crying over scale numbers when I was younger. I remember cutting a label out of a pair of shorts because I couldn't imagine wearing size 18 shorts. And now, I am much heavier and wear size 14. How can that be? I know a young mother, slim and beautiful as can be, who worries she is not the same weight as pre baby. It is just numbers and numbers can lie. I look in the mirror and see a woman approaching sixty years old. The make-up lady tells me my skin looks younger, but catching myself unaware in a shop window, I don't even recognize that person. Is that me? How can that be?

The baseball great, Satchel Paige said, "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?" The old lady has to be reminded she is old, in her mind she is still young. I think I would be 36 again, if I could appreciate it more. As it is, I will wear what looks good, no matter what the label says, and apply for jobs no matter the age I think they want. Because what are numbers anyway? Just a way of either enjoying or avoiding being here in the moment. And anyway, 60 is the new 50. Time to do this decade right.

Learning compassion

I've been reading about compassion and learning what I thought was compassion is just the start. I thought being compassionate meant putting yourself in the other guys shoes and trying to understand why they are the way they are. Then I could put aside enmity and practice empathy. People have told me on occasion that I am too gullible, too forgiving and that sometimes people don't deserve another chance, but holding on to anger hurts me, worse.

One Christmas, I think it was 2004, I innocently opened up a large, flat package from my nephews. It was wrapped in a garbage bag with a bow. I took one look, threw it on the floor and started shrieking and jumping on it. The room exploded in laughter, and it was too bad no one taped my response to the gift of a full size cardboard cut out of George W. Bush. They would have won $10,000. Yes, everyone knew how much I couldn't even stand to look at the man, no less his politics. But something happened to me while watching the Obama inauguration. GWB walked out onto the platform and hardly anyone, from either party, wanted to shake his hand. He looked so confused and suddenly, I felt sorry for him. I felt some empathy. I wanted to hang on to hate, but I couldn't.

Just recently, I saw a picture of someone who had modified their body in what I thought was an unwise way. I found myself thinking I would never do that. I am finally old enough to see whenever I say never, I am usually proved wrong. From microwave ovens to cell phones, all those nevers are gone. That is not to say I am endorsing tattoos, piercing, various surgical procedures, and foods. But I am starting to understand why a person might do these things and feel proud of the way they look. I stood in the shower and made the connection. The start of empathy, the start of compassion.

When I looked up the definition of compassion just now, I saw that it goes far beyond empathy and sympathy. It means to actively work to alleviate the suffering of others. I am not actively volunteering anywhere right now, just relieving the suffering of one old lady. Sometime soon, I hope to make compassion less a philosophy and more of a way of life.

Being here now

Today, tonight, I am very glad to be here now.

When my brother died at age 21, I was sure that I was next. I had to live all his dreams and all my dreams and do it in just a couple of years, because I was sure I was going to die young. I was 16 when he died and 21 when I was given the gift of Knowledge by Maharaji. And in that initiation where I was shown the Creator within myself, I was also made aware that if I can live this moment, and be aware, I need never fear death. That was 38 years ago. I'm too old, now, to die young. I hope I have another 30 or so years to keep learning and loving and enjoying life.

Today I took the old lady to see the movie Dolphin Tail. It got generally good reviews, it didn't put in too many subplots, and it was based on a true story. Afterwards she said that she didn't expect to like it but she loved it and thanked me for taking her to see it. Then we went to Rainbow for wonton soup and egg rolls. While we were there she said something nasty about someone, using awful words straight from the mouth of my father. She has no idea how loud she speaks and I had to say, "Mom, please! Everyone can hear you." One minute she is a darling 97 year old lady, and the next minute she is a sheet metal worker. Oh my God.

Later I went to a little holiday party at my building. I even had half a frozen rum drink. And later still, off to hear Rock It Science at Mainstreet Bar in Hopkins. Some friends from up north and down south were getting together there. I felt fine ordering club soda, and I felt fine leaving when I did. A little dancing, good company and no worries.

I thought I had a ton of wisdom to impart. Lucky, lucky readers, I can't remember it! I really am happy, though, just being here now.

Peace in my heart

I used to love hosting Thanksgiving. Having all that love in our home was more delicious than all the good things to eat. Luckily I was able to experience that again, today. It wasn't in my own home, but the love was just the same, and the food, of course, was wonderful. Suffice it to say Clara was cooking. Those who know her will understand, and those who have never experienced a party given by Clara and Ernesto can never understand their particular bounty.

We were of all ages, Linus is just under 6 months old and Harriet is just under 98 years old. At one point my sister-in-law was able to arrange a four generation photo shoot with her mother, daughter, and grandchildren. And of course we took a group photo. I will add it to this blog when it is forwarded to me. Imagine, 54 degrees on Thanksgiving and all of us outside for the picture.

Something that added to my enjoyment of the day was being able to help with the prep and the serving. I peeled 13 pounds of yukon gold potatoes, chopped veggies, and set the table for 22 on Wednesday. Then, on Thursday, I carved two whole turkeys! It is easy if you know how. (Hint: remove each side of the breast and slice on cutting board.)

When my husband and I first talked about breaking up I said to him that I would not give up his family. They were my family, too. And when we told my mother-in-law, she told me I would always be her daughter. She and my brother and sister-in-law made it possible for me to live in my own place and I thank them dearly. So today we were all able to gather, including a neighbor who I invited, my 97 year old mother, my ex and our daughter and her husband and have no tension, just love and peace. Truly, my favorite holiday.

[I have not been blogging very often these days for two reasons. One is that I don't have much to say. The other is that someone who claims to know all about me, and says he is a friend of my brother-in-law has been posting horrible comments about me on this blog. Since I am the administrator, I block them. Pete can't believe he has any friends that are hateful, and will watch out for me. I have some tech people trying to run down the source of these comments so I can report harassment  to the police.]

Halfway through November

November has been a hard month for me for many years. It took me a long time to figure out why. I didn't know if it was the declining light, the gray skies, or the coming cold. I only knew that I got blue in November. My mother died the November I was six years old. I finally went for help for depression one November some years ago.  This November I spent a few days sleeping. I have been using the Happy Light and I think it helps. It has also been a bit warmer than usual which has been a good thing.

Today, though, was cold and windy. Today was a day I spent outside at a rally and march for We Are The 99%. I have spent some of the greatest hours of my life on a picket line or marching for justice. I have to say, though, that marching in nice weather is much more fun. We met at the U of M and had a couple of speeches and then we marched down 19th Ave to a bridge. At that time I realized they were going to try to occupy the damn bridge. Call and response: Whose bridge? Our bridge. Oh no. Not me. I am all for economic and social justice but getting arrested for a bridge? What good is that? I am thrilled protests are going on and was happy to be part of a nationwide movement, but I was cold and I went home in the early dark of a Minnesota November.

The high point of the month is Thanksgiving. I have always loved Thanksgiving. To me it is the perfect holiday, good food and good company and no presents needed. I especially loved setting the long tables in my Orono home and having eighteen or twenty loved ones enjoying the food I cooked. People would go around the table and say what they were grateful for, or maybe we would sing a grace. It was just such good energy. And after games and the table being put back, I loved the order of my clean house. This year we will gather together and have a great time, but not in my place. This is probably my mother's last Thanksgiving and I hope she has a good time and doesn't get too blue missing the old man.

The month is half over and drama, unemployment, and a thousand year old mother in poor health aside, I am doing pretty well for November.

The desire to be heard

I have been spending quite a lot of time with the old lady, 97. Because she lives in a HUD building, we knew she couldn't stay in a two bedroom apartment after the old man died. We just moved her into a one bedroom, two floors up. It is very close to the elevator which is major. Thanks to my sister in law, who engineered the move and yesterday hung all her pictures, things have gone smoothly. Right now there are two big concerns, she can't find her gold earrings and she hates the hall light fixture.

Truthfully, I have no idea where the earrings are and hope my daughter can help her find them.

The light fixture is another story altogether. There is something about a new place and a new fixture that is ingrained in her. Back in 1960 when she married my father, her sisters bought a chandelier as a wedding gift. When we moved to Orono, that was the gift she wanted to give us. Even in the first assisted living apartment, her first desire was for a ceiling fan and light for the dining area that had to be bought and installed pronto. Now she sits about fifteen feet away from the light by the door. She can't really see the white globe, but she hates it. She wants a nicer fixture, why can't she have one?

We have told her the fan won't fit there and she accepts it. Yesterday I took her to Home Depot to look at lights. She hated anything that sat flush against the ceiling as hall lights do. So I showed her some that hung below the ceiling and she hated them too. It turns out she wants a multi-light chandelier, that's all. At first I couldn't see it, the mounting is pretty close to the wall, not centered at all. But then I realized if we bought something with a chain, we could put it anywhere with a hook. Finally we were on the same page.  We didn't find the style she wanted and I will keep looking.

We went to Chili's where she enjoyed her dinner but ate very little. In the months since my father got sick and died, the old lady has lost some weight. She used to eat half a rack of ribs. Yesterday she had soup and one rib and half a cob of corn. She says she has no appetite and doesn't even look at the weekend box meals. She does a little better in the dining room, but really is not eating much and so the downward spiral goes. She told me she hasn't been able to eat since he died, not hungry and nothing tastes very good. This is a problem for the extreme elderly. If you don't put gas in the car, it can't go very far. She uses the walker but I got her a wheelchair at Home Depot.

We got back to the apartment and she was very happy to sit with all her pretty things around her. The familiar pictures and plates are on the walls and if felt like home. As is normal for her, she said the same thing over and over. But instead of saying how much she hated the globe light, she kept telling me there was no emergency. She said even if it took a month to find the right fixture, there was no emergency, to take my time. It really surprised me and got me thinking.

The desire for a new light is real, but something even more real is the desire to be heard. She couldn't tell me what she wanted before we went to the store, and we kept telling her she couldn't have a fan in the space. But once she knew I understood her and would fulfill that desire, she could relax. She was heard and acknowledged. Being heard is so very important for quality of life.

For years I have been saying many of the things the Occupy Wall Street people are saying. No one in power heard me. Now others have taken up the cry that we need economic justice in this country. I walked 25,000 strong in Miami at the FTAA summit and saw all our protest marginalized and ignored. (Michael Jackson was being arrested.) I who love a good protest and have walked in many a demonstration, I am staying home and watching from the sidelines.  Somehow, I can't bear to go down there and not be heard.

New experiences at ages 97 and 59

Tonight, for the first time in her life my 97 year old mother will sleep in an apartment that is only hers. Although she has been alone since mid June, she has always lived with others. First her parents, then roommates, then her first husband, then with my father and three kids, then only my father.

Today we moved her from the assisted living apartment she shared with the old man to a one bedroom apartment of her own, two floors up. I left her in a state of amazement. She could not believe that family and friends would do all the work of moving her. Big thank you to Pete, Clara, Ernesto, John and Gavin! Thank you, thank you, thank you. Special thanks to General Leslie for her guidance and puzzle solving skills. I could not have done it without them.

Of course not everything went well. It wasn't the fault of any of the wonderful people named above. First I thought there wasn't any electricity because I didn't change the service. John and Clara suggested checking the circuit breakers. Ha ha ha, they were turned off. (Whew) Then I forgot to cancel the truck. Guess what? They didn't charge me and they had the reservation for the wrong day. I also forgot to call the cable company so she doesn't have any TV yet. But she does have phone service! After everyone left and Mom was mostly settled, I went back downstairs to bring up food and start cleaning. I wish I could tell you the feeling when the top of the bottle of cooking oil came off and it fell on the floor. Oil splashed on my face and hair and clothes and shoes, and all over the floor. I put down raggedy towels to absorb most of it. Tomorrow, I will come back with a bucket and soap. And garbage bags and Goo-gone and a sense of humor, I hope.

Monday, John and Eri are coming back to help with the little stuff. Bless them and bless me!

Stages of womanhood

Throughout history women have been classified according to their reproductive status. First, maidenhood. This is the period of time before menstruation in older cultures, and before marriage in more modern times. For some, their maidenhood and subsequent marriages have been as young as nine, although real puberty is a more accurate time frame. 


Then came motherhood. Before reliable birth control those years could have started in the early teens and gone into the forties. In older times, when women routinely died in childbirth, few women actually hit menopause, dying as grandmothers in their thirties.


After menopause, we became either wise women or crones. In either case, for many women in many cultures, sex ended along with the childbearing years. Those women healthy enough to survive the rigors of life in those days were considered wise, they had a lot of experience and gained respect. In later days if a woman tried to gain power she was considered a crone, very demeaning. In our society, rather than gaining respect, older women have become invisible. But don't you believe it. Some have surgery, some get comfortable shoes, some are happy alone, and others have mates.


So here I stand in the space between. I'm over being a mother, not quite ready for cronehood. I'm healthy and energetic, I'm not willing to take a lot of garbage from anyone, I want a good time and I want to hold babies. I am friends with the young and the old.


Yesterday afternoon I was invited to play cards with some of the older women in my condo building. It was Fran's 84th birthday. The other women ranged from those in their mid sixties to late eighties. Rita came down to say she couldn't play because her partner, Philip, needed some care; he'd needed some nitroglycerin and she didn't want to leave him alone.


We had been playing for close to three hours when I asked what time we would be done. All the ladies looked at me and the sentiment was basically whenever they wanted to stop. Suddenly it occurred to me that none of us, with the exception of Rita had to get back and make supper for a man. When I pointed it out, they all laughed.
Sometimes I get lonely and wish I had someone to cook for. Those days of being a busy young mother are gone. That was one part of life, this is another. I might or might not ever have a partner again and who knows if I would do much cooking. But when I looked around this gathering of older women having fun and enjoying their freedom I realize it is not at all a bad place to be.

Life as an immigrant in China

Tonight, on the PBS Program POV, I saw a documentary about a family that immigrated from a farm in the country to a large industrial city in China. The parents were peasants and were working day and night in a clothing factory. Their teenage daughter, for whom they were sacrificing so had dropped out of school and was also working in a factory. The parents shared a narrow bed in a curtained off area of a large and noisy place. They slept on mats on a platform, not even a mattress. The girl shared a bed with another factory girl.

The family wants to go home for New Years but there is a snow emergency and the train is held up. Thousands and thousands of people are waiting hours and days for a train that doesn't come. When it finally does arrive, they are herded on with no place to sit and by the time they get to the country where Grandmother lives tempers flare. So much unhappiness. The girl is angry at her mother for going to the city and leaving her with the grandparents when she was young. There is a young brother who still lives in the country. The first thing the parents want to see is his report card. He is fifth in his class and rather than praise him, they are disappointed that he isn't higher placed. So many hopes and dreams are riding on the children, the pressure is tremendous. It did make me wonder how bad the economy is in the country that people would choose to leave the spaciousness and clean air to live like sardines in the city.  To see those conditions is to know the desperation that drives people to try to come to America in a container on a ship and sometimes die in the attempt.

Thirty-four years ago, when we were living in Pocatello Idaho, I wanted to buy some blanket sleepers for my baby. I checked around and found some at Sears. The best price I could get was ten dollars each on sale. Recently, at Costco, infant blanket sleepers were priced at $7.99. How could a Carter's garment be so cheap? I know Costco buys in huge quantities, but that isn't the only factor. Sweatshop labor, nearly slave labor is why the price is so cheap. But what is the alternative in 2011? The domestic clothing industry is nearly dead. The consumer wants the lowest prices and the American worker is hanging on for dear life for the jobs that have not gone overseas. It is not at all cost effective to make one's own. Many of us shop for used goods.

The next program was on the factories along the Mexican border, the cities they call Maquilapolis. I couldn't watch it without wanting to cut my own throat.  Until the haves acknowledge the dignity and worth of workers, and the workers see that we are in it together, and start pulling together things will only get worse. I have no answers. I only know that until we treat humans with respect and not as disposable resources, be it as soldiers or factory workers, we will not achieve peace or prosperity.

Overwhelmed

They found a new apartment for the old lady. I told them it had to be close to the elevator. Right now she is in 101, she will be moving to 301. It is a brand new conversion to assisted living. They started with the first two floors and now have some of the third floor done. If I had my druthers she would move to Shalom Home. But she doesn't need 24 hour care and it saves the taxpayers a lot of money to keep her in an apartment as long as possible. Management will give me a key mid October. I want to have her moved the weekend of the October 15 and 16.

My mother is 97 years old, frail, and very sad that my father is gone. She has beatified him in memory and sometimes I have to remind her that he was no saint. "But he adored me," she replies. She hates walking by the door to his room and can't wait to move.  I was hoping they wouldn't make her move or find an apartment very soon. At 97, how much longer can she last? (Don't ask, who thought she would last this long?) This woman has STUFF and I am feeling overwhelmed. There is not as much as before because my sister and I got rid of a ton of things when we packed the Brooklyn apartment in 2005.

I know if I ask my family they will come and help move her. I hate to ask people to give up much of their Saturday or Sunday. We are going to need muscle for the big stuff, as well as a furniture dolly. Then we need someone who can hang pictures. Also someone to hang window treatments. But first I have to make a list.

1. Ask for help
2. Gather boxes
3. Decide what to keep and what to give away
4. Pack boxes
5. Find a furniture dolly. There are plenty of carts for anything else
6. Ask for peace in my heart and patience in my actions
7. Give others a chance to do a good deed. (In Yiddish it is called a mitzvah and benefits both the giver and receiver.

There, that wasn't so bad. One step at a time. One breath at time. It is going to be fine. It might even be fun.)

New days new ways

Quotes: The Wee Free Men by Terry Pratchett

'Miss Tick sniffed. "You could say this advice is priceless," she said. "Are you listening?"
"Yes," said Tiffany.
"Good. Now...if you trust in yourself..."
"Yes?"
"...and believe in your dreams..."
"Yes?"
"...and follow your star..." Miss Tick went on.
"Yes?"
"...you'll still get beaten by people who spent their their time working hard and learning things and weren't so lazy. Good-bye."'

I think about what causes laziness per se, but inertia and hidebound thinking.     I know it is fear. For me it is fear of rejection, of having my feelings hurt, of not being right, of being wrong. I think it is fear of being called stupid or being told I shouldn't have tried because that good thing should not belong to me. It is fear of success. Garrison Keillor talks about not standing out, of being like others, not making waves, and of course not putting one's self forward. I get it. You don't have to be raised in Minnesota by Sanctified Brethren to get that message. You can get the message loud and clear in Brooklyn too. Be like everyone else, be better than everyone else, but get no support for your efforts.

I lost my mother at a young age and sometimes I feel like I have been playing catch up ever since. I was a totally clueless child. I had no idea how anything was done and certainly learned to muddle through on my own rather than ask for help from my madman father and semi-illiterate stepmother. I never felt that my parents could help me because anytime they stepped in, they made it worse. The crazy thing is, I can help almost anyone. I can find resources for others, but have a hard time punching my way out of a paper bag.

So, what brings on this introspection? I've been terminated from the product demonstrator position I have held in a warehouse store for a year. It is a relief to know I don't have to worry over how I will offend the boss anymore. It is a relief to have the time and inclination to look for a job that is a better fit, where I can do good, and maybe have a little dignity. More than that, I want health insurance!

I have decided to do things a little differently. I am going to move ahead despite my fears. My new motto is, "What is the worst that could happen?" Face that fear: looking stupid, being rejected, etc, etc, in a logical way and not get discouraged by real or imagined hurts that could happen. The flipside is, of course, "What is the best that could happen?"

I have friends working on PhD degrees, friends accepting new positions in new places, a niece that is working full time, has two small children and writing a book. I see people putting themselves in an open place, where by their efforts, they can experience their dreams coming true.

Today, I made several changes. I microwaved an ear of corn. Guess what? It was delicious and easy. I called a friend and I am going to go up to Ely for a few days rest on Sunday. I have asked a neighbor to feed my cats while I am gone. Just because I can't go to California doesn't mean I have to stay home. And I am going to pursue getting back either into a helping profession or find something else that is wonderful to do. What is the worst that can happen? I might succeed.

Final evening in our pool

Today was the last open day for the pool at our little condo.  It was a glorious hot day, 92 or 88 degrees and I had to work until 6:30. I was hoping that it would stay warm and I could go for a final dip. As soon as I fed the cats and got out there, a ferocious wind began to whip the leaves around and the water was all fast moving ripples, but oh so warm. I got in and worked out, talking to neighbors who came out to take advantage of this last time to swim and chat.

A condo is a funny place. Each person owns a little (or big) piece of space. That is ours, inviolately our own to decorate and keep as we please. But there is a larger part of ownership. We all are vested in the building itself, from roof to garage.  Now that the pool is closing, we will retreat to our units, some of us to never see each other until next year when the pool opens for the season.

I will probably see a few people in the laundry room or in the garage, and I can only stand to attend the first hour of board meetings where few people show up. If I don't want to be isolated, if I want to live in a community, it is up to me to take the steps that will make this building a wonderful place to call home.

The first step was National Night Out. The second step is talking to everyone I meet and introducing myself. Stephen and I used the pool together several times. He told me he lived here for six years and I was the only person whose name he knew. So I am thinking of hosting a Winter party/potluck meet and greet for new and old residents in the community room. If people want to come, fine. If not, they have the right to their privacy.

Little steps; it will be fun to see what happens,.

The clearance rack

I just sifted through a few days facebook posts to find this quote: Please remember: If you're not being treated with love and respect, check your price tag. Perhaps you have marked yourself down. It's YOU who tells people what you're worth by what you accept. Get off the clearance rack and get behind the glass where they keep the valuables! LEARN to value yourself more! If you don't, no one else will! Re-post if you like, you may help someone get off the CLEARANCE RACK! Great reminder to LOVE yourself! Life is short! Be happy

This really spoke to me. When I go to a store I gravitate to the clearance rack. I don't even look at the regular stock, thinking I can't afford it so why even look? And yet, when I think about two of my favorite items of clothing, the embroidered denim coat and the dress I wore to Eri and John's wedding, neither one was on clearance. They spoke to me and I had to have them. I've had years of pleasure from both.

But what about myself? Have I put myself on the clearance rack? Sometimes yes, but lately no. I am not some cut rate shmatta and I will not allow myself to be treated like one. Some people think this is arrogance and aggression. It can be perceived that way I suppose. I have always been of two minds about this. Maybe I should say of two stomaches. When I was a child and being discounted half of me would cringe and accept how stupid (or whatever I was being called) I must be. The other half was screaming that I was not stupid, etc. I was wonderful. It lead to a lot of stomach upset and tension. To this day tension plays havoc with my innards.

Recently I have been meeting men who contacted me on a dating service. It is always at a public place and I wonder to myself, why did I meet this person? I wasn't crazy about their looks, but they approached me. Almost like I am on the clearance rack and another 75% has been taken off my lowest price. Maybe I will meet someone who treats me as the greatest find ever. But mostly it has been less than that and I have no interest in ever meeting them again.

So, I am going shopping in the better men's shops. I might not be able to afford or attract the guy in the Hugo Boss suit, but I sure as hell am not accepting the Sad Sac in the Robert Hall suit bought at Goodwill. 

There you have it, defiant as hell, but... I'm worth it! 

The Tree of Life

One thing about living near a cheap theater, I get the opportunity to see a lot of movies that have not been blockbusters. They are good movies, but not big money makers.  This evening I went to see the Brad Pitt, Sean Penn movie The Tree of Life.  The critics loved it but it seemed to go in and out of the first run houses very quickly. I wasn't sure what to expect. Roger Ebert said, 

"The Tree of Life is a film of vast ambition and deep humility, attempting no less than to encompass  all of existence and view it through the prism of a few infinitesimal lives." (I have no idea how to  get rid of this border, sorry)

The first part was amazing images of earth and sky and light cut with short human scenes. I loved the music and pictures. At one point, though, I wondered if there was a story at all. Then the story unfolds. There was for me a quantity of uncomfortable tension. The child actors are very well done, and the house and neighborhood become integral to the story, almost characters.


Symbolism plays a big part in this picture and as Sean Penn himself put it, he had a hard time knowing what it was about and why he was even there. As I sat there for two hours and eighteen minutes, I grew restless. I wanted to shout, "I get it! Get on with it!" I think they could have cut at least twenty minutes of constellations, lava eruptions and other natural phenomena. It must have been heart wrenching to the director to cut any of the beautiful images.


I left the theater liking and disliking this film. I understood it and also wondered what the hell it was about. I understand, I do, that we are all connected, we are all alone, we all wonder who and why we are and the best thing one can do is be open to love.

I want

I want (in no particular order)

1. R-E-S-P-E-C-T
2. Good friends
3. Workout partner
4. To laugh
5. To have fun
6. To have a job with dignity and a decent salary
7. Health insurance I can afford
8. To have someone I can adore
9. To have someone who adores me back
10. Healthy food without too much salt that tastes wonderful
11. A vacation away from responsibilities
12. Motivation to deal with the mess of paper on the dining room table
13. To be able to sleep 8 hours straight

While I've been writing this I saw a commercial for Latisse, so I guess I also want longer, thicker eyelashes but I don't want my green eyes to turn brown. You notice I didn't ask for riches, a new car or plastic surgery.

How about you?