Perfect week...

I didn't duke it out in another Walgreens. I didn't argue with anyone. I DID get my knees aspirated by a pipsqueak physician's assistant in the office of my rheumatoid specialist. Yup. They took out nearly a half a liter from my ugly, blown up knees. I don't really like my rheumatoid specialist, he looks almost exactly like a Ken doll and doesn't listen attentively. I have scolded him for this and he just sits there looking like a Star Trek robot thinking this does not compute...this does not compute..

But, he helps me, so I keep him. And now he has a physician's assistant who came bold cocking his way into the room, held out his hand and shook mine jovially. I swear to God that he looked about fourteen to me.

But, he DID drain my knees and gave me two more cortisone shots, which seem to be helping a lot. So..fingers crossed.

No..this was a nearly perfect week.

The weather has been gorgeous. Bing is out of town in Knoxville at a seminar all this week and Liv and I have been having take out and oatmeal and scrambled eggs and grilled cheese for dinner.

But, the most perfect part of this week has been that Liv and I put our summer vegetable and herb garden in. I had trays and trays of starter plants in the basement that were just about ready to burst through their containers, so I thought we had better get crackin'.

I still can't really kneel, so I have played the bossy director and Liv my browbeaten gardener. She loved it. She really did. I pretty much let her plant everything, just supervised and made suggestions about what should go where.

Now, we have several heirloom tomato plants, green beans, peas, lettuce, cucumbers, zucchini, okra (for Bing, who has Louisiana roots and loves okra and greens of any kind), squash, four different kinds of peppers, radishes, and are trying pumpkins and potatoes for the first time.

In our herb garden, we have lemon verbena, lavender, sage, thyme, parsley, cilantro, mint (nothing better than sliding off some mint leaves to crush into your iced tea on a hot summer's day) and catnip for our neighbor's cat.

Our flowers are beginning to finally bloom. We have so many; roses, bachelor's buttons, bleeding hearts, tulips (all pink for some crazy reason, so far), violets, lilies, lilacs and snow on the mountain.

It has been heaven to have to soak the dirt out of our nails in our baths each night. And this time of year, the garden looks so pretty, all pristine and tidy. No pesky weeds trying to push their way in.

Liv and I have been especially close this week, just the two of us, side by side with the sun on our backs, putting in our garden. I look at her shiny golden hair tucked into braids, her bare feet planted firmly in the dirt, hoeing carefully and then tucking the tender new plants into their spots.

Socks, the puppy, has been good too. A few sniffs of everything, but no heavy tromping. He comes outside with us, sits politely for a few moments and then is off to chase rabbits and robins. At night, he sleeps at the end of Liv's bed and his doggy legs twitch as he dreams of finally catching a real rabbit and presenting it proudly at our feet. When Bing is home, he sleeps in between our bedroom and Liv's, in his own doggy bed, but when she is gone, he almost always tucks into the end of Liv's bed, is very protective. She complains genially that he moves up next to her side at night and has stinky breath.

But, she lets him stay.

I haven't missed Bing. I never do. I don't feel any shame in saying this. When she is home, it is nice to have her, but I enjoy a vacation from her untidiness, her towel folding compulsions and her constant need to have the television on. I imagine that she has enjoyed her trip too, especially this one. Since I have been so crippled with my arthritis lately, she has done the lion's share of the household chores and it must be nice to sleep in her hotel bed with nothing on her plate but attending seminars and presenting hers. She calls and we talk, both of us yawning, saying we miss each other, but it isn't a deep longing, more of a tug of the connection.

Liv confessed to liking having me all to herself too. She told me yesterday that I am "everyone's favorite." I asked her what that meant and she said, "Well, when I come home, I want to talk to you first, so does Bing, even Socks likes you best."

It is one of those things that I love (being needed so much) and one of those things that I detest (being needed so much) too.

We sat outside on the back steps last night, the garden finally in and watered down. Socks lay with his head on my foot, his favorite place. I let myself have a big glass of Peregrine Late Harvest Pinot Gris 2003. Liv drank peach juice and Socks was rewarded with a popsicle. Bing would have never let us feed him one if she was here, she gets furious when we feed him people food. And she would have nagged and nagged me about drinking wine when I am still taking pain pills, so yeah...kind of nice to have her gone...

But, sitting there with my glass resting on my knee, Socks smiling at me with his green popsicle tongue hanging out and Liv sipping her juice and trying out her conversational french skills on me...well...life seemed just about perfect.

Liv commented that in another month or so, we could lay in the grass and sing to the vegetables, flowers, and herbs. We do this every summer and if I have done nothing else right with her, I believe that this tradition may save me. I love laying on a blanket on our carpet of grass, Liv in my arms and singing softly with her as the stars come out...

Oh, my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling, Clementine....you are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorrrrryyyy, Clementine....

I tucked a stray hair of Liv's into her braid and said that I hoped that even when I was a very old woman, she would still come out and sing to the garden at night with me.

"Oh, yes," she replied. "I will sit next to you and help you up when we are done. I will be drinking wine then and you will probably be drinking the peach juice...but I'll come and I'll sing. Maybe I will have children of my own then. They could sing too."

I had a huge lump in my throat, mostly because I can hardly bear to think of her growing up any faster than she already is. I feel like just yesterday I was holding her hands and helping her toddle all over the garden, teaching her to stroke the flowers gently and softly instead of tugging at them. Now, she has actually put a whole garden in by herself.

I can't imagine loving anyone more than I love my daughter, my baby Liv. How did I ever manage without her?

I am glad that I waited until I was in my forties to have a child. I simply was not ready until then, could not have done it well. But, now...even though I hate feeling so elderly around all the other mothers at Liv's school..I just feel like the time is perfect. I am a better mother because I knew to wait.

Bing comes home tomorrow and then we will settle back into our routine, but for now, we are happy and content. We had roast beast (roast beef) sandwiches for dinner, with a side of deli cole slaw. Girl scout cookies for dessert. Soon, we will have cucumbers in milk and vinegar soaking, spicy sliced radishes to tuck into our sandwiches, maybe a bit of parsley and cilantro leaves on the side.

I feel content. I have a garden. I have a sweet puppy who smiles, a partner who I love, and mostly...I have this child. This perfect little girl, this love that sustains me and gets me over the hills.

A perfect week.

No more snow. Just the days heating up and the smell of newly mown grass.

We went inside the house last night and took our nightly teaspoon of organic, raw honey. I read somewhere that this might help with spring allergies and it seems to have helped Liv, who usually sneezes her way through April and May. Then, we took turns bathing in this and tucked into our beds.

Socks turned neatly around three times at the end of Liv's bed and settled in. I went around the house once more to check that everything was locked.

I looked for the moon but it was obscured by clouds, so I told the clouds goodnight instead. I took the phone in bed with me and waited for Bing's goodnight call. Got a bit sappy over the phone with her, which seemed to delight her.

"I miss you more than I can say," she told me. We kissed through the phone and I hung up, stretching my hand to put the phone back into it's cradle.

I think the new little plantings outside of my window must have sang to me because I slept a deep, soft, dreamless sleep.

It has been a very lovely week. I hope yours has been that way too.

For Terroni

I was about 25. I was interning with Dr. Wall, someone who could really help further my career. He volunteered at a free women's clinic one night a week and asked if any of us minions would like to join him. Me, being me, eager bunny, ass kisser, apple polisher and very much in need of a wing to take me in...well...I raised my hand.

So, on a gorgeous April afternoon, my only day off, I was to go to the women's clinic in a part of town where you had to lock the doors of your car. (Not that anyone would steal my car, it was barely running.) I had the 3-11 shift.

I walked in the back door and found Dr. Wall and grinned up at him, my shiny face ready to be put to work to help poor women. I liked the idea of being an angel to the poor. I saw myself kindly tending to those dear women, a tender smile on my face. A weary nurse instructed me to go to the waiting room and sign myself in on the sheet.

I walked into reality. A room full of women with a few squalling children, women who didn't look like meek mice waiting for their gentle portion of cheese. Most of these women looked like crosses between Betty Boop and Medusa, in daisy dukes. And it smelled. It smelled like...well...well...it smelled like pee and bad feminine hygiene.

I went to the closet and found my blue coat, the one that separated me from the real doctors, told everyone that I was a student, someone who could not write a prescription, a useless observer.

I scuttled back to Dr. Wall and awaited my instructions. He told me to follow him. He picked up the top chart on a foot high stack and opened the door to the waiting room. Called a name.

A woman got up and I was instructed to take her to get weighed and get her blood pressure. I did this. I did this again and again over the course of several hours. Some women needed to be examined for STDs, others for pre-natal care, several were given brochures for the abortion clinic. One woman was ex-rayed for a broken ankle. There was not a lot of smiling, not like in Dr. Wall's ob-gyn practice. These women looked exhausted and not in the mood to converse.

Around 7 that night, we went to call in another woman. She stood up with an about fucking time look plastered on her face. She looked like in her better days, she would have resembled Dolly Parton. But, today, her hair was stringy, her face tired and with no bra on, her nippled breasts swung low in her blouse. She yanked up a child with her, a little girl with cafe au lait skin and bright blue eyes, maybe five. Maybe four. Hard to tell.

Dr. Wall told the woman that she could leave the child with me, that I would care for her while he examined her. She pushed her child at me, not looking at her or me.

I was sort of pissed. I didn't come here to fucking babysit. I wanted to see procedures. I wanted to learn. But, I held out my hand and moved with the child to sit back down in the waiting room. She sat next to me, had obviously done this many times before.

"Would you like me to read you a book?" I asked.

She shrugged. I mentally sighed. I really did not like children. Did not plan on having any myself. They were just so...time intensive.

I told her to go find three books in the children's rack. She got up and returned with small books that fit in her hands perfectly: The Tale of Two Bad Mice, Peter Rabbit, and Squirrel Nutkin. She settled into the chair next to me and I began to read to her. Aferwards, she looked up at me.

"What's your name?" she asked.

I told her Maria and politely asked hers.

"Wren," she said. I smiled. A sweet name and she really did look like a little wren with her heart shaped face and inquisitive eyes.

I spied one of my favorite books as a child, The Country Bunny and the Little Golden Shoes. I got up, grabbed it and sat back down to begin reading.

But, Wren had some questions. Why did those rabbits wear clothes and talk? That was kind of silly, wasn't it? I hesitated and then told her that Beatrix Potter had a good imagination.

Wren looked at me and half smiled. "I guess so..." she finally offered.

I read the Country Bunny book and halfway through, realized that Wren was leaning against me, thumb in her mouth. It was cozy. By the books end, she had wound her way into my lap and was turning the pages for me.

This was taking awhile. The waiting room was thinning out. I asked Wren if she wanted a cookie, was she hungry? She popped her thumb out of her mouth, bobbed her head up and down in an absolute yes. I took her into the break lounge and let her select two cookies out of the box that someone had brought.

"Wow," she said. "You all just can slide on in here and fill up anytime you like?"

I wished that I had thought to feed her earlier. I told her yes.

We returned to the waiting room and played a game of Chutes and Ladders. Halfway through, she asked, "Can we stop and read us a real book?"

I told her sure and asked her which one.

She selected Little House in the Big Woods, not a picture book.

"I don't think we will have time to read the whole thing...." I said.

"But, maybe, just maybe...we will!" she said, her voice full of hope.

We settled down to read, she jumped into my lap with no hesitation and I found myself cuddling her up against me as I began

A long time ago, when all the grandfathers and grandmothers of today were little boys and little girls or very small babies, or perhaps not even born, Pa and Ma and Mary and Laura and Baby Carrie left their little house in the Big Woods of Wisconsin....

She stroked my arm, as I read. I rubbed my chin against her head, her hair needed to be braided, but instead it was coarse and uncombed.

She looked up at me when I stopped to take a breath and said very quietly, very unassumingly, "Maybe you could be my mom and I could be your little girl?"

I swallowed once. Twice. Looked down at her feet with no socks that were sticking out a good inch from her sandals. She needed new shoes. I told her no, that she already had a mother.

"Do you have a little girl at home?" she asked me.

I said no. That I worked long hours and was still too young to have children. I couldn't meet her eyes. Because, you see, I had started to really, really like Wren.

I wanted to tell her that no, of course, she couldn't be my little girl. I lived alone in an apartment in a house that was chopped up into five sections. That I had mice and cockroaches. That there was a hole in my kitchen floor the size of a beach ball. That the heat sometimes worked and sometimes didn't. That I had exactly 39 dollars in my checking account and that this had to last me for two weeks. That this meant that I could either eat or buy gas. That I guessed I would be walking the four miles to the hospital every day. That I slept on a pull out bed that had a mattress about an inch thick.

But, did she have it any better? And what was her life like?

I kissed her forehead without thinking.

She pulled away from me and smiled hugely.

"YOU KISSED ON ME!" she said, delighted.

Was kissing that rare in her life?

I thought of her mother. Probably.

She reached up and ran her fingers over the bracelet on my arm, the one she had been toying with as we read.

"Would you like my bracelet?" I asked her.

She hesitated and then said, "No, she'll just be takin' it. You keep it."

Before I could answer, a man in a white fur coat and a panama hat came striding into the room. A tall, lean black man. He looked out of place and gaudy, a too bright rooster in a nest of us wrens and speckled chickens.

He looked over at Wren.

"Ain't yo Ma done yet??" he asked her.

She stiffened in my arms, her legs went straight out in front of her and she moved to the chair next to me, looked down and whispered no.

I said something like she would probably be out soon. He grunted and sat down. Didn't acknowledge either of us.

I picked up the book again, but Wren was looking away now. She wasn't here with me anymore. I don't know where she went, but it wasn't here.

And then Wren's mother came bustling out with the fat weary nurse behind her, reminding her that the meds in the white bag needed to be started NOW. Did she understand? NOW.

The fur coated man stood and said "What the fuck took so long? You should have been out and workin' hours ago!"

The woman ducked her head, said something about getting some "fixin' up" done but hey, it was all done now. All over.

She ducked under the man's arm and went out the door, not even looking at her daughter.

The man cocked his head at Wren. "Renisha," he said in a cold voice. "Get your ass up ...now...we's out of here."

Wren got up quickly, not looking at me and ran out the door.

I sat for a few moments, looking at the books surrounding me. Then, I went to find the ask the nurse about the woman, what had taken so long.

The nurse sighed. "She had syph, but that's common. What took so long was that she had abrasions up the wazoo. We also took an inside look at her stomach. She has enough twisting in her entrails to choke ten snakes. No telling what sort of shit has been going on in her bad self."

She sighed heavily and then added, shaking her head...

Bottom feeders....

I excused myself to the restroom and sat on the toilet, head in my hands.

Maybe you could be my mom and I could be your little girl?

And I cried. Because Wren was not a bottom feeder. Because she deserved to hear the rest of the story of Ma and Pa and Mary and Laura and Baby Carrie.

I left the clinic soon after and went back to my apartment. Made a cup of tea. And cried again.

I wish I could say that when I finally finished up training and was in a better position to help those children, that I did.

I didn't. I worked on call psych in the ER for a while. That will jade you. I worked as a grief counselor. I worked in a posh clinic for rich women who had nothing better to do with their time than come in and worry that they were unfulfilled, that their husbands were sleeping with their secretaries, that their children wouldn't get into that school.

I worked with HIV patients. Eventually, I burned out on that too. Ended up coming home and drinking myself into oblivion.

I landed here, with Bing and Liv. With a good free lance job, a happy family. A cute dog.

I wonder where Wren landed?

That question keeps me a liberal democrat. It keeps me from worrying that the bottom feeders will get too much free stuff. Because for every bottom feeder there is a Francie Nolan, an Ellen Foster, a Wren.

So, why is this one for you, Terroni? Because I think you have the right stuff. I think you will make a fine doctor. I think you will make a difference.

Just don't get jaded along the way, okay? Because it is easy to get tired of the women who come in and say things like, "My toe has been aching for weeks now...."

The constant runny nosed kids and their worried parents.

Be one of the good ones, okay?

Maria strikes back in Walgreens, of course....

Before I start my tale, I have to tell you to go on over to Angelissima's place and take a look at her post about The World According to Americans. It is very, very good. And sadly, true.

Okay....yesterday was kind of a dicey day. I took Liv to school and then came home and finally gave in and called my doctor to make an appointment to get my knees aspirated (this means that they go in there and drain all the gross liquid that is making me feel as if I am walking on water balloons that could pop at any moment) and set the big day for Monday.

That done, I took a deep breath and made a list of chores that needed to be done.

1) Go grocery shopping. (The grocery list would be small because Bing is going to be out of town at a seminar all next week, which means that Liv and I will live on grilled cheese, soup, scrambled eggs, oatmeal and takeout.) I remembered that Liv is snack manager next week at school, which means that I have to supply five days of healthy treats for her class. No Little Debbies. No cookies. No brownies. Fruit. Granola bars. Muffins. (And actually, why do people think that muffins are so much healthier than cookies? Have they ever looked at the carb count of a blueberry muffin?) I also had to pick up ingredients for the Lakota pine nut bread that Liv needs to bake for her presentation, due Tuesday, on the Lakota tribe. I made a list and added my new best friend, GoodBelly (Bing bought it for us all to drink each day and I am not being paid to say this...we are all feeling it's benefits...I have colitis and have not had one flair up since I started taking it...okay...advertisement over...but if Good Belly would like to pay me for my blurb, you just make that check out now) to it. Plus all that extra shit I had to buy for Liv's school projects.

2) Pick up dry cleaning.

3) Pick up prescription for my big ass pain killer at Walgreens as well as nail polish remover, Icy hot (because I just like walking around with that disgusting gunk lathered on my knees and smelling like menthol meets vapo-rub) and bandaids.

4) Stop at Liv's school and drop off the twenty rolls of toilet paper because I signed up to do that long ago and well, I was a week late and I supposed that they would be using teacher's catalogs as tp pretty soon if I didn't remember to bring it.

5) Stop at bff, Harriet's to make sure she was doing okay. She has been going through a depression lately which I suspected was the aftershock of having her sister die and ending up having to move to a new house when she took on the raising of her sister's two children in addition to her own. We'd spoken on the phone, but I could sense that she needed me in person.

and finally,
6) Take Socks to the dog groomer to get his short, handsome puppy cut. The last time I had walked him, someone had stopped and teasingly said, "Well, lookee there, you are walking a baby bear, aren't you?"

I set off to get my chores done.

Got everything finished except Walgreens and grocery shopping. Getting Socks to go into the groomers was tricky as it is the same place that he gets his shots. He is a smart dog. He took one look at that building and decided to hide out under the back seat and force me to drag him out. Once out, he tried to bolt and nearly yanked me off of my feet, but I held tight to the leash.

You try getting a very large black puppy who looks like a baby bear into a building with a cane in one hand, a purse slung over your shoulder and terror and shock on the dog's face.

When I left him, he was struggling to get out of the groomer's arms and crying in his puppy voice, "Alpha woman, no...please god no. I will be a good boy, I swearrr....just don't leaaaavvveee me. I love you. How can you do this to me????" I called Bing to remind her to NOT forget to pick him up on her way home from school. I knew that she would forget, so I made a mental note to call her again at 3, when her school would be out.

So, I stopped by my doctor's office to pick up my narcotic prescription (you have to pick these big ass things up in person, no calling over the phone for these suckers) and took it to the drive up window at Walgreens. A harried Asian child man took my prescription and told me to come back in a half hour.

I set off to get groceries.

Grocery shopping with a cane and a cart is not fun.

I managed to slap down the urge to fling Funyums,miniature Snickers bars and Laffy Taffy into the cart for Liv's snack days. I am just ornery like that. Someone needs to take me in hand, they really do.

I dutifully picked up granola bars, apples, ingredients for blueberry muffins, cheddar cheese to cut into cubes and topped it off with some disgusting rice cakes for those lucky, lucky children.

Searched all over the store for some fucking pine nuts. Apparently, they are not a popular nut. I finally found some overpriced ones for Liv's Lakota bread. She had requested that we follow the recipe exactly and it called for unbleached flour and boiled pumpkin, but I am a cheater, so I decided that my regular flour at home would do and bought canned pumpkin. Shoot me. Like they'll know the diff.

By the time I got to Walgreens, I was one fucking crabby mother. I had groceries in the car and a pain in my knees that was so bad that it was a raving pulse.

I went in, picked up the other things I needed and went to the prescription window. No one was there. The Asian boy man was working the drive up window. The other worker was a plump blonde woman who wore a white coat with a name tag that said My name is Cindy. I am your home health aide. How can I help you today? Cindy was on the phone. I stood at the counter, leaning on my cane, willing her to get her ass OFF that phone.

Cindy put her hand over the mouthpiece briefly, asked my name. I gave it to her and she told me that my order wasn't ready yet. Could I sit down for five minutes?

I could. I did. I waited ten. In the meantime, I listened to her talk to her boyfriend. I think it was her boyfriend. Either that or she was being awfully lovey dovey to a customer.

What do you want me to fix for sup-sup tonight? (giggles) Well, besides that, you nasty man!? I picked up a s'prise for you at (cupping her hand over the phone, but talking in a loud voice) Victoria's secret....

Cindy's conversation was interrupted by the Asian child who did not understand why a drive up customer wanted cherry flavor in his child's cough syrup. She had to explain how to add cherry flavor to it to him.

I checked my watch.

12 minutes.

I limped back to the counter, was nearly there and was suddenly almost knocked over by a rapidly walking older woman who obviously decided to take advantage of my slowness.

She leaned across the counter and told Cindy that she was here to pick up her husband, Bob's order. I huffed a big sigh. She deliberately didn't look at me. Cindy went to look for her order, came back with it and wanted to know her husband's special discount number. Well, the rude older woman didn't know. She knew her number. Could they use that?

No. Of course. They could not.

Cindy went to look it up on the computer, still cradling the telephone against her ear.

I glared at the woman. She refused to meet my gaze.

Something snapped inside of me. Something big.

I limped up into older woman's personal space.

And this mean, crazy woman took over my body.

I told the woman that she was rude, rude, rude. That couldn't she see that I had a cane and for godsakes, how fucking HARD it is to know important details like her husband's special discount number? I told her that if she planned to write a goddamned check, she better get that pen out now and not wait until the last second.

Cindy came back and brightly told the woman that she could not find the number.

I turned to her.

"Hang up that phone, now," I told her, in the cold steady voice of a seasoned killer.

Cindy stared at me.

"If you don't hang up that phone, I am going to talk to whomever I can to make sure that you will be late for sup-sup and not be able to show off your lingerie from Victoria's Secret," I told her.

She hung up. Stared at me. I realized that I was now in a David Lynch movie. Everyone was staring at me, probably waiting for me to pull a sawed off shotgun out of my purse. Soon, a dancing dwarf would come in and strange music would start seeping in over the intercom.

"Now," I said, calmly. "Get me my prescription. It was supposed to be ready over a half hour ago and I am not waiting ONE MORE MINUTE."

She turned around and dug through the M box.

"Oh," she said, softly. "I um...guess it was here all the time....sorrrreeee."

She smiled nervously.

I could hear the Asian child man telling someone that no, he could not go find some tylenol for them, that they had to come into the store for that.

"Ring me up," I said, grimly.

Cindy did. The older woman lifted up her cell phone. "I'm um...just going to call my husband to find out what his discount number is..." she said timidly.

I must have looked positively postal.

I nodded. Paid Cindy, who had the audacity to say, "You have a real nice day, now, okay, ma'am...?"

I limped out of the store, got into my car and it wasn't until I was halfway home that I realized that I had officially turned into a real bitch.

But, I don't regret it. I am woman. Hear me roar and all that shit.

Be frightened. Be very frightened.

The list

When I was a kid, it was a family rule that we were never, ever allowed to hit, kick, pinch, jab, whatever...our sister. I was one of four sisters and my parents liked a quiet, happy home. This meant NO physicality except hugging or kissing. When one of us girls would get angry at the other, there was always furtive pinching or kicking under the table, but if you tattled on the sister who did it, my Da or my Mother would put both of us in separate rooms and tell us that we could come out when we had written ten things we disliked (the word hated was not permitted in our home) about the sister, followed by ten things we loved about them. And we had to READ them to the other one and then hug. I was known as the stubborn sister who would often huffily sit for hours with my dislike list filled out licketty split while my love list took much, much longer. I think I once held out for twelve hours. This hostaged the other sister, who could leave her room for bathroom breaks and could have meals brought to her or go to school, but that was it. Neither one of us could leave until we were both done. And one of my parents would stand to hear the lists and watch carefully. If any sarcasm was used, it was back to the rooms to try again.

As a result of this, my sisters and I are all very adept at silent, stewing anger. We knew not to shout at or hit the other, so we just put a lot of hate in our looks to each other.

As another result, I have a hard time with anger. I don't know what to DO with it. I find myself biting back angry words, trying desperately not to say anything mean and when I do? Instant guilt. BIG guilt.

It has taken me years to get over this but to this day, I still am unable to fight well with my sisters. We just clam up when we are mad, shove it back. Or else (I admit this is my way), say horribly sarcastic things in a drippingly sweet voice.

Bing swears that my pent up anger is lethal. She grew up in a family that just went outside and duked it out. So, she has a nice healthy hand on her anger. She gets angry, she shows it, and she forgets it and moves on.

Not me. I hold it in, buffing up my anger like tarnished silver. And then...when it gets to be too much, I simply explode in a cluster of heat and rage.

I have been known to get in a fight with Bing over whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher and suddenly I am bringing up something she did a week ago that really pissed me off but I held back. Bing refers to this as the list. When we fight, she will say, "Okay. Is that it or is there more on the list that you need to get out? If so, just let it out now, okay?"

I am sort of amazed that I can even function in a relationship. I mean, I am trained to mediate in disputes and I know how to do it, but in my own life, I suck at it. Too much emotional childhood baggage.

My sisters are the same way. With the exception of our youngest sister, Jessie. For some reason, she never had to do the list thing much. She was eight years younger than me, twelve years younger than Celia and sixteen years younger than Patrice. So, she was like our baby that we cared for, not really...a sister. I don't remember ever doing a list with Jessie. All my lists were with Celia and Patrice and vice versa.

And Jessie has a really good marriage. It is full of give and take. She is sort of the boss of the family, but there is a good conversational dialog with her husband. Celia, Patrice, and I all have marriages that are similar. We hold our anger in, suppress it and then, yes...it flies all over the place when we least expect it.

I think that my parents thought that they were helping us, being diplomatic, fair. In reality, they gave us poor tools for arguing. All we know how to do is write fakey lists and then do the fakey hug thing just so we can go on with our lives.

I want to set a good example for Liv with my marriage to Bing. I want her to see us working out issues, getting along, being fair and loving. Instead, she pretty much sees nothing. I hold it in and when a fight is brewing between us, I immediately set it aside to be revisited after Liv's bedtime.

Bing has said to me many, many times that we need to model how to argue lovingly for Liv.

I don't know how to do that. It is like I can see it on paper, and it works, but in practice, my emotions get in the way.

I heard Liv and her friend talking the other day. The friend said that she hated it when her parents fought. Liv replied that she never saw Bing and I fight. "They just never yell at each other or even act irritated," she said.

So, now...well...yeah. I have set up this domino thing with her. She is going to go into her relationships thinking that adults don't argue. I suppose I need to do something about this before I screw her up even worse.

I told Bing that I am going to try to argue healthily. Not with rage or heat, but with intent on solving problems and team work. She gave me a long look, but didn't say anything. I think she doubts that I can do it.

I guess I have to try, yes?

What was your childhood like in relation to settling disputes? I don't remember my parents ever fighting. Ever. And since I was not permitted to have arguments with my sisters, I never learned the art of dispute resolution.

Did your parents fight? Were you allowed to fight with your siblings, friends?

Just curious.

Rock of love? Rocks in their heads.

I'm still hobbling around on my cane. And trying to make the best of it. The worst part is that I spend much more time laying on the sofa than I used to. I read. I watch television. Time passes. WAY too slowly. Bing and Liv have adjusted. They know that I can do my part around the house, but that I am sloooowww. And to be honest, Liv and I have had some of our best conversations when I am laying on that sofa and she (and Socks, of course, he always noses his way in) is laying with me, cuddling and talking.

Bing and I have had a harder time adjusting. She keeps getting mad at me when I try to hobble down to the basement to do laundry. I try to tell her that I NEED to do it, that I NEED to have goals to meet. She suggests that my goal should be dressing myself. She doesn't even like it when I do that. She kneels in front of me in the morning, helping me put on my sneakers, running her fingers up my thigh, smiling. Kisses my knees, pretends to want to go up farther....until I grab her head and tell her that LIV is close by, for fucks sake. I asked her how she felt about having a cane dependent wife and she laughed.

"Anything to keep you from bolting," she said.

I can drive. It just takes me awhile to get out of the car. Ugh. I am not a patient person and I suspect that when it comes time to put my garden in, I will be supervising instead of digging my hands in the dirt. This makes me sad, so I don't think about it much.

But, as I said, I spend lots of time watching television. Last night, after I got Liv to bed, I was laying on the sofa channel surfing while Bing worked on her presentation. She leaves for Tennessee next week to go to a Seminar.

I somehow landed on this incredibly bizarre show called, (I think) Rock of Love on VH1. It had this guy with a do-rag on his head and a cowboy hat. His name is Bret Michaels and he is apparently the lead singer in a band called Poison.

And um, I guess he has trouble finding his special girl to um...okay (and HE said it, I didn't...because I am not an idiot and he um...is) ROCK HIS WORLD!

I tried not to watch it, I honestly did, but I confess that I was pulled in. It was just so weird. Apparently, a number of girls sort of audition to um...ROCK HIS WORLD! They all live with him in his home and he has them do things like see who can kiss him the best, etc.

Actually, it looked to me like they were auditioning to see who could outslut each other.

When I watched it, they were down to four girls and well, sadly, one had to be sent home. Like on Survival when the tribe speaks, but on Rock of Love, it is when Bret Michaels speaks. He has them all line up and then has three stage pass things. One by one he calls the girls up and tells them why they are getting a stage pass, why he is going to let them stay and try to ROCK HIS WORLD awhile longer. The girl that he sent home? He said it was because she was too young, too sweet and innocent, but good hell, if Liv ever dresses in a dominatrix outfit and puffs her lips out and begs some loser has been rock star in a do rag and a cowboy hat to "please, please let me stay and rock your world!? You won't regret it. I'll do ANYTHING you say, ANYTHING...." Well, now. I don't think I will see her as sweet and innocent. I will kidnap her and bring her home and de-program her.

So, it was down to three. Well, Bret decided to bring their PARENTS on board to see what their family relationships were like.

At that point, Bing joined me in watching. We were both sort of nauseated and sort of fascinated at the same time. I mean, here was this sort of creepy looking guy, who obviously thought he was um...attractive and sexy. And these girls in daisy dukes, collagen puffed lips and bikini tops were doing things like putting on little nasty shows for him, complete with bending over to show him their scantily clad asses and peeking over their shoulders and licking their lips.

And their DADS were in the house.

One Dad told Bret that he couldn't drink beer because he had liver cancer and only six months to live.

Bret stood there for a beat and then said, "Sorry man. Bummer."

I kept thinking, this woman's DAD is dying and she is on this show to try to snag Bret Michaels by outslutting all the other girls and then she invites her dying father to come help her get him?

I had to turn it off. Because 1) I was starting to laugh. I mean, it was hilarious on this totally so wrong level and 2) because I felt sorry for those women...I mean, good lord, they were fighting to get this guy and he was pimping around like a rooster.

What sort of women want to be on a show like this?

Bing pointed out that it really is no different than those shows about the bachelor picking his girl.

I hadn't seen that show. I don't want to see it.

But, I really, really do not want to see women (and one looked suspiciously like a blow up doll) prancing around, trying to snag this man, trying hard to not be the one who didn't get the stage pass.

One of the women that almost got booted, was warned that Bret Michaels is going to have lots of women storming the stage to get to him and he worried that her temper would flare and she might try to fight with them. He loved his fans and didn't want her making a scene.

Why would anyone storm the stage for him? I can not wrap my mind around this. I mean, what is the draw? I don't get it. Can someone please tell me? I am rather old, I know. But, am I that dense to think that this guy is sort of twisted?

I could go on. I won't.

Tonight, I am reading. I am not going near that television.

Because I think he might have something planned with horses and little saddles.

What do you think? Has anyone seen this show? Am I missing some crucial thing?

Okay. Time to take my old ancient hobbling self off to a bath.

I'm probably just jealous. Because I know I would never, ever get a stage pass and get to stay.

Or maybe, I dunno...maybe Bret Michaels is just waiting for that one special woman to look at him and laugh at him, maybe make HIM wear that saddle....or tell him to go take his do-ragged self off to the shower because he just....sort of smells like an old monkey.

I could do that. But, then, I would have to stay, wouldn't I?

So...opinions?

My favorite wedding

It wasn't the one I attended today. Today's wedding was a humdinger all right. It was dripping with pretense and money. The bride wore a Vera Wang gown. The groom wore his moneyed smile....and a tux.

There were ten bridesmaids. All ten (even the fat one and there is always a fat one and I will say right here that I like her the most because it takes moxie to be fat and wear a lavender sleeveless gown that is wrapped tightly around you like a sausage casing) had their hair piled identically high on their heads, like miniature wedding cakes. A string quartet played.

We had known the wedding was coming for months because way back around Halloween we had received a fridge magnet reminding us to keep today's date open for "Missy and Max's proclamation of their love and joy!" The bride and groom were registered at Borsheims, the most expensive store in the city. No Target toasters for this couple!

We only briefly attended the reception. Bing had a school function to attend (thank god) so we stayed for less than an hour.

I have never seen such a spread in my life. I am guessing that it must have cost at least fifty thousand bucks to pull this thing off. I mean, the bride and groom arrived by pumpkin carriage ala Cinderella. And they were bickering as they stepped down from their carriage. The groom had leaped down and when his bride gave a little jump into his arms, he pretended that her weight was too much for him and she gave him a look that was so dripping in anger that you just knew that he was going to pay tonight in that hotel room.

The food was....well, stupendous. There was chateau briand with bearnaise sauce. Lobster. Little potato puffs. Three cakes. One was over six feet tall. A chocolate fountain.

Bing, of course, was very interested in the band, a small chamber orchestra. She said they were pretty good. The first dance was with the bride and her father. He stepped on her gown and I thought bridey was going to deck him right there and then. Her angry pouting voice shrilling out, "Daaaddddddyyyyy! even made the groom cringe. He better get used to it, I thought. Because that was going to be his name behind that angry pout from now on.

By the time we left, the bride was chugging so much champagne with her friends that they were all going to be jumping into the chocolate fountain in no time.

The groom spent some time playing some sort of handheld computer game with his buds.

I had a clear image of what their marriage was going to look like right away. He would come home from his cushy job as an investment banker and just want to play with his wii. His wife (who I was told had graduated from college but never held a job) would have spent the day shopping, having long boozy lunches with her Paris Hilton lookalike friends and would just want to go out for dinner and have her husband admire her new hairdo.

It wasn't going to happen. The marriage might survive a child or two (and god help the child's nanny, who probably would be paid minimum wage to be on 24 hour call for diaper duty) but it would dissolve.

I'm not exactly a psychic, but I could see the beginning of a long hard haul here.


On the way home, Bing and I talked about all the weddings we had been to. Our favorite had been to our friends Irene and Amelia's commitment ceremony when Liv was a toddler. They had it in their back yard. Neither one wore a bridal gown, but both dressed up. No bridesmaids, nothing like that. Just a yard full of people who really, really loved them and wished them the best. Irene and Amelia's fathers had barbequed chicken and sizzled some steaks on the grill. Everyone who liked to cook had brought their favorite dish. Picnic blankets and tables littered the yard. Bing and a few others who played instruments all got together and jammed and everyone danced.

They hadn't registered anywhere and had asked that no one bring gifts, but they had buckets sitting around with names on them: American Red Cross, Nebraska Aids Group, Nebraska Children's Society, The Lydia House for abused women, American Heart Assoc. MADD, Mad Dads, Nebraska Humane Society....

You could tuck a dollar into the bucket of your choice, or a thousand. Whatever you could spare. The buckets were all filled to bursting by the end of the night.

There was no expensive champagne, but there was wine and beer. Sangria. One bottle of Irish whiskey and another of Russian Vodka. Those went fairly quickly....

Juice for the kids. A big sheet cake with a Cornhusker logo on it. I suppose it would seem tacky to a lot of people, but hey...we Husker fans love our boys in red.

And laughter. I remember lots of laughter.

I don't remember hearing any laughter at the wedding I attended today. Just...polite smiles. Tight little laughs.

Amelia and Irene have since moved to Chicago. They are still together. Irene got a job as a University professor and Amelia teaches at an all girl's high school. They are happy, in the process of adopting a child from some country that I can't remember or pronounce.

I wonder where Missy and Max will be in a few years? Let's think positive. Maybe they'll make it.

I did see a pig fly today......

Couples Meme

Yes, I've hit the proverbial wall in blogging. I'm crabby (still on the cane) and it has been raining for two days straight. I've tried to think of something witty to blog about and may actually have something tomorrow since we are going to a wedding (Bing's cousin) and they are rich and snobby which means that they will have those really good mints but there will be pomp and circumstance coming out of their asses.

Good blog fodder. I'll see what I can come up with. (Bing's aunt actually called us already to tell us that the bride's colors were "lavender and vanilla" and wanted to tell us to "dress accordingly" so I am thinking that I might do the biker chick thing...KIDDING.) I guess I could decorate my cane with lavender and vanilla streamers....

Do you think it would be tacky if we brought Socks and dressed him in a lavender doggy tux?

So..on to the meme. It is a couple's meme and is coming to you from my good pal over at Life of a Sassy Femme.

1) How long have you been together?

Jeesh, right away with the complicated ones...I have known Bing since we were freshman dorm mates. That was 31 years ago. We hooked up when Liv was an infant, it didn't work, so we broke it off. We decided to try again two years ago and this time I think I am a grown up or something because I have finally figured out what she says she knew all the time: that we were meant to be together. Big "awwwww!" There you go.

2) Who pursued who?

Bing all the way. This is going to sound very, very snippy and vain but I have never asked anyone out on a date, never made the first overture towards anyone. I said that to Bing the other day and she thought a moment and then said, "God, I believe it. You always make the other woman do the heavy lifting..." I do. But, not because I am so vain, just because I am sort of slow witted about love and romance. I don't do that dance well and while I used to be able to flirt pretty well, I never did it first. I always did it in return. I just don't really think in terms of lovey dovey shit. I am more of a head person than a heart one.

3) Do you wear any type of wedding/commitment ring?

I have two rings from Bing. One is a celtic knot, the other is a gorgeous amethyst. She doesn't wear rings, hates them, hates wearing jewelry. She doesn't even wear a watch, but checks her cell phone for the time.

4) What was the hardest thing about learning to live together?

Where to start? Where to start? We are complete opposites about nearly everything. She likes to have the television, radio, music, SOMETHING on at all times, even if she isn't in the same room. She likes it as background noise. She dislikes silence. I adore silence. I like to read in complete silence but I have learned to read in noise. She is a complete and total slob about everything except stupid things like how towels should be folded, how cans should be put away and stored and she goes ballistic over crumbs on the counter. She also hates candle light or low lighting and turns on so many lights in our house at night that I tell her I feel like I am at Target or something. I am fairly neat except about things like putting away towels (I snicker at her towel color coordinating) and cans and could care less about crumbs. She is practically a vegetarian, eats meat maybe once a week at the most. I am a carnivore and unapologetic. She is athletic, runs daily, works out daily, takes yoga classes. I walk the dog (unless I am having a rheumatoid arthritis flare up and then I walk to the car and back.) I have no idea how we have managed to live in the same house without killing each other.

5) Who takes longer to get ready in the morning?

Hard question. Because she gets ready for work and I get ready to take Liv to school and then usually come back home and get ready to go to work. She gets up at 5 and runs. She comes home around 5:30, showers and makes her smoothie (a grotesque mix of almond milk, fruit and peanut butter) and is out the door by 6:15. I get up at 6:00, and make Liv's breakfast and get her ready to leave for school by 8:00. I often take Liv to school in my pajamas.

A better gage is when we are getting ready for an event...like the wedding tomorrow. She will throw on nice pants and a shirt and spike up her hair and she's done. I will change my outfit three times, put on makeup and then decide which purse to use. She will take maybe ten minutes. I will take a good part of an hour.

6) Do you usually eat breakfast together?

No. She is generally getting ready to leave by the time I am just getting downstairs to get Liv's breakfast. Even on the weekends, we don't eat together. She likes to eat and read the Sunday paper. I usually eat with Liv and watch Meet The Press.

7) Do you ever share clothes?

God, no. I have seen her in a dress exactly once and I had to fight back a laugh. She looked comical. She wears nice pants and a nice shirt for school and on the weekends, jeans and tee shirts. I wear skirts and dresses a lot and while I also wear jeans and tee shirts sometimes, we don't wear the same size. She is taller than I am and much bigger busted.

8) Who does most of the cooking?

Bing. But, we frequently only eat dinner together on the weekends. After school, she goes to her workout and doesn't get home until after seven. Liv and I usually eat by then. I make grilled cheese sandwiches, canned soup, scrambled eggs, toaster waffles, etc. She makes like...dinners. Like a meal. And hers is edible. One of my fears is that Liv will tell her therapist when she is older that her mother often served cheerios and toast for dinner. And she would be right. Liv and I enjoy take out from nice restaurants a lot. I do try....

9) Who usually takes out the trash?

I get it in the big trash can outside, Bing hauls it and the recyclables to the curb on Fridays. But if a bin is overflowing, whoever is around will do it.

10) If you have pets, who usually does litter box or poop patrol?

We all pitch in.

11) Which one of you is more likely to answer the phone?

Bing. Always. I HATE answering the phone if it is my family or hers. I am not a chatter. Thank God for caller id.

12) Who's in charge of the remote if you're watching television together?

Bing. I have certain shows I watch, but otherwise, I just zone out the television. Bing drives me nuts by channel surfing. And she will stop on the most asinine shows. Things like The Brady Bunch or Dukes of Hazzard reruns.

13) Who usually drives when you go out together?

Bing. She is a terrible passenger. She is incredibly bossy, tells me to change lanes if someone in front of me is too slow, etc. I like to get in the lane I need to be in and STAY THERE. She also knows all these supposed short cuts that avoid the main roads. I assert that they actually take LONGER than a direct route. She swears that she saves us a lot of time. Bollocks. She also drives way too fast, in my opinion. I feel like we are on the way to the emergency room every time she is behind the wheel and I have told her so. She says that I drive like a little old lady.

14) Which ones of you takes care of spiders and bugs that get into the house?

Bing. Liv and I tend to shriek and point. Then Bing will catch the bug in her hands and release it outside. She rarely kills any bugs. She relocates them. I tell her that in the dead of Winter, this is like a slow torturous death for them. She argues that hey...they might find a bush or something and wait out the snowstorm....

15) Facing the bed, who sleeps on which side?

In our bed at home, I sleep on the left side, she on the right. At hotels, etc...I sleep either closest to the a/c or farthest away from the heat. I tend to be hot, she tends to be cold. We have dual controls on our electric blanket and in hotels, she will ask for extra blankets and then double them up on her side of the bed.

16) Who usually checks the mailbox?

I do during the school year. She does in the Summer because she is home.

17) If something breaks or goes wrong in the house, which one of you is more likely to either fix it or call someone to fix it?

Bing. But, she has this irritating habit of trying to fix something herself first or calling a friend over to help her fix something. They fuck it up even more and then finally give in and call a repair person. I am usually the one perched at the top of the basement stairs, quaking in fear as I hear strange gurgles coming out of the basement and listening to her say things like, "Well...fucckkkk." I tell her that if she would just call someone as soon as it breaks down, it would be a lot cheaper. She gives me this Tim-the-toolman-Taylor look when I do this.

18) Who is generally the neater of you?

I am. By a loooonnngg shot. Although, this is not saying much....

19) Who handles the checkbook, pays the bills?

We each have our own account and a joint account that we put an equal amount in for household bills. But, I write the checks.

20) What was your last fight about?

Bing was mad at me because I forgot to eat. I have diabetes and have to be careful to remember to eat regular meals. But, when Liv is gone (she was on Spring Break with her father), I tend to space it and then start to get low blood sugar. So, I forgot to eat breakfast and got dizzy when we were out shopping and I had to quickly buy a candy bar and eat it in the car. She was so mad. And now I am paying for it because I swear every fucking time she calls me, the first words out of her mouth are, "Have you eaten in the last three hours?"

21) When you slow dance, who leads?

Smiling. She does. Beautifully.

22) What do you love most about your other half?

That she isn't my other half. I do not need her to complete myself. She doesn't need me to complete her. But, we choose each other. I like it that no matter what, she has my back. Always and forever. I love her humor. She has this deadpan droll humor that is hilarious. And she reminds me to eat....

Days of apple juice and violets.

This morning, I hobbled into the kitchen, Socks at my heels, to make Liv breakfast. Socks is a smart pup, he is careful not to wind around my legs, jump at my knees anymore. Just sits smiling at me. He misses our long morning walks, but has contented himself by playing with his tennis ball in the back yard while I sit on the back step watching him. He is like most kids...just wants an audience more than anything else, someone to hug him and tell him what a supreme being he is.

I yanked out a peach yogurt, a granola bar and poured us our cups of coffee, Liv's mostly cream and sugar. I called her down to eat and went into the office, cradling my cup of joe, sniffing the sharp cuban coffee smell, and turned on the computer to check my e-mail. My computer faces a large window and before I sat down, I pulled open the curtains. It was still dark out, but it was slinking away, letting the morning begin it's ritual.

And I just stared.

Good grief, it was gorgeous. The sky was all pinky and gold, the barely budding trees inky etchings against all that gloriousness. I sat down and simply drank it in. I felt Liv sidle up to me, edge into my lap, her yogurt in hand. I pointed out the sunrise to her and we both sat quietly watching. Liv pointed out the twinkling outline of a star and asked me if I knew what it's name was.

"Gertrude, I think..." I said.

She smiled. No. It's REAL name. It's planetary name. I said no, I didn't.

"Let's look it up," said my internet savvy child.

We found out that what we were actually looking at was Venus, not a star.

"Venus is often confused with a star and therefore has been called the morning star," Liv read off the computer screen.

We bade Venus good morning and after some small talk about her upcoming day (she has French today, her least favorite subject, but her friend, Constance, is coming home from school with her and will stay for dinner...thank god, Bing is cooking....), Liv went off to get dressed. We agreed that yes, she could wear pedal pushers. It was supposed to be another lovely day, in the seventies.

I checked e-mail, watched the sun rise, petted Socks, who cajoled me into sharing my granola bar with him.

I thought about how fast Liv was growing. Soon she would be nine. NINE. This just floors me. How could that be?

She had come home from her Spring Break vacation to visit her Lakota relatives with her father on Sunday. It had been a hard day for me. I had waited impatiently for her to come home, watching the front window all morning. She had only called once while she was gone, a rarity for her. On previous trips, she had called daily, sometimes two or three times, needing to hear my voice, missing me.

This time, when she did call, she seemed hurried. Wanted to tell me that her great grandmother had made her an authentic Lakota deerskin dress and moccasins to wear for her report on the Lakota tribe at school. That an uncle had helped her to make a drum and that she had painted it in representation of the four winds. She informed me that her grandmother was sending some Lakota recipes for bread and could we bake some for her presentation? I said yes. She and her father had found a few stones for my collection. She said that she was having "a blast" but eager to get home, she missed her friends and her school teacher, Miss Paris. She didn't mention missing Bing or me. She was all business until we said goodbye and I told her that I loved her, missed her, and would see her soon.

"Me too, you," she had answered and hung up.

Me too, you?

Okay. I felt a bit slighted. I told Bing that and she smiled, put an arm around my waist. "She's growing up, Maria," she said. "And this is a GOOD thing. Do you really want her to be all needy and homesick? You have tried from the beginning to raise her to fly away from you. Now, let her test her wings a bit, okay?"

I agreed, in principle. But, privately, well....I missed my little girl. The one who called me and whispered that she missed me, could I send a kiss over the phone? I had a clear memory of her calling me just last summer and asking me to sing our song into the receiver and me, sitting hunched at my desk at the university, hand cupped over the phone, quietly singing, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...."

She is growing up so quickly! Gone are the days of drinking her apple juice from her sippy cup and running up to me with her sticky hands full of violets. She no longer curls up in my lap in the rocking chair, her head tucked neatly under my chin. When she has a bad dream, she doesn't come into my bed and fall asleep with her leg wrapped firmly around mine, her hand clutching my nightgown. She cries out and I go to her, rub her back until she falls back asleep.

At night, I no longer read to her before sleep, she reads to me. She has book reports due now and we use that time for her to practice her reading skills. I sit in the rocker and listen as she sits cross legged on her bed, reading to me. One chapter a night.

She is learning algebra.

When she came home on Sunday, Tinton (her father) stayed for dinner and they talked of long hikes and him teaching her to make blue corn soup.

"Dad is a pretty good cook," she told me

Dad? She has never called him Dad before. I wasn't really surprised. Tinton and I had talked last year about this. He had asked if he could bring up the subject with her of calling him Dad and I said I was fine with it.

But was I?

Yes, I decided, I was. Or I would learn to be. I wanted her to be able to have the experience of using the word Dad.

After dinner, Liv walked Tinton out to his car to say goodbye and they leaned against it talking for a long while. Finally, she went up on her tippy toes and hugged and kissed him and I watched him hug her back, his eyes closed with love for her.

I decided that I really, really needed to get over myself. I had been the center of Liv's life for so long and frankly, it sometimes weighed heavily on me. And now, here she was, reaching out to her life, grabbing it and running and what was I? Jealous? How selfish was that?

She is my daughter. I am her mother. We are bound in a way that words can't even express. I didn't want to be like my own mother, jealous and resentful of everyone else I loved, angry that I got along better with my Da then I did with her. I wanted to be the kind of mother who encouraged Liv to love many, many people.

I would be just that.

Later that night, Bing went out to walk Socks while I got Liv ready for bed. When I came out of Liv's bedroom, there was Bing smiling at me, a grande Starbucks cup in her hand.

"I got you a chai latte with soy," she said. "I thought maybe you needed a little treat."

I smiled. She always makes whatever is hard in my life easier.

"Oh," she added. "And there is a present on your pillow...."

I took my cup, kissed her and went in to check it out. There on my pillow was a tube of Du Wop Lip Venom. My favorite lip gloss on the planet.

I slid some on right away and found Bing sprawled in front of the television. She looked up and grinned at me.

"Want to share some gloss?" I asked her and kissed her long and hard. Because no one knows me like she does. No one knows my heart and it's intricate pathways quite the way that she does.

Liv was growing up. But, she was still my daughter and I was proud that she was leaning away from me bit by bit instead of cleaving to me like an extra appendage. One day, Liv would walk out that front door and go on to her life, away from me. But she'd always be back. She belonged to all of us: to me, to Tinton, to Bing, to her school mates, her teachers, Socks.

I thought of this as I watched that sunrise this morning. It is all about the journey. And cherishing every moment.

I finished checking my e-mail and slowly went up the stairs to braid Liv's hair for school. One day, she would braid her own hair. But for today, the pleasure was mine.

Maria almost brandishes her cane in a McDonald's. News at Five.

I stopped at McDonald's yesterday. I don't usually eat fast food, but I had gotten up late and had a list of chores a mile long that had to be completed by noon, so I decided to just stop at a nearby McDonald's and pick up a sausage burrito. When I turned into the parking lot, I could see the drive thru was backed up for about ten cars.

I peered inside. It didn't look busy. I would just walk limp in and get one. Faster. I was third in line. This was a good choice, I thought.

There was an elderly couple in front of me. Let's call them Bob and Lois. They referred to each other as honey and sweets but by the end of my experience, they seemed more like jackass and dimwit so I will just name them.

Actually, elderly isn't the right word either. They were older. Probably in their sixties.

There was only one cashier. There is always just one cashier. This seems ridiculous to me. But, there you go.

The guy in front of them took a long time. He must have been ordering for a little league or something, so they had plenty of time to peruse the menu. I mean, it isn't as though it was hidden or something. There it was in huge letters right above them. They talked, their faces inches from each others, adoring each other's visage. I thought to myself how nice it must be to be married that long and still like each other that much. I love Bing, but I don't nuzzle her or keep my nose two inches from hers in fast food joints. This couple was talking about what they were going to buy someone named "Suze" and "the grands" on their expedition to Shopko.

Finally, it was their turn. I expected them to get coffee and egg mcmuffins and go.

But, no. Of course not.

The cashier, a girl who looked like she had gotten in from her hot date at 2 a.m., breaking her curfew and in trouble (but hey..it was so worth it because he is awesome!) but managed to get up to make it to her 6 a.m. job, was polite but obviously bored. She said in a monotone, "Welcome to McDonald's. What can I get for you today?"

Bob and Lois took this very personally.

Bob: Well, thank YOU, dear. We are glad to be here!

There was a silence. The cashier, (let's call her Judy) waited. Bob and Lois smiled big ones. They seemed to be waiting.

Judy tried again. What can I get for you today?

Well, now. They just didn't know. Did she have a favorite?

Judy looked stunned. A favorite? I could see the wheels moving in her head. What she wanted to say was, "A FAVORITE? Are you mother fucking shitting me??? This food is pure grease and salt. I've worked here for two years and I can tell you that we spit on the burgers, man and water down the catsup and I can't tell you how many times I have dropped a burger on the floor and picked it up and put it in a bun anyway...

Lois looked up at Bob like he was Ronnie and she was Nancy.

Lois:Honey? Do you want the flapjacks? Those might be tasty and maybe an egg? Some sausage?

Did she think this was Denny's?

Bob looked down on her, ran his hand over her back. "Sweets, I sure don't see flapjacks on the menu. Where exactly do you see that sugar?"

JESUS. Shoot me now.

I shifted on my cane, my knees starting to lock a bit, my temper rising. For fuck sakes, FLAPJACKS? Who says FLAPJACKS anymore? They are PANCAKES, you idiot.

Judy looked like she had never heard the word flapjacks in her life.

Bob sighed. Looked at the menu.

Was it possible that they had never been to a McDonald's before? Could this be Candid Camera? I looked around for a hidden camera.

Lois also noted that they had orange juice. Did he want orange juice?

Bob frowned. No. He thought he'd just have a flapjack, an egg, maybe a slice of bacon or two and some coffee.

Judy offered him something called a "big breakfast." He could get two pancakes, eggs, bacon and tater gems.

Well, hey...Bob didn't think he could eat two pancakes. And what did they do to the eggs? Scramble them? Over easy? He wasn't sure he needed potatoes either, or what did she call them? Tater gems? Could he have fruit instead?

Four people were behind me now. I turned around to see a black woman dressed in a smashing black dress. Her lips were shiny with gloss. She and I looked at each other incredulously. This had to be a joke.

Lois piped up that "Honey, I can eat your extra pancake and I like tater gems!"

Bob smiled indulgently at Lois. "But, honey...you know that those things are not good for your blood sugar!"

If he chucked her on the chin, I was ready to smack him on the back of his knees with my cane.

A manager finally noticed that the line was now going out the door and he offered to "assist you in your meal planning over here."

They went to the side and by the time I got my burrito, they had figured some sort of deal out. They also told the manager (who Bob jovially called "Sonny Boy"..I kid you not) that they were from some tiny town to the north and yes, had never been to a McDonald's.

I was limping back to my car when the black woman overtook me.

She smiled widely. "Did you ever hear of such a thing? I can't wait to tell the ladies at my church meeting why I am late..."

I agreed. We laughed. We had to laugh. Because the truth was, we had both been this close to acting like real bitches in a McDonald's. I pictured me smacking Bob right across his ample bottom, smartly whacking him with my cane. I pictured the black woman catching Lois by her bag with embroidered photos of her grandchildren on them and whirling her around and around and then just....letting her sail.

I settled into my car and opened my bag, mouth watering a little for my breakfast burrito.

Except, of course, and you can see this coming, can't you? they had gotten my order wrong and I was holding what looked to be a croissant with egg and cheese.

I looked at my cane. Looked down at my smart hiking boots.

These boots are made for walkin'....and that's just what they'll do...one of these days these boots are gonna...."

News at Five!

Life is a junior high gym class

This morning was misty, moisty, cold. Snow forecast for tonight.

Liv had left yesterday on a trip with her Father to see her Lakota relatives. She was glad to go, I think. Tired of watching her Mother lurching around the house on a cane, tired of Bing's crabbiness over suddenly being the chief dishwasher emptier, laundress, cook and driver. I was relieved to see her go, tired of the fake smile that I had plastered to my face, tired of acting like it was no big deal that I could barely walk.

I had an appointment with two clients. One at eight and one at ten. The first ended early and I was left with 45 minutes to kill. I could have gone home, but...no. Bing was working on a project for Apple and spread out all over the dining room table, listening to her Rosie Ledet and her Wayne Toups. That southern Louisiana cajun music would be flooding all the walls about now, the zydeco rhythms making my pulse beat in my wrists, making my feet want to dance while my knees would refuse to cooperate.

Nope. I would just do better stopping to browse at Borders or something. But, no. My knees were still unsteady enough to make any sort of browsing painful. I wished that I had remembered to bring my book, but no...it was sitting on the table by my bed, the bookmark a picture of Liv sailing on her tire swing, her head thrown back, her feet pointed to the sky.

I saw a junior high school and pulled into the parking lot. I parked in front of the track, a long oblong grayish black road winding all around a set of two football poles. I would just sit and what? Balance my checkbook and then touch up my makeup as time got closer.

I heard a commotion behind me and suddenly a cantering herd of junior high kids came loping onto the track with a tired looking gym teacher heading up the back. I was surprised until I remembered that Liv's school was one of the few on Spring break this week. Most of the others had already passed theirs in late March when Spring was just a heady thought, nothing tangible yet.

I looked around uneasily. Did I stick out? Would someone think it odd that a woman was sitting in a car watching these kids? But, no, I decided. I was a woman in bright red lipstick (Revlon's Cherries in the Snow) sitting quietly in this. I don't think anyone would suspect that I was in the market to childnap. And can you imagine a barely five foot tall woman with a cane trying to shove a big ungainly junior high kid in a bright yellow beetle? Yeah. That would go unnoticed.

I relaxed. I looked over at the gym teacher. It was barely 9:15 and she looked like she was done for the day, tired to the bone. She called something out and the kids began to slowly begin making rounds around the track. They had done this before, many times, I thought.

The teacher plopped down on the bleachers, drew out a paperback novel, one of those bodice ripping ones and settled in to read. I sighed. So...this was gym class?

I decided not to judge. I live with a teacher. See how many nights that Bing comes home looking like she has been horse whipped all day. Maybe she had just broken up with her boyfriend, was recovering from the flu, had a sick dog. I would cut her a break.

I began to watch the kids break off into their groups. Easily definable little mobs.

The popular girls were the easiest to spot. They looked like cantering little ponies, their feet like fetlocks in bright colored socks. Pony tails swishing. Hair shining even though there was no sun. One girl had a bare midriff peeking out of a tiny hoodie. Her nonexistent hips swiveled like a dancer in an Elvis movie. Another girl pulled out a shiny container of lip gloss and they all sunk their fingers deep into the goo and then slashed it generously across their pink ribbon mouths. One girl was on the fringe of the group, with them...but not really. A shadow of the group. A wannabe. She would be the one who maybe got to use the lip gloss if she was really lucky. If maybe Heather and Madison were fighting and one needed someone to gossip with. Then, maybe...she would get to eat at the popular table. She laughed along with the girls but was a couple of beats behind. Trying a bit too hard. She would be the one who would be sent into the liquor store to try to buy some cheap wine in a few years when they hit high school.

The popular boys followed close behind the girls, half watching them, half entertaining each other. All of the hair flinging and raccoon eyes and lilting giggles were for their benefit but they were just not far along to know exactly what to do with those girls yet. It wouldn't take long. A year. Maybe two. Surprisingly, there was much more body contact with the boys than with the girls. The girls might huddle together for a whisper or a gesture, a sly peek behind them, but there was no real touching. The boys were hands on. Shoving. A few nipple tweaks. Howls of pain and laughter. One boy grabbed another and put him into a headlock. I looked nervously at the gym teacher. Jesus Christ. Make him stop. But, she didn't look up and the boy let go of the other boy before I could think too much about it. Loudness permeated the air around them. Insults abounded, I was sure of that. I thought about those popular boys, those future mowers of lawns, gas station attendants. A few would go on to success, but right now, their brutality, their big feet and big muscles were their calling cards to popularity. In their twenties, these qualities would not be as valuable.

The next group were the boys who were probably the ones who won all the science experiments. The math geeks, the guys who could make a volcano erupt, piece of cake. They weren't nearly as brawny. Most were either a bit too skinny or a bit too fat. Their bottoms jutting out in a way that is not pleasing to see in a boy, makes them look feminine and vulnerable. One very skinny kid was showing the others some sort of diagram on a paper. It looked like some sort of motor. There was rapid talk as they bounced up and down on their sneakers, looking around twitchingly, their bodies already processing their breakfasts and their rapid metabolism ready for some tater tots in the cafeteria lunch. These were the boys who would suddenly blossom out in college, their scales, their rulers, their protractors,their computer designs, would define them far more accurately than their protruding Adam's apples did now. They would be the guys who made the world spin, invented the next big thing, the former geek who was now in his prime, the girls would be tossing their hair for them then.

A small group of girls followed them. Ah..yes. My tribe. My group. I recognized them immediately. The Hermione Granger set. They were smart and knew what a metaphor was and how to use a semi colon. They could figure out the complexities of a math pyramid and didn't have to furtively check their dictionaries when the English teacher told them that today they were going to write in iambic pentameter. These girls would probably go to prom, but it wouldn't be with the captain of the football team. It would be with their botany partner. These girls would do a lot of babysitting on the weekends but, like the geek boys, they would find their shiny happiness on a college campus. There, someone would finally read their haiku attempts and see them as brilliant, their theories on the decline of photosynthesis would be taken seriously.

The slacker groups made up the rear. The blue lipped kids in ratty looking black hooded sweatshirts and fishnet torn stockings. The kids who already knew where the booze cabinet key was in their homes. The ones who sat with their friends in their basements smoking joints with the window slightly open even though it was cold as hell out. The ones who talked about Kurt Cobain but couldn't spell his name, so would write things like, I'd rather be dead than cool on their notebooks but then ruin it by writing Curt Cobain under it, a false name to a good quote.

The fat girls walk in a pair. Two of them. One is not so much fat as she is just a giantesslike child. Her legs pump back and forth. She laughs loudly and seemingly doesn't care who calls her two by four or doesn't want to be her lab partner because she has "major b.o." She is the only one who notices me sitting in my car. Our eyes meet and I smile hesitantly.

She doesn't smile back. She is too well trained for that. She is an astute observer. She knows where everyone is at all times so that there are no surprises. And although she quickly assesses that I am no threat, she makes it clear that she is not impressed with my smile. Big fucking deal. So, a smile. Who cares?

The other fat girl follows her gaze, meets my eyes and looks away quickly. I probably look like some substitute teacher who is afraid to go into the building, nothing new.

There are other groups, less definable. But, their mutual angst permeates the field. This is not an easy age. It is an age fraught with peril and uncertainty. It is an age where you are neither here nor there. You are no longer your mother's sweet little girl who brings home her artwork for the fridge door, but you are not yet going on dates or worrying about passing your driving test. It is that between-age, that private hell. That place where you look in the mirror and all you see is an ugly fuck up, someone who doesn't fit it, doesn't say the right things. Someone who has a set of emotions like a fitful horse. One moment, you are crying over a dead bird and the next you are laughing at your uncle's funeral and have no idea why.

Your body is betraying you by bursting out in ungainly ways. Either with pimples or breasts or bad breath that flies ahead of you like you didn't brush your teeth ten times already. Everything anyone says to you, especially your parents, seems so dumb ass that you can hardly stand it or so profound that you have to pretend that you can't stand it. Your friends are your lifeboats and your knives in your rib.

I wouldn't go back to junior high for good money. I remember reading books and falling into them like deep wells that I was drowning in, but at the same time, I never wanted anyone to think that I knew deep down inside of myself that I was Holden Caulfield, I was Catherine, I was Heathcliff, I was Francie Nolan and Juliet without Romeo. I was Squeaky Fromme and Beany Malone, and Etta Place and forever Jan bitching about "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia."

I was all of them. I was me. But, who the hell was that?

I wanted to rush out of the car and gather them all around me. I wanted to tell them that it would get better when they were older. That life might kick them in the ass, but in the end, they would hopefully get a glimpse of themselves. Especially those shy ones, those geeky ones, those brainy ones who kept their hands down because who wants to look like they actually read The Red Pony?

Music would change them. Friends would change them. Family members would change them. For good and for bad. And in the end, they would come out of that tunnel called junior high.

But, of course, I said nothing. I checked my watch, put on some fresh lipstick and prepared to leave. I started the car and carefully backed it out of the parking lot.

I saw the fat girl look at me and I took a chance and waved as I pulled away.

She didn't wave back. But...wait....there, in her head, she did. She waved. I felt it.

Growing up is best done in small steps with not too many witnesses. I closed my eyes and gave her a good future. A place where she was no longer giantess but statuesque, and had a mate who loved her big brassy laugh. I saw her sitting in a movie theater, her hand tucked in her daughter's hand as they watched some new children's flick. Or maybe walking a big red dog on the beach, her footprints big as you please in the sand. I pass her and wave and she waves back and some long ago memory hits her. She can't place me, really...but damn, I look familiar.

She shrugs and walks away, back to her vacation home, her tent, her car, her house and she makes herself a big fine cup of tea.

Thanks to the latino man in the leather jacket...

It was quite a morning. I was determined to get to my client's house. Alone. Driving alone in my car, in my pink business suit. Okay. No heels. Princess flats that looked kind of out of place, but I would be able to keep my balance.

I managed it. The pantyhose nearly did me in. Try getting a pair of panty hose over two bowling balls on your knees and there you go. But, I was upright. I had makeup on. My hair was scrunched and spiked just right. The chanel suit was on. I had my black cane which took away from the professional look, but something had to give and this was it.

I visited my client, made it up those twelve steps to his house. Pish toshed him when he asked about my limping, the cane. Lied. Said, I had a small injury. No big deal. I'd rather have him think I twisted up my leg biking rather than knowing that I have rheumatoid arthritis at the ripe old age of 49. Helped him pick his next three employees.

By the time I got back into my car, I was nearly crying with pain and fatigue. But, I did it, damn it all.

I decided to stop at the library on the way home and pick up three books that were on hold for me. Bing had promised to do it later, but I knew she would forget and I didn't want to keep depending on her and bugging her. I parked in handicapped and used my shiny blue handicapped sticker.

I limped to the door and some old geezer gallantly held it open for me, smiling with such warmth and friendliness that I felt like sinking into his arm and asking him to carry me the rest of the way.

I got my books out of the pick up section and saw a long line at the check out counter. I decided to do the self check out even though I fucking hate that machine and it hates me right back. It NEVER lets me check out all of my books. There is always a problem with scanning at least one of them.

And nothing changed this time. I was scanning books and wouldn't you know, one of them refused to scan. I sighed and started to put my card away and prepare to get in line when I heard this soft male voice say,

"Excuse me, miss. But...um...your, well, yeah...your wallet seems to have fallen on the floor."

I looked up into a young latin man's face. A face like a very clean cut Freddie Prinze, Sr. He was moving slowly, bent at the knees and picked it up veeeerrrryyyy sloooowwwlly, keeping eye contact with me the whole time and saying, "I am just going to reach down and pick it up and hand it to you. I'm not doing nothin else, okay? So, stay calm."

I was momentarily confused. Why was he acting so oddly? And then, yeah...I got it.

He was a young latino man. I was an older white woman. My wallet was on the floor. This could be dicey for him if he touched it.

He handed it to me. I thanked him profusely as he simply ducked his head and left.

Embarrassed, I put the wallet away and waited my turn to check out the book.

I felt a tap on my arm and looked around to see the older, friendly gentleman who had helped me in the door.

"If I was you, I'd check my wallet," he said, in a near whisper. "Those guys...they do a lot of sleight of hand. Did you have anything important in that wallet like credit cards, your driver's license, or social security card?"

I shook my head no (actually my whole life was in that wallet) and stepped up to the counter. Mad. HOW DARE he assume something like that? I should say something, I thought. But, no. I felt in pain and vulnerable and suddenly a little weepy.

I got my book, shoved it into my book bag and lurched around, determined to find my Freddie, as I had already named in my head and thank him again.

And then I stopped. WHY should I thank him again? Would I do this with anyone else? No. Well, maybe. I wasn't sure. All I knew was that for me to single him out would be like saying you are a credit to your race or even, though you had that gang tattoo on your neck and you are probably a crook, I want everyone to look at me, the liberal white woman.

Instead, I found my way back to my car, got in, rubbed my aching knees and then put my head on the steering wheel and cried.

I cried because I don't want my daughter to grow up in a world where people are judged like this. I want my child to grow up in a world where, as Martin Luther King, Jr. said, the content of someone's character is so much more important than the color of their skin. Or their sexual preference. Their religion. Their career choice. I want her to walk with queens and maids and steel workers and librarians and have it simply not matter what the fuck their skin color is or if they sleep with males or females or no one, if they worship in a synagogue, a mosque,a church or a frackin forest. And we are just not there yet, are we?

I thought about my hero, my Freddie. What was his life like? Did people shrink away from him in stores? Did people hold their children closer when he walked by? How awful for him. Because, he was obviously this decent man, this good person. He saw an older woman who was using a cane drop her wallet and not notice. He wanted to help her but knew that if he, a latino man with a tattoo on his neck and a skinned head were to go near her, to try to help...suddenly there would be problems. He probably didn't need any more problems. He could have walked away. But, he didn't. He did what he could to help in the best way he knew how, by making sure that he moved and spoke slowly, didn't ruffle that white woman's feathers....

So, this is a big thank you from the woman with the cane in Swanne's library who dropped her wallet today, Freddie. Or Juan. Or Jim. Or Billy. Or Max. Or whoever.

You were my hero today. And I just wanted you to know that.

Baby steps

That woman with the cane? That's me. God, I feel so old.

I went back in to see my md today and he gave me steroid shots in my knees. Told me to limit all activity for two weeks and then "we'll see what's what."

I told him that his bedside manner sucked. That patients do NOT want to hear glib proclamations like we'll see what's what. I told him to just tell me like it is.

He sighed and said, "Okay. Those knees look you have two bowling balls attached to your knee caps and knowing you, you will go home and do laundry and put in your garden. Which would be a totally dumb ass thing to do. Go home. Stay off your knees as much as you can and just hope that all that fluid drains by itself and doesn't get infected or you will be in for some big bad problems. How's that for honesty? And use that fucking cane!"

Okay. So maybe we'll see what's what, yes?

Bing just left for her T'ai Chi class and she is SO glad to be away from me. It is written all over her. Because she can't do anything right, can she? She made me oatmeal with almond milk this morning and she should know that I like it with soy milk. She keeps telling me to stop acting like such a mope ass, that it could be a lot worse. I could be in a wheel chair. I could have cancer.

She is doing all the laundry and all the household chores.

I have an important client meeting that I CANNOT miss tomorrow and I have already told her that I plan to drive myself there and back. Okay. I will take the goddamn cane, but I will not have her and Liv drive me around anymore.

And now that I think about it, this client lives in a house that has about a million steps to get up to the front door.

Shit.

I hate having to think about this stuff, plan for obstacles.

I want my life back, that mobile life that I thought was so boring sometimes. I want to get up and make Liv her breakfast and walk the dog and take a bath and not have to ask Bing to help me get out of the tub.

And of course, poor Bing; she keeps doing things like bringing me all these healing tapes to listen to. And I keep telling her that I am not going to lay on that bed and listen to those pringy chimes and ocean waves and know that there is some stupid subliminal voice saying things like, you are healing and are one with the earth...

Yeah. I am a total bitch.

But, I'm all hers. I said that to her today and she had the grace not to snort.

Life is going on, but I am crabby.

I'm holding it together around Liv, acting like hey...this is no biggie.

It just kinda feels like a biggie right now.

The highlights: I am getting a lot of reading done. We are watching a lot of The L Word and I am interested enough to have a favorite character: Alice. Of course, Bing loves Shane.

She commented that she feels like she married Shane, the one who refuses to commit to anyone, just goes around flirting with women.

I told her that Shane has been confused with a man! Does this mean that she thinks I am manly???

There is just NO pleasing me, is there?

Hard days on the prairie

Well, the virus seems to have moved on from our little house on the prairie. But, in it's place, my rheumatoid arthritis has reared it's ugly head. I woke up Friday morning (actually about 3 a.m.) to discover that I could not walk. My knees had swollen up as big as melons. I had gotten up to pee and went to stand and ended up screeching and falling back on the bed, waking up Bing. She turned on the light and we both just stood there staring at my knees. Well. What used to be my knees. There was no sign of a kneecap, just rounded melons. Getting me to the bathroom to pee was an event with me lurching around like Frankenstein and biting through my lip trying not to cry.

I went to my doctor on Friday morning and they did ex-rays. Yup. An arthritic flare up of huge proportions and no idea what caused it. My left hand was swollen too and unusable. I was given a shot of anti-inflammatory and more anti-inflammatory pills. I was to come back on Monday for steroid shots in my knees if there was no improvement over the weekend.

Things have gotten a bit better. I can now walk with a cane and my left hand is down to normal again. But...I'm still going to go in for the shots. I can't work like this, can't drive. Liv is on Spring Break this week and Bing is too, so I lucked out. I just have to cancel all my clients.

I'm depressed...and scared. I hate feeling so helpless and dependent on Bing and Liv for so much. I feel like I have spent all of my time flat on my back with a fucking heating pad over my knees. It is gorgeous out, I want to be outside.

Bing turned down her summer job in California. She just told me this morning. Her argument was that even if this clears up fast, what would I do if it happened this Summer when she wasn't here? She keeps telling me that it is no big deal...but...it is. I know how badly she wanted to go and I feel like such a chain around her neck right now.

So...yeah..lurching around, depressed, trying not to act crabby in front of Bing and Liv, but privately worrying and fretting. I wish I had some pithy bits to write now but frankly, I am just fresh out of happy.

I'll post again when I am not such a washrag. Thanks for all your good wishes.

Out for a bit...

Sorry that I haven't been catching up on blogs lately. I just feel awful and need to sleep until this thing is over.

I'll be back. (I'm so tired that I actually wrote "I'll be bake")

So...I'm baking (yeah, right..) and I'll be back.

MEME # 4509

This one is courtesy of Jill over at Charming and Delightful.

33 Random Questions (because why should any of this make sense?)

1) The phone rings. Who are you hoping it is?

A publisher. Yes, they want to publish my book. No, they have no corrections. It is perfect, as is. As if....

2) When shopping at the grocery store, do you return your cart?

Absolutely. In fact, I am sort of a fanatic about it. Even when I had Liv strapped to my chest and was in such arthritic pain that I had to use my handicapped sticker, I never once failed to return my cart to the corral or inside the store. I have seen more able bodied men in business suits just give them a shove then anyone else and it pisses me off. I also bring my own bags. It isn't that hard, people.

3) In a social setting, are you more of a talker or a listener?

A listener. Unless I am with very, very good friends or my family, then I speak up. I tend to be very reserved, very quiet in social situations. For this reason, people often think I am much wiser than I really am. I had one man tell me that my quiet nature was "beguiling" and that he just knew that "still waters ran deep." In actuality, I was nearly comatose with boredom, but kept sagely nodding my head. The only other situation where I speak up quickly is when I feel angered by prejudice or someone's behavior. This confounds Bing, who doesn't get that I can get combative in situations like that, but then clam up at a party. If I have Liv with me and I see an injustice being done, I feel that I have to speak to set an example for her.

4) If abandoned in the wilderness, would you survive?

Hell, no. I'm diabetic and without my insulin, I'm dead within twenty four hours.

5) Do you like to ride horses?

NO. NO. NO. I am terrified of them. It is their heads. They have those big heads and those legs that can....kick.

6) Did you ever go to camp as a kid?

I grew up on a farm. Farming families do not vacation in the Summer, nor do their children go to camp. Summer is the time when we work, work, work. And I did, did, did.

7) What was your favorite board game as a kid?

I liked chess a lot. Backgammon. Aggravation.

8) If a sexy person was pursuing you but you knew he/she was taken, what would you do?

If someone is pursuing someone else, they clearly aren't taken. But, if you mean...they are committed to someone else or married, I would tell them to take a hike. Honest. Bing knows that the one thing I will not put up with is cheating and it sickens me when I see others do it. Of course, this is easy for me to say this since Laura Linney or Susan Sarandon aren't calling my cell....

10) (Where the fuck is nine? I hate it when these meme numbers get lazy on me and just have better things to do than show up) Would you date someone with different religious beliefs?

Sure, but to a point. If these religious beliefs include harassing innocent people or trying to indoctrinate me into their religious sect, no. I am lucky that Bing and I are both pretty much heathens, although she often gets paid to play religious services. They are actually very high paying gigs.

11) Are you continuing your education?

No. I think I've gone as far as I need/want to go. But, I learn something nearly every day. I'm snorting now because I usually can hardly stand people who say things like that. And there is always this smarmy tone, as if they are learning but you aren't...

12) Do you know how to shoot a gun?

Yes. I don't own one, though. And I will never allow one in my house. I only know I can shoot because on a dare, I shot one in the woods once and I hit my target too (a tin can)....

13) If the house was on fire, what's the first thing you'd grab?

Assuming my child, partner, dog, bird and fish were safe...I'd take my first edition books.

14) How often do you read books?

All the time. I have never been without a book to read and several in my "waiting" pile. I read every day.

15) Do you think more about the past, present or future?

I wish I could say that I live in the moment but I tend to worry about the future. I worry about what's around the corner all the time. Not my most attractive trait.

16) What is your favorite children's book?

A tough one. There are SO many. I think I will have to say "A Little Princess" by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I loved it so much the first time that I read it and about a year ago, I bought it for Liv and tried to read it to her and she thought it was boring! I was distraught!! How could a child of mine be BORED with a book that started out,

"Once, on a dark winter's day when the yellow fog hung so thick and heavy in the streets of London that they lamps were lighted..."

17) How tall are you?

I am 5'3 when I wear my three inch heels.

18) Where is your ideal house located?

I have this daydream sometimes. Bing, Liv, Socks, and I all live in a big rambling house in France. I have never been to France. But, in my dream, we all love it. In reality, I think...yes...I think if we could afford it, I would like to live in New York City. I would like my child to see great art museums, experience life in the big city, have all those opportunities. We would have a cottage on a beach somewhere for summer vacations. Of course, this would all cost money. I work part time. Bing is a teacher. Money is limited. So we stay put. But, if someone from Deal or No Deal wants me to come on and win some big bucks, I would do it. Forget Survivor. I'm not eating pig's eyes. But, hey, anyone can pick a suitcase. I could do that.

19) Last person you talked to?

Bing. She told me she loved me and I said "ditto" because I am romantic like that.

20) When was the last time you were at Olive Garden?

A few months ago. It is my sister's favorite place to go for salad, soup and their famous doughy "unlimited breadsticks!"

21) What are the keys on your key chain for?

Let's see. I have a house key. A key to the office where I teach part time at a local university. I actually share a desk with another part timer. I have a key to my car, a key to Bing's car, a key to my mother in law's house, a key to my sister's house, a key to my best friend's house, and a key to my neighbor's house.

22) What did you do last night?

It was my turn to cook, so...um...yeah...we did the oatmeal and peanut butter toast thing. I helped Liv with her homework, gave her a bath, read to her, put her to bed, blogged for an hour, watched Medium with Bing and went to bed. I live the high life, my middle name is risk.

23) Where is your current pain at the moment?

My back. It is always in my lower back. But, I try to ignore it.

24) Do you like mustard?

Not really, although I do make a good honey mustard sauce for pork roast. I pour it over apples, onions and bacon and then throw it all on top of the roast. It is one of my signature dishes. I have three main dishes that I am good at baking: turkey breast, pork roast and meatloaf.

25) Do you like your Mom or Dad?

Ah. This is where you are supposed to take sides. I get it. My parents are both dead, but I was very close to my Da and not close at all to my Mother.

26) How long does it take you in the shower?

Under five minutes unless I am shaving my legs.

27) What movie do you want to see right now?

We are waiting for Smart People to come to "a theater near you!" I don't know, though. It looks like it may be one of those ones that looks really good and really isn't. We'll see.

28) Do you put lotion on your dog or cats?

What kind of dumbass question is that? NO. We have a very large terrier puppy who was not supposed to get very big, but is already a bruiser, bigger than any terriers I have ever seen. He likes to do asinine things like roll in anything that smells awful, including garbage. So, he gets a bath every weekend like clockwork. It's hard enough keeping the little monster clean, let alone keeping him lubed up with lotion.

29) What did you do for New Years?

We were in bed by eleven. It's a wild and crazy life we lead here on the prairie...

30) Do you think The Grudge was scary?

I didn't see it. The last scary film I watched was The Blair Witch Project and it still scares me when I am alone in the house. I don't willingly watch horror movies.

31) Do you own a camera phone?

Yes. I have a pink razr phone. I had no idea that I could take pictures with it until Liv showed me how. She now regularly takes photos of me driving. One day, she will publish it as a coffee table book and make a million dollars and support me in my old age. I can see it now: There is Mama scolding with gum in her mouth, another one of Mama muttering to put that phone down, I'm trying to figure out directions to that birthday party, Mama shoving a bagel in her mouth as she drives, Mama's face as she just spills coffee all the way down her business suit. Mama with no makeup and haggie maggie hair and a nightgown under her parka, taking Liv to school....

32) What is the last letter of your middle name?

E.

33) Who did you vote for on American Idol?

I've never seen it. Not once.

I'll try to put a better post next time, folks. I'm still recovering from this damn virus. Will someone please hand me a tissue? Will someone please get me a glass of really cold orange juice? Will someone please tell me to go to bed and sleep and not to worry about the laundry, they'll do it?

Will someone please feel my head for a fever and tell me to climb right on into bed and then read the paper to me after they make me a grilled cheese sandwich and some tomato soup?

Draw a hot bath for me and put that apricot scented oil in that I like?

Lay my nightgown out on the bed for me, or better yet, throw it in the dryer and get it all warmed up for me to climb into after my bath?

Thanks, I needed that.