Conversation with Liv's father.

I took Liv to her swim team practice this afternoon. It doesn't officially start until Monday morning, but they opened the pool for an hour in the afternoons this week for those who wanted to get a head start on their strokes. Liv did, so I took her.

She is not happy with her placement this summer. Last summer, she made several good friends but they have advanced to the 9-10 group this year while she is still stuck in the 8 and under since she won't be 9 until late July. But..she says that she is determined to win a first place ribbon in anything this year and is resolved to practice hard. Last year, she took several third place ribbons and one tightly fought second place for butterfly relay, but she wants a first place so much.

I don't care about the ribbons. I just love to watch her in the water. Where she gets her athletic ability is certainly not from my side of the family. I don't know why I am so amazed at her speed and agility, her sheer comfortability in the water. She has been taking swimming lessons ever since we hit the "mommy and me" classes when she was two.

By the time she was four, she could swim better than I ever could. I can dog paddle and stay afloat. That is it.

Watching her in the water today, I was struck by her affinity for the water, how her body seemed to just belong there. She stood, tall for an eight year old, in her dark blue speedo suit with her team's logo on it. Her blue goggles made her look froggy, but when she smiled her jack o' lantern smile up at me as I watched from the viewing room, I had to grin.

I watched as she tried to talk to a few of the other girls, watched as they rejected her in that way that girls do sometimes. No one was rude to her, but no one would really let her in. She shrugged and floated on her back, gazing up at the domed roof of the pool, her elegant legs fluttering.

Her coaches came in and got them all in lines, sluicing down the lanes one after another. Today they were doing Liv's least favorite stroke: the back stroke.

"I'm always afraid that I am gonna hit my head!"

My cell phone rang. I checked caller id. It was Tinton, Liv's father. He was calling to say that he had bad news. It looked like he would not be able to take time off from his work schedule to take Liv on a vacation this summer.

I said it was okay. He took her for nearly a month last summer and I hated it. Maybe Bing and I would come up with something, maybe we could do small little jaunts close to home, not using too much gas.

"Did you mention that you and Bing are going to Montana in late October for some seminar?" he asked.

I said yes. He thought for a moment. "I'll be in Idaho for most of October and November, maybe she could come and spend that time with me, spelunking?"

I said that would probably work out. Yes. That sounded good. We would plan on that.

Tinton said that he did have four free days at the end of next month and could he come to stay with us and see Liv? Money was sort of tight, but he wanted to see her. Maybe they could see some films, go swimming or hiking together nearby?

I said that would be fine. Liv would like that, I told him.

"You should see her," I told him. "She is in the pool now, practicing her back stroke for her swim team. She is so incredibly graceful."

I felt him smiling. His voice was gentle.

I can see her in my head, he told me. I can close my eyes and picture her...

"She has your smile, Tinton," I told him.

He didn't talk for a second and then his voice poured out in a soft rasp.

"Thank you for telling me that, for letting me share her with you and Bing," he said.

(Tinton gave up all parental rights when Liv was four months old. When she was about three, he changed his mind about being in her life and I decided to let him in. I figured it takes a village and every child needs their father.)

I closed my eyes and saw Tinton's smile in my mind. That same smile that lived on Liv's face each and every time she smiled. It was his smile that did me in. He had the craggy, yet noble visage of a Lakota Indian, but his smile disarmed me. It was crooked and cracked, a child's smile in a man's face. I was glad that Liv had it. And his dark eyes.

I said that I had better go, that practice was nearly over and it was supposed to be terrible weather tonight, tornado weather. (And of course, don't you know that it is also the season finale of LOST which means that the weather guys are going to be interrupting every ten seconds.)

We said our goodbyes and I promised to hug Liv for him and tell him he'd see her in a month and take her hiking, whatever she wanted.

I put my cell phone back in my purse and turned to watch Liv swizzle like a jellyfish in the fake blue water of the pool. She waved, I waved back.

Life for me lives in her crooked, jack o'lantern smile.

Tinton, Bing, and I are lucky, lucky, lucky.

Go hug your kid. Or if you don't have one, hug mine in your head. She needs a village.

And you would just love her smile.....

P.S (Added later)...The storms missed us, I saw all of LOST.

God...when is it coming back? I'm jonesin already. And what happened to Dan? I was starting to like him....

Finding grace and peace.

It has been tough. I don't do well with being unwell, being helpless. Last week, I finally ducked my head and let my doctor put me on prednisone. It was a major call for me. I am diabetic and prednisone had the capacity to really mess my blood sugar up, as well as my mental health. (Prednisone is a powerful anti-inflammatory, but it's side effects are monumental, not only did my blood sugar go from 90 to 179 in one day but it also turned my emotional state into a wreck. I struggled to be rational. Struggled not to overreact to anything and everything. Even my vision got a bit muddy.)

But, after several days of wearing wrist braces, a bootie on my right ankle and not being able to raise my arms higher than a few inches because of a vicious attack of my rheumatoid arthritis, I began to see that bed rest was not cutting it. I needed more. Having my eight year old daughter have to tie my shoes was the last straw.

I went on the prednisone. And it worked almost immediately. Within twenty four hours, I had full use of all of my joints except for my left wrist, which came in forty eight. The pain was minimal, manageable.

Of course, I was sitting on the edge of the bathtub crying for no reason at all while I ran the water hard in the sink so Liv would not hear me. I found myself wanting to weep every time I looked at my child's bright golden hair in the sun. Did she have any idea just how beautiful she was?

It also went the other way. Every word that came out of Bing's mouth irritated me so much that I could barely stand to talk to her. Well, unless I was jumping her bones in bed. I would go from feeling totally turned off by the sound of her voice to wanting her so badly that I was cornering her on the porch and shoving her up against the wall to kiss her. She took it all in stride, in true Bing fashion, calling my crabby self, Griselda and my passionate one, um...Bambi.

She was much more fond of Bambi.

A few days ago, I begin weaning myself off the prednisone, one pill each day.

And it is a testament to Bing and Liv's love that I spent Memorial Day weekend doing absolutely nothing. No chores. They saw to that. I lollygagged mightily. But, then...well...I knew I had to get back to work. We can't live off of Bing's paltry teaching salary (after nearly 25 years of devotion, she still makes less than 40 thousand a year.) But, I was terrified now that I was pulling off the prednisone, that the arthritis would come back. I tried to keep an optimistic viewpoint, but at night, alone...I went over figures and bills in my head until I was shaky.

I talked it over with my bff, Harriet, although I felt like a huge wussy pants considering that just last year, she watched her sister die and then she and her husband took in her sister's two children when her brother in law bailed on them. They ended up having to sell their little house that she loved so much, to buy a bigger one to house their newly formed family of six.

She listened to my rails and rants, my sheepish admittance of terror. And then she said the oddest thing.

You have to embrace the pain. Take it in and meet it at the door. Welcome it in. It is the only way to get past your fear.

I stared at her incredulously. Oh, Good HELL. What was she going to tell me next? To give my problems over to Jesus?

She didn't. She stuck her tongue out at me and pulled a book out of her dresser drawer.

"Someone gave this to me after my sister died," she said. "I avoided it for months, and then finally read it and you know, this sounds crazy...but it saved my life. It did what no well meaning friends, vodka or exercise could do."

I glanced at the slim book.

When Things Fall Apart. It's author was Pema Chodron.

I took it home with me, reluctantly. I am not really into this new age shit, I thought. But...well...I would give it a glance.

I read it. And it made sense. It took a while, but I started to try to well...yes...embrace the pain. Meet the uncertainty, the worry head on. Instead of watching insipid programs like Deal or No Deal and thinking that those stupid people did not deserve a fucking dime, I started noticing things.

I went outside and sat in my garden. It doesn't need much weeding....yet. Everything is coming up all green and shiny, tiny shoots just glistening with the need to soak in the sun, the rain. Socks came out with me and sat with his head on my foot, eyes begging to be allowed to let his new ungainly size into my lap. I nodded at him and he carefully jumped into the adirondack chair and swirled as small as he could get his frame into my lap, gingerly, as if he knew to be very gentle. He looked up and smiled at me. Grateful. I hugged him. Grateful.

I was sitting on Liv's bed the next day, trimming her toe and finger nails. It is a job that we both hate, but it was way past time. She sat with her foot in my lap, whispering, "please don't cut them too close, they stiiiinnng when you do that..."

I was careful.

And then it occurred to me that just a week ago, I couldn't even tie my own shoes or get my damn bra on without Bing's help. I studied the shape of my daughter's lovely long thin foot. Her graceful ankles. Ankles that turned smartly as she practiced her karate. I leaned down and cradled her foot to my breast, kissing each toe. She laughed.

"Mamaaaa!! Stop!!"

I was reading later that afternoon, trying to slog through Eclipse, the last of the Twilight trilogy, so that I could write my niece, Lyndsay and discuss them with her, as promised.

It is a hefty book and I realized that I was actually holding it in my hands. It didn't have to be splayed out on a table in front of me because I could not hold it.

Sounds silly, I know. Small things. But, I realized how all of this was such a gift.

As the days wore on, I started back to work, hoping to salvage some of the clients that I had been putting off. I spent one very long thirteen hour day earning my living.

And came home exhausted, with the realization that my left knee was swelling again, only slightly, but enough to make me worried.

I took a deep breath. Checked in on a sleeping Liv and a sofa prone Bing and made myself a cup of tea and took it out to sit on the back steps. I rested, stretched my knee out and caressed it with my hand. Decided to stop worrying about it, stop centering on what would happen if it swelled up to huge proportions again. Instead, I told myself that this was nice, yes? This quiet privacy? This sitting on the steps with a hot cup of chai in my hand, watching the rabbits chasing each other in the darkness.

I came in, showered and went to bed. Bing came in to kiss me goodnight before she went to sleep in the guest room. She has been camping out in there since the whole arthritis thing started. The one time she attempted to sleep with me, I had complained that my ankle just hurt too much every time she moved.

I fell asleep and woke up at 3 a.m. Cautiously slid out of bed to go to the bathroom, testing my weight on my knee, my ankles. So far, okay. My left wrist was sore, but not horribly so.

I went to check in on Liv, tucking her foot back under the covers as I always do. I sat in the rocker next to her bed. Socks lay at the end of her bed, his tail thumping lightly, telling me hello. I watched my daughter's face in the moonlight, my heart doing that little skipping thing that it does sometimes when I look at her and realize that she is MINE. She is this sweet, lithesome little sprite and somehow I have managed to not fuck her up with my flippancy, my little meannesses of spirit, my tendency to avoid complication at any cost.

The knot enlarged in my throat and I felt such thankfulness, such grace.

Thank you, thank you for letting me have her. For giving me this gift of seeing her face every day. I feel like I don't deserve such grace most days and I will try to do better....

Liv stirred and I froze in mid rock, waiting until I heard her breathing go back to it's depth, it's easiness.

And then I went into the guest room. I slid under the covers and nudged Bing over. She awakened slowly and made room, carefully tucking my head under her chin the way she always does.

"God," she whispered, "please don't tell me you are in here for a hot quickie because I am so, so tired and I don't think I can handle any more rug burns at my age..."

I laughed softly and snuggled in.

No, I told her...I'm just here for the band....

I thought she had drifted back to sleep, but in a moment she asked, "Are you okay? In pain?"

I told her that my wrist ached, otherwise I was okay.

She lifted my wrist, kissed it and drew it over her heart.

"It's okay," she said. "I'm here. I'm right here."

And she was.

I felt the throbbing of my wrist begin to thrum with the beat of her heart.

And I felt peace. It was time to go back to sleep.

Thank you, arthritis, for this. For reminding me of all that I have.

Why I agree with Robyn that Rush Limbaugh is a douche bag.

Just direct quotes from the douche bag himself and NOT out of context, so don't try to slip that one on me.

1) On homosexuality: "When a gay person turns his back on you, it's anything but an insult--it's an invitation. The difference between Los Angeles and yogurt is that yogurt comes with less fruit."

Oh,dear. Such a tired old joke from such a stupid old ass.

2) On Native Americans: "There are more American Indians alive today than there were when Columbus arrived or at any other time in history. Does this sound like a record of Genocide?"

Um. Rush, little man? Take a look at United States population stats. And, hey...I actually threw this one out to my eight year old child and she came back with the stats that it was figured that the population of the U.S. in 1776 was about 41,000, in 1940, it was about 132 million. In 2008, it was 300 million. So, our country is getting bigger. Now, hold on to your brain, this one is a toughie, I know...but statements like yours are so simple minded that I end up scratching my head. I am guessing that there are more Jews in the world since Hitler. Do you think maybe the holocaust was just a silly little scuffle? It amazes me that people take you seriously, it really does.

3) On Feminism: "Feminism was established to allow unattractive women easier access to the mainstream. Women were doing quite well in this country before feminism came along."

So, all you very unattractive women out there who love Rush so very much...has it ever occurred to you that if all men thought like this man, you would not HAVE THE RIGHT TO VOTE today? And I know you all aren't knock outs, so the next time you are kneeling at his throne or bringing him some brownies, realize that he makes fun of your fat ass the second you are out the door. Please, you are embarrassing the rest of us.

4) On Kurt Cobain: Kurt Cobain was, ladies and gentlemen, was a worthless shred of human debris."

Hands off Kurt, big guy. Who wants to see you up on a stage? Smells like old fart spirit jealousy to me...

5) Speculating on how a Mexican won the New York marathon: "An immigration agent chased him for the last 10 miles."

Oh, hardee har har. You certainly crack yourself up, don't you? Let's see you run one city block...

6) On his cat: "She comes to me when she wants to be fed. And after I feed her, guess what--she's off to wherever she wants to be in the house until the next time she is hungry. She's smart enough to know she can't feed herself. She's actually a very smart cat. She gets loved. She gets adoration. She gets petted. She gets fed. And she doesn't have to do anything for it, which is why I say this cat's taught me more about women than anything in my whole life."

Sighing here. I have a dog. His name is Socks. He is male. (Am I keeping this simple enough for you, big guy?) He barks at strange shoes on the floor. He cannot keep his kibbles in his dish on his best day. He is afraid of the vacuum. He slurps like a pig when he drinks water. He chases rabbits. He is confounded by the fact that birds can seem to fly and he can't. Now, I could compare him to a man if I wanted to sound like an idjit. I don't. Because I am not one. You are.

7) On nuclear weapons: "The only way to reduce the number of nuclear weapons is to use them."

Rubbing my temples now. Oh, god...no matter what smart thing you ever said, do you have ANY idea how much damage you do with your mouth?

8) On democrats: "I know these people like I know every square inch on my glorious naked body."

Now, yes...I have no problem picturing you slavering over your own naked body. Somebody has to do that kind of dirty work.

9) On the Abu Ghraib prisoner abuse scandal: "This is no different than what happens at the Skull and Bones initiation...I'm talking about people having a good time, these people, you ever heard of emotional release? You ever heard of the need to blow some steam off?"

I can only celebrate that I will never ever have to attend a party at your house and see up close and personal what you see as "people having a good time." I believe it is called sadism or at the very least some sort of very sick minds at work. Do you string up your little female kitty cat and have some fun with a firecracker on her tail? Maybe pee in the punchbowl, you rapscallion? Slip mickeys in all those unattractive women's drinks? Just good clean fun. Uh huh.

My sister tells me that she loves Rush. That you have to look around some of his "theatrics" and see into his genius. I say that even Hitler probably had a few kind quirks, maybe he tickled Eva Braun in bed at night or told her she smelled nice sometimes. Maybe he fed his dog a bone now and then.

But he still was a madman. So, don't tell me to skip over Limbaugh's homophobic remarks, his racist remarks, his bigoted little smirks. I won't. We are responsible for our words. He is responsible for his.

And how anyone can think this man is worth listening to is just..unbelievable to me. I mean, look at the facts. Look at his words. And you LIKE this guy? What the hell is wrong with you?

The best sex of my life.

Let's blame it on the prednisone. It is fucking up my diabetes, making me a little bit crazy, I am fighting back laughter one moment and tears the next. The only thing really keeping me in my reality zone right now is Liv. I work hard to project normalcy with her. She is done with school now, happy as a lark, skipping around the yard playing with Socks and then rushing in to slurp up popsicles.

I smile, acting every bit her everyday parent....but inside of me something is breaking up a bit. Bing sees it. She sees everything. And it hasn't escaped her that my usually very placid libido is suddenly storming around like a college coed's. She has been reaping the benefits in the bedroom, although she swears that she will celebrate when I am done with my round of prednisone. She says that I am acting like Elizabeth Taylor in Who's Afraid of Virgina Woolf?

"Not that I am complaining about all the hot sex...but jesus, you are hard to handle on your good days. Now, you are like...a wild card. Every time I come home from work, there is a new woman to greet me. I personally prefer the sex cat...."

I have had sex on the brain. A lot. I've been thinking about my best times sexually in my life and it is a testament that I probably shouldn't be blogging on prednisone that I am actually going to blog about sex today.

I have blogged about Frederick before. My college study mate. But,not in deep detail. Now, don't get scared. I am not going to give you an um...blow by blow account (no pun intended) of our sexual twistings, but it was the best sex of my life and it only happened once.

Think of Harry Potter. Nerd glasses. Not too tall. Nothing Brando to speak of. That was Frederick. He was my lab partner, my study partner and my friend. He lived two dorms away from me. We were both 20, had the same birthday. He had a girlfriend who went to a college across the state and they talked daily on the phone. He loved her. She came up to visit every few months. He introduced us and I could see the sigh of relief spill out of her when he told her that I was a lesbian.

Whew. She was thinking it.

Plus, she was gorgeous. A Jessica Simpson to my Hermione Granger. How he got her was a big speculation on campus since well....yeah...he resembled Harry Potter. He wasn't ugly, but he wasn't gorgeous either. He was like me, sort of plain, nice looking, but nothing flashy. A good body, but not a six pack. He lived in jeans and blue denim shirts. Tee shirts with band logos.

He was a Patti Smith fanatic. When we studied, it was almost always to Patti Smith Group's Wave. To this day, I can vividly recall all the lyrics to Frederick, Because The Night, and Dancing Barefoot.

We usually studied in his dorm room because his dorm mate was in love with a volleyball player and spent most nights in her dorm room.

Frederick and I had an easy relationship, suited each other well to study together. We both were ambitious, hated to get less than A's on anything and he was good at acronym studying. I still can remember the bones of the wrist by thinking

Scaphoid=Scabs
Lunate=live
Triquetrum=to
Trapezoid=trap
Trapezium=terrible
Capitate=catholic
hamate=hambone
Pisiform=piss ants.

I was good at taking long dreary explanations and simplifying them into manageable terms.

We studied together three times a week. Afterwards, we often went out for a beer or two or three at a local bar that didn't check ids.

One night, as we sat quizzing each other for the next day's test, we realized that we had it down pat early. We went to the bar and drank and danced, bumping off each other easily and laughing a lot.

It was snowing, spitting snow really. His dorm came before mine but he always insisted on walking me home and we raced up to his dorm room to grab my satchel. Somehow we ended up racing up the stairs and he beat me by about two inches.

We galluped into his room and I picked up the satchel and turned around to see him giving me a decidely sexual look. He was taking in my ass. I shook it smartly and said something droll about you can look, but no touching, asshole.

He smiled. I smiled. And well, you know how it goes. We were twenty. There was probably some mild sexual tension that had been building between us for months unnoticed. Our eyes locked and like in a typical porno movie, held.

And it all happened with lightning speed. Suddenly our glasses which had been bumping off each other, flew to the night stand and my sweater was pulled messily over my head, causing my hair to frizz out crazily with static.

His eyes seemed feral. I know how cheesy that sounds, but it was as if something snapped open at exactly the same time in both of us.

We kissed so hard and so long that the next day I would have Angelina Jolie lips and my front tooth would ache. Frederick told me later that he had scratches on his back that took a week to heal.

Everytime I showered, I felt you all over again...he told me.

The sex was long and hot and feverish, the kind you can have when you have unlimited energy and no children in the next room.

There was not an inch on each other that we didn't explore. Twice. Three times.

Yet, in the midst of all of this, there was playfulness too. I saw him wrench his wallet out of his crumpled up pants and dig out a condom, spilling three more on the floor.

"Jesus Christ...you think we will need FOUR condoms?" I asked him. "And LARGE? God, you have a healthy ego...."

We laughed and then I found out that well, yeah...the large was a good size.

For the first time in my life, I had to stuff the side of my hand into my mouth to keep my screams inside. I have never felt so much pleasure. My hand would carry my self inflicted bite marks for days, a perfect oval circle of my then perfect teeth.

We orgasmed together and that has never happened to me again. Close. But never in perfect sync like that time. I left two bright hickeys on his neck that he showed me the next day and I was mortified. I was no fucking way a hickey type person. Hickeys were for diner waitresses and their pool playing boyfriends. Or high school girls who liked to be branded. Not me. Not him either.

Finally, exhausted, we slept for a few hours. I awakened at 3 a.m. and looked over at his perfect sleeping face in the moonlight.

And panic fell all over me. Jesus Christ, Holy Cow, Muck-a Muck-a Molly, what the HELL had we been thinking?

I tried to get out of the twin bed unobtrusively but his leg was over mine and one arm. He woke up, his eyes blinking nearsightedly in the bleak strand of moonlight sliding through the blind.

His face mirrored mine. Panic. Dread. The oh shit! moment.

He let me up and we dressed. I told him that he didn't need to walk me home, but he insisted. Said that he was not going to to let me traipse around at 3 a.m. by myself.

He had to turn on a light so that we could find my sock, my glasses, my bracelet (which had flown under his dorm mate's bed in our frenzy) and my purse.

We both stopped at his door and turned to each other, I knew that there was a terrible chance that we might kiss again and then...well..no. That couldn't happen.

So, it didn't.

On the way home, the snow was heavier, but the soft flaky kind that would not be hard to navigate. He took a hold of my elbow when I skidded and then let me go when I flinched.

At my dorm, we both started talking at once and were relieved to find that we were on the same page. He didn't want to jeopardize his relationship with his girlfriend, he loved her deeply, they had already picked out their children's names. I did not want to have a boyfriend, I really, really liked my lesbian friends, my lesbian life style, my lesbian rep.

We decided that it would never ever happen again with us. We debated whether we should stop being study partners, decided that we would try to stay partners, see how it went. We vowed that this was just a stupid one night thing, hormones gone awry, a full moon, sleep deprivation, boredom, homesickness, whatever. I asked him if he planned to tell his girlfriend and he looked horrifed.

NO.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

And it worked. We studied together again, carefully starting in the library and eventually moving back to his dorm again, listening to Patti Smith's raw vocals and keeping generally a good foot away from each other. The urge never hit us again. Or I should say it never hit me and we talked about our experience the way we would have talked about a near disastrous car accident. Something that we were lucky to walk away from.

He graduated, moved back home and I never heard from him again, although we intended to stay in touch, promised to do that. I heard from his mother last year. She sent me his Patti Smith Group's Wave album. He never married his girlfriend, I guess it didn't work out. He died and in his home, his mother found the album with a note on it that if anything happened to him, he wanted me to have it. He left my name and an old address that was about five years old. She found me.

I still listen to that album now and then. And every time I hear the lyrics from Frederick, I think of him.

Kiss to kiss, breath to breath
My soul surrenders, astonished to death....

The best sex of your life will often surprise you, I think. All the romantic setups in the world cannot take the place of raw sexual energy. It either happens or it doesn't. And no slamming me by lesbians allowed, please. I'm not stupid enough to believe that the best sex has to be with a woman.

It just has to be with someone who knows how to dance with you in perfect precision.

Think about it. Was your best sex when you expected it? Now, I am not asking for a bunch of sex reviews, although I don't mind reading them. But...hey...it happens when it happens and with whomever you are lucky enough to experience it with.

And you never fucking forget it.....

In praise of bad boys and girls...

My niece, Lyndsay, is sixteen. She is my sister, Jessie's daughter. She and I have always been close. This irritates Jessie a little. Jessie, I think, worries that my lesbian bad girl ways will influence her daughter. I've told her that she has nothing to fear. Lyndsay is not gay, not even bi-sexual.

But, we do love each other. I am her Aunt Maria, the black sheep. And teenagers love a black sheep. Mostly, Lyndsay is a writer, though, and she sends me her stuff to read and tell her what I think. Some of it is very good. Some of it is very bad. I never lie when I respond and sometimes she gets mad at me, but she knows she can trust me. She recently begged me to read a book called Twilight. Bing groaned when she saw that I had gotten the cd of it to listen to in the car.

"JAYSUS," she said. "Every kid in my high school is reading that trilogy."

I gave it a whirl. At first, I doubted that I would be able to get through it. It is basically the story of a high school girl and a teenaged vampire who fall in love. I nearly gagged at first at the drippy romantic story line. (Did the author really need to use the word smoldering to describe her hero's eyes every other page?) But, about halfway through, I realized that there was a distinct storyline at work, a real juicy nugget of a tale. I was pulled in.

I told Bing about it.

"It is the bad boy thing,"she said.

Bad boy? I questioned.

Bing smiled wryly. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but you have a thing for bad boys and girls. You always have. If there is a character with a messy past or a penchant for getting into trouble or hey...just a scalawag...you love them immediately. Not like wicked bad..like Voldemort bad, just like...Jack Sparrow bad. Bad boys and girls with hearts of gold sort of rock your world," she said.

Bing went on with her theory. She said that she thinks that the only reason she and I are together is because of Liv.

"You became a mother and you knew that you had to set a good example for Liv," she told me, calmly. "So, you let me in. I'm basically a pretty good woman, not too much of a bad girl in me. That's why I never appealed to you before Liv was born. I wasn't your type. Now, I am more your type. But...you will always lust for the bad girl, the bad boy. It's in your blood. If you were a teenager and a vampire teen boy fell in love with you and dared you to take him on, you would have been out meeting him in the woods in two seconds flat."

I started to protest and then had to laugh. She is right.

Something in me has always loved a bad boy/girl.

I'm not really certain if I am gay or not. Bing says that I am bi-sexual and I think she is right. Actually, what I am really, is a lesbian now because I am with her. If I fell in love with a guy, I would be content to lust after his penis and his only. But, because I am in love with Bing, I am happy enough with her vagina. I'm sort of a throwback to the sixties. I tend to love the one you're with.

I've had the hots for both men and women. Probably more with women, but I dunno, I have had some major feelings for men too. I have always hesitated to state that I am bi-sexual because it sounds so...sexually hungry. As if I would just nab anyone off the street and start doing the nasty with them.

Actually, the reverse is true. It takes me a long time to warm up sexually to someone. Sex, for me, is very personal. I have had my share of one night stands (yes, Bing..I hear you snickering)but it was never the sex I craved, it was usually just someone to get me through the night. I had a high stress job and it was either be a drunk or sleep around. I usually chose to sleep around. But, I needed them to leave the next day and I never promised to stick around.

And I have always craved someone who was a bit dangerous, a bit risky. A bad boy. A bad girl.

If you watch Lost, you know that Jack is the good doctor, the savior, the moist eyed hero. Well, I prefer Sawyer. I don't want to be cherished, I just want to have fun with someone who is sort of raw, a bit wild, not the type to come shyly up to me with a bouquet of flowers, but someone who can flirt with me in a bar, drive me home a little too fast and then seduce me all the way up the stairs to bed with a wicked grin. But, I need him or her to be good on the inside, just a little....bad.

I have always liked the Jack Sparrows of the world best. I like a good laugh and some harmless flirtation. A bit of intellectual back and forth jabbing. I like someone like Calamity Jane. It was said that "to court her was to court calamity."

Yeah, I'll take two Calamity Janes.

I'll take Kate or Juliet any day on Lost. They both may look pretty harmless on the outside, but they can shoot your head off if you fuck with their junk.

This doesn't mean that I don't love Bing. I do. But, I admit that nothing turns me on more than watching her play with her band, rocking out, getting all strung out on a tune and then wrenching around with her guitar and making her fingers fly and lick those strings like a.....really bad girl.

But, she also has my back and I know that, trust it with all of my heart. I know she isn't going to turn on me. I need that too. And she loves me as is (and believe me, I am on prednisone now for my arthritic flair up and she tells me that I am "fucking certifiably insane sometimes" on it...she MUST love me to put up with that shit.)

And Bing also tells me that I used to be a pretty bad girl myself. We are slogging through the boxed set of The L Word and we have had the obligatory talk about which character we are. When I said that I thought I was an Alice, she snorted.

"You may be more of an Alice now, but most of your life you were a Shane," she said. "I am the one who used to go to the bars with you, remember? You walked in, all cool and impassive and didn't take prisoners."

ME??? I am not being coy, I honestly never saw myself as the femme fatale type. I saw myself as the strange, weird one. Yet, I admit, I never had to look too hard for a dance partner. I wasn't overly beautiful, but I think my reticence was often mistaken for mysterious instead of morbidly shy, which is what I was. And, okay...I went through a lot of women (and men) in my more um...youthful days. Mostly, I was just looking for someone to have some fun with. No strings. Invariably someone would want a string from me and I would lose interest. It was never about the romance. I thought romance was sticky, messy. I was more interested in having me some fun. And okay, with a bad boy or girl was best. They tended to get my pulse going and my brain working and rarely asked for strings.

So, I challenge you. Go here and tell me that a bad boy doesn't do something for you. Wouldn't you rather go flying through the woods with a dangerous (but heart of gold) man than be shyly courted by a farm boy with a handful of daisies?

Or is that just me? What do you think? I'm curious.

And thanks for all the well wishes. I am doing better, thanks to some powerful medicine....

blogging break

Well, the arthritis is on the attack again, so I think I need to take a blogging break. I'll be back when the smoke clears....

Star Trek night

Saturday night is Star Trek night around our place. Liv is in bed by eight and I usually take a long hot bath after I kiss her goodnight, but have now replaced it with a long hot shower.

Last night, toweling my hair off, I sauntered into the living room to see a familiar sight: Bing sitting in the lazy boy half watching a re-run of Star Trek (the original 60's television show, not the films or the remakes) and reading a book. The book for the evening was Al Gore's wonderful tome, An Inconvenient Truth.

I nestled into the sofa and picked up my book, but before I could leap into it, I looked up to see what episode of Star Trek was on.

It was unfamiliar to me, so I asked our family Trekkie. She said it was called A Private Little War. I watched for a few moments and then burst out laughing. Bing looked up, annoyed. This was our conversation:

B: What?

M: Look at that guy's hair!

Bing looks. Shrugs.

B: You know they had a limited budget, Maria....

M: For fuck's sake, honey. He looks like he has a Sandra Dee wig on! Look. It isn't even on his head properly. If he has to tussle, it is gonna go flying...

B: Don't mess with Star Trek, dear. Take on anything else, but Star Trek is sacred. You know that...

M: And why are Kirk and Bones dressed up like they are preparing to go to a bondage themed gay bar?

Bing is growling warningly now.

B: Maria. Let. It. Go. Please.

Bing looks at me carefully and continues.

B: This is going to go in your blog, isn't it?

My eyes lit up.

M: What a great idea! I've been sort of dry lately...this will make for good blog fodder...

B: Be careful, Maria. Be very careful. These are my Trekkie brothers and sisters you are messing with. Best not to rile us....

Well, fuck that. This is too good. Go here and scroll down to photos.

Now, click on Kirk and McCoy don native garb and Nona and Tyree.

I refrained from more comments until Bing said:

"If I buy you an orange bra like Nona's, will you wear it to bed sometime?"

I told her to pair it with a diamond necklace and she had herself a fine deal.

Invitation to a graduation party and pouting over a bathtub.

We received an invitation to a graduation party today. It said on the front of the card:

YOUR INVITED TO MY PARTY!!

Now, call me the spelling police, but this totally pissed me off. Your is the possessive form of you, referring to something that a person has. You're is a contraction, a combination of the words you and are. Therefore, the proper use of the word should be You're.

Why is this so hard to understand? And how did this person get to be a senior in high school and not be educated about this simple spelling rule?

I suggested to Bing that we buy this person a dictionary for their gift. And the thing is that even with spell check, they won't get it right on their term papers.

It isn't as if I am such a crackerjack speller. I'm not. But..good hell...if you are going to send out an invitation, make sure that the spelling and grammar usage is proper.

Bing made me laugh, though. She said, "You are acting sort of high and mighty, missy. I mean, think about it. One of your favorite songs is America's Tin Man."

She began singing, "Oz never did give nothin' to the tin man, that he didn't, didn't already have...."

NEVER DID GIVE NOTHIN?

Still...I get prissy about proper language. Liv has this annoying habit of saying, "yeah, huh" when she means "yes." She also says, "nuh, uh" for "no" sometimes. It makes me cringe.

I still think we should buy this kid a dictionary. Maybe get his parents one too....

And I am all pouty this week because my arthritis is back...in my left wrist. It attacked with a vengeance a few days ago when I awakened to find that my left wrist had swollen up to nearly twice it's normal size. I can barely move it without a lot of pain. But...I am just thankful that it isn't my knee...

But, it makes typing a bitch. And I have had to give up my nightly bath! Because, to my horror one night, I discovered that I could get in the tub easily but trying to get OUT without using my left hand was impossible. My knees are still unsteady enough that I must use my arms to propel myself out of the tub. I struggled for a while and finally hollered for Bing, who ended up yanking me up by slinging her arms under my armpits and pulling.

It wasn't quite the alluring picture I would have liked her to have of me. Especially when she groaned, fell back and muttered, "Jesus...you are pretty heavy...."

I felt like a baby elephant. There I stood, still a bit unsteady on my wobbly knees and with my wrist looking like I had been in a fight with Rocky Balboa. Unexpectedly, I felt tears sting my eyes and of course, she noticed.

"Oh, sweetie...I didn't mean you were fat or anything...it is just...you were like...dead weight...and.."

Everything she said just made it worse. She wisely hugged me and hightailed it out of the bathroom to give me a shred of dignity.

I carefully wiped off and slid into my nightgown.

I went in to sit with her and watch Battlestar Galactica.(Anyone watch that? Wasn't it fantastic?) She smiled and patted the sofa next to her, producing an ice bag for my wrist.

You don't realize how much you use your wrist, you know? I mean, try driving with one hand. Even doing things like carrying a laundry basket or emptying a dishwasher suddenly seems just really fucking hard.

More news: Liv won a state contest. She made a poster about saving the environment and her teacher entered it (and the rest of her classmate's posters) in a state contest. And we found out last week that out of nearly a thousand entries, hers was one of 12 picked for a calendar. She wins a trip to the capital this summer and dinner with the governor.

Since we really dislike the governor, this is not quite the prize that we hoped for...but still...I think it will be fun for her. And think how fun it will be to be introduced to our very conservative republican governor as Liv's two moms! I only wish that Tinton could be there too so that the governor could see that not only does Liv have two moms, she is also of mixed race! But, no...I will behave myself...(I need to repeat that ten times daily now...)

So...a busy summer is ahead of her. Next week is her last week of school and then she has swim team, she is also signed up to take a karate class and several art classes at Joslyn Art Museum.

And of course, we have signed up the whole family to take dog obedience classes. Thank you, Socks, for turning into Cujo the attack dog out of the blue....

Tinton is hoping to be able to take Liv on a trip to Florida in late July, but I haven't said anything to her yet since he isn't sure if it will work out.

Bing and I would really like to use that time to take a trip with just us somewhere with a beach....but we will see.

How did summer get here so quickly?

So...remember...mind your p's and q's and don't forget that you're a child of the universe.

Am I the only one who gets really annoyed by bad spellers?

Any dog whisperers out there?

I am having some trouble with our pup, Socks. He is a Scottie, will be a year old in July.

Up until lately, he has been the sweetest, most good natured pup. I have been told by several scottie owners that he is HUGE for his age. One woman practically accused of me of lying when I said he was not even a year old yet. He is rather large.

Lately, he has been fine on our walks unless Liv is with us. And then he is fine unless someone passes us by, stranger or someone he knows. If Liv is with us, he leaps in front of her and snarls and bares his teeth at the person we pass. Even with people he knows and likes, our neighbors, the paper boy, etc.

If Liv is around, he is hell bent on protecting her. From friends. Foes. Strangers.

This is SO not the dog he used to be. I used to joke that if a robber broke into the house, Socks would lay on the floor and beg to have his tummy scratched. Now, he would be fine unless Liv was in the house and then I am convinced that he would tear the robber limb from limb.

Nothing has happened out of the ordinary. Liv has not been attacked or even jumped at by anyone.

He has also taken to sleeping at the end of her bed at night. Once when I went to check on her, he actually growled at me until he saw it was only me and then he wagged his tail and licked my hand.

So..what is up with this shit? Does anyone know dogs? Anyone gander a guess? Any and all suggestions will be thankfully considered.

I like the idea that he is protective of her, but this is getting ridiculous. And what should I do when he goes into his attack mode? Right now, I just yank on his leash and say, "Stop that!" etc. He ignores me until the person has passed and then he calms down immediately and acts as if nothing has happened.

I want him to protect us, but this is going a bit too far.....and he shows no signs of protecting Bing or I, just Liv. It's as if he has been trained to protect her to the death or something.

Okay...is my dog insane? Just trying to be a good dog? Neurotic? Aspiring to be the alpha dog?

What the hell is UP with my sweet little puppy?

I also need to say that he is smart as hell, completely trained, knows not to jump on beds or sofas unless invited (or we aren't home, I suspect) and has been um...fixed. I was told that once he was fixed, he would lose a lot of aggressive behavior, but he never was particularly aggressive to begin with, so I didn't see any change. That was about five months ago.

Is he mad as hell because we fixed him and this is a delayed reaction? Is he going through some sort of teenaged dog rebellion?

Does he just love Liv and not Bing or me? Or maybe he senses that Liv needs him more?

I am starting to feel like I am in a Stephen King movie and he knows something we don't, like he was sent to protect her from vampires or something....

My imagination is going.

C'mon...give me some feed back. You all are a smart bunch. Any ideas?

Goodbye to Stu

Our neighbor, Stu, died last Friday. He lived about four houses away from us on the other side of the block. I didn't know him all that well, we saw each other now and then and always visited at summer block parties.

I knew his wife, Clara, a bit better. She and I always seem to run into each other at the local grocery store. It happens so often that we joke that we should stop meeting like this. She and I will stop briefly in the aisle and catch up, doing that annoying thing, that cluttering up the aisle while people are milling around us. Clara has been telling me for the last year that Stu, newly retired, has been driving her nuts. The last time I saw her, she told me that she had been bugging him about tilling her soil in her back yard so that she could get her garden in.

He is such a slow poke! I swear that every time I come home from work, he is sitting in that lazy boy watching Jeopardy! I told him that if he wasn't at least going to earn his keep by doing laundry, he could get his tush outside and get my soil tilled...

Friday, that is where Stu died. Their back yard is very secluded with a high wooden fence and she came home from her nursing job to find him dead in the back yard, half of her garden tilled.

I imagine that she will torment herself for a long time about bitching about getting that garden in....

This is what I knew about Stu:

He was a republican. He told me so at every block party. He was a big Huckabee supporter, if I recall correctly.

He was an architect and just retired last year.

He was ten years older than his wife and they have one son. His daughter in law died when the twin towers came down and his son came and lived with them for several months until he was able to pick up the pieces of his life again. He couldn't stand to move back to New York, so took a job in Texas instead. When I heard that his daughter in law died, I brought a pineapple upside down cake over to his house, balancing two year old Liv on one hip. When no one answered my knock on the door, I went to go around to their back yard to leave it on their porch and found him sitting by himself in the back yard at their picnic table, staring at nothing. I set the cake down carefully and asked him if I could join him. He nodded and when he looked up at me, I saw his face streaked with tears and almost lost it. Liv pointed at him and said, "Sad. Man is sad."

Yes, he told her. The man is very sad.

We sat for a short while and I rubbed his hand a few times, gently. I told him I was so very sorry and he thanked me. Then he said, "I am so glad I am a republican, because democrats would just be wishy washy about catching those bastards. Republicans will find them and punish them..."

I didn't say anything, just nodded. He didn't need me to argue with him that day.

Stu was a heavy smoker. He was the one who was always standing off to the side of parties, unable to go more than an hour without a cigarette. His wife would sigh and say, "Those things are going to kill you, Stu..."

She will probably feel guilty for saying that too now.

Once, at a neighborhood barbeque, he told a joke that started out, "Two fags were sitting in a bar...." and then he trailed off when he saw me start to get up to leave. I don't think he was really a bigot, though....just sort of uneducated and like many people, not aware that we queers are everywhere. He must have known that I was a lesbian, though, because he stopped himself and blushed...looked away and then got up to grab another beer.

That is all I really know about Stu. I know that Clara said that he didn't like being retired and that he often had insomnia now. I know that he kept their Lincoln town car as clean as a whistle.

But, I will miss Stu. It bothers me to know that he died so close to me and I didn't sense it, I feel as if I should have sensed it or something, like a disturbance in the force...

When I told Liv he had died, she said, "Once when I was doing cartwheels in the front yard with Sven, Stu was driving by and he rolled down his window and told me good job.

We are going to the wake tonight and the funeral tomorrow, so I will see Clara and his son. Bing is coming home early from school today to bake a loaf of poppyseed almond bread. That is what we do here on the prairie, we load up the kitchens of the survivors with food that they probably won't eat.

But, I dunno....you want to do something and food feels basic, feels right.

Goodbye, Stu. I know that you and your wife went to the Catholic church up the street. I hope that your suffering was minimal and that heaven is just what you hoped for.

You seemed like a nice man. I'm sorry that you didn't get to enjoy more of your retirement. As deaths go...I rather hope that I die like you did, in a freshly tilled garden on a beautiful Spring day. I hope you got a chance to look up at the sky and say goodbye to your life.

I know that Clara will miss coming home and hearing the theme from Jeopardy!

Because, yeah...it is those little things that make your throat close up with pain, not the big ones.

See you on the flip side, Stu.....

Mother's Day cards.

Liv made me a lovely pie for mother's day. With Bing's help, of course. It is one of my favorites: blackberry. We have already each had a piece with vanilla bean ice cream and shown off our lovely blue/black tongues, lips, and teeth to each other. Liv and Bing also bought me some African daisies to plant and a new rose bush. We will plant them tomorrow, if it ever stops raining.

We celebrated a day ahead of time with Bing's sister and her family by eating lunch at a Chinese restaurant. Bing's family is so different than mine. Lots of laughing, loud talking. And all of the nieces and nephews call me Aunt Maria. This is so different from my family, who merely tolerate Bing, but would never refer to her as family..

I also received two lovely mother's day cards in the mail. One from Sven, who has given me a card for years. He comes home in late June. For those of you interested in Sven news...he had a stellar year football-wise. He didn't get to play much and was referred to as "corny" (Cornhusker) by the team. But...at Spring football, he played a lot and now he writes that they no longer call him corny, but refer to him as sir. That made me laugh. He didn't make the dean's list, but managed to get all B's. And he sent me several of his drawings from one of his art classes. One, a charcoal rendering of a plant, is hung in Liv's bedroom. The other, a charcoal of a naked man (Sven was pretty impressed that this guy managed to sit there calmly throughout and look bored) that is hanging in our living room.

My sisters are livid. The think it is pornographic. The drawing is of the waist up, but they say that they can imagine the rest of it...that made me snicker and I do so love to snicker at my sisters. I only wish that it was a full body rendering....

Because I am just ornery like that.

Sven has also had his heart broken. He fell in love in October and she broke up with him in February (the day before Valentine's Day...how cruel!) But, he bounced back and is now dating a Samoan girl from Hawaii. He went home with her over Spring break to meet her family (thanks to his sainted mother who swallowed hard and instead of sending him a ticket to come home for spring break, sent him money to go to Hawaii with her) and is now addicted to supasui and fausi. He is bringing her home to meet us in June....he wrote in his card to me that he thinks he has found "the one."

I didn't tell him that he is only frackin' 19 years old and to slow it down...

Instead, I smiled to think of his blonde haired, blue eyed 6'3 self walking along with his 5'1, black haired, brown eyed, tiny boned girlfriend.

I remember young love...

I also got a mother's day card from my godchild, Sofia. I don't think I have talked about her. I met her when she was 14. She is the daughter of an old colleague of mine at the university. Sofia was being treated for being slightly autistic, slightly obsessive compulsive, slightly bi-polar and slightly neurotic. She had been tested and never was diagnosed with full blown anything, just borderline everything, it seemed.

I liked her immediately, a slight girl with clear green eyes and a constant frown to hide the fact that she never felt like she fit in anywhere and was hurting. Her dad brought her to work with him a few times and she sat at his desk reading Jack Kerouac's Big Sur with her legs crossed at the ankles, drinking coffee and nicking cream out of the cafeteria to make it more palatable.

She and I started talking about books. She had me read Hunter S. Thompson's Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

"Let's get down to brass tacks. How much for the ape?"

I had her read John Steinbeck's Travels With Charley.

We became good friends. When Liv was born, she made me promise never to ask her to babysit and I made her promise to never introduce me to any of her loser boyfriends until she felt like she had met someone who was worthy of her.

She sometimes showed up at my door stoned and I would let her in, call her parents to tell them that she was safe, let her crash in my guest room and then go through her purse while she was sleeping and flush all her drugs down the toilet.

I told her she was too fucking smart to wreck her life with bad boys and cocaine.

She told me that I was too fucking dumb to not see how incredibly perfect Bing was for me.

She left for college and I sent her girl scout thin mints and big boxes of malted milk balls. She sent me purses that she had designed herself and dried flowers pressed between waxed paper along with all her papers that her professors gave her A's on.

She graduated and immediately was courted by a university press on the east coast and is now working full time as an editorial assistant, going to grad school, and has been living with her partner of two years, Craig. They have no plans to marry until it is legal for gay people to marry too. They may be waiting a long time.

She has given me mother's day cards every year for the past eight years. I also send her a mother's day card. She sends me one because she thinks I am a good mother to Liv and she asked me to be her fairy godmother. I send her one because I tell her that she will make a good mother in about 15 years and I am just letting her practice the feeling.

Two people, Sven and Sofia. Both will make their mark on the world in different ways. Both are incredible.

Let's give a toast to all the mothers in our lives, whether they be male or female.

You know who they are.

Still here?

I know you never read my blog because you say that you see me daily and would rather talk to me than read.

But, I am going to ask you to read just this one little post, okay?

Bing, I love you. And this is for you.

I'm so glad you never give up on me.

Everyone needs a second glance sometimes.

Today, I went to my hair salon get my hair trimmed. I have easy hair. It looks like this.

I used to have it so long that I wore it in a braid down my back and finally, at 47 years old, I threw in the towel, stopped dyeing it, let it go salt and pepper and cut it short.

I have never regretted it. Like my good friend, Rebecca over at Pixels From The Edge, I have learned to embrace my short haired look.

So, I went in for my six week trim. My stylist works in a run down neighborhood that my sister would rather die than drive through, but I love going there. Her salon is homey and not chemical-smelly like so many other salons. Her salon smells like women doing some serious beauty making.

I am almost always the only white woman in the shop. The stylists sing. They sing spirituals as they work. And I swear it is better than therapy.

My stylist, let's call her Ruby, is a hugely fat woman who has hair that is wrapped around her head in intricate designs. When she cuts my hair, she stops every now and then to tell me that I have a finely shaped head.

I like knowing that my head shape is fine. She also smiles at me as she cuts, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. She stops singing now and then and leans down to say things like

You have cha....riisss...maaa, Maria. Just look at your pretty self with your nice Nefertiti head. Ah, yes, you are gonna stopppppp trafffiiiicccc with your sweet, pretty, little head.

And then she laughs this absolutely bawdy, sensuous laugh that is deeper than an ocean and cheerier than Santa Claus.

Before I leave, she breaks a vitamin e capsule over my head like a tiny egg and slides her fingers through my hair, giving it shine, gleam and health.

Today, I tipped her and we hugged goodbye. She sometimes heaves me up off the ground with her hugs and always sends home lollys for Liv.

Ruby is a good person. She invites me to come see her in her church every time too, but I have yet to take her up on it. I do plan to go someday, though. I mean, if the singing is so good in her salon, can you imagine what the choir at her church sounds like? Angels is the word.

Anyway, after I left the salon, I stopped at the bakery next door to her shop to pick up some sourdough for Liv and some spelt for Bing. A hot-from-the-oven loaf of pumpernickel for me.

I decided to splurge and buy a chai tea to go.

The guy at the counter is always friendly. He is young. He and his wife opened this bakery a year ago and he tells me that they are constantly struggling. I asked him for soy milk instead of skim in my chai tea once and he burst out laughing.

Lady, we are WAY too damn poor to buy soy...he told me.

Today, he handed me my drink and my sack of bread and leaned over to whisper to me:

Hey, that gentleman at the next table is checking out your legs...maybe you should shake your tail feathers...

I laughed. And then I did. I sashayed right out of the store with my finely shaped nefertiti head.

Because...hey...I am forty fucking nine. This happens so rarely to me...a second glance from anyone. When you get to be my age, you quickly get used to blending in with the woodwork, with being called ma'am and with no special treatment.

I don't have great legs. I don't have great anything. But, it was my first day without using my cane, I had on my first shorts of the year and I had some vitamin e shining all over my scalp.

So, I sashayed.

And I sang with the radio all the way home.

Opposites attract...and annoy.

I think I may have mentioned that Bing and I are almost complete opposites.

Well, we agree on a few really key issues: we share the same politics (liberal) and the same religious ideas to a certain degree. I am far more liberal than she is, though, and she is sure there is a God, I am not.

But, honestly...that is about it.

Some days I am just astonished that we can love each other as deeply as we do, stay together. I was talking to my bff, Harriet, this morning and she told me that Bing and I remind her of Allison and Joe DuBois from the television show, Medium.

"You even resemble them physically..." she said.

Well, I watched that show last night and I can state right here and now that I do not have beautiful big breasts like Patricia Arquette, nor do I have her youth, psychic nature, or beauty. I did see Bing in the character of Joe a lot, though.

Bing and I have so many differences:

Movie likes and dislikes.
I kid you not when I say that while we both love movies, we both have very different tastes in them. I sat through Ironman last weekend and thought it was incredibly boring and stupid. Bing was riveted, on the edge of her seat. I was half pouting, because it was her turn to pick and I really, really wanted to see this instead and knew it wouldn't be staying long on the prairie. Liv sat in between us, she is not a big movie fan, in general, and she fell asleep. On the way home, Bing kept going on and on about how fantastic the movie was and I sat there thinking my god, it was so incredibly boring...how could she even like it?

We started taking turns picking movies when it became painfully obvious that we were never, ever going to agree on them. I distinctly remember watching The English Patient and Out of Africa and nearly weeping with joy at how incredible they were while Bing sat next to me looking as if she were undergoing root canal. And all those Arnold movies about The Terminator? I was rolling my eyes and yawning through virtually all of them while Bing wouldn't even listen to me when I made rude comments about how lame the dialog was.

We have liked a few of the same television shows and movies, but usually because they satisfied both of us in some big way. We both liked The Wire, Six Feet Under and The Sopranos, we both really like Dexter and Battlestar Galactica. We both like the Harry Potter movies and Star Wars ones.

But, otherwise, no dice.

Food.

Bing eats like the athlete she is. She is a runner and eats her fruits and vegetables. She rarely eats meat or pasta, will crave ice cream about three times a year tops, and can say no easily to any and all desserts.

If I wasn't diabetic, I would be a junkaholic. I am forced to eat well to live but I don't enjoy it and I sneak a cookie once in awhile. I am also addicted to coffee. When Bing isn't home for dinner, we have grilled cheese sandwiches a lot, or oatmeal. Cold cereal. Deli sandwiches. Bing makes meals. Eggplant quiche. Big healthy salads loaded with avocados, tomatoes, peppers and cold chicken. She likes to grill in the summer and she and Liv have the salmon while they put a burger on for me.

Exercise.

Bing is a runner. She runs every morning come rain or come shine. She works out nearly every day or else mows the lawn, she takes a yoga class twice a week. She throws around phrases like what she bench presses, warm up exercises and body fat index. She runs in marathons, does sit ups while watching television and loves going for solitary bike rides alone on warm summer evenings.

I walk the dog. That is it. I can run if Liv is about to be hit by a car or something, but that is it. And I do my exercises for my knees now that the physical therapist bullied me into, but the key is that I truly hate doing them.

Clothes.

Bing irons her jeans. There. Her filthy little secret is out. She always looks put together. Even when she mows the lawn in her shorts and tee shirt, she may sweat like a pig, but her clothes come from a drawer where they have been sitting folded neatly. I have seen her wear a dress once and it wasn't pretty. She has several business suits for when she gives presentations at seminars, etc, but they are all pants. And they are all dry cleaned and pristine. She sleeps in long johns in the winter and boxers and a wife beater in the summer and she folds them up neatly each morning and puts them back into her drawer to be retrieved at bedtime. She carries a Tide To Go Stick with her at all times and knows how to use it. She has humiliated me in public more than once by whipping that sucker out of her jeans pocket and dabbing at me with it when I manage to spill something on myself in a restaurant (which is a common occurrence.)

Me? I can put myself together well for work. I have several business suits that get a lot of wear and several nice skirts and blouses. But, in general, I am sort of a sloppy dresser at home. I tend to like peasant skirts or at least big swirly ones and wear them with bulky sweaters in the winter and sleeveless tee shirts in the summer. I wear jeans sometimes but I don't iron them. Ever. While Bing has her socks folded in color coordinated balls, mine fly around in my dresser drawer free and easy and when I am in a hurry, I have to dig for a match. This is why I often end up with one navy blue sock and one black one. I am inattentive to socks. I don't iron at all and sometimes my clothes look a bit rumpled. Bing calls this that messy, Stevie Nicks gypsy girl thing you have going on. I call this being comfy. I am not neat and tidy looking. When we go out, Bing looks like a well dressed lesbian and I look like a messy peasant girl that she picked up on some dirt road.

She admits that she finds this a bit sexy when she isn't being bothered by the fact that I bunch up my nightgown in the morning and shove it into my drawer.

We have opposite neat/sloppy preferences.

This one is sort of hard to explain. Let's just say that even though Bing is a tidy dresser and has a thing about color coordinating towels and folding them just so and obsessively shining up faucets and cannot STAND crumbs on a counter, she is basically very, very sloppy. She leaves her mail, her school things, her keys, her sunglasses, her tools all over the house willy nilly. She starts projects (like our bathroom which was started over a year ago and is still unfinished) and then loses interest and wanders away.

Now, I am her opposite. I am a tidy person. I do not like the sunday paper to be strewn all over the living room floor for days. I like a tidy house. But, in saying that...my closets are messy, I miss a lot of crumbs on the counters and I am a creative towel folder. I basically fold them up hastily and throw them into the closet. I sort of throw silverware into drawers when they come out of the dishwasher. Bing lovingly seats spoons one on top of the other with precision.

We are like mirror images of the other. What is important to her is unimportant to me and vice versa. We drive each other crazy. Bing will ask me why I can't stack all the vegetable cans together in the cabinet. Is it that hard? It makes it easier for us to find them when we cook. I will ask her if she could please PICK UP THE GODDAMN SUNDAY PAPER ALREADY. IT IS FUCKING WEDNESDAY, OKAY? PICK IT UP. And hey...while she is down there, could she please do something with that radio that she took apart and left all over the floor?

Our biggest difference, though, is our personalities.

Bing is a very calm, unflappable person. She doesn't get emotional very easily, is pretty even keel. She is annoyed by chatty people. She does get angry but when she does, she blows up and it is over. Poof. Five minutes of yelling and then she is over it and it is behind her.

I am not emotional either. I tend to be rather cool and aloof. But...I am not particularly calm. I have been told that I am a "type A" personality. This basically means that I am right all most of the time and I think everything should be done my way. I am very sentimental, too, but I hide it from just about everyone. No one needs to know that I bawled at each and every tooth that Liv lost. No one needs to know that sometimes when Bing is sleeping, I need to take a strand of her hair and kiss it.

When Bing and I argue, she tends to let her anger out and then she is done and is ready to fuck. Put it behind us.

I hold a grudge. I seethe silently. I let her vent and then sit coldly staring at her and when she asks me if I'd like to respond, I roll my eyes and shrug, tell her no.

And then she tries to kiss me to make up, and I nearly jump out of my skin and tell her to take her cotton pickin' hands off of me. THIS SECOND.

Then, of course, I explode. I painstakingly pick apart her argument, tear it to shreds and hand it back to her in pieces. I respond and then some. By this time, she has realized that it is going to be a very long night and profoundly wishes that she had just sucked up her anger because, hey....Maria is going to stay mad for about four hours.

I go silent and deadly. She goes wary and careful.

And four hours later, well....okay...I am ready to make up. Bing begins to breathe again and we can talk calmly.

When we go out with friends or family, she is by far the most friendly, the one who wants to stay at the party for several hours. I am the one who is ready to go home and read a book in about an hour.

Bing and I are about as different as two women can be. How she knew at age eighteen that we were meant to be together and I didn't know it until I was in my 40's...well..I don't know. And sometimes I don't know how she stands me. She says it's easy, that I am her mate, her lover, her everything. That even when I drive her nuts, she still wants to wake up with me in the morning.

And, I have come to the conclusion that I feel the same way about her. When the chips are down, she is the one I want, the one I need, the one I seek. She's my morning kiss and my goodnight one too.

We manage to make it work, although we both acknowledge that this relationship is work. It isn't just an effortless slide into home plate. We have to plan our strategies to get around those bases. Maybe that is the key, we are on the same team.

So...tell me about your marriage, your relationships, what makes them work, what splintered them, what worked and what didn't.

If you aren't coupled, what didn't work or what was the final straw? Why did that towel get thrown in? Are you happier alone?

I'm torn, I admit. I could live without Bing, I have lived on my own and liked it very much. Yet, I have decided that this relationship will be my last one. This one will be the one that sticks. And with a woman who is my complete opposite. I wonder why that is? I wonder if that is precisely why it works. Maybe she is ying to my yang?

I'm curious about your relationships.....

MEME #98073

Well, it is a cool Saturday evening. Liv is tucked in bed, fast asleep. Bing is chaperoning prom at her school tonight and just called to tell me that all the kids are "dirty dancing" all over the floor.

They might as well be having sex with their clothes on, lots of grinding and smashing goin' on....you can practically smell the hormones flying all over the room....so, you wanna throw on a halter dress and come down here and dirty dance with me?

I decided to stay home and do a meme instead. I like this one a lot because it leaves so much to chance and I am very sure I will get an opportunity to be a smart ass.

This one is from my good friend, MCCUTCHEON over at Squishy Thoughts.

Put your ipod on shuffle and press next for each question. Write down the song that's playing as an answer.

Easy peasy. My kind of meme. So, let's have a go.

1) How would you describe yourself?
Tangled Up In Blue (Bob Dylan) Hmmmm....let's see. My nightshirt is yellow with little blue flowers on it, but I am not tangled up in it. And with Bing gone, I probably won't be tonight. The sheets on our bed are cream colored. I'm not blue. I'm full of chinese take out from a dinner out with my sisters.

2) What do you like in a guy/girl?
Sweet Baby James (James Taylor) Welll....I never was tangled up in blue with anyone named James, that I know of...But, I used to sing this song to Liv when I rocked her to sleep. And I do so like my little girl....

3) What is your motto?
Bookends Theme (Simon and Garfunkel) "Time it was and what a time it was...it was...a time of innocence, a time of confidences..."

4) What do your friends think of you?
A Taste Of Honey (Herb Alpert) Well, now. I'm close with a few of my friends, but they aren't tasting my honey...

5) What do you think about often?
Girls On Film (Duran Duran) Busted.

6) What do your parents think of you?
Blue Train (John Coltrane) Well, they are dead, so I guess maybe there is some sort of train station when you die and I need to remember to take the BLUE train, not the A train, not the Choo Choo train, not the Last Train. The Blue Train...Or wait, I will take the train to Hogwarts because I think I would really, really enjoy that so much than some pearly gates.

7) What do you think of your best friend?
Maniac (Michael Sembello) Yup. That would be my Harriet.

8) What do you think of the person you like?
Jesus Christ, am I in grade school? Should I pass her a note, try to sit next to her in the cafeteria? But...okay. I'll play: I'll Follow The Sun (The Beatles) I'll follow her anywhere, 'tis true.

9) What do you want to be when you grow up?
The Rhythm Of The Saints (Paul Simon) Yes, that is EXACTLY what I want. Pegged. Uh huh.

10) What do you think when you see the person you like?
Does she know that it is me calling her and hanging up when she answers? Okay, okay...down to business here: Mandy (Barry Manilow) God, I am embarrassed. YES. SO THE FUCK WHAT? I HAVE MANDY ON MY IPOD. All my dirty little secrets are coming home to roost.

11) What song will they play at your wedding?
This Town (The Go Gos) Yes, it will be interesting to see which town will finally let us do the nuptial thing...

12) What will they play at your funeral?
Doing All Right With The Boys (Joan Jett) Well, I did all right with several boys. And several girls. And now I am dead. Let's all dance.

13) What is your hobby/interest?
Where Have All The Cowboys Gone? (Paula Cole) Never had much interest in cowboys. Maybe cowgirls....

14) What is your biggest fear?
Blue Bayou (Linda Ronstadt) Another secret slippy sliding out. I am afraid of bayous. Especially blue ones...

15) What is your biggest secret?
Born To Run (Bruce Springsteen) Right on the head, this one. I am not good at staying put. Yes, I am a bolter, a runaway bride type.

16) What do you think of your friends?
Can't Help Falling In Love (Elvis Presley) Yup. I want to lick up each and every one of you...

17) What is your theme song?
I Want You (The Beatles) That is me, a big hunka hunka burning love, doing all right with the boys, looking for cowgirls, because I just want a taste of that honey while I ride the Blue Train, looking for Mandy.

18) What do you think of your family?
Tusk (Fleetwood Mac) "Don't say that you love me! Just tell me that you want me! TUSK! TUSK! TUSK!" Maybe there is a reason why I don't fit in. I'm too busy stompin' around football fields screaming lyrics that make no sense...

19) What is your best friend's theme song?
She's Always A Woman (Billy Joel) Yes, she is. And then some.

20) What is your mood right now?
Long Tall Sally (Elvis Presley) Yes, please. Two, if you have 'em...

21) If your heart could talk what would it say?
Being For The Benefit Of Mr. Kite (The Beatles) What can I say? He was always the one, that rapscallion. Crazy circus man after my own heart...

22) What do your co-workers think of you?
Killin' Time (Cat Stevens) I'm sure they ALL want to do that at least once a week. Because I am just. that. special.

23) What does your future look like?
Chloe (Sir Elton John) Well, Bing may not like the sound of that....But, what can I say, I am born to run and Long Tall Sally was just the beginning....

We regret to inform you.....

I went out to get the mail yesterday and there it was.

A letter for Bing with Office of the Principal typestamped in the upper left hand corner and the address of the private boy's school that she had interviewed with two weeks ago.

If she had gotten the job, they would have called her, I mused, holding the letter up to the sun. No luck. Couldn't see what was in it. This was probably bad news.

Bing currently teaches at one of the toughest high schools in our area. She has ALWAYS taught at high risk schools, deliberately sought them out from the beginning. She always said that she went into teaching to help kids and that this was the best place to be to do that.

She's been teaching for nearly two decades now. In the beginning, she taught grade school, then moved on to middle school and eventually went on to teach high school. All high risk schools, no matter where she lived. She was so eager at first, so intent on helping, on making a difference. She loved knowing that she made a difference in so many student's lives. She has always been thought of by her students as "the toughest teacher I ever had."

Either they love her or they hate her. And when a high risk kid hates you, well...it can be risky. For every newly grown up kid that we run into at the supermarket who pumps her hand and thanks her for riding his ass and setting that bar high, never giving up on him...well...there are ten who have thrown eggs at our house, teepeed our house and keyed her car. And worse.

About five years ago, she admitted that she was getting burned out. That for every kid she saved, there were ten who slipped through the cracks. She was beyond frustration at parents who simply would not show up at parent teacher meetings, who showed no interest in their child's progress or refused to come to the phone when she called to talk to them. She tired of seeing pregnant fifteen year olds who showed off their bellies with pride. She was weary of spending big chunks of her own money so that Rodney could have a winter coat, so that Benita could go on the field trip that cost ten dollars, so that Marvin could buy new strings for his violin.

The giver had given so much and she was beginning to show the strain. She began to feel as if she had hit a wall, that all her hard work was futile. We would watch the news at night, she would be correcting papers and a story would come on about a gang shooting and of course she would recognize the culprit, the face on the television screen as one of her students. She'd sigh and stare at the wall for awhile, go back to her marking. Another one that she had let slip through the cracks.

So, she really wanted this job at a private school for boys. The initial interviews went well, she was given a tour of the school, the principal told her that he liked her style. When we talked about it over dinner, she talked about the wonderful peace and quiet in the halls at the school, no security guards, just...learning.

She thought she might get the job. She was more than qualified. She felt hopeful. We talked about what we would do if she was offered the job and it paid less than the one she had now. We'd work it out, we decided, anything to get her there.

So, there was this envelope in the mail. Bing was still in Knoxville at her conference, wouldn't be home until late that night. I sighed and put it with the rest of her mail.

Tinton called that night and after he talked to Liv, we chatted for awhile. I told him about the envelope, the probable pending bad news. He groaned. He and Bing get along, not terrifically, but they try. They are both musicians, both environmentalists, both love Liv and me.

"I just...I just don't want her to have to come home to this," I told him. "She is so tired and it has been such a hard month with my damn knees and all that shit. She gave up the California job for me and now she has this to swallow?"

Tinton took a deep breath, reiterated that she would be fine, that she was a tough cookie, she'd be okay. We veered off the topic and talked about Liv's summer schedule, her swim team and karate lessons. We signed off with each other, him saying, as he always does

Goodnight,tulip. Sleep well. Have some kick ass dreams...

He has called me tulip since Liv was about five and he and she decided that people are like flowers. Liv, he said, was a snapdragon. Bing, a wild rose, and me? I was a tulip. A very elegant flower, he told her, nice, clean lines and no fuss. She had asked him what sort of flower he was and when he said he didn't know, what did she think, she had told him that he was a dandelion. She said that they were friendly flowers and easy to get along with. He didn't have the heart to tell her that a dandelion was a weed and since then, he has called her "snap" and she has called him "dandy lion." He calls me tulip, but doesn't even try to call Bing "wild rose."

I went to bed with the intention of staying awake to wait for Bing to get home. Failed.

I didn't wake up until this morning when I heard her start the shower. I went in to say good morning and welcome home, stuck my face in the shower and was rewarded with a wet kiss. She had gotten home around midnight, she said, and slept in the guest room, had noticed that I was still sleeping with my knees propped up on pillows, didn't want to jostle me.

I wondered if she had seen the mail.

I went off to get dressed and heard her in the kitchen with Liv later. Liv, as usual, was chattering her ear off. Liv is a morning person, is up and at 'em with no difficulty. I stopped on the bottom step to listen to their conversation.

Liv: So, yeah...my Lakota presentation went well. I went eleven minutes which was one minute too long, but I don't think I got penalized for it. And guess what? Swim team practice starts the DAY after school vacation starts! How unfair is THAT? And oh yeah...Mama said that I could take karate lessons...(this was demonstrated by a high kick in the air that caused Socks to jump out of his dog skin) and hey...do you want a blueberry muffin? Mama and I made them for me to take to school today because I am snack manager....

I turned the corner to see Liv proudly handing Bing a blueberry muffin. Bing smiled and took it, hugged her.

Bing: GREAT. I will eat this on the way to school..(I knew she wouldn't, she rarely eats anything sweet, instead would hand it to some kid who she knew didn't get breakfast) Hey, did you say your MOTHER baked these with you? And the house is still standing? No fire trucks?

She grinned at me over Liv's head while Liv leaped around impatiently, telling her that Noooo...Mama did really well! She remembered to set the timer and everything...

I saw the envelope opened with half of the paper inside sticking out. Bing looked at me and shrugged, inclined her head towards it. I picked it up long enough to read the first sentence.

We regret to inform you that after due consideration we have offered the position you applied for to another applicant.....

Our eyes met but we didn't speak. She would call me later in the day and I would tell her how sorry I was, how stupid the school was for not hiring her and she would act nonchalant, say it was no big deal, hey...she was obviously where she needed to be for now. Maybe something else would come up...

And we would go on with our weekend, go to Liv's soccer game, meet my sisters for dinner, go to my niece's baseball game.

We'd cuddle up tonight after dinner, after Liv had dragged her out to ooh and aahh over the new garden. After Liv was in bed, we'd lay on the sofa and watch Battlestar Galactica. I'd whisper again that I was sorry the job didn't work out and she'd whisper that hey, it was no big deal, let's just lose ourselves in Starbuck now, okay?

Life would go on because not every day is a good day. But, we do have each other. And we have our Liv and Socks and this ancient old house. We have a garden and some chai tea in the fridge. A turkey breast thawing in there too because we need to make that this weekend, soon it will be too warm to use the oven.

After Battlestar, we will get up and start turning out the lights, getting ready for bed. I will come into the bedroom in my nightgown and she will be standing there with one finger on the cd player and then...she will press down and the music will start and we will dance close together, happy in each other's arms, even if the news was not good and she is feeling blue and I am worried about her. She will hold me carefully, cautious to be gentle with my knees and we will dance to this. The world will go away for awhile and nothing else will matter except that we won't forget to dance.