Another character for the roster...

I first met Chelsea as I was heading up to the fourth floor bathroom to puke at work...

This illness leaves me nauseated at times. Not wishing to force my office mates to listen to the sounds of me throwing my guts up in the office bathroom, I began a hunt for a large, mostly unpopulated bathroom. I found one on the fourth floor. It was largish and very clean and I had never seen anyone in there.

So, it became my first pick puking place. (And now you have this lovely portrait of me in your mind, don't you?)

The only problem that I foresaw was that sometimes the elevator was slow and I worried that I wouldn't make it in time. But, I always did.

So, one day when the nausea began to rear it's ugly head, I slipped out of the office and headed up to my fourth floor bathroom.

Just as I was pushing the door open, a young woman was heading out. She stopped short and looked so delighted to see me that I was taken aback.

"Well, HELLO THERE!!!?" she said, looking just pleased as punch.

I stood thinking fast. Obviously we knew each other, yes? I went through my mental rolodex trying to place her. Let's see...she was youngish, had on a student nurse's outfit, hmmm.

I was getting nothing. So, I allowed her to shake my hand vigorously up and down. This made me very sure that I needed to vomit quite soon.

I smiled uncertainly. "Um...sorry. Have we met?" I asked her, prepared to slap my forehead and say, "OF COURSE!" when she reminded me of who she was.

She didn't.

"Oh, we don't know each other. I'm Chelsea and I've just begun my student nursing here. I'm so glad to meet you!?"

It was totally annoying how she spoke in exclamation points and question marks after every damn thing she said. I smiled a little haughtily.

"Hello...I hope you enjoy your time here," I managed to say.

"Oh! I know I will?! I have wanted to be a nurse since I was a child!? But this hospital is so darn big!? I wonder if I will ever get to know my way around?!"

I said that I was sure she would and then marched right into a stall, determined that this was going to be our only conversation.

"Well...okay. Buh Bye then?!!" she asked and said.

I didn't bother to answer and waited to hear the door finally swoosh shut. Mercifully, it did.

A few days later, I had the second experience of somehow shutting my password out of my computer system. No idea how I managed to do that. But, I called down to Christabelle to see if she could bail me out...again.

No answer. She never answers the phone. Never. So, I schlepped down to tech operations and opened the door, steeling myself for her jibes at my computer failings yet again.

And there was Chelsea standing next to Christabelle as she sat at the computer.

"Hi," I said as innocently as I could. "Um. Guess what? I managed to suspend my password again..." I said as airily as I could muster.

Chelsea looked so excited that she almost leaped up.

"ME TOO!!?? I'm here again because I managed to do that again!?" she said, sounding like we had both just won the lottery.

Christabelle gave me a wry look. "Come on in, Lucy," she said. "Ethel is already here."

Very funny.

Well, Chelsea thought it was anyway. She hooted like a baby owl over that. Actually gave her knee a slap for good measure.

I wasn't thrilled at being lumped in with Chelsea. Especially after Christabelle informed me that Chelsea and I were the only people she knew who managed to suspend their passwords..

"You and Cricket here are two peas in a pod," she told me.

Chelsea gave a happy chirp laugh.

"Christabelle calls me Cricket because she says I'm so chirpy!?" she told me.

I just nodded.

Christabelle got us both straightened out eventually, but not before she reminded me that really, I needed to have Bing give me some computer lessons.

A few days passed. Luckily, Chelsea did not seem to be frequenting the fourth floor bathroom because I didn't see her again.

And then one day, I was perusing a chart and discovered that the patient was still admitted and so I decided to go to his room to ask him some questions about side effects of a new medication he was taking. I found his room and as I stepped into it, I heard that distinctive voice.

Yes, there was Chelsea sitting in a chair next to the bed, reading to the elderly man in the bed. She was reading a poem by Emily Dickinson. It sounded oddly Dr. Seuessian in her loud, chirpy, questioning voice. ("Do you like green eggs and ham? Would you eat them in a boat? Would you eat them with a goat? Do you like them here or there? Will you eat them anywhere?")

I stood at the end of the bed and Chelsea stopped and looked adoringly at me.

"WELL HELLO!?? How are you? What brings you up here?!!" Honestly, you would think I was Brad Pitt or something, as enthusiastic as she was.

The little old man smiled crinkle like at me. He seemed to like Chelsea, commented on how she always came in and read to him each day and what a nice young lady she was. Chelsea went pink with pleasure.

I said that yes, Chelsea sure was an effusive woman...and then asked him if he could tell me how he was feeling with his new meds, etc. We talked for a while and then I told them that I would let them get back to their poetry.

"Isn't Emily Dickinson just so dreamy?!" Chelsea asked me.

I said that yes, she sure was...

I didn't see Chelsea again until today. I was making my usual 1 p.m. visit to the fourth floor bathroom. I pushed open the door, stepped in and immediately heard a muffled wailing from one of the stalls.

I stopped in my tracks. Okay. There was no mistaking that voice. It could only belong to Cricket, I mean Chelsea. I thought briefly about stepping right back out of the bathroom. She need never know that I was here. I could slip out unobtrusively...

But,no. I couldn't do that. I knew that.

I gingerly stepped up to the closed door of the stall and rapped gently on it.

"Chelsea, is that you? It's Maria. Are you okay?"

What a smart question? OF COURSE SHE IS NOT OKAY. WHAT A DUMB COMMENT!"

Chelsea sniffled.

"Um...yes. I'm just....fine.." Her voice trailed off with no hint of a question or an exclamation mark.

I sighed. Stood with my hand on the stall door.

"Chelsea, honey. Are you ill?" I asked her.

A short silence. Then she managed to say that really, she was okay.

She wasn't. But she had let me off the hook....I could walk out now if I wanted.

But, of course. No. The mean, petty part of me wanted badly to walk out. The better part of me, the part that Liv brings out in me, decided to stay.

"Chelsea? Why don't you come on out?" I asked.

Suddenly, the door was flung open and a weeping Chelsea threw herself into my arms, her face blotchy and red.

She wept copiously on my scrub shoulder. My scrubs were light blue and the shoulder steadily turned a bright shade of blue as she wet it.

Finally, I was able to pull her away from me.

"Tell me what is going on," I said to her.

And she did.

Apparently, she had come in to work this morning and discovered that Mr. Morrison, the gentleman whom she read to, had died in the night. She was distraught.

("He was getting better! Everyone said so!" )

I felt badly for her.

She let out a shuddery sigh. "It's just that I really liked him and I think he really liked me, too," she was able to say. "And it feels like he is the only one in this place that really did like me, you know?"

Well, yes. I did know. I imagined that it hadn't been easy for her. I know that I never was happy to see Chelsea and honestly, if I had to put up with her on a daily basis, I may have lost my mind from all that chirpy good will and those exclamation points and question marks flying out of her mouth constantly.

I patted her. Told her that I knew it must be hard. I was so sorry about Mr. Morrison. He seemed like a very nice man, yes he did. And that she mustn't let this get to her. She was going to watch people die. It was part of her job description now. But, hey. It wasn't true that no else liked her. Well, I liked her just fine...

She took her moist self off of me and looked up at me, trying to smile.

"You DO?!" she asked.

I nodded. "Of course, I do. Don't be silly. And I know that I'm not the only one." I suspected that this was a falsehood, but maybe not. Who knew?

Eventually, she calmed down and was able to go back to work.

First, though, she told me about how she lived alone with her mother who had multiple sclerosis. She said that was one reason that she wanted to be a nurse, so that she could take better care of her mother. She said that it had been just the two of them her whole life and that yes, it did get lonely, but even though she tried to make friends, well...it just never seemed to take, you know?

Well, you know what I did.

Yes.

I said that she would have to come over for dinner sometime. And bring her mother.

She beamed up at me through her tears.

"Oh, I would love that!? Well, my mother probably wouldn't want to come, she doesn't like to leave the house. But, I sure would love a dinner out sometime!?" she told me.

I told her that we would have to have Christabelle over at the same time.

She practically leaped up in the air.

"Oh!? I just love Christabelle!? She is so...funny and sweet!?" she said.

I frowned a little bit. I have never pegged Christabelle as sweet but hey...what do I know?

So, now..I suspect that I have gone and done it. And I wondered if Christabelle would even show up if she knew that Cricket, I mean Chelsea was going to be there?

Oh, what the hell...might as well invite her for Thanksgiving along with all the rest.

The more the merrier!!???

Right!!??

Artie

I hadn't seen him in years.

The last time was....hmmm. About three years ago. At the university where I used to teach part time.

Artie was the custodian there. I have always been mindful about being on good terms with the custodians, secretaries and tech support people at every job I have worked at. I am no fool. These people run the place. I am serious. Most places can live without the rest of us but the custodians, the secretaries and and the tech support? They are the heavy hitters and I know it.

If they like you, life can be pretty good at work.

So, Artie was the night custodian in the building where I taught one night class per week for several years. Little by little, we got to know each other.

He called me Teach.

Artie was a slight man, probably about 5'2 (which is still two inches taller than me.) I always thought that he looked like Walt Whitman's scrawny little brother. He had white hair and a moustache.

And a peacefully zen face. And demeanor.

Once, I asked him what his secret was, why he looked so content and peaceful all of the time. He told me that he tried to always be in the moment. That if he was cleaning an office window, then he tried to make it the cleanest window he could, if he was emptying wastebaskets, he wanted to concentrate on the task at hand.

Also, he told me, he had a happy home life. That helped.

Artie and his wife, Kitty, had been married for nearly 45 years. He told me that they had always wanted children, but weren't able to have any. Finally, they went through an adoption agency and their son, Eddie, was born when they were both 47. They were ecstatic at their luck and Artie always had photos to show me. Eddie was a guitar nut and when he graduated from high school, he re-located to London where he thought the music suited him better. He soon had a steady gig with a rock and roll band. Artie and Kitty went to visit him every Christmas and Kitty would prepare a hugh Christmas dinner in Eddie's tiny kitchen for all the stray band mates who didn't have family to be with. Eddie came home every year for a week in late May to celebrate his mother's birthday.

Artie often talked about how much Eddie loved living in England because he said there was no racism there, that since Eddie was an african american, he had endured lots of it here in the states, but none in England and he planned to live there forever.

Artie and Kitty had only wish and that was that Eddie would find a nice girl, get married and give them a grandchild. Eddie didn't seem in any hurry, though.

Of course, I found this all out in small increments on evenings after my class was over and Artie was cleaning my office while I sat at my desk finishing up work. We went back and forth a lot, sharing our life stories. I don't usually do that sort of thing with people, but I liked Artie and he didn't ask stupid questions.

Plus, he thought Liv was cute and always asked if I had pictures of her.

Artie retired and there was a small cake in the break lounge.

I saw him a few months after that at an Omaha Royals baseball game where I met Kitty and Eddie. I was surprised at Kitty. She was a good head taller than Artie and probably had about fifty pounds on him. Eddie was taller than both of them, a good six footer with a tall gangly musician's body and a smile that was deep and dimpled. A very handsome man. We shook hands all around and I introduced Artie to Liv. She was in kindergarten at the time, I think.

We all said that we would have to get together for dinner, etc. But, like most things you say in moments like that, it just didn't happen.

So, I was very surprised last week when I was eating my lunch alone in the atrium and spotted Artie in there washing windows.

He and I exchanged startled looks, the kind where you stare for a moment and for the life of you cannot place this person. They are out of context and they look so damned familiar, but....how?

And then, of course, you remember.

Artie and I smiled at each other and hugged. Said how surprised we were to see each other. We both said the same thing at the same time: What are you doing here?

I explained that I had taken a predictable job now that Liv was in fourth grade, needed the good insurance.

Artie drew his breath in sharply. "Your daughter is in FOURTH grade?" he exclaimed. "I remember her as this tiny little 5 year old."

Well, I told him. She was nine now....

I asked him why he wasn't staying retired, staying home and watching the grass grow with Kitty as he always planned on doing.

He looked at me for a long moment and then told me that Kitty had died in the Spring.

I did the usual I'm so sorry dance and he thanked me, etc.

He told me that she had died in her sleep, that Eddie had been home visiting for her birthday and that one morning, he and Eddie had gotten up early to go buy some doughnuts for breakfast and when they got back home, they found that Kitty had died.

Eddie had been so upset, had ended up staying nearly all summer to keep his Dad company, worried about him. But, that finally Artie had talked Eddie into returning to England. He had a girlfriend now and it was serious and his band couldn't hold his spot forever. Artie talked about how Eddie's band mates all came to the prairie for Kitty's funeral and how nice he thought that was. How Eddie was now living with his girlfriend and that he would go visit them for Christmas, do the Dickens Christmas, as usual, but sans Kitty.

That would be hard, he said, but he was looking forward to it. Artie said that once Eddie went back to England, the house had just seemed too big, too quiet, so he had decided to go back to work part time and had found work at the hospital.

"It's different," he said. "Germs are a much bigger deal here than they were at the university.."

But, he said, he liked his job. He liked keeping busy.

He asked how Liv was and if I had settled down yet. That had always been a concern of his, he had always told me that I needed to find a lid for my pot.

I told him about Bing, that she was the perfect lid for my unusual pot and that we were all settled and happy.

That made him smile.

We said that we needed to have dinner sometime and this time, I made sure to get his number.

Because I was not going to lose him again, I said.

And I made a mental note to make sure that I didn't. I wanted to invite him over for Thanksgiving dinner.

But, Artie was still Artie. He still smiled warmly and seemed very comfortable in his own skin, like always.

I asked him if he was doing okay, that missing Kitty must be hard.

And he smiled again, gently.

He said, "You know, I do miss her so much. But, I know that I will be fine. And I refuse to be the sort of person who stops living after they lose their spouse. I will just go on by myself until we meet in the sweet by and by."

I like the phrase. The sweet by and by. It sounded just like Artie.

"You are still the most zen man I know," I told him.

He nodded. He talked about his excitement about visiting Eddie and his girlfriend at Christmastime and how he hoped that she could cook since Kitty had been the only one who could cook in their family.

"But," he said. "If she can't, we can all go to a restaurant for Christmas dinner. It only matters that we are together."

I hope that I can be that settled in my skin some day. Because he was so...healthy.

He missed his wife, yes. But, he pulled himself up by his bootstraps and was going on.

You see a lot of that in the older generation.

(I do realize that to some of you, I am the older generation..)

I am talking about the older older generation, though. The seventy somethings. I see it time and time again. This wiseness, this comfortablity in themselves.

I aspire to being an Artie one day.

Maybe when I am his age, I will hit the mark.

But, until then, I will just make sure that I don't lose him again. I want him at our Thanksgiving table. I want Liv to have this sort of person in her life. There is so much to learn.

I think I will call him right now and invite him over for dinner. With Christabelle. I think those two would SO hit it off. And how much fun for the rest of us to have two such interesting people to share a meal with...

A keeper, all righty. That is Artie. And Christabelle.

Maria's motley crew steals bratwurst from Human Resources

It was a regular day at the office. Our department head, Rossi, sat in his office pretending to be busy. Elly, our office manager, fluttered around gathering our mother's maiden names for some internal paperwork. We chart analysts, all four of us, sat hunched over our desks, eyes roaming over charts or fingers busy typing comments on to our computer keyboards.

The two department secretaries, Felicity and Sandra typed rapidly while they made a soundtrack of their own with Felicity humming and Sandra snorting snot noisily up into her swollen nasal cavities.

And then we all cocked our heads as we heard our intercom crackle on. A disembodied female voice informed us that "Brats are being served on the west side of the building on the human resources pavilion in honor of employee appreciation day. So..come on down and enjoy a brat for lunch!"

Well, that made us smile. Brats for lunch! We all agreed that a brat sounded kind of good today. We speculated as to whether those brats would be good, juicy, real brats or the prissy fake turkey brat wanna bes. Before we could debate further, the intercom crackled again and the same woman's voice rang out sounding properly sheepish:

"I apologize for the previous announcement concerning brats. Apparently, the brats are for the human resources department only. Other departments will have their employee appreciation day in October." The intercom clicked off.

Well, you can imagine our shock and disappointment. What did she mean by teasing us about something like brats?! How mean spirited. Our mouths had begun watering for some tasty brats, for the love of pete!

At first, no one said anything. Then Felicity ventured forth with, "I sure would have loved a brat for lunch."

Rossi came out of his office and shrugged. "Brats are bad for you. I'm glad not to be tempted."

Maria O (not to be confused with me, Maria M...) and Nita heartily agreed. Besides, they had both planned to have the cafeteria special: chicken noodle soup. Much healthier, they said in their superior voices.

The rest of us glowered. Pouted. A plot began to hatch. We all talked it over in hushed tones. Out of all of us, Sandra, Felicity, Elly, Kate, and I all wanted brats.

But, Elly and I were both in scrubs and no human resource grunts wore scrubs to work. We'd stick out like sore thumbs, recognized for our brat bandit intentions. Sandra, Felicity, and Kate agreed to be our brat snitchers. They all agreed to grab two brats apiece, feigning a hearty appetite today. Elly and I would loiter innocently in the hall with Elly's oversized purse ready to hold the swiped brats.

We all rode up nervously in the elevator together to Human Resources on the ninth floor. Good. The halls were thick with brat lovers. This would be an easy mission.

Kate, Felicity, and Sandra bravely strolled into enemy lines. Elly and I casually sauntered around by the drinking fountain, trying our best to look casual.

It didn't take long. Kate, Felicity, and Sandra returned in quick time, each carrying two juicy brats in their hot little burglar hands. Felicity had somehow managed to pilfer a large container of onion rings as well. What a booty!

We all innocently stepped into our awaiting elevator and then all hell broke loose as the women speedily slid their stolen brats into Elly's open bag.

We stopped the elevator on the eleventh floor, at the atrium and jumped out, our mouths aching by now for our hard won brats.

We all settled into chairs and sunk our teeth greedily into the soft doughy rolls with the spurting brats nestled in them.

We all agreed that sinning like this was so, so worth it. Such tasty brats! And we snickered a bit, joking that those human resources morons were so dumb that they didn't even know that they had been infiltrated. Dumb asses! Just wait until October, when it was our turn for employee appreciation brats. We'd know to guard ours well...

"AHA!" said a low voice.

We turned to see Christabelle standing in the doorway, arms akimbo.

"I knew I smelled brats.." she said, smiling wickedly.

We hastily offered her the one extra brat, buying her silence. It worked. She sat down with us, biting lovingly into her brat roll and snagging several onion rings too.

We all agreed that it was a delicious lunch.

Elly handed out mints at the doorway to our office. No sense in having brat breath. We all sucked down the peppermints and went back to work, our stomachs full of the juicy brats.

It was a good day at the office....

Even a hard day comes up roses

I didn't wake up until nearly ten on Sunday. And I had gone to bed before nine the night before...

That is what I think is called tired.

But, when I did wake up, I felt almost like myself again. Refreshed.

So, I decided to go into work and play catch up. I'd gone home early two days in a row last week, just felt so sick.

I had several charts to catch up on. I told Bing that I would be gone for a few hours and she agreed to have dinner ready when I got home. Liv asked to go with me, to see my new office. I told her that if she wanted to come with me it meant that she had to amuse herself for at least 3 hours. She agreed to bring her homework and the new book that she is inhaling reading: From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E Frankweiler.

So, Liv and I drove to the hospital. When we got to my office, she was disappointed.

"I sort of thought you would have your own office, like you used to when you worked," she commented.

Nope, I told her. Not this go-round. Now, I do have my own desk, but I share a big office with 11 other people. I showed her my desk. She shrugged.

"Do you wish you had your own office?" she asked.

I started to say yes and then I realized that I honestly didn't miss my own office that much. I have come to sort of enjoy the people that I work with. Then, I thought of Felicity and her annoying humming, of Nita's booming voice and her cloying tone asking everyone, even visitors, to call her "Mama Nita." I thought of Sandra and her allergies and the way she sniffs snot up her nose in this sort of sickening sounding piggy grunt. And I admitted that, yes, okay, I miss having my own office. Well, just a bit anyway.

I sat at my desk and settled Liv at Kate's desk and for the next hour and half, we worked silently. Finally, I got up and stretched.

"How about a trip to the cafeteria for a cookie and milk break?" I asked Liv. She was more than ready, so we wound our way to the cafeteria, hand in hand, swinging them a little. This was nice, I thought, having her with me like this.

As we sat sharing a giant cookie (I swear it was nearly as big as my head. I mean, god...WHY do they make those anyway? It just makes us fatter and fatter) and two cartons of milk, Christabelle came strolling in.

I gaped a little. She was wearing what looked like pants that were three sizes too big that were hanging nearly to her knees. Her regular backwards baseball cap. And chains. She wore about ten chains around her neck. She spotted us and brought her cinnamon roll over to eat with us.

Liv was cleary impressed.

"You get to wear those clothes to work and nobody sends you home?" she asked.

Christabelle snickered. "Let 'em try, lady jane. Let 'em jes' try.." she said, grinning. Then she gave Liv a long look.

"Are you Maria's kid?" she asked.

Liv nodded.

"Well, you don't favor her much," she said. "You must look like your pop."

Liv and I both agreed that she absolutely looked more like her father.

"He decent to you?" Christabelle asked. "Cos, I know people if he ain't."

Liv assured her that he was a good father. "He's a geologist and he knows everything in the world about rocks," she told her proudly.

Christabelle nodded. "Good," she said, nodding.

Then she asked Liv if she wanted her to boot up some games on Kate's computer to play on while I finished up my work. Liv was excited to start, so we headed back to my office. Christabelle somehow booted up three different games for Liv to try and then stayed to teach her how to play them and challenged her to several games. By their fourth game, Liv was consistently holding her own and Christabelle commented that, "Well, you sure ain't the dumbass that your mom is on computers, huh?"

Liv didn't answer, but blushed and smiled, thrilled to hear the word dumb ass and not knowing if she should be thrilled to hear it to describe me..

I finally finished up my work and called Bing to tell her that we were on our way home. Could we bring anything? Bing said no, that Sunday dinner would be waiting for us when we got home. I asked her how she felt about another mouth to feed, should we invite Christabelle? She said fine, so I invited her.

I was surprised at Christabelle's reaction. "Let me get this clear," she said. "Is you inviting ME to Sunday supper?" When I said yes, she smiled broadly.

"I've never been asked even once to somebody's house for supper," she said. "Ain't you skeered that I'll be bringing my chucks with me?"

I wasn't sure what chucks were, (found out later from Bing that she probably meant num chucks) but told her that yes, we really wanted her to come for dinner.

"Well, then I'll just follow you home, darlin'", she said.

And she did.

We walked in to an incredible dinner. Bing had outdone herself.

There was a pork roast, baby potatoes and carrots (all from our garden!) in the crock pot. I smelled something more and opened the oven door to find a big pan of browning cornbread in there. Small glass dishes of homemade applesauce (made from my co-worker, Kate's backyard apple tree) were set daintily by each plate. A jar of homemade pickles was on the table and a small pot of honey for the cornbread. Icy chai tea to drink.

I introduced Christabelle to Bing and Socks, the dog. Socks immediately found a friend when he flipped over to expose his belly and Christabelle gave him a good long scratch. She impressed Bing by oohing and ahhing over our Mac. ("Why the hell they don't buy these lil' miracles for the hospital is beyond me," she said. "They insist on buying those worthless pcs..and then I be the one stuck servicin' those junk heaps.")

We all sat down to Sunday supper and it was just...spectacular. Christabelle commented that she now saw why I was a "lesbo" since clearly I should hold on to a woman who could cook this well.

"Hell, I'd even kiss ya if you cooked like this for me..." she told Bing.

Bing told her that the vegetables were from Maria's garden and that I had made the applesauce and canned the pickles. Christabelle grinned at me.

"Well, boy howdy, ma'am," she said. "I sure is glad you have other talents since you sure don't know your way around a computer.."

She then entertained Bing and Liv by telling them how I daily managed to freeze up my computer and even managed to send items to the printer frequently without realizing that I had even done it....

It was a great dinner. I learned a lot about Christabelle. I learned that she has a steady boyfriend, that she lives with him and his sickly mother and that she once told the CEO of the hospital to go "stick his head in a pan of puke."

I truly think that I am growing to love this woman....

After dinner, Christabelle stayed to throw Sock's frisbee around the back yard with him and Liv for a bit while Bing and I cleaned up.

When she left, the house seemed too quiet. We must have her over again. Soon. I promised Liv that it would be very soon. And Christabelle promised to invite us over to her home for some enchiladas that her boyfriend's mother makes from scratch sometime.

I went upstairs to take a nap. As I settled down under the soft cashmere throw, I heard Sock's tap tapping toenails on the wood floor and peered down to see him smiling at me, waiting for his invitation.

I patted the bed.

"Get up here, hound," I said. He did.

We stretched out but before we could sleep, Liv came tiptoeing in.

"Is there room for a skinny nine year old girl?" she asked.

Socks and I made room.

I pulled my daughter close to me and took a deep long smell of her sun smelling hair before Socks wormed his way in between us.

When I awakened an hour later, I was alone and heard Liv's voice ringing out from the back yard. I got up and looked out the window to see her, Bing and Socks playing with the frisbee.

There is something so deliciously wonderful about a late September day with the sun beginning to look slightly pale and shimmering over the heads of the three beings that I probably love most in the world.

I went outside and played for a while too.

Then we all came in and Liv got ready for bed. I went to her bedside and kissed her goodnight and we talked about Christabelle.

"I like her, mama," Liv said. I said that I liked her too.

"She is sort of..." Liv began, unsure of how to complete her sentence.

"Uncouth?" I suggested.

We laughed. Yes, we agreed, Christabelle was kind of...raw. Kind of uncouth. But in the best way. There are those people, we agreed, who are unattractively uncouth and then there are those who are wonderfully uncouth and Christabelle fell into that last category.

I think it was a good lesson for Liv to learn. That there are those people out there who aren't necessarily polished, but that they shine more than those who work hard at being all shiny. Who make it a point to let you know just how polished they are.

Liv picked up her book to read until she felt sleepy and I slipped back downstairs to join Bing, who was sitting in the recliner, holding a bowl of grapes to share with me while we watched True Blood.

We were two women managing to fit together in a leathery recliner, munching on grapes, watching a rather wonderful bizarre show.

Even the hard days come up roses when you have a life like mine.

And don't doubt for a moment that I know just how lucky I am. Sometimes life seems just too hard, but even in the hardest day, there is this...peace for me.

Thank you for this, I think. Thank you.

Losing Liv while she explores the world.

I miss her. And I am being melodramatic. Because she is still here with me. Just not in the way that I wish she were.

In the last year, she has changed so much! I sometimes look at my little girl with mild astonishment.

She spent the first eight years of her life being my shy, quiet little child. Then, several months ago, a new side of her seemed to emerge. She became more gregarious, almost garrulous at times. Her friends began to take a front and center part in her life instead of a supporting role. It used to be that if she had the choice to spend the day with me or with a friend, I won.

Not anymore. Not by a long shot.

And this is normal.

I know this. But, it still took me by surprise.

I think that it is her age, yes. But, it is also due to the fact that she is more worldly now, less dependent on me. She has vacationed with her father twice now, traveled far away from me to be with him.

Friends and family have commented for years (and not necessarily in a complimentary fashion) about the fact that Liv and I seem to be joined together at the hip.

We are still close. She still has this habit of tucking her hand into the pocket of whatever I am wearing. We will be waiting in line at a store or a movie ticket queue and I will feel her hand slip into my jacket or jeans pocket. It is an endearing habit of hers, one that makes me melt a little. She will also sometimes rest her head against my arm, slide an arm around my waist.

But other things have changed. She expressed the desire a few weeks ago to stop taking baths and take showers every night instead. Bing thought that was a great idea and a wonderful way to save water usage. I agreed readily, but felt a wave of nostalgia on the first shower night. I missed sitting on the side of the tub and lathering up her hair, helping her wash herself. Now she showers alone. Washes her own hair, her own body. She's been brushing her hair by herself for nearly a year now, can easily do her own ponytail. She only asks my help if she wants braids.

You would think I would cheer about this, considering that hair styling was a chore that I truly disliked. I used to dread the daily decisions to be made about whether she wanted a pony tail, pig tails, a braid or braids, a simple barrette or band. Ugh. I have never even liked doing my own hair, let alone anyone else's. But, I found that I missed that companionable mother-daughter time.

Liv also has put an end to our chapter reading of a book before she goes to sleep. She far prefers reading on her own now and requested long ago that maybe we just talk instead. So, we do that. I sit on the edge of her bed at bedtime and we both share the best part of our day and the worst part of our day. It has proven to be a great time for us since she no longer spills over with talk about her school day and I often feel like I am trying to pull information out of her. Often, at night, she will share her favorite part of the day and this will segue into an interesting conversation. After we talk, she is allowed to read until she is sleepy. I often come upstairs when I go to bed to find her fast asleep, the light still on, a book on her chest.

I think the hardest part for me has been the fact that she is suddenly very friend oriented. I was bemoaning this to my bff, Harriet, and she commented that instead of being melancholy, I should be thrilled. She said that her daughter doesn't have any good friends and she would love it if she suddenly developed a social life. So, I suppose I should consider myself lucky. Liv not only has a best friend, she also has several good friends that she enjoys spending time with.

Liv is into sleep overs now. She came flying out to the car after school on Friday talking a mile a minute. Could we go home and pack an overnight bag and could she spend the night at Constance's house?

I reminded her that this was FRIDAY night. Our night when we usually went out to dinner. Always a favorite with her. She gave me a blank look.

"Well, yeah," she said. "I know it's Friday but can't you and Bing go out without me? Constance is inviting Willa too and we are going to make puppets and do a puppet show!"

A puppet show was more fun than eating dinner with her aged mother and her partner? Um...YEAH.

So, I agreed. We went home and packed her bag and I drove her to Constance's home, secretly glad that Constance's mother would have to put up with three squealing girls and a big mess of puppetry makings. I was relieved that it wasn't me.

And Bing and I had a lovely, quiet dinner at one of our favorite restaurants.

I walked Socks by myself that night. He and I sat on the back steps talking it all over. I told him that I was missing my girl.

"Get over it, alpha woman," he told me. "The last thing you want Liv to be is some clingy mama's baby, right? We WANT her to be independent. That is the whole idea of raising them up right, yes?"

That dog is too damn smart.

Liv is changing in other ways. She is her own person, separate from me in so many ways.

She likes MATH, for fuck sakes.

How in the bloody hell did I produce a child who likes math?

I suppose it was only a matter of time. She does have her father's genes too and he loves math. The last time he was in town, they sat around and discussed string theory for pete's sake. I was clueless.

They couldn't discuss something that I could contribute to, like Shakespeare or Mamet? No. They had to talk about something that was so over my head that I couldn't even pretend to know what the fuck they were talking about.

Liv has also become sort of a clothes horse. This is an 180 degree turn from the child that I used to know. I used to order her clothes from the Hanna Andersson catalog every year and not even consult her. Now, she picks her own clothes out.

And I don't particularly care for some of her choices.

The other night, I came upstairs to get out of my scrubs and found her standing in her bedroom looking intently at two outfits laid out on her bed.

I asked her what was up.

"Well," she told me, "It's curriculum night at school tonight, remember?"

I said that yes, I did.

"And I don't know which outfit to wear.." she said.

I asked her why she was dressing up. I mean, it was just curriculum night.

She looked at me, exasperated.

"I want to look nice!" she said. "And Constance and I think it would be fun to sort of match. She is wearing her pink skirt and so I am either going to wear my purple skirt and black top or my blue skirt and pink top. Which do you like?"

I chose the purple.

And she promptly put it away in her closet and went with the blue and pink outfit.

Already, I am turning into the old fogey mother who has bad clothes taste.

And then she had to call Constance and discuss their clothes choices.

Good grief. Even when I was a teenager, I wasn't this much of a girly girl. But, apparently, my daughter is.

I was giving my sob story to Bing this morning and she had the audacity to smirk at me.

"I remember a time when you used to feel overwhelmed by her clinginess," she reminded me.

I remember that too.

I remember wishing that, just once, I could go to the bathroom without her standing right outside the door, waiting for me.

I remember her sitting in her car seat in the back seat and me reaching over the seat to hold her hand to keep her from crying.

I remember her crawling into bed with me at least twice a week and laying in bed with her leg slung over mine, thinking that just once I wanted to sleep without her sweaty self draped over me.

Now, I regularly pull her into my arms, inhaling her deeply while she...allows me. She sometimes returns my hug, but mostly, yes...she stands sweetly allowing me to get my hug in and then she gently, almost apologetically, pulls away from me.

She has places to go and people to see.

And they don't include me.

Last night, before I went to bed, I stopped forlornly at the door to her bedroom and looked in at Socks, laying across the back of her bed, fast asleep. Bing came to stand beside me. She hugged me from behind.

"What's the matter, honey?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I just miss Liv," I said. Bing shook her head.

"Maria, she is not in Iraq. She is three blocks away, probably telling spooky stories with a flashlight under a blanket."

Well, I knew that. But, I missed her. I missed her at dinner that night. I missed her ordering strawberry lemonade and a buffalo cheeseburger with mushrooms. I missed her hinting broadly on the drive home that wouldn't a Dairy Queen blizzard just tase so good?

Today, Liv had a volleyball game. I watched her, tall in her knee pads, her honey blonde pony tail swinging as she lunged for the ball and made contact, thwacking it expertly across the net.

It was just for a split second, but I spotted her turning quickly around to make sure that I had seen her brilliant move.

Of course, I had seen it.

She smiled at me quickly, triumphant, and then just as quickly turned away.

I still have her.

Not like I used to, but this is....right.

She is growing up and becoming her own person. Not a clone of me. Her own self.

Her own math loving, athletic, clothes horse self.

And I will take what I can get. Because this is the part of motherhood that you dream about when they are toddlers and seem to need you up close and personal all the time.

You know (and hope) that they will grow away from you. But, no one ever tells you how much you will miss that clinginess, that sheer need to have their mother right there with them ALL OF THE TIME.

So, they start to grow up, start to pull away and then, of course, all you want is them to seek you out again. Just once. Maybe twice.

What am I going to do when she really starts pulling away? Please don't let me turn into one of those mothers who run around pretending to be their daughter's best friend. The last thing I want is for Liv to share the details of her excursions with her boyfriend...(or girlfriend, for that matter.)

But, I don't think I would mind if I felt her hand snaking into my jacket pocket....

A bagel for Felicity.

Felicity hums. I've written quite a lot about one of the secretaries in my office, Felicity. Yes, she hums.

And it is crazy making.

But, I haven't really written much about the other Felicity. The one who you can get to know if you can get past her infernally annoying humming.

I'm just beginning to understand.

A couple of weeks ago, I forgot to bring my lunch to work. Although the hospital cafeteria has surprisingly good fare, I generally bring a carton of yogurt to work for my lunch. Maybe a piece of fruit too. I work 7-3 and I am simply not hungry until after 3 so there is little point in forcing myself to eat a big lunch at 11 when I'm just not in the mood to eat. I DO have diabetes, though, so I have to keep some carbs in my body to ward off my blood sugar plunging. Yogurt usually does the trick.

So, anyway, I forgot my lunch several days ago. I went to the cafeteria to see what I could buy that was small.

I spied a cinnamon bagel. Now, I truly love bagels with cream cheese but they are carb heavy and I can only eat about half of one if I want my blood sugar to stay steady. So, I picked one up and bought a cup of chai tea to go with it.

The cafeteria was packed, but I spied a small table with a few of my co-workers around it, so I joined them. I noticed that everyone was eating except Felicity. Kate was there with her cheese sandwich. Rossi was reading Sports Illustrated and munching on the lunch special: a bowl of turkey noodle soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. Holland (one of the other secretaries whom I haven't mentioned before...so I will briefly say that she reminds me of Carol Lombard, very funny and a wisecracker and so movie star pretty that she gets away with saying the word shit every other sentence) had the fruit cup and Sandra (a willowy woman with very black skin who wears bright white sweaters and has a smile so brilliant and beautiful that she makes me sigh) gingerly ate a pop tart that she had brought from home and overheated in the microwave.

I sat down with my bagel and tea and began to smear my bagel with cream cheese. I glanced up.

"Anyone want a half of a bagel?" I asked.

Felicity spoke quickly.

"Sure!" she said. "I mean, if you don't want to save it for your dinner tonight?..."

I handed it to her. "Nope," I said. "You can't save bagels. They get hard in ten minutes."

I handed her half of my cream cheese and she stood up and got her wallet out and began counting out a nickel and a few pennies. "How much do you think they charge for jelly?" she asked.

Rossi jumped up. "I'll go steal one for you. I refuse to buy a tiny little packet of jelly," he commented.

"Get strawberry," Felicity instructed. "I only like strawberry..."

Now, Felicity is a beautifully coiffed woman. Her makeup is perfect. Her clothes are immaculate. She often wears patent leather pumps and says that she shines them with vaseline.

And so I was surprised when she dug into that half bagel like a half starved dog. She polished that sucker off in about two minutes flat. I didn't stare but I noted it.

Kate and I were the last ones to finish lunch and as we walked slowly back to the office, we chatted. I commented that Felicity must have forgotten her lunch too.

"No," Kate said slowly, "I don't think so. Felicity hardly ever brings anything and she never buys coffee or sodas. She fills her cup with water all day long from the drinking fountain in the hall."

"She NEVER brings food?" I asked.

Kate shook her head. "I think times are kind of tough at her house. You know her husband drinks a lot and she says he doesn't help out much with the baby. And she goes to nursing school two nights a week while her mom watches her son. That deadbeat doesn't even watch his own child while his wife goes to school. And you know, she works at Walgreens on the weekends too."

I was surprised. I hadn't known any of this. God, what a hard life that was! It kills me not to take Liv to school every day and I thought that I had it rough. My life was pretty luxurious compared to Felicity's.

She had casually mentioned that her husband "got drunk" a lot, but I had figured that was just a youth thing. Felicity is barely 22 and she said her husband was a year younger than she was.

After that day, I began watching Felicity more. Kate was right. She never brought a lunch, just sat at a table with whoever was eating in the cafeteria that day. She never bought a thing for herself, but never turned down food from co-workers, always carefully making sure that they really didn't want to take it home and save it first, though.

I also noticed how everyone in our office found a way to keep her fed. Rossi often brought cookies from home, claimed that his wife baked enough for an army and that there were always extras. Holland and a few of the other secretaries often pushed half bars of candy at her, claiming that they only could eat half, didn't want to get fat. Kate had an apple tree in her back yard and brought brown sacks full of them to work and begged people (Felicity) to help her "get rid" of them.

And I began buying bagels every few days. And I always made sure to grab a few strawberry jams too.

So, Felicity doesn't go hungry at work. Not that we are all this saintly, kind bunch...but I have discovered something akin to a family atmosphere in the workplace. We have our real families but we also are sort of an office family. Some of us are more popular than others, some of us are barely tolerated, we all have odd quirks.

Felicity hums. She also has a 7 month old son whose name is Jesus. The first time she told me his name, I thought she said it was "Hey, Zeus."
Nita bugs everyone to call her "Mama."
Kate smokes like a fiend and smells like it.
Rossi wears McCain buttons and chews all the erasers off the pencils.
Sandra has allergies and for a willowy wisp of a girl, she can sure make gross snuffling pig noises with her nose.
Tony sort of smells like witch hazel.

And there are others that I am sure I simply haven't discovered yet.

I wonder what they say about me?

Maria is hard to get to know. She is aloof.
Maria is really crabby in the early morning, best to not talk to her until after 10.
Maria doesn't sit like a lady, but sits on one leg in her chair and when she reads charts, her glasses slip down her nose.

I'm sure there is something. And we are all up in each other's business like a family too. We know that Holland never gets enough sleep, tends to stay up late and watch old movies and then she comes to work with puffy eyes. Sandra has a boyfriend who is so jealous that he calls her every day at 2:30 to ask when exactly she will get home that day. Nita is the one who eats all the fudge in the break room but will never admit it. Tony has a crush on that woman in HR and sneaks up there all the time hoping to accidentally run into her.

And Felicity has the husband who drinks.

For some reason this pisses me more than usual. I know this is going to sound sexist, so go ahead and point your fingers at me, but it occurs to me that you hardly ever hear about women who stay out and party with their friends all night and leave the baby with their husbands. And when a woman takes care of her own children, she never refers to it as "babysitting."

So, yes. Felicity hums. And drives us all insane.

But, she also goes to nursing school at night and works on the weekends as a cashier at Walgreens.

And goes without lunch way too often.

So, we find a way to care for her, just the way you would do with family.

Because we sort of are a family. You can't spend eight hours a day with each other and not be one.

I may want to smack her for humming, but something in me also wants to make sure that she eats that half a bagel for lunch.

With strawberry jelly......

Why humming secretaries are in mortal peril

I think I may have mentioned that one of the secretaries in my office has this annoying habit of....humming.

Her name is Felicity. She is 22 and has a 7 month old son and a husband who she says she loves but "he gets drunk every night and that sort of makes me angry."

Really? Maybe your frackin' humming has just sent him over the edge."

Today, Felicity came perilously close to being attacked by a crazy woman with a stapler.

That would be me.

Why?

It is all my co-worker, Kate's fault.

A few days ago, Felicity came to work with her eyes bleary with tears. We all could see this because she looked like a raccoon. Felicity wears so much eye makeup that she looks like an old photo of Priscilla Presley. She even wears her hair in one of those Sarah Palin dos. Her eyes are always rimmed with black liquid eyeliner. She wore whitish pink lipstick one day and I swear, all she needed was a pair of go go boots and she could have sung that her books were made for walkin' and that's just what she'd do...

Anyway, it was obvious that Felicity had been crying. No one said anything except for Nita "CALL ME MOM NITA", who immediately bustled over to her and asked why she was crying.

Nita is a pillar of subtlety.

Felicity answered that she had heard the most awesome, sad song on her way to work. It was called Watching Scotty Grow.

If you have ever heard this song, you know what it is like to have a song so syrupy that it literally makes your teeth fall out.

There he sits with a pen and a yellow pad
What a handsome lad!
That's my boy!
BOLFG spells Mom and Dad
Well that ain't too bad
Cause that's my boy!
Well, you can have your tv and your nightclubs
You can have your drive in picture shows
I think I'll stay with my little man here
We'll listen to the radio
Bide my time watchin' Scotty grow...

Gag me.

Well, of course you know what happened.

Felicity HUMMED that fucking song all day.

My co-worker, Kate, and I sat in the atrium and ate our lunches together.

"If you can get Felicity to hum something else, I will give you twenty bucks," I promised.

Well, this morning Kate came in with a special tape that she had made especially for Felicity.

"If you liked Watching Scotty Grow, you will LOVE these songs," Kate told her, grinning evily at me.

For the rest of the day, Felicty regaled us by humming the tunes of

Honey.

See the tree how big it's grown
But, friend, it hasn't been too long
It wasn't big.
The first day that she planted it, was just a twig

She was always young at heart, kinda dumb and kinda smart
And I loved her so....

Seasons In The Sun

Goodbye to you, my trusted friend
We've known each other since we were nine or ten
Together we climbed hills and trees
Skinned our hearts and skinned out knees
Goodbye my friend, it's hard to die
When all the birds are singing in the sky...

God help me. I told Kate that I was going to kill Felicity first and then her.

She smiled sweetly at me.

"Oh, this is only the beginning..." she promised, her eyes glinting madly.

"How fucking much do you want?" I finally asked, taking out my wallet.

"How much do you have?" she asked me. "My mama didn't raise no fools..."

When she left this afternoon, she sauntered by my desk and pointedly sang

Maybe I hang around here
A little more than I should
We both know I got somewhere else to go
But I got something to tell you
That I never thought I would
And I believe you really ought to know

I love you
I honestly love you....

This is war....

Cardinal love

Bing and I were sitting in the breakfast nook today, me bleary eyed as usual with my bowl of oatmeal and raisins in front of me, Bing with her power shake and toast. We are lucky in that our breakfast table has a large window in front of it with a lovely view of our backyard and small deck with the back steps leading down.

I looked out just in time to see our yard cardinal swoop up to our back steps light to capture a huge white moth. Our light is always a buffet for dead bugs for the birds but finding one alive is a real treat, I'm sure.

The moth struggled valiantly in the bird's mouth, but there was really no chance for it. Our cardinal perched on the deck railing, the white moth flapping it's wings hard in his clamped beak. The cardinal's mate, a deep russet brown bird with tiny slits of red came flapping over and perched next to her husband, her wings fluttering with glee.

You could see it all over her face. She was so proud of her warrior mate on his kill.

She began trilling exuberantly, telling the rest of the back yard bird population that Oh yes! This is my mate, this is my superior hunting love, my red winged hero!

He lovingly held his beak out to her and shared half of his conquest with her. She coquettishly whipped off half of the moth and chomped it down while he took the other half. When their breakfast was swallowed, they sat side by side on the deck railing, leaning into each other, heads bowed together like the two forever-and-ever mates that they are.

They looked strangely human.

He leaned his neck into hers, stroking it with his beak with such supreme affection and love that I almost felt as if I should look away, as if this were a private moment shared that should be just theirs.

Instead, Bing and I watched shamelessly.

The female leaned back into her mate and her eyes closed for a moment in a act of sheer bird adoration. She was proud of her hunky husband, delighted with his hunting skill and his generosity.

He preened his red feathers brilliantly, basking in her attention.

Bing smiled at me.

"Just wait until they get back to the nest," she said. "He is going to get some superior bird love this afternoon."

I agreed.

We talked for a bit about them, wondering about their story. She looked to be a strange mate for him, he was so brilliantly red and while the female cardinals always looked sort of dowdy next to their brightly colored mates, she was especially so. We decided that the male cardinal was a very smart bird, indeed. Obviously, he knew that looks were the least of what should be important in a mate. He had chosen for love, that much was clear. They both so obviously reveled in the other one.

We often see the cardinal pair winging around the back yard and she is never far from him. They often fly around as a unit, she just a wing or two behind him as they swoop and twirl around the back yard, often stopping to bathe in our bird bath, shooing all the robins, wrens, spackles and even the militant bluejays away. Then he perches on the bird bath rim, allowing her first dibs on the water, watching her wet her feathers and giving her what we have decided are lascivious looks. When she is finished, he takes his turn while she takes long sips of water, raising her neck to the sky and swallowing her water.

They are perfect for each other.

Their nest is in a small, dense shrub that sits in our front yard, just under the bathroom window. In the early mornings as I get ready for work, I often hear them rustling around, sharing their bird thoughts of what they need to do that day. ("I think I will go take a look at that bird feeder down the street, see if they have some of those sunflower seeds that I know you like," I imagine him saying to her as she checks his feathers for knots and tangles. I picture her mmmhmmming him and thinking to herself that she will find some good strong twigs to encircle their nest while he is gone, making it snug for the winter.)

They are a happy couple, content in their joy, not unlike Bing and myself.

I've never heard babies in the two years that they have been tenants in our bushes. I wonder if they've tried and failed or if perhaps, they are simply so joyous in each other's company that they don't care to have baby birds.

According to the article that I pulled up on the internet, Cardinals have very short lives, seldom living for more than three years and that they aren't usually the type to mate for life.

I think my cardinals are different. I think that they are besotted with each other, have found the ideal mate in the other one and can't imagine their lives without each other.

I find myself hoping that they die in each other's wings so that they never have to know life without their mate.

I said this much to Bing this morning and she didn't answer, just reached across the table and took my hands in hers, smiling.

"I hope so too," she said.

And then she offered to go find a moth for me. I jokingly told her that I would settle for a slice of red velvet cake instead.

Imagine my surprise, when after Sunday lunch, she produced a bakery box with two perfect slices of red velvet cake in it.

Liv was at a birthday party, so we had the whole afternoon.

It was a good time to stay in the nest....

The kind of weekend that heals.

I am a woman who works for the weekend now. I wish that I was doing a job that inspired me, one where I didn't mind when it was Monday again, but that would be a lie.

I work for the weekend. Not that I work in a salt mine or anything. I have what most people would think of as an okay job. I sit at a desk all day long and review hospital charts. I don't have a mean boss or even a stupid one. The worst traits of the people whom I work with are that one hums incessantly, another is one of those fakey warm people who set one's teeth on edge and the last is a newly hired caseworker who shares my name and acts as if her shit doesn't stink. I am giving her a week or two to see if maybe all that superior-than-thou behavior isn't just a ruse for a bad case of the new job jitters. All I know right now is that it sort of pisses me off that she shares my name (causing everyone to say our names + the first initial of our last names to distinguish us from each other) and has the audacity to read a chart over my shoulder and point out what she believes to be a mistake in my notes. (It wasn't. She simply hadn't read the whole chart.)

So, when the weekend comes, I sink into it like a hot bath.

Comfort.

Bing took us all out to dinner last night. We went to a neighborhood place where they serve the best hot beef sandwiches on the prairie. Liv and I shared one (they are huge) while Bing decided on liver and onions. We all admitted that it had been one kick ass week at work and school and we needed our comfort foods.

Today, we will go grocery shopping where we have decided to get the ingredients for a homemade pizza to eat tonight while we watch our friend, Sven's game. Yes. Tis true. We gave our tickets to the Husker game to Liv's caregivers, Hal and Nora so that they get the opportunity to watch our boys in red stomp all over New Mexico. We will watch our dear friend, Sven, play instead, as it is televised. We watched his game last week as well and actually spotted him on the sidelines. You would have thought that we spotted Brad Pitt or something the way we carried on. When we talked to him later that week on the telephone, Liv blurted out, "We saw you standing on the sidelines and you looked so big and strong and smart!"

He did.

Tomorrow, Liv will go to a birthday party while Bing and I catch a movie. We are already fighting about what to see. She wants to see either Pineapple Express or Transiberian. I want to see Burn After Reading or The X Files. I am thinking that some strategy is in order here. If I pretend that I am dying to see The Women, a film that falls under the category of stupid chick flicks in Bing's eye, she may agree to see one of the other two movies that I really want to see, in order to shut the chick flick down....

I am really that devious. My mama didn't raise no fools.

Mostly, though, I just love the peace and slowness of these lazy September weekends. The temps are in the 70's. The garden is almost done producing. The grass isn't growing like a jungle anymore. The air conditioning is off. The heat has yet to come on.

And football, there is football.

Everything tastes and feels sweeter in September. There is no cold crispiness in the air yet but the heat of Summer is gone. It is the in-between time.

The new shows are just getting ready to gear up. Bing is already in love with a show called True Blood. I wasn't crazy about it, liked the story line, but thought the acting was really, really bad.

My shows will be coming back soon: The Office. The Amazing Race. Heroes. Lost. Pushing Daisies.

We are just at the beginning of the settling into Autumn dance. I like this part. I like the dreamy quality of September days.

I like watching my daughter sitting in the grass whispering secrets to her dog.

I like the breeze coming through the window at night and billowing softly across my arms as I sink gratefully into my pillow.

I like the smell of the air in September, kind of like ash and sunlight and something lemony.

I like sitting in football fields and feeling my hair stand on end just a little as the Huskers do their tunnel walk. Before you die, you must come see the Cornhuskers play on their home field. There is NOTHING like this.

There you are, literally in a sea of red, because if you are a Husker fan, you know that on game day, you wear red. It's a Nebraska tradition.

Okay, you are sitting in the bleachers with 75 thousand other fans and then the big black screen goes quiet in the stadium and a quiet, deep voice suddenly utters

LET THE GAME BEGIN.

And the music starts. Our boys in red start their tunnel walk to the field. There is something almost tear producing to watch these huge hulking boys walking down their tunnel and emerge holding hands on to the field while we all scream and stomp and do the Nebraska wave.

I am not a sentimental person, but I turn to putty on game day.

Most Nebraskans do.

We don't have much in the way of tourist attractions, we don't have famous art museums or the liberty bell or mount rushmore.

We have the Cornhuskers and we are big red and that is enough on game day.

Do me a favor and watch this and tell me it doesn't give you chills. And each and every time we fans go to a game, we get to experience this.

Life is good in September in Nebraska.

It helps that we have corn on the cob and soft breezes and each other, too.

I can forget all about my workaday world on the weekends.

No alarms. No scrubs. Just me, my jeans and my red sweatshirt and life in paradise.

What's on your plate?

Who do you work with?

It has been a long time since I have had to actually work with people on a daily basis. I taught part time for years at a local college and even then, although I did share a desk with someone, I had only one class per week, so I didn't get to know everyone that well.

I freelanced for years and worked steadily for some clients but didn't have to see them on a daily basis.

Now, I actually have people that I meet and greet each day. Some I really like and the others? Well....

There is Christabelle, the hospital computer trouble shooter whom I have written about before. I adore this woman but I would never hint to her how crazy I am about her. She would probably just tell me to shut the fuck up. She and I do slap hands every time we see each other in the hall. But, she was the one who initiated it. I wouldn't have dared to try it unless she did. Now, she sees me and shrieks out my name from about ten feet away, scaring all the people in the hall. And then she gives my hand a good hardy slap as she walks by and often tells me to "stop breaking those freakin' puters, bitch!" Yes. She and I know each other so well because she visits my department frequently because my computer is out to get me.

Christabelle can be surprisingly gentle too. Once when she came to fix my computer, I was having a queasy day and was gingerly sipping 7-up while she worked. She saw me later on buying a cup of soup in the cafeteria and gallantly stepped up to purchase it for me before I could pull my pocketbook out. When I protested, she waved me away.

"I heard about your sitcheeachun," she told me. "And I want you to know that if you ever need to lie down, you just come on down to the control room and I'll skin alive anyone who bothers your ass..."

Nice to have friends in the control room....

Then there is Rossi. He is the head of my department. He is a Republican. (I know this because he noticed the Obama button on my purse and commented that "Well, that idiot gets into the white house and yeah...there will be a change...for the worse.") I have forgiven him this faux pas because he makes me laugh every single day. I will come back from lunch and see that he has decorated my work folder with cartoonish Good JOB!! stickers. He is also a master of messing up sayings and turning them into hilarious asides. He will say things like, "Well, you can't make a donkey nose out of a pig's foot." Or..."Well, I'll be a zebra's auntie." Plus, he took the time to sit down with me for nearly a half hour one day and explained all the ins and outs of my computer, Beezlebub. He once came over and pretended to punch my computer for me when it froze up for the third time in one day. He mock bitch slapped it and said, "You leave Maria alone! She's a malcontent, I know..but god bless her, she is trying to get over her bipolar problems and I won't have you picking on her, you hear me son?" He also has been secretly buying me vitamin drinks and leaving them on my desk and then pretending that he has no idea how they got there. ("It wasn't me. Can I help it if you are shamelessly leading Christabelle on? One day, instead of V-8, you're gonna find a horse head on your desk...") I think Rossi is a good guy.

Then, there are my two fellow case analyzers. They are Nita ("Call me Mama Nita...everyone here does!" No thanks. I will not call someone who is only three years older than me Mama anything.) and Becky. While, I really like Becky, I can hardly stand Nita.

Nita is one of those people who come on way too strong and seems to think that you are way more interested in her life than you really are. On my first day at work, she came up and introduced herself and said that she knew we were going to be "good friends."

Now, I ask you, how in the HELL can you ever know that? She also told me to call her Mama Nita. I have never once done so, although my stomach has turned a little bit, watching grown women come up and hug her and call her "Mama Nita" and then sit down and tell her their troubles. The problem is that I figured out right away that while Nita really wants you to share your pain with her, she also likes to gossip about you when your back is turned. One nurse spent the entire lunch hour talking to her about her boyfriend's tendency to cheat on her and that very afternoon, Nita was regaling everyone with stories about this boyfriend and how stupid the nurse was to put up with him. Of course, she didn't say that to the nurse. No. She was all nodding sympathy with her.

A turncoat. I can't stomach them.

Nita also has more ailments than anyone I have ever met. She told me on my first day of work that she was diabetic. When I commented that I was as well, she immediately launched into her diabetic past and present. I told her that while she was a type 2, I was a type 1 diabetic and she said, "Well, I don't know why I have diabetes. I eat like a bird."

She does not eat like a bird. Everyone in our department seems to bring goodies from home a lot and she always makes sure to give herself a generous slice of whatever is in the break room. And this is a woman with a medical background who should know better. She managed to eat plenty of the homemade fudge that one of the secretaries brought in and then complained all afternoon that her blood sugar was "spiking like a rocket."

No kidding? If I ate four pieces of fudge, mine would have been too.

Nita is barrel chested and has a very small mouth in a rather large face. But, she gives it a good work out every day. And it fascinates me sometimes how much she can shove into that tiny kewpie doll mouth when she eats. Nita is the one who is all up in everyone's business. She claims this is because she "just loves people!" But, really, it is because she just loves to gossip.

I know way too much about Nita. I know that her husband has said that he would kill himself if she dies first. (I can't wait to meet him. I mean, good hell...I can see wanting to kill yourself because she won't shut up. I can't see wanting to kill yourself because she dies first.) I know that her husband is a Harley motorcycle fan and that he loves to take her for rides. I know the names of each and every one of her children and grandchildren. I know what her favorite color is, how she likes her steak cooked (well done) and that she has a growth on the inner side of her left upper arm. I know this because one day she insisted on showing it to me...

Luckily, Nita takes her lunch break very early and I take mine late. If I had to sit in a cafeteria with her, I would lose my mind.

Becky is also my fellow case worker. I like her very much. Mostly because she is very, very quiet. She seldom speaks, likes to sit in the hospital atrium to eat her lunch (she brings a sack lunch every day with one cheese sandwich and an apple) and read the newspaper. She smokes and is unapologetic about it. She doesn't smoke in the hospital, of course. She goes down to the control room and she and Christabelle go sit outside and light up their marlboros together. She smells like smoke a lot and has the gravelly, smoker's voice to back it up.

I have no idea how Becky likes her steak. I only know that she has a teenaged son because she calls him every day to wake him up for work. Nita shared with me (not that I asked) that Becky is not married, never has been. ("But, she isn't a lezzy or anything..." She said this before she knew that I was and then, of course, afterwards, she had to tell me how many gay friends she has, including her hair dresser, Herman.)

Becky got my respect one afternoon when one of the higher ups in the hospital came down to berate our secretary because she lost one of his files. This guy was yelling at Felicity (the humming secretary) in front of everyone, his voice dripping with sarcasm and condescending tone. Becky stood up quietly and went up to the guy and told him to knock it off and to look for his own damn file. Since she is nearly six feet tall, he took a step back and then bandied up like a rooster until he saw that she was not shirking one bit from him. So, he shut up and walked away. I decided that I liked Becky a lot that day.

Of course, Nita was the one who made a big deal about going over to Felicity and hugging her and cooing over her, telling her that she needed to make a report to HR about that "fool." But, Becky was the one who shut the guy down.

And one day, when Nita was going on and on about her cataracts, Becky stood up and came over to me and asked if I felt like taking a "candy bar" break with her. I said yes even though I seldom eat candy bars. But, once we got into the hall, Becky smiled at me in that sleepy way she has and said, "Sometimes, I just have to get the hell away from Nita. She'll talk your ear off, you know."

Yes, I know.

So, Becky and I sat in the atrium for a few minutes and talked about how we both detest McCain and plotted to get a big Obama sign and put it in Rossi's office. As we were getting up to leave, Becky shyly asked me if I wanted to see a picture of her son and her dog, Dudley. I whipped out my Liv and Socks photos and showed them to her too. I oohed and ahhed over her son and she told me how pretty Liv was. We both agreed that our dogs got us over lots of rough spots. We did the bonding thing a little bit. Nothing showy, but when we returned to the office, there was a new friendship building between us.

I wanted to tell Nita that this is how it is done. You do it in small increments and build up. You don't ask strangers to call you "Mama."

Workplace friendships work best if you slide into them slowly. You spend eight hours a day with these people. Best to find a way to get along. I can endure Nita and once I stop wanting to wring Felicity's neck and scream at her to stop that infernal humming, I might just find a way to like her.

But, Nita? I just don't see much happening there. Nita, I can see right now, is going to be the one person at work who has the capacity to make me want to bang my head a few times on my desk. Every work environment has one.

Who is yours?

Just curious.....

Maria tries the massage thing again.

I had sworn that after my last massage, I would never go back.

But, my neck and shoulders talked me into it.

And my sister bought me a free session with a massage therapist. This guy had his own shop and didn't work from his home, which pleased me. And my sister paid over 100 smackers for the gift certificate, so I felt like I should at least give it a shot. I checked out his web site first to ascertain that he was not going to try to sell me statues of Jesus or something since my sister tends to get names off the bulletin board of her church and the last time she bought me a gift certificate it was to a bakery and when I got there, I discovered that they only baked bread in religious shapes. I am not kidding...I got to choose from a cross, a heart with a little pepper arrow pierced through it and cupcakes with little sayings on them like Jesus loves me! and Jesus wept and God bless you!

I asked them if they had any cakes with the face of Jesus painted on them and the owner surprised the hell out of me by showing me actual cakes in the fridge case with yes...frosting renderings of Jesus, Mary and even a huge one of Jesus and Mary Magdalene.

And you know that I had to buy the Jesus face cake.

Bing, Liv and I enjoyed it so much, although I did feel a bit squeamish about slicing up the face of God's only son. And Liv did request that I not give her the nose of Jesus....

So, I did my homework this time. I was not wanting to walk into a massage and hear the bible quoted to me while I got the kinks out of my spine.

I was pleasantly surprised. This was just a regular guy who massaged people for money.

Well, for big money...

I walked in and took a deep breath. It smelled very nice in there, like patchouli and lemons. And the music was not too new agey. It had little prings and tangs but wasn't anything I couldn't stand for an hour.

I was led into a very warm room with the standard massage table with the hole insert for your face. It was swathed in soft looking white sheets. I was told by the woman who led me into the room to please undress completely, lay down under the sheets and wait for "Stephen."

I did this.

Several moments later a very tall, gangly man, who did not resemble Jesus at all, but looked more like James Taylor, walked in. He was wearing a red t shirt and jeans. And he smiled very cordially at me as if we were meeting at a party and I wasn't buck naked under the soft sheet.

We shook hands and he asked me why I was there.

I explained that I sat hunched in a chair for most of the day and that I was also fighting an illness and it just took the wind right out of my sails on most days and yes, that my neck and shoulders often ached.

He took one of my hands and said, "Well, I can see that your wrists are a bit swollen too, let's take care of that first."

And then he started gently flipping my hands back and forth like little fish. I was amazed to hear my fingers and wrist joints crack, although I didn't feel a thing.

And they did feel very....limp.

He began at my feet and massaged them for so long that I almost reminded him that my feet didn't hurt a bit, that we only had an hour here, buddy...and maybe he should be working on my neck and shoulders.

Except that it really felt quite nice.

And the best part?

He didn't insist on talking to me, didn't try to draw me out or try to get me to share about my "feelings."

He just massaged my feet and then moved up my legs, to my stomach and arms.

I felt like a lovely loaf of bread being kneaded by warm, happy hands.

In short, I relaxed like a fucking rag doll.

By the time he got to my face, I was nearly asleep. I looked up to see him looking at me quietly beneath his hands, which were cupped around my jaw. He tugged a few times, quite gently and I almost wept from the release I felt. Like honey flowing all through my pores, down my neck and into my shoulders.

And he had not said a word! I loved this guy. I hate it when people who cut your hair or give your manicures feel as if they have to try to draw you out. I don't really want to talk gossip with hairdressers. I don't care about celebrity gossip either.

So, this was nice.

And it got even nicer when he had me turn over (he gallantly held the sheet up above his head and told me to "just spin around softly now.")

I spun around softly.

I lay with my head through the little hole and again, he began with my feet. He firmly began kneading the backs of my legs and I felt like I could probably lay there all night. I furtively looked at my watch and happily noticed that only a half hour had gone by.

And then he made one misstep. He spoke.

He said, "Yes, that is right. Just relax completely. That's it. Your buttocks are splayed nicely."

MY BUTTOCKS WERE SPLAYED NICELY?

I was suddenly embarrassed, as if I were some randy young thing in the back of a convertible, doing the nasty with James Taylor.

I was very aware now of my....splayed ass.

And you know what happened. I tightened up like he was coming at me with a dildo. I felt my anus snap shut, was surprised it didn't make a slamming sound.

He seemed to realize that he had said the exact wrong thing, because he shut up completely again and went back to work on my legs. I still had trouble relaxing, so he went up to my lower back and poured some sort of oil on my back and rubbed it in carefully and with great precision.

And once more, I relaxed. I did worry a bit about my splayed ass but decided to let it go and just enjoy as long as he didn't feel the need to tell me about it.

He wisely did not.

By the time he reached my shoulders, I was once again a wet noodle in his talented hands. He spent a long time on my back and shoulders and I could feel myself falling asleep.

And caught myself. It was bad enough that my buttocks had splayed. I did not want to fall asleep and drool through the little hole on to the floor as well...

I did not want to be the topic of a dinner conversation with his wife.

"I had this client today and she was so damn relaxed that she splayed her buttocks out and drooled all over the floor!"

Nope. I wanted to be a good client, one that he would want to see again. And again.

Because he really was THAT good.

He finished by patting me on my back and whispering in my ear that he would wait for me out in the outer room.

When I heard the door click shut, I blearily got to my feet and dressed, feeling as if I had just had the best fucking sex of my life. I am serious. I was POST ORGASMIC blissful and relaxed.

I caught a look at myself in the mirror before I went out and was stunned to see that I also looked like I had just had some real special lovin' by my wife...

Would I go home and be all flushed and pink cheeked and luminous and have Bing go out and buy a gun?

Even my hair looked all tousled and sexy. Frankly, I looked better than I had in years.

I felt almost shy as I went to hand my gift certificate to the receptionist.

James Taylor's twin was waiting for me at the door. He took both of my hands in his and said, "Please come back again. I think it would serve you well..."

I nodded shyly and thanked him. I almost felt....giggly.

When I arrived home, Bing and Liv had dinner waiting for me and both commented that I looked "rested."

Yup. I was rested all right....

And boy howdy, I was ready for more.

Maria goes self-help.

A funny thing happened as I was listening to my subliminal self-help tape last night.

I had gone to bed early (so what else is new?)and tucked in with a tape that was supposed to do two things. 1) It was supposed to help me love and accept myself as is and 2) It was to help me deal with being ill.

I have had a hard time at work lately. Much of my work is now on the computer and I am decidedly old school. This means that the last time I did this sort of record analyzing, I did it by reading the paper copy of the case and then writing my impressions and analytic observations. Now, I am expected to do this on the computer. Sounds easy, yes? Well, not for me. Nope. I have trouble logging on the computer. In order to get into files, I have to jump through several classified loops and I can never remember the damn codes without writing them down. I also have become convinced that my computer is a living entity that is out to get me. It frequently punishes me by freezing up on me. It is sort of like living with a frigid, mean woman who takes offense at every little thing and won't let you hug her, goes all Queen Frostine on you. The hospital computer trouble shooter (the infamous Christabelle) has had to come up nearly daily to unfreeze said computer (I have aptly christened the computer as "beezlebub")and tell me in an incredulous tone that "for a skirt that's as smart as you be, you sure act like a retard around computers."

No kidding.

So, my self esteem is taking a beating. I mean, when the bubble brained department secretary (who chews gum constantly and has no idea who Al Gore is) is having to help me work the computer, I know I am in trouble.

Tie this in with spending ten minutes barfing in the bathroom every few hours and it makes for a hard day at work for me.

So, I let Bing bring me home the subliminal message tapes and have even made an appointment to try a different massage therapist this week. I figure that I need all the help I can get.

Last night, I tucked into bed early and popped in the subliminal tape. The music started and as usual, I fell asleep within moments. I woke up when I felt Bing get into bed a few hours later.

I sleepily pulled her arm up and laid my head on her shoulder. Asked her if Liv was okay, had she checked her recently?

Yes, she said. She had just come from Liv's room. She was sleeping soundly and Socks was keeping guard.

I yawned. Leaned up to kiss her goodnight.

And then she said, "Um, honey? Do you fall asleep right away when the music goes on?"

I said that yes, I did, Why?

She hesitated and then sort of chuckled.

"Well...it's just that the last few nights...well...never mind."

Don't you fucking hate it when someone says never mind like that?

It woke me right up.

"What?" I asked.

She seemed hesitant, so I repeated the question.

Wellll," she began. "It's just that, well...the last few nights I have heard what I thought was you sort of....murmuring in your sleep and I came to the side of the bed and listened."

I was awake now.

"What was I saying?" I asked her. "Was I talking in my sleep?"

She laughed very, very quietly and pulled me in closer.

"Yeah," she admitted. "You were saying some weird shit."

Like what sort of weird shit? Like...Let's kill the Republicans weird shit?

"No," she said, "You were saying...like...phrases."

"What kind of phrases?" I asked.

"Well, like tonight you said I am a person of great value and then a few moments later, you said, Old dogs CAN learn new tricks and then again, a few minutes passed and you said, I am willing to learn new things. It is an ADVENTURE.", she said, sheepishly.

I was quiet for a moment.

"Anything else?" I finally asked.

"You also said, I am doing my best and I am proud of my accomplishments. And then you said, Even though I am not at my best healthwise, I am still able to find happiness in my life."

"Well," I finally was able to answer. "I guess that subliminal shit is working, huh?"

She and I laughed a little.

"Frankly," she answered, "it was sort of eerie. Like it was you, but not you. And I admit that I thought maybe I should make you a little subliminal tape of my own...you know I could put on there I don't care if Bing ever finishes painting the bathroom or maybe I want to have hot, naked, sweaty sex with Bing at least six times a week...."

That made me laugh. It did.

But this morning, I looked at that tape for a long, long time. I mean, it sort of does freak me out that I seem to be a little soldier for such intense learning. Who knew? I would never think myself capable of that sort of thing, that parroting of a subliminal tape. It is probably because I fall asleep and go into deep relaxation. But, now not only am I scared of my computer at work, I am sort of leery of that damn tape.

I will just keep my eye on Bing hauling in any strange looking cds....

Paradise Found

It is an average day.

Friday.

I get off work and drive to pick up Liv. As usual, just the sight of her makes me smile. She is standing, waiting for me and visiting with her friends. Her hands are gesturing wildly about something. She has made a 180 degree turn this year in personality. She used to be the quiet, shy one. Now, she is a spirited thing, bubbling with big laughs and talking to her friends in this vibrant way that sort of startles me at times.

She sees me and comes running to the car. Before I can hug her, she is off a mile a minute, telling me that we have to shop at Hy-Vee and keep our receipts so that she can take them to school for points so the school can buy things. I agree. I turn into the parking lot of Walgreens and Liv groans.

"Oh, mama...NO chores today. Please no chores," she begs.

"Sorry, Charlie," I say. "I need new batteries for my cd player and you need some more vitamins. I also need to get a few cards.."

Liv, like most children, seems to think that the only good chores involve the ones where she gets to buy a toy. She knows that I usually say no and that I never let her wait in the car. ("I'll keep the doors locked, I swear...")

We walk in and get our stuff and as we are waiting in line, an older woman behind me, taps me on the shoulder. I turn around.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if this will work for my husband's allergies," she says, showing me a bottle of Afrin. I frown at first, wondering how she knows to ask me something like that and then realize that it is my scrubs. I wear scrubs to work now.

I tell her that Afrin is okay, but Mucinex actually works the best...She smiles, thanks me and turns around to go get some. Liv smiles at me.

"I'm glad that my mother is so smart about medicine," she says.

I wonder exactly how long I could manage this ruse....

We go home and as usual, Socks is waiting impatiently to be let out to pee. Liv takes him out and when they came back in, she sits on the kitchen floor holding him while I sit down and look over all the papers she brought home from school. I finish perusing and look down and have to smile again. Socks is sprawled out in Liv's lap, laying on his back, legs splayed. He is playing with a little red ball, holding it in his front paws and looking every bit like a toddler. Liv scratches his belly and he gnaws on the ball, his eyes dreamy with contentment at the scratching. I bend down and sit down on the floor with them for awhile, talking to Liv and scratching behind Sock's ears in just the way he likes.

He is in dog heaven. A red ball. A belly scratch. An ear scratch. Life is good in Socksland.

There is something very peaceful and cozy about sitting on a wooden kitchen floor with a nine year old girl and a little black dog and talking about your days together, I think. Remember this. Remember that Socks is barely a year old, that Liv has on her jeans and that cute red striped shirt. Remember that we talked about new playground equipment being ordered for her school. Remember this, because when she is a teenager, these moments will be hard to come by.

Liv gets up and looks in the fridge for a treat. She is such a good eater. I never have to limit her cookies. Today, as usual, she goes for the fruit. A lovely pink and yellow peach. She slides a book out of her backpack and starts to head upstairs to her room to read. Socks looks at me and smiles, knowing that as soon as Liv is out of sight, we will split a peanut butter cookie.

I playfully grab Liv's shirt as she passes me.

"What are you reading?" I ask.

She shows me. It is Les Miserables by Victor Hugo.

In the original french.

Yes.

My nine year old daughter is reading Les Miserables in French. I read that book in college. In a bad English translation.

I ask her why she is reading it in French.

"Miss Chan lent it to me," she says. "She said that you should always read books in their own language."

Um..okay.

Miss Chan is her French teacher at school. She is Chinese, a tiny woman with hair cut into a perfect glossy black bob. I saw her in a cafe once eating dinner and talking to her toddler son in Chinese. It sounded so harsh, that language. It was choppy and staccato, seemed so strange coming out of her mouth. I had only heard her speak in that perfect English that so many foreigners adopt. And French. I have heard her speak in a lovely, lilting French accent as well. But, seeing her speak her native language seemed odd to me. I had asked her once about why she chose to get her degree in French and she told me that she had fallen in love with France when she was a child and that she had always felt French.

"I never felt Chinese. I never felt American. But, French...I feel like I should have been born in Paris..."

How wonderful to know something like that.

After a half hour, I call upstairs to Liv to get her swim suit on, that it is almost time for her swim stroke class. After swim team ended this summer, her coach told me that I should sign Liv up for a few swim classes to keep her "beautiful butterfly stroke intact." So, I found a class that meets twice a week and is nearby. Liv loves this class even more than her soccer games. Even more than her piano lessons.

Liv comes skipping downstairs a few moments later, her blue speedo suit under a pair of pedal pushers. She has tied her hair up in a ponytail.

I change out of my scrubs, pull on a pair of jeans and off we go.

Walking into the swimming pool auditorium at a local high school, I breathe in deeply. I love the smell of chlorine. Love the too-warm pool area, the whole humid room. Liv goes to get ready and I climb up the bleachers to find a seat, a catalog under my arm. I sink down on the hard bench, nod at a few other parents and relax. It is nearly five in the evening, also the hardest time of day for me. My fatigue catches up with me every day around five, my exhaustion from the day and the medication starting to melt into my bones, causing a dull ache and deep, deep urge to close my eyes. The warmth of the room makes me feel dense and so so sleepy.

And then the children came bursting out of the locker room, ready to swim. Their coach, Bobby, is a 68 year old man who is reed thin but bursting with crackling energy and has a deep resonant voice that carries all the way up the bleachers. I love Bobby. He says things like, "You all act like a pack of baby elephants in the water. I want to see PORPOISES. I WANT TO SEE MERMAIDS AND MERMEN. I WANT TO SEE SHARKS. I have no patience with pachyderms."

I spot Liv right away. She is slender as a willow in her blue suit. She has grown vain of her hair lately, told me that she intended to wear her swim cap because she had noticed that her hair was getting all "scrinchy" from the pool water. And there...yes...she has on her bright green swim cap and hot pink goggles. She looks up into the bleachers, searching for me. I sigh, looking at her and waving my hand. She is so, so beautiful, has a true swimmers physique, all slender and long legged.

She spots me and smiles, waving madly and I shake my head and laugh. She looks cooly sophisticated for a nine year old, with her honey blonde hair and big brown eyes, her slim body and colt legs, her skin not white like mine, but more like coffee with lots and lots of cream.

And then she smiles and the coolness vanishes. She has a jack-o-lantern grin. Like her father. He is the same way. He looks like a proud, regal Native American, like he should be on a coin. And then he smiles and suddenly, you know exactly what he looked like when he was five. Liv smiles now and with her bright green swim cap and hot pink goggles, she resembles a neon frog.

I wave back, feeling all the pain in my legs, my back, my head disappear.

I watch her sluice through the water, serious and intent on her strokes. I hear Bobby's deep voice carry up to me as he shouts, "Atta girl, my LIVVY!"

I can feel her smiling as she keeps going, her head turning to the right to take a breath. I smile too.

After her lesson, she is ravenous. We drive home quickly, wondering what Bing is making for dinner. When we walk into the kitchen, the delicious smell of eggs wafts towards us and we peek into the pan. Tomato and pepper omelettes! Toast with jam! Chai tea!

We sink down in our chairs and eat until we are full, talking about the election. Liv pipes up that she thinks Sarah Palin is not a worthy candidate because she bragged about killing a moose. Bing and I heartily agree. We all agree that no, we do not want a moose killer that close to the presidency....

After dinner, Liv and I take Socks to the park for some frisbee throwing while Bing cleans up the dinner dishes. It is cool enough that we have to wear our sweaters. We throw the frisbee to Socks over and over. His friend, Jax, arrives with his owner, Dan and Socks ditches us to go run around with Jax. They leap around each other excitedly, talking in dog talk about their days, while Liv, Dan and I sit on a picnic table and visit. Liv runs off to swing for a while while Dan walks off to the side to smoke a cigarette. I lay back on the picnic table, looking up at the trees. I am surprised to find that they are already turning. It will be an early winter, then. I sigh and sit up.

Socks and Jax are sitting nearby, curled up against each other, inhaling their dog breaths all over each other, panting happily. Liv finishes swinging and we all decide to head home. On the walk home, I feel a wave a nausea wash over me and swallow hard a few times, warding it off. My legs are shaky. I am getting very tired.

Once home, I run a bath for Liv and sit on the edge with her, washing her hair and reminding her to scrub her armpits. At last, she is finished and we go into her room to get her pjs on and have her read a chapter of Les Miserables to me. I am astonished at her near perfect accent. Once again, I think to myself that she is so smart that she will soon surpass me and then what will I do? Will I soon be handing my check book over to her to balance for me since I can never match my balance to the bank's balance?

Finally, I lean down and kiss her cheek. Tell her that she can read as long as she likes and that I will see her in the morning. She loops her arms around my neck when I lean down. She still smells a little like the swimming pool. I take a deep breath of her. Socks comes tip tapping in and when Liv pats her bed, he jumps up, turns around three times and settles in at the end of her bed, where he can see out the window and keep an eye on things. I imagine him gazing out at the moon sometimes, making a dog wish on it.

I go into my bathroom and pour a capful of ginger bath oil into water as hot as I can stand. I groan a little when I sink down into it because it feels so wonderful and I am so, so tired. Everything hurts now. I stretch out my toes and sink my head down, soaking, soaking. There is a tap on the door. Bing comes in and sits on the edge of the tub.

Would I like a back scrub?

Yes, I would. Thank you.

She wets a wash cloth, pours some goat milk soap on it and lathers up my back, going around and around in circles. She leans down to kiss my cheek, my neck. I circle her neck with my arms, wetting her tee shirt.

We have a very nice moment.

I tell her that I will skip the local ten o'clock news tonight and just get in bed with my new cd, the one she bought me that has music with subliminal messages on it geared towards reducing stress and telling my body to heal, heal, heal.

She helps me slip a nightgown over my head, stopping to hug me for a long moment.

"Do you think you will be okay to go the Husker game tomorrow?" she asks, looking concerned.

I laugh. "Are you kidding? OF COURSE, I will go to the game. Wild horses couldn't keep me away from watching our boys in red win another one," I say (And yes...they DID win!)

She smiles, says she is glad, excited about us all going to the game tomorrow. We kiss goodnight and I slide my ear bobs into my ears and turn on my cd player.

The music starts. I feel myself drifting off to sleep. I wake up half way later as I feel Bing gently taking the ear pieces out of my ears and putting the cd player on my dresser. She leans in and rests her cheek on mine.

"I love you, alpha woman," she whispers. "You've been the love of my life since I was eighteen.."

I try to tell her that I love her too, but I am so, so tired and sleep is overtaking me again. The sheets are so soft and my tiredness is so heavy. It is like swimming in a deep pool, I think....

And then I am dreaming about Liv swimming in a pool and as she undulates under the water, swimming, I realize that she really is a mermaid, that she has this long, lovely, cerulean fish tail.....I smile. She is so beautiful and I am so lucky....