Getting from there to here.

My life seems to be re-invented from time to time. I mostly fight it, resent it, and then adjust.

My bff, Harriet and I were talking on the phone last night, mourning the fact that when we get together now, it is a game of logistics. We used to live about two blocks from each other and volunteered at pre-school lunch at Liv's school, so we saw lots of each other.

Now, not so much. Her sister died over a year ago and Harriet is now raising her niece and nephew in addition to her two children. Since she and her husband couldn't afford to pay tuition for four children at Montessori, they pulled their two children and put them all in public school. They had to sell their tiny 3 bedroom house in my area of the city and bought a bigger one in a cheaper area. She now lives on one side of the city while I live on the other. We no longer talk daily. She calls me or I call her about once a week and we get together for dinner about once a month. And yak our heads off...but it still irks me to only get a tiny portion of her instead of the big helping that I had been accustomed to.

I have been thinking of all the twists and turns my life has taken since Liv's birth.

I tried to go back to work after Liv was born and it was a dismal failure. I took her in to my in-office day care and I think we both made it for about two weeks. I would be sitting up in my office on the 12th floor and yearning for my baby, who, because she had colic and slept all day and cried all night, was usually snoozing in a crib on the 4th floor. I physically ached for her. I would go rushing down to check on her every couple of hours and spent my lunch times with her. It wasn't enough.

I took a long hard look at my finances and decided that if I sold my condo and moved into a cheap house, I could maybe live on my savings for five years and then only have to work part time for five more and we could probably be okay.

So, I did it. I quit my job. Sold the condo. Moved into an ancient house in an older part of the city. A fixer upper, I believe you call it. This house was in such disrepair that one of my memories of that fateful day on September 11th also included a memory of opening my upstairs bedroom window and having it literally fall out of it's frame into the yard below.

Those days are a Monet in my mind. Blurry. Slurry. Lots of soft colors mixing in together. Deep blue and greens with a peek of yellow. I was blissfully happy in a very sad way. Hard to explain.

It was hard for me to adjust to life without working. I had been working so hard for so long and suddenly, I was working just as hard, but in a completely different way. I wore jeans, constantly carried spit up on my shoulders and after Liv turned four months old and stopped screaming with colic every night, we settled right in.

But, I have memories of those first four months. Surreal ones. Even though I knew exactly what colic was, had the medical knowledge to understand it and be wise about it...I still felt like a lousy mother. And god...those interminable nights of walking the floor with Liv, all alone and listening to bizarre talk radio at 3 in the morning. I don't think I got more than three hours sleep a night in those first four months. And I remember breaking down in tears at the peds office one day, saying that GOOD HELL...WOULD SHE EVER STOP SCREAMING ALL NIGHT?

She did. At right about four months, on schedule. After that, it was pretty much cake. Well, most days. When I look back, I seem to recall long days of laying blissfully in my adirondack chair in the back yard, her golden haired head asleep on my breast, while I watched robins splashing in the bird bath and felt like life was magic. I remember changing her diaper and kissing her toes, putting her whole foot in my mouth, making her chortle with glee. I remember her first ballerina steps, up on her tippy toes with me holding out my fingers for her to hold. And the moment when she let go of the sofa and walked to me, lurching and laughing and I swooped her up and let out a rebel yell, saying..."You did it! Livvy pie, you did it!!"I remember Sesame Street and Max and Ruby and doing the batty bat with the Count.

I remember too, that I was mostly alone. Hermitlike by nature, I pretty much liked it that way. I had my sisters to talk to occasionally, friends who stopped by. Bing and I even tried living together as a couple for a little over a month before I told her that I just couldn't do it. She moved back to Louisiana and I was glad, to be honest. I do remember one day when Liv was about two years old. I woke up and realized that I had not spoken to another adult in nearly a week. I was suddenly filled with a cold fear that what if something happened to me?

What if I died in my sleep? What would become of Liv? She was totally dependent on me. I made a conscious effort, after that, to get out of the house more with her. To go to Mommy and me classes. I signed us up for swimming classes, for gymboree. I began taking her to the park nearly every day.

When Liv was three, I attempted to put her in pre-school. A big mistake. She wasn't ready. I took her home, part of me worried that I had created such a haven for us that she would never want to leave my side and yes, a part of me secretly relieved that it was just us again.

We lived simply. We had to. If I didn't carefully budget my money, this would never work.

Liv's father came into our lives again. Bing moved back here, with a live in girl friend in tow.

At four years old, Liv was ready for pre-school. Montessori. She loved it and I volunteered a lot.

At five, I enrolled her in kindergarten at the same school. We both loved (and love) her school. It is green and diverse and the educational bars are set very, very high. Her school goes to 8th grade and I have decided that it is where she is meant to be.

I had very little social life. With the exception of the badly managed live-in trial with Bing, I think I had maybe....three dates. In almost seven years. I just couldn't seem to care. To be honest, I didn't really miss sex or romance that much. Oh, yes, I had moments of wanting to be touched....like that. But, I never met anyone who made me want to be with them badly enough to get a babysitter for Liv.

When Liv started first grade and didn't need me all day anymore, I started working free lance. I carved out a part time career for myself by hiring myself out as a jury selection expert. I surprised myself by being so good at my job that I could have worked full time if I wanted to. I didn't. I was making such a great salary working part time that it was working out just fine to keep volunteering at Liv's school too.

And then, at the ripe old age of 48, I fell in love with Bing. Finally. She had been in our city for years by then, was coming over to hang out with us several times a week and eventually moved in to the basement when her relationship ended and the girlfriend wanted to keep the apartment. It worked out well.

Liv had it all figured out before I did. We were sitting in her rocker together reading a story before bedtime. She was in second grade. She looked up at me and said, "Why does Bing live in the basement? I mean, you love her, don't you? Can't she move upstairs with us and be part of our family for real?"

I scoffed at first. And then, a few days later, realized that she was right. I did love Bing. That way.

The day I told Bing that I was in love with her was a strange day. We were sitting in a diner eating pie after I took Liv to school. Bing had called in sick to her teaching job to help me put in a garden. I looked across the booth at Bing and just blurted out something idiotic like..."Hey, I just realized that I am in love with you and I think you should move out of the basement and up into my bedroom. What do you think? Can you stand me?

She thought she could. She did. And I was honest with her right from the start. I told her that Liv came first. Always. No ifs ands or buts.

She thought that was only fair.

She did,however, have a few problems once she was all moved in officially with us. She told me, honestly, as only Bing can be...that she thought I was sort of a sloppy parent. She didn't agree with the fact that I had no bedtime for Liv.

I didn't. I never had. Liv was always in bed at a decent hour, but I was pretty fluid about it. And on the weekends, I didn't care how late she stayed up.

Bing didn't like it that Liv still slept with me, in my bed, from time to time.

"This is OUR bed," she said. "Liv needs to stay in her own bed."

Well, hell no, she did not.

I told Bing that as far as I was concerned, Liv could sleep with me whenever she had a nightmare, was feeling upset or angry, or even if she didn't really have a reason, she just needed me.

And when Liv wanted to sleep with me, well....Bing would have to sleep in the guest room. The end. Now, of course, it is a moot point. Liv hasn't asked to sleep with me in over a year. She likes her own bed, with her dog curled up on the end of her bed.

Bing wanted to mingle our finances, felt it was important to really join ourselves together this time, to commit. So, we did. This has proven difficult. I am pretty good about saving and budgeting. But, I am also a believer that sometimes you just have to go out for a nice dinner or buy a pair of shoes.

Bing makes me look like a spendthrift. She is a penny saved, penny earned sort of person. She shops for clothes at Goodwill.

Our grocery bill has gone down drastically because she refuses to buy junk.

So, we have compromised. She lets me buy shoes now and then and I consented to stop buying junk food, for the most part.

And, Liv's college fund is looking pretty these days. Bing puts money in. I put money in. Liv's father puts money in. Three people saving goes much farther than one.

Liv and Bing have their good days and bad days. I often wonder what it will be like when Liv is a teenager...maybe best not to think on that too much. I do know that they love each other. When Liv has math homework, she doesn't even bother looking in my direction. And it helps that Bing is one of those crazy people who actually loves math. Some days, I can feel Liv bristling a bit with Bing's opinions on what limits should be set for her. Other days, I will come home from somewhere and find them laying on the floor together, with the dog in between them, listening to reggae music, their heads nodding up and down at music that I can not decipher to save my life.

Socks, the dog, came into our lives. In typical Bing fashion, she groused about his training, about feeding him people food, about taking him to dog school to learn some manners.

Now, my life is turning once again. I got very, very sick. I decided after I realized that I probably was not going to die just yet, that I wanted a job with stellar insurance. Since Bing and I are not able to legally marry, she can't just put Liv and me on her insurance (which is one of the best policies in the city.)

I decided to go back to work full time. This was probably one of the hardest things I have done in a long time. I'm back to the old 8-4 grind and to be honest, I enjoy it. I enjoy the money. I enjoy the work.

But a part of me misses so much else. With my hours, I don't take Liv to school or pick her up. Her morning babysitters, Hal and Nora, take her in the morning and she goes home after school with her best friend until I can get her. So, I don't even see Liv's school anymore. Since one of the requirements for her school is parental volunteering, I have signed up to work in the school garden one Saturday a month when the weather is good. I also joined in with another parent to put together a scholarship for a needy student. So, I pay tuition and half now. It's fine. Anything to keep Liv there. I wish I could afford ten scholarships.

I feel like my life is so different now. I mean, I went from being a single workaholic to a stay at home mom, to a part time SAHM/part time freelance worker and finally have landed here: a full time bringing-home-some-nice-bacon worker and nights and weekends Mother.

And like always, I am tired.

But, I am happy. I got to do what so many mothers do not. I got to quit my job and stay at home with my child. ALL DAY LONG. ALL NIGHT LONG.

And while some of those days and nights were idyllic, others were just very looong.

I wonder what is ahead? What Liv will be like as a tweener, a teen, a young woman?

What my relationship with Bing will bring. I suspect that it is happy-ever-after...but I am not naive enough to believe that if I wish it, it will happen. It will take work to keep those wheels turning. Luckily, I have a partner who holds up her end nicely. Actually, she sometimes holds up my end too.

I wonder what I will be like in my old age? Will I be one of those women who insist on talking to a doll in a nursing home? Will I live to see Liv become whatever she wants to be as a grown up? (Right now, she wants to be an environmental engineer.)

Whatever happens....dude...it has been quite a ride. And, looking back, I can see that everything in my life happened as it was meant to happen, as it was supposed to be. Some days, when I was living my life, I questioned it. Now, I don't. It's a journey and it has been a hell of a ride.

I wish I could see around the corner, though....I really do.

A cupcake from Amber.

Amber is my fill in secretary from the temp place. My regular secretary, Elly, just got out of the hospital yesterday after being sick as a dog with pneumonia. She says she plans to come back to work on Monday. I told her to just call me on Friday and tell me how she is doing, no hurry.

But, good lord...I feel such a need for her to get her ass back here. Her healthy ass, that is. Actually, everyone except Piper and myself is sick at work. Elly fell first, with what she thought was a simple cold that quickly turned into something much worse. She was hospitalized last week after she went to her doctor's office and nearly fainted in his waiting room. And then...everyone fell like dominoes. Marisol has been coming to work, but you sort of wish she wouldn't. She looks gray faced and is quietly miserable. Francisco became sick next, followed in short order by Sue and Julie. They are all coming in, although they are nearly as sick as Marisol. The sounds of wretched coughing and violent sneezing fits explode in fits and starts all through the day.

Piper passed me in the hall the other day and whispered, "You just don't want to touch anything, do you?"

Nope.

So, Amber has been filling in for Elly. She is a twenty something woman with a chipper blonde ponytail and the kind of voice that surprises you. It sounds like a teenage girl, a Miley Cyrus sort of voice that doesn't fit her face.

Amber is pregnant. She is due in late July, so that would make her about three months along. But, she wears maternity tops already, making her look much more pregnant than she really is. She is thrilled about becoming a mother and it is her main topic of conversation.

She is also a truly bad secretary.

At first, I just figured that it would take a while for her to figure out how to do things. I mean, we use a lot of government forms here and I know that can be confusing. But, she either is refusing to learn or simply cannot. I am guessing that it is a choice rather than a problem as she seems pretty intelligent to me. So, why does she insist on handing me files that look as though she simply threw forms in them, willy nilly? Why can't she remember to collect co-payments? Why does she forget to photocopy insurance and medicaid cards? When I asked her to cancel all my afternoon appointments because I broke a tooth and had to go to the dentist, she forgot and then left shortly after I did, since she figured that "Maria doesn't need me to stick around if she isn't here, so I guess I will just take off early!"

And then, of course, all the children and their parents showed up for their appointments because she had neglected to call and cancel them.

Poor sick Marisol handled them, rescheduled them and told me the next day that Amber was "useless, truly useless." Marisol never says a bad word about anyone, so yeah, she was pissed off.

Today was a hard day. I woke up cranky. My tooth was fixed two days ago, but it still aches now and then. I had several nightmares last night in quick succession. Most of them involved losing Liv in some way. It is usually what I have nightmares about. I dreamed that I was at some sort of summer festival and Liv was roller skating. She got far ahead of me and some man dragged her into a car. I kept trying to get to her, was screaming at someone, anyone to please help me. No one helped. Many got in my way. I woke up in a cold sweat, my face wet with tears, gasping and so relieved to have only been dreaming.

And then...fell back asleep and dreamed that there was a man with a knife in the house. It was my childhood home, no idea what I was doing there...but I was alone and he was there and after me. I somehow got out of the house and realized that I had left Liv inside with him. She was still an infant and napping.

Talk about night terrors.

So, yeah...I woke up cranky with my tooth pulsating with pain and a headache and just plain crabby in general.

I tried to talk to Bing and she was in a hurry, in no mood to put up with my sad sackness.

"Honey...you just had a bad night. Tomorrow will be better."

That was when I got really whiny. I told her that I had fucking ENOUGH on my damn plate and I didn't want to deal with a painful tooth...plus...the thought of going to an office full of sick people was not much to look forward to...

Bing stopped packing her back pack and looked at me, frowning.

"You know what, Maria? It could be so much worse. We are so lucky in so many ways. We have our jobs, we have each other. Cars that run..."

Well, that did it. I told her to please shut the fuck up and let me be frackin' gloomy once in a while. That I wasn't Mary Fucking Poppins, that I had a RIGHT to be cranky now and then.

I think I may have stomped my foot. I was in ten year old mode and that was it.

She rolled her eyes and tried to kiss me goodbye and then sneezed as she leaned in towards me.

"DON'T YOU DARE BE GETTING SICK!" Those would be my parting words to her.

Yeah, I am America's sweetheart, no contest.

She left without her kiss. I didn't care.

I had to nag Liv into getting up. She was dragging her feet, upset over her homework. She is having trouble with participles these days.

I sat on her bed, trying for the 100th time to explain things as she got dressed.

"It is easy, Liv. Verbs have two participles, one is called present or imperfect. The other is called past. Now, if I have talked then, what participle is it? It is PAST. If I am talking then it is what? PRESENT. And now, what is a dangling participle? Do you know?"

Liv wearily pulled on her socks, shook her head.

No time. Never enough time. I told her to pack up her back pack and ask Hal and Nora, her morning babysitters to help her. We left the house and were halfway to Hal and Nora's house when Liv suddenly remembered that she forgot her lunch.

I dramatically sighed and headed back home, scolding her for her forgetfulness. I sent her in to get her lunch and she came out running a few moments later.

"I forgot the code to turn off the house alarm, Mama!"

Cursing, I got out of the car, jerked open the door and shut off the alarm and then went striding to the dining room to retrieve Liv's lunch when we both realized that Socks had run outside. It took ten minutes to lure him back into the house and I am sorry to say that I yelled at him when I finally caught him and then slammed the door hard in his face.

When we arrived at Hal and Nora's, I hurried her up to the door and barely kissed her goodbye before sprinting back to the car, worried about being late for work.

I forgot that she had that test on participles today. She could have used an extra hug instead of me snapping at her to not forgot your lunch in the car or you will just have to go without...I MEAN IT, OLIVIA!

When I got to work, the parking place that I usually nab was taken by a big pimp mobile. I found one nearly a block away. As I got out of the car, one of the homeless men that I see every day came up to me and asked for some "coffee change" as he always does.

I frowned and waved him away. Too bad. So sad.

When I got in the office, everyone was still sick. Except for me and Piper....

And Amber. Who was in a huge maternity dress. I wanted to snicker at her and tell her that she looked ridiculous in maternity clothes when she wasn't even showing yet. Instead, I ignored her and went to get coffee and realized that Amber must have made it because it was fucking WEAK. I hate slipshod coffee. I grabbed the coffee pot and made a big show out of dumping it all down the drain.

"I don't know who made this coffee...but it is WEAK," I said in my haughty voice.

I got through the morning. I realized then that Liv wasn't the only one who forgot her lunch at home....so, I sent Amber to pick me up a hamburger at the diner down the street. I specifically asked her to get extra catsup. She forgot.

After lunch, my bad behavior finally caught up with me. I was in the bathroom and suddenly it hit me that I had been a perfect bitch to everyone (with the exception of our patients) all day long.

Why did I have to be so snotty to Bing?

And GOD...Liv was so worried this morning and participles are HARD. I hadn't been there for her and then to make things worse, I was brusque and snapped at her. I remembered my nightmares last night and suddenly I thought...

What if something happens to her today, what if I lose her, something terrible happens, and the last thing she remembers is me shoving her into Hal and Nora's house and not even kissing her goodbye?

I don't try to be a bad mother. I really don't.

And that poor homeless guy. God, all he ever asks of me is some damn change for a cup of coffee. Okay. Maybe it is really for a Colt 45, but who am I to judge? Why was I so hateful to that poor man?

Amber is sort of a dimwit, but I didn't have to make her feel so badly about making coffee. I knew it was she that made it. Everybody did. And I deliberately made her feel badly about it.

So, everyone is sick at work. At least it isn't me. And it isn't their fault.

I hung my head. I thought again of Liv and looked at my watch. It was 2:30. Her test would be over by now. She was here. In my city. With me. My little girl.

I felt my eyes fill with tears. If anything happened to her...

I heard a sound behind me and started. Looked up quickly.

It was Amber. Our eyes met and she said, "Oh! I'm sorry...I'll just...come back in later..." and she backed out.

How embarrassing to be caught crying in a bathroom.

Oh, well. It happens.

I washed my face and re-applied lipstick. Blush. Mascara.

And went back to my desk.

There in the middle of it was a small white cupcake with white frosting. A note beside it said

Dear Maria,
I'm sorry you are having a bad day. Hope it gets better soon. I remember that you said once that you liked those vanilla bean cupcakes at the bakery down the street, so I got you one. I like being your secretary. I also like the way you dress usually. Your friend, Amber.

It helped, that cupcake. And I made sure to cut it in half and make her share it with me. I told her that vanilla bean is good for mothers to be.

Tomorrow will be better. I will be more patient with Liv. I will be kinder to my spouse. I will give the homeless man my change. And I will drink the coffee as is.

But, hey. That cupcake made a difference. And maybe my dreams will be sweet tonight.

NAME THAT QUOTE!

Okay, all you readers out there. Now is the chance to see if you like the same books and authors that I do.

Winner will get an all expense paid trip to my personal little house on the prairie. Also with this package comes a night's stay in my much loved and lived home with a guest room that comes with a foot warmer named Socks. A breakfast of hummus on toast with broccoli sprouts will be served at no cost! A tour of Boys Town! A Cornhusker game, where you will see some real smash mouth football, the ONLY kind played here. A night of helping a nine year old girl with her past participles! And finally, a dinner with Maria, where you can sit and snicker together over all those bloggers who just did not pass muster! And all the oreo cookies that you can eat. So...giddy up, suckers!

1) Why spiders? Why couldn't it be "follow the butterflies?"

2) I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly. (C'mon...Earth Muffin...I KNOW you will get this one!

3) Where, you tend a rose, my lad, A thistle cannot grow.

4) She had become accustomed to being lonely. She was used to walking alone and to being considered "different." She did not suffer too much.

5) This morning, however, in the tight, small black frock, she looked thinner and odder than ever and her eyes were fixed on Miss Minchin with a queer steadiness as she slowly advanced into the parlor, clutching her doll.

6) Believe me, my young friend, there is NOTHING--absolutely nothing--half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.

7) Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.

8) If love be rough with you, be rough with love. Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.

9) Sometimes I even think I was cut out to be colored and I got bleached and sent to the wrong bunch of folks.

10) You are born into your family and your family so born into you. No returns. No exchanges.

11) Thanks stadium pal!

12) I remember leaving the hospital, thinking 'Wait. Are they going to let me just walk off with him? I don't know beans about babies! I don't have a license to do this.' We're just amateurs.

13) Some luck lies in not getting what you thought you wanted but getting what you have, which once you have got it you may be smart enough to see is what you would have wanted had you known.

14) I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was 12--Jesus, did you?

15) The worst loneliness is to not be comfortable with yourself.

16) Not to be rude or anything, but this isn't a great time for me to have a house elf in my bedroom.

17) Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. So, try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything, all right?

18) A garden. I've stolen a garden. But it may already be dead. I don't know.

19) From that time on, the world was hers for the reading. She would never be lonely again, never miss the lack of intimate friends. Books became her friends and there was one for every mood.

20) Do you think that people really do believe they will die, that the world will just go on as always without them? I wonder if we aren't all a little surprised at the moment of crossover, if we don't look back over our shoulders saying, Now hold on.

21) Everyone looks retarded once you set your mind to it.

22) God is cruel, sometimes he makes you live.

So, anyone know any of these? Or maybe you have one of your own for us to guess?

Maria mud wrestles and gets a massage.

Sounds kind of....dirty...huh?

Our story starts on one of those mid January days on the prairie that are fondly called by us prairie people as "the Chinook days." When you live where we do, by January, you are heartsick over the constant grueling snow, ice and wind. And the temps that barely break 0 degrees even when the sun is shining. But, in every January, something happens. For one or two days, sometimes three, we get something called the January thaw or the Chinook wind days. When this happens, the temps, for no good reason, suddenly splurt upwards into the 50's. It is our reminder that there really is a Spring, that we won't have to just dream about moving to Hawaii, that in another couple of months, if we can just get through....it will be cool outside instead of bone chilling cold. The snow may just melt.

It was one of those days when I fell in the mud.

It had been a splendid day. My joints were loving the mild weather, work had gone well. I was wearing my new shoes, a pair of these lovely shoes. I had seen them in the window at the shoe store for months and limped by, with my swollen jointed knees and wobbly ankles. Until one day, just for the hell of it, I let myself go in and try them on. And, wouldn't you know, not only did they fit perfectly, but they looked as if they were made personally for me by the shoemaker's elves. I looked....bitchin. I looked fantastic in those ankle boots. They were black suede and cost way too much, plus they were high heels, something that is usually a big no-no for me with my rheumatoid arthritis legs.

I bought them.

I showed them off to Bing and Liv. Bing playfully leered at me and Liv said, "You look like a rock star, Mama!" But, later that night, Bing said, "Honey, you really should not be wearing those for long periods of time, you know. I mean with your arthritis and your balance problems...." (I have Meniere's Syndrome, which causes me to have an inner ear imbalance. I don't lurch or anything, but if I lose my balance, it is very hard for me to regain it. When other people sort of trip and catch themselves...I just plunge to my death.)

I let my vanity be my guide. I wore them to work on that fateful Chinook wind day. I wore them with my little gray Chanel suit and a champagne colored trench coat. Vain is me. And then some.

But, I loved hearing my heels snap across the pavement in those shoes all day long. I felt pretty, oh, so pretty.

I picked up Liv after work, took us home and had her go inside to turn off the house alarm (thank you, blog stalker, for making me worry that one day you will try to break into my home!) while I walked to the front curb to get the mail out of the mailbox.

The local cable company had repaired some cables in our area in the Autumn and had not done a very good job of re-patting the soil that was dug up. But, it had been frozen solid for months, so I thought nothing of the fact that after I got the mail, I decided to cut across the yard to the house. The outside thermometer said it was 54 degrees. Boy howdy!

And then my foot sunk in mud up over my ankle. Of course, my ankle turned and twisted and I went down....hard.

Into mud.

I tried to get up and could not get purchase. Everything was....mud. I had fallen forward on my knees and then when I tried to use my hands to get myself up, found that I could not, it was like quicksand out there. Eventually, I was able to get myself up by sort of crawling over to a fire hydrant and heaving myself up.

I scared the shit out of Liv when I came lurching in the back door. My hands were covered with mud, my trench coat covered in it. I had taken my ankle boots off in the garage and to my dismay, the beautiful black suede was ruined.

I could barely walk.

A shower later, I was mud free. The trench coat had been rinsed off and was waiting to be taken to the dry cleaners, along with the Chanel suit. The shoes were rinsed and sitting stinkily on the radiator. My body was clean, but my knees and shins were bruised and swollen as was my ankle and my wrist.

Bing called to ask if she needed to pick anything up on the way home and Liv solemnly told her, "I think Mama needs pizza. She's been injured."

I spoke to her on the phone and mortified myself by not crying over my injuries or my embarrassment of wondering if anyone had seen me mud wrestling in my front yard...but bursting into tears as I looked at my ruined ankle boots.

I mean, it doesn't get much more pathetic than that, does it?

She brought the pizza home and we watched the premiere of Lost with me tucked up on the sofa with bags of ice on my knees.

The next day, I was stiff as a board and my knees were still as big as cantaloupes.

So, I called Hans, my massage guy, the one who looks like Jesus in jeans and an AC/DC tee shirt. I told him of my dilemma and he agreed to see me this morning for a massage.

He met me at his door, gallantly holding it open as I lurched like an 80 year old bag lady through it, with my haggie maggie hair, dressed in purple sweats and a very bad attitude. I had remembered to brush my teeth, though. So, my breath was minty fresh.

Hans' cat, Dan Fogelberg, immediately jumped into my lap, as I sat in a chair talking about what sort of massage I should get with his master. (And no, there is no cute story as to why the cat is named Dan Fogelberg, I did ask. Hans just looked confused. "What's the matter with that name?" he asked. "I think it is a perfectly nice one.")

What is really odd is that Dan Fogelberg is famous for hating Hans' clients. Hans tells me that he usually glares and walks away with his tail in the air. Not with me. That cat freakin' adores me. Hans thinks this is because I am a "cat person." I am so not a cat person. I am not even a pet person, with the exception of my own dog, Socks. I don't even really like to keep a gold fish.

Dan Fogelberg meowed huskily and rubbed his face against mine several times, marking me as his own, as Hans and I discussed ideas. Finally, Hans shooed him off of my lap and led me into the massage room where he tactfully left me alone to get all naked and under the covers.

He came back in and gingerly lifted up the covers to take a look at my knees. He made a sympathetic face.

"Oh, Maria," he said, quietly. "What have you done to yourself this time?"

Before I could answer, Dan Fogelberg jumped on the table and positioned himself gallantly next to my head. When Hans went to pick him up to put him outside, he looked pleadingly at me. Let. Me. Stay. he begged telepathically. I frowned and shook my head. This might get ugly and I wanted him to remember me fondly. Hans set him outside the door.

"When I do that at night in our bedroom, sometimes he shits in front of the door, so I step in it when we get up in the morning," Hans told me. "He is vindictive like that."

Oh.

Hans came back to me and sighed, looking long and hard at my purple and black swollen knees.

"Why don't we start with a back rub," he suggested. "And I will use those hot rocks that you love so much."

Oh. Those hot rocks. I ADORE those hot rocks.

I smiled and turned over, fitting my face into the the little pillow with the hole in it, my arms resting on the stool under it.

Hans got to work with tiger balm and hot rocks. He placed a toasty warm rock in each of my hands. I curled my fingers around them lovingly, relaxing.

"Tell me about your fall," he asked, as his fingers took all the knots out of my shoulders. So, I began with my story, not missing any details.

I noticed that Hans had grown strangely silent as I spoke. Now, I felt the peculiar feeling of the table shaking a little as I stopped talking briefly.

God, was he crying?

I turned my head to look at him. No.

He was silently laughing. Giggling.

He saw me looking at him and tried to stop. "I'm soooo sorry, Maria," he sort of gasped. "It's just...kind of a funny picture you are painting. I mean, there you were, looking all hip and stunning in your fuck-me shoes and then to go down...like a ton of bricks into the mud like that...it's just..," he tried to go on and couldn't.

And suddenly, it hit me just how comical I must have looked.

And I started laughing too. We both laughed good and hard. It morphed into that weird silent wheezy laughter after awhile, that is almost painful. Outside the door, Dan Fogelberg meowed angrily. WHAT THE HELL IS GOIN' ON IN THERE, YOU DITZ ASS HUMANS?

Eventually, we stopped and then started up in small fits until we finally got ourselves back in control.

Hans had me turn over so that he could gently rub tiger balm into my knees and rub some heated rocks over my balloony knees.

"You know what the worst part is?" I told him. "I haven't been able to have a decent bowel movement since I fell."

As you can see, I really feel comfortable with Hans. He nodded kindly.

"Well," he commented. "Your muscles are just really, really tight. I bet your sphincter muscle is as well.....Let's see if I can loosen up things in your feet. That might help."

I was sincerely glad that he hadn't offered to loosen up my ass muscle.

He worked over me for another hour. At one point, he had me turn over again so that he could put hot rocks in the small of my back. I lay with my head in the face pillow and gazed down at the floor.

He was barefoot and his toenails were bright orange and red.

I asked him about that.

"Well," he said. "Last night was my wife's night out with the girls and so I had to babysit Jade and Sadie (his two daughters, aged 6 and 8) and I had this frackin' bad headache. So, I just let them paint my toenails. It kept them quiet."

"Uh huh," I mused. I informed him that the effect made him seem sort of coquettish and slutty at the same time.

We agreed that the red was a bit overwhelming.....

Hans worked on me for over an hour. Afterwards, I felt a little like a wet noodle and a lot more relaxed. I told him so. I think I told him something really hipster and mod like You are the MAN, Hans. You are SO the MAN!

He smiled and left me to get dressed, accidentally letting Dan Fogelberg in when he opened the door to leave to give me privacy.

So, Dan Fogelberg enjoyed himself mightily by trying to jump on any body part of mine that he could while I got dressed.

Seriously, that cat really has it bad for me.

I met Hans at his desk by the back door. He sat with his slutty toenailed feet propped up on the desk while I dug through my purse for my wallet to pay him. We discussed how glad we were that LOST was back on.

We agreed that Jack is just too limpid eyed to be that interesting. But, we differed on Sawyer. I said he was a great guy. Hans argued that he was just "an eye candy sort of outlaw...but then, I recall that you like those bad ones...."

I do. I do.

As I was sliding into my warm coat (the temperatures have now plunged into the single digits and a snow storm is coming tomorrow...ugh), Hans took my face in his hands and if I didn't know better, I would have thought he was going to smooch me.

Instead, he got right into my face and said, "You know, I think the universe and your body may be in cohoots to conspire to keep you out of high heels. Maybe you should go back to wearing flat heels, Maria. Think about it."

I carefully considered that. Yes. He had a point.

And as I was leaving, Hans picked up Dan Fogelberg to keep him from trying to get out the door and go home with me and gave me a parting shot: "And hey...mark my words. In the next couple of hours, you should have a very pleasing and satisfying bowel movement."

And he was right. Too much information? C'mon...you know I try to keep it real here.

The best part was stopping on my way home at the bookstore and picking up the new Stephen King book, because if it is going to storm, I want Stephen right next to me.

And sorry, Dan Fogelberg, but having Socks curl up on my feet is the best....

This one is gonna stay with me for a long, long time...

I had to listen to the oath of office and inauguration address in a car.

Piper, Julie and I all had to attend a meeting in late morning and afterwards, we practically sprinted to Julie's car so that we could listen in.

Julie was driving. I was riding shotgun. Piper was sprawled in the back seat.

We listened.

I felt myself choke up. Could feel tears coming. So, I found a tissue in my purse and just let myself cry a little. Julie looked over at me, astonished.

"Holy shit, Maria," she sputtered. "I can't believe I am actually seeing the woman of stone cry..."

A sniffle came from the back seat. Julie glanced in the rearview mirror and I turned around and handed Piper a tissue. Julie just smiled and shook her head.

After the speech, we didn't say anything. We were stopped at a red light and I glanced over at the car next to us, dabbing my eyes.

An older black man was looking back at me, smiling. His face was wet with tears too. We both knew exactly what the other was crying about. His window came down, so I brought mine down too.

He said, "Well, it's over at last. No more Mr. Bush. Good riddance, sir."

I answered, "And don't let the door hit your ass on the way out...."

We both laughed and waved goodbye as the light changed and we rolled up our respective windows.

And I thought, in Bing's immortal words:

ABOUT FUCKING TIME!!!

Celebrating MLK day.

Well, I slept in until nearly 10. Bliss. And then, over a steaming hot delicious bowl of oatmeal, I consulted Bing and Liv about what we should do today. Any ideas?

They had already decided that we all needed to go to the dollar theater to see the newest James Bond movie, Quantum of Solace. I'm okay with that. I love a movie and since this is a cheap one (cannot beat a dollar admission fee, although that theater is frackin' cold), it would be easy on our wallets.

"Then, after we get home, Liv and I will cut up a chicken and make some fried chicken for dinner. Maybe we can stop on the way home and buy deli salads to go with it," Bing added.

Sounds swell to me. Especially since I'm not doing the cooking...

So, I went into the office to check my email and soon I heard music pouring out of the living room. Loud music. Bing was in a Pete Townsend mood, so it seemed. I went and stood in the doorway and took a look-see into the living room.

It was party time. The television was on mute, but there was a tribute to Martin Luther King on the screen. Pete Townsend was playing...very loudly.

And Bing, Liv and Socks were dancing. Wildly. Liv had Socks in her arms and one of his paws in her hand as she twirled around the room. Socks looked thrilled, as he always does when they dance. He isn't the puking kind of dog when twirled. He loves it.

Bing spotted me and held out her hands to me.

"C'mon, sugar pie," she drawled, using her best Louisiana twang. "Come cut the rug with us."

I motioned to my leg. Not working all that well these days.

She shrugged and continued to hold out her hands.

So, what could I do but laugh and join the circle?

We danced. I was dipped, gently. Twice.

This was playing.

We had a blast.

Martin's face was on the screen and I swear he was smiling at us. Glad that we had come to the party and knew exactly how to celebrate with him.

Soon, we would bundle up in our warmest coats and go out into the frigid air to see James Bond kick some ass. Just seeing Dame Judi would be the icing on the cake.

And then we would come home and have fried chicken for dinner and put on CNN so that we could see all the Martin hoopla. Liv would get her satchel ready for school. Bing and I would ready our briefcases for work. We'd all take our baths or showers and say our goodnights.

But, for now...we were dancing. Because it is Martin's Day and I think he would approve, don't you?

We let our love open the door, in true Pete Townsend fashion and for a freezing cold day in January on the prairie...it was not a half bad day.

So...what are you dancing to today?

Post script added after the movie: DO NOT take a child under the age of 13 to this movie...it is far too violent. We took Liv to see Casino Royale, but Quantum of Solace was WAY more violent. I escorted her out of the theater about ten minutes into the film and herded her into some children's movie called Madagascar or something...while Bing saw the Bond flick. Liv was not happy with me, but I just couldn't let her watch this one.


And another post script: Bing ran into her niece and her boyfriend at the movie, so they came home with us and will eat dinner with us. Everyone is in the kitchen helping prepare dinner except me. I'm checking e-mail, blog comments and then will nap. I am not doing my part to be service oriented, as Obama requested, am I? Oh, well....after sitting through that childen's movie, I SO deserve a nap. Liv and Socks just came in to tell me that they will turn on the electric blanket and wait for me, so at least I will have company. Let Bing entertain the guests....I did notice that Liv has her homework with her, so it looks like we will be working on dangling participles first...but, then...off to snooze land and will only wake up when the smell of fried chicken pulls us out of our dreams...

Another meme....

This one is from Vanity Fair. Yes, I read this magazine. Not every month, but occasionally. I get a few in the mail: The Onion, Bitch, The Advocate and (thanks to my sister for this um...awesome Christmas gift), People Magazine.

What is sort of scary is that I am starting to really enjoy People magazine. I mean, like when I see it in the mail, I smile this icky grin. Pathetic really. Kind of a spooky thing to discover about yourself when you are fifty...that you can actually get into People magazine.

But here is the meme from Vanity Fair. Feel free to nab it, Dive. Because you know you want to.

1. What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Okay. This will sound mercenary, because, well...it is mercenary. My idea of perfect happiness would be to have enough money to feel confidant that Liv will be able to go to the college of her choice and on to even higher education after that, that Bing and I could quit our jobs and just travel all over (on Liv's holidays, of course) and sleep in every fracking day. I really think that money could buy me a helluva lot of happiness. And, hey. I would share. Truly.

2. What is your greatest fear?

Easy. Losing Liv. Or having someone kidnap her. Or having her get cancer or some other life threatening illness. All of my biggest fears are parental ones, the fear of something bad happening to my child.

3. What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

The fact that I hold grudges. I do not forgive and forget anyone or anything graciously. When I am mad, I stay mad for a long, long time and if you want my forgiveness, you better be willing to hit those knees and grovel. And the really sad thing is that I will watch myself do this and KNOW it is wrong, but I can't seem to stop it.

4. What is the trait that you most deplore in others?

Lying. I have little respect for liars.

5. What living person do you most admire?

Probably Bing. I just like the way she lives. She is honest (sometimes to a fault) and genuine. She says what she thinks and doesn't bullshit. She puts up with me and that is saying a great deal. She is laid back and her blood pressure tends to be on the low side rather than the high. She doesn't get freaked out easily, is calm and has something that I covet: a quiet mind. This doesn't mean that she is slow witted or a quiet person, it means that she is not inclined to get jumpy or upset very easily. She sort of drawls when she speaks, is very Southern in her way of looking at life.

6. What is your greatest extravagance?

Designer dresses and shoes. I love my Chanel suits and my Ferragamo shoes.

7. What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

Piety.

8. On what occasion do you lie?

When I am afraid that I will hurt someone if I don't.

9. What do you dislike most about your appearance?

My skin. I don't tan. I am lily white. When I was younger, I had a real milkmaid look to me, all peaches and cream. Now that I am older, I just look ghostly and ill.

10. What living person do you most despise?

My blog stalker. She is just a pee butt. Plain and simple. I sometimes think that I should feel sorry for her, but I can't. She is a hypocrite, a creepster, the most unattractive person I have ever been unlucky enough to have run into. I despise her more than George Bush. I could at least find a dinner with him to be marginally interesting. I don't think I could swallow food around her. She nauseates me.

11. What words or phrases do you most overuse?

I say the word fuck too much. So much that I have slipped and said it in front of Liv a few times and that is just wrong. I tend to use the phrase, Could you just give me some space?" too often too. I need to stop needing to be such a hermit.

12. What or who is the greatest love of your life?

Liv. No contest. No one gets to me like she can. Bing is next in line, but Liv comes first in everything in every way.

13. When and where were you happiest?

When Liv was a baby. I was absolutely floored by how well I took to motherhood. I hoped that I would enjoy it, be good at it. I had no idea that I would take it to it as easily and completely as I did. I am very happy now, but I still remember how joyous a feeling it was to find something that I loved so much and was actually good at.

14. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

I wish that I wasn't so stingy with showing my emotions. It is painfully difficult for me to open up around people (with the exception of my child) and show my feelings. Bing told me once that she was astonished when I told her how much I loved her. "You really didn't act all that caught up in me," she said. "I thought you could take me or leave me. I still feel like that sometimes."

This bothers me that I am so...aloof. Because my love for her is this deep, sweet thing. How can she not see it pouring out of me? Because it is there. I just...don't show it very well.

15. What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Most parents will say this: my child.

16. If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?

God, I think these questions are stupid. I would not mind coming back as a beautiful, rich woman with lots of servants. I suspect that my just desserts would be coming back as someone's pet.

17. Where would you like to live?

Hmm. I would not mind living in Chicago. New York. In a cottage by the sea in Maine. Or in Tuscany. Ireland. But, I am also okay just where I am.

18. What is your most treasured possession?

My first edition collection of books.

19. What is your favorite occupation?

Writing.

20. What is your most marked characteristic?

I was once told by someone that I had the glamor. I thought that they were telling me that I was glamorous. When they elaborated, they told me that they meant that I had the gift of being very charming and pulling people towards me.

I was once told by someone else that I was the most aloof person that they had ever met.

So, there you have it. I am charming and aloof.

21. What do you most value in your friends?

Loyalty.

22. Who are your favorite writers?

David Sedaris. Elizabeth Berg. Elizabeth Gilbert. Anne Tyler. Jill McCorkle. Susan Allen Toth. Stephen King. Alice Hoffman. Kaye Gibbons. Barbara Kingsolver.

23. Who is your favorite hero or heroine of fiction?

Francie Nolan.

24. Which historical figure do you most identify with?

Eleanor Roosevelt.

25. What is it that you most dislike?

Getting up in the morning at the butt crack of dawn for work. When that alarm goes off at 5 a.m.? I just want to slam it into the wall. I am most grateful that Liv is now old enough to get up by herself on the weekends and lets Bing and me sleep in. She gets up at 8, lets the dog out, makes a bowl of cereal, and watches television or reads until we get up. This is like heaven to me.

25. What is your greatest regret?

That I didn't follow my heart and become a high school English teacher. Because while I am good at what I do now and love it and it pays much more than a teacher earns, I honestly believe that my heart wanted to be a teacher.

26. How would you like to die?

In my sleep, in Bing's arms. But, really...how many people do you think will say that they want to die in one to one combat with a murderer or by drowning? We all want to take the easy way out.

27. What is your motto?

Say it, don't spray it.

And there you go, people. Take it if you wish. Or not.

Have a good week y'all. Night...

Watching that train slide through Delaware.

It started out as one of those days that I knew would be no fun.

I got up to pee (and yes, I am aware that now I will get all those hits from people who are really, really into urine) about 2 a.m. and realized that I could barely put any weight at all on my left knee. This was made more difficult when my right ankle started acting up in tandem. Hey, YOU try lurching around on a knee on one side that will not cooperate and then an ankle on the other side that is acting up too. I was walking like the love child of Frankenstein and a female Quaisimodo. Plus my left wrist was swollen up like a little softball.

Life with rheumatoid arthritis. I haven't had a flare up in many, many months and was getting so fond of walking without that damn cane.....

I somehow made it to the bathroom but just getting up from the toilet was a feat.

Well, you picture it in your minds...there you go.

Bing slept through it all, even when I practically took a picture off the wall down when I was stumbling down the hall to check on Liv (I knew in my heart that she was fine, but couldn't go back to sleep until I checked on her.)

When I woke up, things were slightly better. I could walk, but was limping badly and feeling fucking sorry for myself. Because hey...I have ENOUGH health shit on my plate right now, thank you very much. I do not need this.

Now, that is hilarious. Who ever does need this shit to happen to them?

Bing took off early to go to her workout and then on to be a teacher chaperone at a double header basketball game at her school.

So, it was just Liv, Socks, and me left to lounge around the living room with the television on CNN.

Because I think Anderson Cooper is my favorite news guy around. He always looks dead serious when he needs to look that way. But, sometimes, when he is reporting something totally off the cuff, he looks as if he is one step away from bursting out laughing. So, I like the guy.

Today, he and some others (including a small black man who had this hat on that no man should ever wear under any circumstances) were reporting outside the inauguration platform. And they kept cutting away to the train that Obama was on, going from Pennsylvania to D.C.

They talked about the economy and how we all wanted so badly for Obama to be our hero, to somehow figure out a way to help us get out of the mess we are in.

The camera panned to a station in a small town in Delaware where several hundred people had gathered to cheer and wave as the train went by. Anderson commented that while the train would not stop, it would go past very, very slowly so that Obama could wave to the crowd as he passed.

I looked at the crowd on the screen. It was an even mix of black and white, old and young. A real melting pot. One man held a small child in a red snowsuit on his shoulders. Couldn't tell if the child was male or female, so bundled up they were. Some people carried flags. Others just stood silently, waiting.

And then, all together, they began to cheer and holler and wave their arms. The man with the child on his shoulders jigged back and forth and the child laughed. He pointed and the child looked down at him and smiled, nodding.

Little by little, the train emerged on the screen. The crowd was going wild.

At the very end, on the caboose, there were the Obamas, waving hugely, smiling.

I felt a knot form in my throat. I kept nervously looking around for the men who would be talking into their wrists, the secret service. WHERE WERE THEY?

God, he was just...right out there in the open. Anyone could take a shot at him...

That was honestly my thought. I was worried for the guy.

But, underneath that worry was something that I recognized as sheer delight. I was just so damn happy to see him. I'm always happy to see this man. Always filled with warmth and joy at the sight of him. I felt proud and choked up.

Okay, I started crying. I kept thinking of that guy with the child in the red snowsuit. How they would now have this memory. The Dad would say, "Remember when I took you to the train station to see the president? Wasn't that fun?" And the kid would say, "It was so cold! But, I was so happy there, sitting on your shoulders, waving at him. And he waved back!"

To this day, Liv remembers us taking her to the Iowa caucuses and how she saw Obama and Clinton and Biden, listened to their speeches. (She thought Hilary was the best.I agree.)

I was just filled with love and hope and tenderness for this man. We have put so much on his shoulders; he has the incredible burden of trying to untangle all those knots we have made.

But the crowd said it all.

We are Americans. I may complain about the problems of my country, but there is no doubt in my mind that I am a patriot. Most of us are.

Most of us deeply love our country. We are such a young country. I have only to look at photos on a friend's blog of buildings in England from the 1500's to know that my country is indeed, a toddler.

And we are unique in that we are truly a melting pot. We are a mishmash of so many different cultures, so many different viewpoints, so many different traditions. Our constitution makes it clear that we are all to be welcomed to the table. Every person is supposed to matter, have a say. That is our greatest strength and our greatest weakness. And our Achilles heel.

We have that thing about liberty for all.

Some of us don't always follow that, so they have to be reminded by the rest of us. This takes time and patience because there are so, so many minds to change and the progress, to us anyway, seems very, very slow.

We don't have a history of thousands and thousands of years to look back upon. Our history is just...so....recent in the eyes of other nations.

And yet, there is something in most of us that yearns to take each other's hands, our fellow American's hands. We so want to be united.

And when I saw that train sliding across Delaware something just broke down in me a little bit.

Because I could see what we are meant to be and what we can be and what we so want to be. United.

Right now, things are kind of scary. And other nations around the world are looking at us and shaking their heads.

But, like most Americans, in spite of all the American bashing that I am hearing and reading and enduring, I genuinely love my country. I know what we are capable of.

I saw that in a crowd of people on a train platform in Delaware.

We are a people, in a relatively young nation, but we believe in...us. Like most other areas, we have our prejudices and our smallnesses of spirit, but we just haul it all up to the table and deal with it. We will argue a lot. Because we are that melting pot, you know. We all bring lots and lots of different cultures, experiences and opinions to that table. Some of us have black hearts. Most of us don't. Most of us aren't saints, either. But, we do our best, we certainly do.

And there is this man, our leader. Obama. He is the hope of our nation. We so want a hero, an instigator for change, someone who can lead us where we need to go so that we can grow and be proud.

He reminds me of my Da. I never thought that my Da was a god. I never expected him to change the world in a day, to bring complete happiness to my world.

I did know that he would try his best. And I felt safe when he was around. I knew he had my best interests at heart.

I have fear in my heart that someone might recognize this man for what he is, a harbinger of change for what is better, maybe harder, but better. And that they will try to to hurt him, to kill him. This chills me to the bone. Because I believe in my heart that this man is a good man, a decent man, a smart man and a gentle man with a lion heart. I want him safe. I want him here, with us, working with us, for us.

He is ours. He is one of us. One of our own, as my Irish parents used to say.

He is our Native son and we are on his team and so damn proud, so excited, so ready to heal and move forward.

So, I cried when I saw him wave on that tiny train platform in Delaware.

Liv came over and squeezed into the recliner with me.

She looked up at me, sweetly.

"He makes me want to cry too,"she told me. "He is such a good man, isn't he, Mama? Don't you think so?"

Yes, I told her. I do think so.

Socks, not to be left out, made a short legged leap to get up on the recliner with us, Liv helped him up and he settled down quickly, knowing that I was hurting today and could not stand much of his toenail diggings.

And we all watched while he and Biden gave their short speeches on a platform in Wilmington.

I don't know if I will be able to hear the inauguration speech on Tuesday. I will be at work. Bing and Liv will be in their respective schools.

I might have to wait to hear the repeat of it when I get home from work that night. But, I can't wait. I have never been so excited about listening to an inauguration speech in my life.

Because this one, not only will make history, it will be the first step toward change.

And, I for one, am so damn ready. Are you?

What sisters talk about.

Pee.

Yup. Piss. Urine. The yellow stuff.

Well, maybe not your sisters, but mine.

My sister, Jessie is in my city to watch her 12 year old daughter play in a 7th and 8th grade girl's basketball tournament. We are having some fun, especially since her daughter's farm team keeps beating the shit out of all the big city teams and playing over and over.

So, we have been going to games in the evenings and Jessie and I have done lots of bleacher talking. Sister stuff. She tells me how now that she is older, she is re-thinking her marriage. Not that she plans on divorcing her husband or anything...good lord, no. Divorce simply isn't on the table.

But, she says that she fervently hopes that her daughters wait until they are older before they marry. She was 22 when she got married and just out of teacher's college. She married her high school sweetheart.

They seem happy, but she confesses that there are times when she finds Dwayne just...stupid.

"I look at him and I just think that I could have done so much better," she sighs. "Not that I don't love him. I do. It's just that he is this small town boy who never had any inclination to go to anything other than school to teach him how to be a heating and air conditioning repair guy. He does this well, but I dunno...lately I have been having conversations with one of the priests in our parish and he is so smart. He and I talk bible text. With Dwayne...well, he doesn't go very deep, does he?"

Well, no. He doesn't. But, I always thought you kind of preferred that, liked being the head of house.

Turns out that deep inside she craves a more intellectual man. But, it makes me smile, that holy Jessie, being so devout and all, sought out a priest.

"Are you positive that Bing is the one for you?" she asked me.

Well, yes and no. I am not one of those people who believe in soul mates, really. I think that there are many, many people out there who can be your spouse and you could be happy. Some are just better suited to each other. Bing and I have a long history and we totally love, understand and just get each other. But, is she my one and only?

No. Don't be ridiculous. If we hadn't chosen each other, we would have chosen some one else and been happy too. Am I glad that I have her? Absolutely. Can I live without her? Of course. It would not be my choice, but I could do it. I don't understand people who act as if their partner is their beginning and end. Why limit yourself like that? Choose to be with them, if you wish. But, don't get into the mindset that you would be nothing without them. You are plenty by yourself.

I told Jessie this and she shook her head and laughed. "That is so totally and completely you," she said.

Well. Maybe.

So, at halftime, we went and found the ladies room together. As we were washing our hands, Jessie said to me:

God, the older I get, the more my pee smells just like mother's used to smell. Remember how it always smelled so...pungent...when she came out of the bathroom?

I thought about this. And realized that yes, I did know exactly what she was talking about. Our mother's pee smelled sort of um...yeah...pungent. Not just pungent like regular pee, but more so. Like super pungent pee.

"And your pee is smelling like that now?" I asked.

"Yeah," she answered. "And there's more. I am also getting those tiny little skin flaps on my breasts that she had. I am only 42 years old and I have unattractive skin flaps and my pee stinks more robustly than it should. Maybe I'm lucky that Dwayne still wants me..."

She gave me a long look. "I need you to tell me some gross thing about yourself right now," she said, pleadingly.

I took a deep breath.

"I can't hold my bladder much anymore," I finally admitted. "When I have to pee, I have to pee very soon. I can't hold it the way I used to be able to. Once, I even peed in my pants at the doctor's office..."

She and I laughed. We agreed that yes, we were aging. Because ten years ago, we weren't talking about smelly pee, skin flaps or incontinence. Ten years ago, I believe we talked a little bit about dry skin, I think. Ten years ago, Liv wasn't even born yet and her kids were 7,4 and 2.

And our pee smelled just fine. And we could hold it just fine too.

This is the kind of conversation that you can only have with your sister or your best friend, I think.

Or you could blog about it, because...hey....I am a real person and real people have stinky pee issues at times and other things.

So, c'mon...'fess up. What is happening to you as you age? Something sort of gross, sort of unseemly...I know you have it in you to spill those beans.

Don't be a chicken shit. Shake it loose, give it up for blogland.

Is this person crazy about you?

Apparently not. I recently read an article which professed to reveal whether you were with the right person. So, I decided to put Bing to the test.

Is this person crazy about you?

1) Shows eagerness to see you.

Well, not nearly as much as I would like. Actually, the dog may be better suited to the likes of me. He nearly goes into convulsions when I have been gone for even an hour and come home. He dances, he barks joyfully and leaps into the air, totally intoxicated with my presence.

Bing? Not so much. Tonight when I got home from work, she sort of waved at me from the recliner. She also didn't pretty herself up much. She has a cold, so had two tissues stuck up into her nostrils. Sexy, I tell you. A sex kitten.

2) Reveals reluctance to leave your presence.

Once again, the dog wins. He hates to say goodbye to me, will often try to weasel his way between my legs to get out the door with me and when the door shuts behind me, I can hear him making sad little yelps.

Bing? She is just fine leaving my presence on most days. In fact, on my bitchier days, that door would be like...slapping her right on the ass..she runs out so quickly.

3) Asks about your life interests.

She has known me for 32 years. She knows all about my life interests and then some. She also knows all my family stories and every cute thing I ever said when I was a child. So, no. She no longer asks. But if someone else were to ask, she could fill them in since she knows me better than anyone else.

4) Wants to be helpful.

Well, I don't know about that. I think she could be much more helpful around the house. And I have told her so. Many times. As she was fleeing out the door to escape.

5) Is verbally and physically affectionate.

Not so much. Neither one of us tend to wax poetically at the other or walk around with our hands in each other's pants. I did once flash her my boob at a grocery store when no one was looking. She nearly dropped her bag of apples. That is about as good as it gets.

6) Desires to be romantic with you.

Actually, Bing desires to have sex with me much, much more. But, she does bring me home a cadbury egg now and then. How's that for romantic?

7) Acts like you are very special; rejects opportunities to date others.

Well, yes, she does act like I am special...but once again, the dog beats her at this one too. However, I can assure you that she has no intention of dating anyone else. One night, as we lay in each other's arms on our sofa, she farted and then sighed and said, "It is so nice that I can do that and not feel embarrassed."

In my opinion, I wish that she could be a little embarrassed.

Is this person willing to grow with you?

1) Accepts suggestions/advice well.

Oh good hell. Now that would be interesting. I have suggested many, many times that she finish re-doing the bathroom already. She hasn't accepted that suggestion.

2) Engage in self reflection?

She doesn't do that much, at least not in front of me. She is one of those people who rolls her eyes at anyone who does much self reflection.

3) Willing to learn new things with you?

That depends on the new thing. If it would be learning a new computer game or how to fix a car, she would be interested. If we are talking knitting, forget it.

4) Takes courses for personal or career growth

She does this all of the time, is always taking some class for career growth. This is mainly because she is a teacher and doesn't make squat, so she is always looking for ways to bring home some more bacon.

5) Mediates/prays or is comfortable with one's own spirituality.

I think so. She is agnostic and cool with it. She doesn't talk about meditating with me, but I think that she does something in that vein when she runs every morning. She says that she uses that time to "sort shit out." So, she doesn't really meditate or pray. She sorts shit out.

Does your date meet the basics?

1) Exhibits reliability and honesty.

I suppose so. She isn't always truthful about cereal though. This is a constant annoyance with me. I buy Froot Loops. Suddenly, the box will be nearly empty and I have not eaten any. When I ask her if she ate it, she will say, "I had a very small handful, maybe once or twice."

Liar, liar, pants on fire, missy.

She is reliable. I can count on her to always be fifteen minutes late, like clockwork.

2) Wants a real, committed relationship.

I suppose so...although sometimes I wonder if she thinks that maybe wanting to be with me, and getting to be with me are two very different things. I worry sometimes that she must look at me and think, "What the hell was I thinking?"

3) Agrees with your choice to have or not have children.

To be honest, she thought I was INSANE when I told her that I wanted to have a child. I think her exact words were, "Why not just get a pet?"

But, to her credit, she seems fine with Liv now. More than fine.

4) Understands your religious faith or your absence of a specific faith.

This is probably the one area of our life together where we fit like a glove.

5) Shows love and support of family and friends.

Well, she agrees to eat dinner at my sister's house from time to time. In my opinion, that is a true measure of her love for me. She doesn't really get my friends, though. She refers to them as the debs. This is short for debutantes. Yeah, she thinks they are sort of um...fluffy. I call her friends "the beer babes." So, we don't really mingle much with each other's friends. But, we do okay.

6) Lives close to you.

Fuck, she sleeps right next to me. How much closer can she get to me?

So, I guess that my dog is better suited to be my date than Bing. But, I think I will stick with Bing. She lets me put my cold feet on hers. I seriously doubt if Socks would put up with that shit.

The Office

I have neglected to introduce you all to my office mates. Not because they aren't interesting, but because I just didn't know everyone all that well for the first two months. Now, I think I can speak more knowledgeably about them.

Julie

Or as I call her, Julie, our cruise director. Julie is my age but looks about ten years younger. She looks exactly like who she is: a rawboned gal from small town Idaho. She grew up there and went on to med school in Hawaii. I love that story. I mean, to go from Idaho to HAWAII? She said she just wanted to get warm and STAY warm for a while. She met her future husband there. They were together for nearly twenty years. She practiced at a fancy children's psychology clinic and he is a pediatric oncologist. She always wanted children, he never did. Finally, after 20 years of marriage and no children, he decided that he was in love with his nurse and wanted a divorce. She said her first thought was that she had wasted all those good eggs and now she would never be a mother.

She asked for nothing from their marriage except that he fund a children's clinic for her. He offered to buy her a suite in a fancy part of town, but she said no, that she wanted to practice in a place where a clinic was badly needed: in what is one of the poorest neighborhoods in the city.

So, he got the clinic going.

And now he lives in their old house with his nurse, who is....you guessed it...pregnant.

She still misses him. I don't know why because I know him and he is one of those guys who talks about his golf game all of the time and how much money his stocks are making. It amazes me that a guy so self involved actually has a thriving pediatric oncology practice.

Julie is always trying a new diet or a reading a new self help book, but she is fun enough that she and I go out for lunch a couple of times a week at a neighborhood diner that specializes in the greasiest, most deliciously crunchy onion rings that you have ever tasted. She is trying hard to get me to take a yoga class with her. I once walked into her office and she was standing on her head, said she was trying to feel more "balanced."

She isn't pretty and is so tall that she looks a bit like Big Bird from the back when she wears her yellow outfits. Yellow is her favorite color and she wears it so much that you start to think about egg yolks and dandelions every time you see her. She has a queasy stomach and walks out of movies if there is any violence or blood. Her patients love her. She is always bringing new toys for our waiting room and her office. She and I once had matchbox car carpet races after all the clients were done for the day. She won and I am spoiling for a re-match.

Piper is my other co-worker. She is my age too, but looks about five years older. She is small and compact where Julie is tall and rangy. She dyes her hair red and it is such a brassy burnished copper color that the first thing you think of when you see her is that she has dyed hair. She also gets migraines and toothaches with some regularity and she has the most hard-to-get-into dentist on the planet. She is always carrying around her cell phone waiting for her elusive dentist to call her back. She and her ex-husband have the most pleasant relationship I have heard of. She called him when her garage opener broke and he came out and fixed it for her. He calls her to warn her if there is an accident on the freeway or if it is getting icy outside to tell her to take an alternate route or to be careful. She meets him for lunch at least once a week and they peck each other hello and goodbye. I asked her once why they divorced and she said that they just got tired of each other. I find this odd when they see each other so often now. Piper and her ex didn't have kids either but Piper said that she raised her younger brothers and sisters after her parents died in a car accident when she was 19 and she was left with no desire to have any kids of her own.

Piper never eats at the greasy spoon diner with us. When she isn't eating with her ex, she brings her lunch and eats at her desk. She makes these perfect little salad lunches and munches on apples all day long. Her office is the most beautiful of all of ours. Hers is full of hazy Monet landscapes and Degas prints. Her walls are a soft dove gray and she keeps a space heater under her desk to keep her toes warm on cold days.

Piper knows people. She knows all the social workers in the city and they send a lot of their children to us when they need psychological help and it is on the government's dime. If you want to know where to get typewriter ribbon on an old typewriter, Piper knows where to go. If you want to find an obscure shampoo like Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific!, Piper knows where to find it.

Piper isn't overly friendly or warm and I like that in a person. It took me a long time to get used to the way that Julie tended to grab my arm when we were talking. Piper wouldn't dream of grabbing someone's arm. Yet, she often does things that are peculiarly apt. Like one day when I was coming off a migraine headache and she knew to bring me raspberry gelato. Who knew that this was EXACTLY what sounded good? Well, Piper did.

Julie's secretary is her mother, a retired nurse. Her name is Sue. And while she is not the smartest secretary in the world, she is a kind person, a well meaning person. She refers to all little boys as little cowboys and all little girls as little princesses. This is confusing to the children with autism because she tends to talk in cliches a lot. She will say things like, "Well, hold up there,little cowboy." They look at her in sheer bewilderment. I have tried to tell her that children with autism tend to be concrete thinkers and they find this sort of speak confusing, but she doesn't get it.

Sue wears child pleasing clothes, like sweaters with the ABCs on them and jumper dresses in red corduroy with koalas along the hem. Sue lives with her daughter, Julie and is forever trying to fix her up with any single male in a block radius. This annoys Julie to no end. ("Grocery shopping with her is a nightmare. She bought all this hand cut meat that we didn't need just because she noticed that the butcher didn't have on a wedding ring. Like she didn't notice that he hummed show tunes while he brandished that knife around?")

Sue is originally from Idaho and moved down here when Julie got divorced because she was worried that Julie would waste away. She does things that embarrass Julie like going over to her and feeling her forehead and telling her she looks "peaky." Sue has a collection of snowmen and snowwomen that she has perched on the front counter. It gives the office a homey look that is a little nauseating to me.

Sue is also a gambler. She likes to go to the casinos in Iowa on the weekends and she actually wins quite a lot. She smokes cigarettes but won't admit it. I once caught her smoking in the back of the building and she dropped her cigarette butt on the ground like a hot potato and then tried to be cagey by stepping on it to put it out in an unobtrusive way. She reads romance paperbooks with pictures of women with bulbous cleavages and men with fabian hair and long straight noses on the cover.

Piper's secretary is Marisol. Marisol is drop dead gorgeous. She is in her early thirties and speaks Spanish, English and Italian. Fluently. She often has to translate for us as many of our clients are Hispanic. She looks the way I always pictured Snow White would look. She has long black hair that is naturally curly and she often puts it up in a sloppy bun that looks so perfect that a hair stylist could have done it. But, no. She just grabs her hair and twists it up and then secures it with a plain old rubberband and a few hairpins. Marisol is married and she and her husband have five children ages 1,2,3,4,and 6. Her husband is a night watchman and often comes to pick her up from work so that he can have her drop him off at work so that she can have the car to drive. Her children are all incredibly sweet looking with apple cheeks, long black curly hair and snapping black eyes. They are also noisy and naughty and one of them once tried to flush a pair of shoes down the toilet.

Marisol is a sweet mediator between Sue and my secretary, Elly. Sue and Elly do not get along well and Marisol prevents their conflicting personalities from snapping too hard against each other. Marisol is a gentle woman with a waist so tiny that I could probably span it with my hands. She dresses beautifully in clothes that she either sews herself or finds at Goodwill and re-vamps into show pieces. She is the only person at work who recognized my Chanel suits and salivated over them. ("Oh. My. Madonna. In. Heaven. Is that a CHANEL?") Marisol accompanies Julie and I to the diner for lunch many days and how that woman stays a size 2 is beyond me. She eats like a sow. She really does. She slurps down malts and cheeseburgers like a truck driver. Marisol and her husband have been together since they were 13 and she isn't shy about letting us know what a stallion he is in bed.

Marisol watches Lost and Heroes too and we spend long bits of time re-hashing episodes with each other and trying to figure out who the good guys really are. Marisol comes from a family of 14 siblings and most of them are plumbers. This was helpful with the shoes-down-the-toilet incident.

My secretary is Elly. Elly, like Sue, is in her 70's. And like many of the women of her generation, she is showing no signs of slowing down. Elly looks like Estelle Getty. She is also sort of snappy tempered.

Elly's plan is to be top secretary. In her opinion, there is no place for three secretaries who are all equally important. She wants to be queen of the secretaries. This doesn't sit well with Sue. Elly has tried unsuccessfully to get Sue's snowpeople banned from the front counter. Her first argument was that um...a child could grab one of them, try to eat it and choke on it. When she saw that none of us were buying that one, she tried to argue that they were dust magnets and bad for children with asthma. Sue responded by dusting them carefully each and every day. Elly has not succeeded in getting them banned yet, but she never gives up trying.

Elly worked in a government office for over 30 years, so she is a genius with government forms. This has proven invaluable to us since so many of our patients are welfare recipients. Elly knows exactly what form to use for any situation. She also knows where to order said forms and she takes her job seriously. We have an entire cabinet of forms for every situation known to man. Or woman. Or child.

Elly loves babies and has a way with them. This annoys Sue, who thought that she excelled in this area, but was quickly overtaken by Elly who swoops down to hold any and all babies who appear in our waiting room. And they love her right back.

Elly does not watch television (with the exception of The Amazing Race) but insists on listening to talk radio. She especially enjoys radio shows that have segments about the possibility of aliens on earth. Elly wears her glasses on a bright rhinestone necklace around her neck. Babies adore this necklace and she often will let them play with it while she checks in their older siblings. She also found a government program that supplies us with canned milk for babies and she hands it out by the carton to our patients, who appreciate it more than I can say.

Elly often makes disparaging remarks about our patronage at the greasy diner down the block, but if one of us is going, she will mutter something about bringing her back a cheeseburger and will stuff a fiver in our hands. However, she never deigns to set foot inside the place.

Elly lives alone and while she talks sometimes about her son and his wife visiting her on holidays, I suspect that much of it is made up. She ducks her head too often when she speaks of him and never has much to say that is nice about him. I wonder sometimes what her evenings are like. The exception is Thursday night, which is her bingo night. She says that she wins a lot but I think this may be an exaggeration as well. I think she goes because she is lonely.

Elly knits. She has knitted us all mittens and scarfs not because she likes us, she says, but because we are all incredibly dense about staying warm. My mittens and scarf are a soft pink.

Elly has told me that she doesn't know how she feels about "homasexuls." She says that she is of the opinion on one hand that there is something not quite right about us but on the other hand, she thinks that we have every right to be here too. I think it helps that she knows which hand around here butters her paycheck. Plus, she flat out adores Bing and whenever Bing stops by to visit, she behaves as if Elvis is visiting and race walks to my office, shouting out, "BING is here, Maria! BING!"

Bing says that she always feels like she should hand out candy or something to earn that kind of response.

Our office nurse is Jeannine. Jeannine is in her 40's but has a very well preserved look. Her makeup (including sharply painted on brown eyebrows) is very polished and perfect. Her lipstick never flakes. She wears a plain white nurse's pantsuit, does not indulge in those child-friendly smocks that you see so many pediatric nurses wear. Jeannine looks no-nonsense. But, she isn't really. And none of the children seem to be put off by her. She has a warm, respectful way of treating everyone, even the junkie mothers who the rest of us sort of want to strangle. Jeannine talks to the children in a regular voice, no baby talking is ever used. And she is always calm and perfectly in charge. She doesn't get to do much except weigh patients and go over their vitals with the parents, but she seems okay with that.

Because Jeannine is a behind-the-scenes talker. She can talk your ear off. A simple question such as "How are you today?" is answered in triplicate and in detail. Not only will she tell you how her day was, she tells you what she dreamed last night, how she had a hard time picking what coat to wear and how some clown cut her off on Saddle Creek Road and she nearly ran into another car.

She has a husband who is a pilot, so is gone a lot and three teenaged sons. She once answered a question I asked her about gardening (she has a huge one) with a foot by foot description of her back yard and each and every one of her flowering plants and how they were doing and whether or not they liked full sun. If you tell her that you like her lipstick color, she will tell you where she bought the lipstick, how much it cost and what else was on sale.

I try very hard not to engage her in conversation other than a hurried nicety when I am on my way to pick up a ringing phone or opening a door to go to a meeting.

We all know everything about Jeannine's life. I even know exactly what her mother in law received for Christmas because Jeannine begged me to meet her at a jewelry store to help her pick out an appropriate necklace for her. ("She likes the kind of jewelry that you wear, only in a larger size. Won't you help me with this? I am just stumped. I can't decide between the purple amethyst or the ruby.")

Jeannine eats lunch with us occasionally but usually brings a salad and eats in the break room with Sue or Elly. They seem to have more patience with her chattering than the rest of us do.

The funny thing is that she is not chatty with children. She is polite and warm, but not overly interested in conversing with them. I get the feeling that she isn't a big child fan, that she finds them uninteresting. Probably because children refuse to stand around and listen to her endlessly describe how some waiter was rude to her at McKenna's BBQ or talk about the sales at the local grocery store.

It would be easy not to like Jeannine. But she is also a warm tempered women with a sweet heart. Once, when we were all leaving work and walking to our cars, a homeless man slipped and fell and bonked his wrist on a street sign. His wrist was bleeding badly and it was Jeannine who got to him first, deftly wrapped up his wrist with her neck scarf and then insisted on taking him to the ER because the street sign was rusty and she worried that he hadn't had a tetanus shot in ten years.

She took (along with Sue, who wanted to go along for support) the man to the ER and insisted that they give him a tetanus and clean him up. The man was so high on something that Sue said he didn't even flinch as they cleaned out his wound. Jeannine paid for his ER bill.

So, it is also hard not to like Jeannine. She is one of the good ones.


Last, but not least, is Francisco. Francisco is our janitor, or as Julie insists that we call him: our building engineer.

Francisco comes Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons and cleans our clinic until it shines. English is not his first language and he often comes up with oddly worded sentences. He will say, "I am a tight friend to have, I like helping people with their dangerous problems." This means that he wants to be a good, close friend to people and help them with their more difficult times. Francisco is handy to have around to translate when Marisol isn't around.

I love the way he says my name. It rolls around in his mouth before it comes out and makes me sound exotic and mystical. He is unfailingly polite to everyone and around Christmas, he brought in some homemade cinnamon rolls that he made himself that were still warm in the pan. And he brought a half gallon of chocolate milk to go with them. You should have seen us all sitting around the table in the break room before we left to go warm up our cars. We looked like treat time at romper room with our cups of chocolate milk and us all taking huge bites out of our rolls and leaning back, sated and happy.

"Now that we are full and full of pleasing, I will learn to you all a dance," he told us. I inwardly growned. I am not a dancer and trying to dance with a full stomach seemed even more unappealing. But, Francisco had us all up on our feet and standing in a circle in no time. He put a tape into the tape player and began to teach us a dance called the sardana.

This involved putting our clasped hands up into the air and then doing a series of foot movements that he made look easy, but really were not. Elly, Marisol and Piper caught on right away. Sue, Julie and I were slow learners. I am happy to say that I was not the worst, Julie was...but I wasn't ready to street dance just yet.

It was a happy time in our office, doing the sardana. Francisco was not the most patient teacher but he knew that we were trying and he kept trying to praise us as well as he could.

"That is not so bad right now. It is not a lovely picture to be seen with my eyes, but it is not a bucket of worms either..."

Francisco, I believe, is an illegal immigrant. I know that Julie pays him in cash every Friday. And once when he was fighting a bad cold, I told him that he really needed to get to a family doctor. He gave me a weary smile and said, "No. I don't think I need that experience. And I will be fine."

Piper offered to write him a scrip for some antibiotics and he asked if they were expensive. So, Piper called a friend of hers who practices across the city and the next day, she had a bag of free samples for Francisco. He got better.

None of us ever ask him too many personal questions. I don't know where he lives although I did see him once at a hispanic grocery store midtown with a lovely older woman who was thoroughly squeezing the lemons before she put them in her bag. She then moved on to tapping the cantaloupe.

He sings while he cleans and I think that he is a little sentimental. Once, when I was leaving to go pick up Liv from school, I was saying goodbye to everyone and accidentally forgot to say goodbye to him. As I was walking out the door, I heard him say, "Goodbye, Francisco. Please enjoy a nice evening." And then he answered, "Thank you, I will. And you do the same, friend."

I smiled, shook my head and ran back in to tell him a proper goodbye.

"There," he said. "I feel better now. The trees in my life are making leaves again."

Me too, I told him. Me too.

I have only seen Francisco really angry once. He was walking through the waiting room when he suddenly stopped in front of one of the mothers and began speaking to her in rapid fire Spanish. The woman flushed and looked away. He then took his large gloves off and put them over her toddler's hands.

Marisol told us that he had seen her get off the bus with the child and he had no mittens. It was 4 degrees that day. It would have been easy to feel sorry for this woman but since she asked Sue to watch the child while she used the bathroom and when she came out, clouds of cigarette smoke followed her....I am thinking she could have coughed up the cash for a pair of mittens.

And it prompted us to establish a clothes box in the waiting room. At our clinic, if you have an appointment, you can sort through the clothes box and look for a coat, mittens, hats, rompers, dresses, pants, socks, even shoes for your child. Piper tends to pick up children's clothes on the weekends at fancy children's shops, so her clothes go first. The rest of us pick up an item or two at Target or Shopko and bring them in. Elly goes to the Goodwill every weekend and comes in with stacks of clothes that she says cost her only 99 cents a piece. Marisol brings in clothes that her children grow out off but still have good wear. We finally figured why so many patients try to get Monday appointments. It is because Piper brings her fancy clothes in every Monday morning.

We haven't had any fights or arguments over the clothes. We only allow two per client and they have all been informed that if there are disagreements, the box will go away. But we do have many takers.

I let Liv pick out a baby clothes item every time we go to Target. The rule is that is has to be under ten dollars. She never gripes about going on chores with me there anymore.

We have office meetings every Friday afternoon to get all problems off the table. We don't want anything festering. This was Julie's big idea. She is all about happiness in our work place. And it seems to be working. Small, petty concerns are brought out and shaken out immediately and they don't become big ones. At our last meeting, Marisol brought up the idea that we should all bring in women's clothes that would be fit to wear to a job interview. She said that a lot of the problems the women who come to our clinic have to do with not getting jobs because they don't dress for success. So, we tabled it for a month and are all thinking on it.

My office is grand. I love it. I love walking in to our cheerful waiting room with the array of toys in a big box in the corner. I love the berber carpeting that wears beautifully and survives children's upturned juice boxes. I love the posters that line the walls. Posters that say things like Never, never, never shake a baby and Bless the beasts and the children.

I love the children that come to our clinic and will try to write anonymously about them soon. I love some of their parents, some of their foster parents, but not all. Some of the children break my heart and some have parents that I would sincerely love to strangle. I don't understand the mentality of leaving your child with a boyfriend who is high so that you can go party with your friends because "hey, I deserve some fun too, don't I?" No, you don't. Not unless you can leave your child with someone worthy of caring for their angel selves. Not until then.

I love my office. It is cream colored and has lovely landscapes and colors dancing with each other on cue. I love my desk. It is large but not imposing. I feel strong and capable when I sit behind it.

Mostly, though, I love my soft, buttery, light brown leather sofa. Parents and children sink into it and visibly sigh and relax. And we can do good work together.

I have a print on my wall with a saying by the Dalai Lama. It starts

May the beauty of your life become more visible to you that you may glimpse your wild divinity.
May the wonders of the earth call you forth from all your secret prisons and set your feet free in the pastures of possibility.....

I read it out loud to myself every morning. It soothes me and prepares me for my day. Sometimes one of the women (and the few men) who come to our clinic will stand and read it to themselves and I hope it comforts them too.

I love the people with whom I am lucky enough to work with. They are funny and strange and full of small eccentricities and large hearts.

I fit.

And that makes all the difference, yes?

So, tell me about one person you work with and why you love them or not. I'm curious. We Americans, especially, live so much of our life in our work places, don't we? How about you non-Americans? Is it like that for you as well?

Just askin'