I am trained to figure out what people's dreams mean but the truth is that I rarely hold much stock in them.
In traumatized patients, yes. Dreams are crucial. They are part of your body's process to heal itself.
But, in your garden variety dream, it is often what you ate for dinner, what you did that day replaying or maybe some nagging inner feeling trying to find a way to solve it's dilemma.
I think that is what my dream was. I really enjoyed your interpretations of it, though! Wow. You are all so good at this!
I think the tomatoes were a two fold show. First, I had been canning (and canning and freezing, and freezing and canning.) As always, it was fun at first and by the end of it, I was sick to death of mason jars. But, yes...now my basement is full of beautiful shiny jars of beans, salsa, tomato sauce, peppers and even a few jars of apple jam and sauce. In my freezer, are bags of corn, squash and peas.
So, canning on the brain. But the throwing of tomatoes? Something different.
I tend to believe that most people in your dreams do not represent the people in your life. They are either parts of yourself or metaphors for how you are feeling.
The posh mother? I think she was the part of myself that is my censor. That voice that tells me to act my age and do what is responsible and what is expected of me.
Liv, I believe, was not Liv, but one of my other inner voices that keep me in line, on the straight and narrow. I am someone's mother after all and I need to keep that in mind.
Lately, I have felt unsettled and restless. I think I have stated many times that I am just bad at romance. At love relationships. I am one of the minority of people who never sought a partner. I much preferred being on my own. Bing just...sort of happened. Over a long time. I still maintain that I am the lucky one in our relationship and she is the one who got stuck with the booby prize.
I really am not good at compromising. I hate that part in a relationship of going along and getting along. That part where you have to put what you want on a shelf and do something for the good of your partner or the relationship.
I surprised myself by being a good parent. I had sweat bullets over that, worrying that I would suck at it. But, it has been a true labor of love for me.
My relationship with Bing has not been that successful. I strain at the bonds. I feel smothered. I don't much enjoy being a half of a set. Bing, to her credit, knows this and has adapted brilliantly. She refuses to cater to my every whim, she lets me know her opinions, but on the other hand, she is probably one of the least jealous women that I have ever met. She doesn't press me to be in a conventional relationship, doesn't make me feel as if we are joined at the hip. She would never put up with us having an open relationship, she and I both believe in monogamy, but she doesn't crowd me or hover over me. If there is anyone who is perfect for me, it is she. I love her more than I ever thought I could love someone and we choose each other, over and over again.
But, still. I sometimes get frustrated with the ties that bind.
Lately, I have felt restless and am currently experiencing a sort of wanderlust. Bing is aware of this, knows that I go through this every once in awhile and simply steps back to give me lots and lots of space.
I think this is all being played out in my dreams.
I have ants in my pants.
I am longing to go meet Edward Cullen in the woods, climb on his back and have him carry me up to the tip top of some tree where I can look out on to the world and feel all shivery and bold.
I am aching to go do something crazy.
I never will. I am held down by my duties of motherhood, coupledom, sisterhood and bread winner. I once allowed that side of my personality to dictate my life choices and I ended up drinking too much, owning too many bongs and went zipping off on motorcycles with men whom I barely knew, my arms wrapped around them, my head without a helmet.
It could have ended badly.
I got myself together, ignored the imploring of my inner thrill seeker and ended up (with incredible good luck) in a loving, monogamous relationship with a woman who would walk through fire to protect me. I ended up with a child who is quite simply my world and my raison d'etre. I have a career that is satisfying and lucrative. I have a family who...okay...is not one that I would have hand picked, if the choice had been mine, but they belong to me and love me and I love them and belong to them as well.
I am a lucky woman. A cherished partner, a loving mother, a devoted sister and a successful career woman. I am living the dream.
But something in me just pines, just aches to run off and be...well....
Bad.
I want to do this:
So, how about you? What does your inner voice whisper in your ear?
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
The dream I had that you wish I hadn't blogged about.
I dreamed that I was clothes shopping. I took a pile of clothes into a dressing room. There was a toilet in there.
I thought to myself How FREAKING clever to put toilets in their dressing rooms!
I sat down and had a large bowel movement.
(If you think dreaming about having a bowel movement is weird, you are absolutely right!)
And realized that there was no toilet paper.
So, I called out to the sales person for help. When she came to the door, I realized that it was one of the snottier moms at Liv's school. The one who is always dressed in these great funky clothes with lots of clunky jewelry. Her haircut is fantastic. A chin length bob.
It never occurs to me to be embarrassed that I have just shit in a dressing room.
I tell the clerk my dilemma, smiling unashamedly. I also tell her that I really like her hair but honestly, all that posing at Liv's school. She isn't fooling anyone.
She is glaring at me. I don't get why she is mad.
Obviously, I am supremely idiotic in my dreams.
She tells me that those toilets aren't for using, they are a DECORATION.
I realize, too late, that I have made a grande faux pas.
I am finally smart enough to be embarrassed and start looking through my purse for toilet paper. I ask her if she can just bring me a paper towel, anything.
She says no. That I need to figure my way out of this mess.
I must have figured it out because suddenly in my dream, I was walking down a street with Liv, right as rain. No shit on me.
We stop at a road side stand and buy a whole basket of tomatoes.
This is crazy since I just spent two days last week canning and freezing, putting my garden to bed. I even kept Liv out of school for two days to help. (I know, I know...BAD MOTHER. But, I figured that she could always go to school, we can't always have canning time together and I want her to learn this stuff.)
Instead of taking the tomatoes home, I start throwing them at cars that are driving by. Liv is not amused and tells me to "grow up."
Okay...you dream analysts. Why am I dreaming about shitting in dressing rooms, buying tomatoes and throwing them? Any ideas?
We are on our way to the Husker game now, so I will check back later for your interesting ideas. And then I will tell you what I came up with.
And hey....anyone want to share a dream you had? Can you beat shitting in a dressing room?
I thought to myself How FREAKING clever to put toilets in their dressing rooms!
I sat down and had a large bowel movement.
(If you think dreaming about having a bowel movement is weird, you are absolutely right!)
And realized that there was no toilet paper.
So, I called out to the sales person for help. When she came to the door, I realized that it was one of the snottier moms at Liv's school. The one who is always dressed in these great funky clothes with lots of clunky jewelry. Her haircut is fantastic. A chin length bob.
It never occurs to me to be embarrassed that I have just shit in a dressing room.
I tell the clerk my dilemma, smiling unashamedly. I also tell her that I really like her hair but honestly, all that posing at Liv's school. She isn't fooling anyone.
She is glaring at me. I don't get why she is mad.
Obviously, I am supremely idiotic in my dreams.
She tells me that those toilets aren't for using, they are a DECORATION.
I realize, too late, that I have made a grande faux pas.
I am finally smart enough to be embarrassed and start looking through my purse for toilet paper. I ask her if she can just bring me a paper towel, anything.
She says no. That I need to figure my way out of this mess.
I must have figured it out because suddenly in my dream, I was walking down a street with Liv, right as rain. No shit on me.
We stop at a road side stand and buy a whole basket of tomatoes.
This is crazy since I just spent two days last week canning and freezing, putting my garden to bed. I even kept Liv out of school for two days to help. (I know, I know...BAD MOTHER. But, I figured that she could always go to school, we can't always have canning time together and I want her to learn this stuff.)
Instead of taking the tomatoes home, I start throwing them at cars that are driving by. Liv is not amused and tells me to "grow up."
Okay...you dream analysts. Why am I dreaming about shitting in dressing rooms, buying tomatoes and throwing them? Any ideas?
We are on our way to the Husker game now, so I will check back later for your interesting ideas. And then I will tell you what I came up with.
And hey....anyone want to share a dream you had? Can you beat shitting in a dressing room?
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
How to get in a fight with your partner....again.
First, have the phone ring at work just as you are getting ready to leave. Have it be your partner, who is tied up at work and needs you to pick up your child a half hour ago at the sitters. Call the sitters and apologize all over the place even though they keep telling you it is no big deal and not to rush.
Second, run like a bat out of hell out of work because you don't want to take advantage of the babysitter's sheer niceness. Forget to close down your computer. Run out to your car in heels and trip and fall two feet from your car. Let your skirt fly up around your face. Yes, you wore that gypsy skirt. It will do that. Get up gingerly and realize that your nylons are now in shreds and your knee is bleeding. Swear. Big time. Say the word fuck about ten times. Get in the car and grope for your sunglasses, why aren't they in your purse? Get out of the car and step on them.
Third, pick up your child. You are nearly an hour late from when your partner was supposed to pick her up. Let the sitters make a fuss over your knee. Let Nora take you in her bathroom and put iodine and a band aid on your knee, like you are ten. Stare at the bottle of iodine. Do people still use that shit? Guess so. Thank the sitters and take your child through the drive thru at Arby's to get dinner.
Fourth, go home and get the table ready for dinner. Go into the bottom drawer in the kitchen to reach for the bag where you keep the small snickers bars to grab a quick treat because your blood sugar is low and you need some sugar fast. Have snickers bars fall out of the bag because there is a gnawed hole in the bag. Stare at the hole like an idiot while your daughter picks up snickers bars off the floor and then she will say, "Mama, some of these snickers bars look like a little mouse has been gnawing on them." Stare stupidly at the little snickers bars. Realize that she is right. Check the other bags in the drawer. Yep. The yogurt breakfast bars that you bought last week have been gnawed into. Ditto the instant oatmeal packets. Look closely in the bottom of the drawer and find little balls of mouse shit. Cringe. Gag. Act like everything is fine so as not to alarm your child. Say cheerfully, "Well, I guess we need to persuade those mice to go live somewhere else, huh?" Watch your child eat her dinner but not be able to eat much because you are sick just thinking about mouse shit.
Fifth, hear the garage door open. Your spouse will walk in with a healthy salad. She will eye the Arby's sack and frown at you. Tell her about the mice. She will be way too calm. She will say, "Well, why don't you go buy some mousetraps while I eat my HEALTHY salad? I can't believe you let Liv eat Arby's TWICE in one week, Maria."
Her smug face will make you want to slap her. Keep your voice calm until your daughter runs off to do her homework. Tell your partner that you want to buy poison. It's faster. Almost trip over the dog. Look down and say, "What the hell is YOUR problem? Why are you letting MICE live in our house?" The dog will give you that look that says Do I look like a cat, dumb ass? Hear your partner veto the poison idea. It isn't green. It might kill birds. If a mouse eats the poison and goes outside to die, a bird could eat it and die. Do you want to be responsible for killing innocent wild life?
Sixth, call your partner a pansy ass. Say that you tried traps last year and they didn't work, remember? And then we tried sticky traps and remember how much fun it was to come home and see that mouse running across the kitchen floor with a sticky trap attached to it's back legs? Tell her to listen to reason. Watch her face get that stubborn look. Sigh and go out to the car. Realize that your knee really, really hurts. Ignore it. Go to the store and look at the mouse traps. Decide against the plastic ones because your partner is so green and will not like all that plastic. Buy the cheapo wooden old fashioned ones. Bring them home. Your partner will have cleaned the kitchen food drawers and will have pulled them out so that you can put the traps under them on the floor. Try to load up the traps. Snap your finger. Say fuck loudly four times. Worry that your child may hear you. Whisper fuck in a mad as hell voice. Listen to your partner say that these traps are worthless. Cheap junk.
Seventh, tell your partner that SHE can go buy better ones. And why doesn't she buy some poison while she is out there since you KNOW the traps won't work. They didn't work last time and you had to buy poison, remember? Watch your partner glare at you and repeat very s l o w l y, as if you are mentally handicapped, that you must try plain traps FIRST. Glare right back at her. Tell HER to load the traps until she can buy ones that meet her approval. Watch her snap her finger and feel your inner brat laugh. Don't let it show on your face. Put the traps loaded with peanut butter on the floor underneath the drawers.
Eighth, tell your partner that maybe if she cleaned up some of her messy, sloppy piles that she keeps all over the house, that maybe you wouldn't have mice. Listen to her lecture you about why mice come into houses ("They want to come in from the cold at this time of year, Maria. They like our nice, warm old house.")
Resist the urge to look at her and say, "You think? Duh!" Head upstairs to take a bath and check your e-mail and blog before Glee is on. Get all the way up to the last step and stumble in your slippery nylons. Catch yourself before you fall more than two steps. Bang your good knee (the one without iodine) on a step so hard that you hear it crack. Bite your lip and try not to scream. Head in to the computer room to check your e-mail. Hear your partner come up behind you. Feel her lean down and whisper, "I'm sorry this is such a shitty day." She will look at you and ask you why your lip is all swollen. Shrug. Let her kiss you. Just once.
Ninth, call after her as she leaves the room, "Those traps will NOT work, just so you know."
Tenth, sit down and get all your anger out on your blog.
Second, run like a bat out of hell out of work because you don't want to take advantage of the babysitter's sheer niceness. Forget to close down your computer. Run out to your car in heels and trip and fall two feet from your car. Let your skirt fly up around your face. Yes, you wore that gypsy skirt. It will do that. Get up gingerly and realize that your nylons are now in shreds and your knee is bleeding. Swear. Big time. Say the word fuck about ten times. Get in the car and grope for your sunglasses, why aren't they in your purse? Get out of the car and step on them.
Third, pick up your child. You are nearly an hour late from when your partner was supposed to pick her up. Let the sitters make a fuss over your knee. Let Nora take you in her bathroom and put iodine and a band aid on your knee, like you are ten. Stare at the bottle of iodine. Do people still use that shit? Guess so. Thank the sitters and take your child through the drive thru at Arby's to get dinner.
Fourth, go home and get the table ready for dinner. Go into the bottom drawer in the kitchen to reach for the bag where you keep the small snickers bars to grab a quick treat because your blood sugar is low and you need some sugar fast. Have snickers bars fall out of the bag because there is a gnawed hole in the bag. Stare at the hole like an idiot while your daughter picks up snickers bars off the floor and then she will say, "Mama, some of these snickers bars look like a little mouse has been gnawing on them." Stare stupidly at the little snickers bars. Realize that she is right. Check the other bags in the drawer. Yep. The yogurt breakfast bars that you bought last week have been gnawed into. Ditto the instant oatmeal packets. Look closely in the bottom of the drawer and find little balls of mouse shit. Cringe. Gag. Act like everything is fine so as not to alarm your child. Say cheerfully, "Well, I guess we need to persuade those mice to go live somewhere else, huh?" Watch your child eat her dinner but not be able to eat much because you are sick just thinking about mouse shit.
Fifth, hear the garage door open. Your spouse will walk in with a healthy salad. She will eye the Arby's sack and frown at you. Tell her about the mice. She will be way too calm. She will say, "Well, why don't you go buy some mousetraps while I eat my HEALTHY salad? I can't believe you let Liv eat Arby's TWICE in one week, Maria."
Her smug face will make you want to slap her. Keep your voice calm until your daughter runs off to do her homework. Tell your partner that you want to buy poison. It's faster. Almost trip over the dog. Look down and say, "What the hell is YOUR problem? Why are you letting MICE live in our house?" The dog will give you that look that says Do I look like a cat, dumb ass? Hear your partner veto the poison idea. It isn't green. It might kill birds. If a mouse eats the poison and goes outside to die, a bird could eat it and die. Do you want to be responsible for killing innocent wild life?
Sixth, call your partner a pansy ass. Say that you tried traps last year and they didn't work, remember? And then we tried sticky traps and remember how much fun it was to come home and see that mouse running across the kitchen floor with a sticky trap attached to it's back legs? Tell her to listen to reason. Watch her face get that stubborn look. Sigh and go out to the car. Realize that your knee really, really hurts. Ignore it. Go to the store and look at the mouse traps. Decide against the plastic ones because your partner is so green and will not like all that plastic. Buy the cheapo wooden old fashioned ones. Bring them home. Your partner will have cleaned the kitchen food drawers and will have pulled them out so that you can put the traps under them on the floor. Try to load up the traps. Snap your finger. Say fuck loudly four times. Worry that your child may hear you. Whisper fuck in a mad as hell voice. Listen to your partner say that these traps are worthless. Cheap junk.
Seventh, tell your partner that SHE can go buy better ones. And why doesn't she buy some poison while she is out there since you KNOW the traps won't work. They didn't work last time and you had to buy poison, remember? Watch your partner glare at you and repeat very s l o w l y, as if you are mentally handicapped, that you must try plain traps FIRST. Glare right back at her. Tell HER to load the traps until she can buy ones that meet her approval. Watch her snap her finger and feel your inner brat laugh. Don't let it show on your face. Put the traps loaded with peanut butter on the floor underneath the drawers.
Eighth, tell your partner that maybe if she cleaned up some of her messy, sloppy piles that she keeps all over the house, that maybe you wouldn't have mice. Listen to her lecture you about why mice come into houses ("They want to come in from the cold at this time of year, Maria. They like our nice, warm old house.")
Resist the urge to look at her and say, "You think? Duh!" Head upstairs to take a bath and check your e-mail and blog before Glee is on. Get all the way up to the last step and stumble in your slippery nylons. Catch yourself before you fall more than two steps. Bang your good knee (the one without iodine) on a step so hard that you hear it crack. Bite your lip and try not to scream. Head in to the computer room to check your e-mail. Hear your partner come up behind you. Feel her lean down and whisper, "I'm sorry this is such a shitty day." She will look at you and ask you why your lip is all swollen. Shrug. Let her kiss you. Just once.
Ninth, call after her as she leaves the room, "Those traps will NOT work, just so you know."
Tenth, sit down and get all your anger out on your blog.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Yahoo Yippity.
I am so excited! It's almost time for this:
I never thought that I would like Dexter. I saw ONE show and I was hooked. It is right next door to brilliant. Right up there with The Wire and The Sopranos. I always find myself riveted and then out of nowhere, the black humor just reaches out and grabs me.
I like having one show per night to watch. I am an unashamed Survivor junkie and have been for years. But, now there is a new show (something like Flash Forward?) that looks like it might be good.
Liv, Bing and I all watch Heroes and Lost.
Bing wants to try this new show called Modern Family, but I dunno, it looks a bit cutesy. We'll see.
We watched True Blood all summer long and now it is over until the Spring.
There is some new show with that guy from Moonlight that looks kind of interesting, but the truth is that I will only watch it to see him. And it might be another hospital drama. I tend to snort at those. Anyone who has ever worked in a hospital knows that they are incredibly hokey. Really. There is not THAT much drama in a hospital. If there was, we would never get our work done.
There is also The Office, (I like Jim. I love Jim. I want to work with Jim) 30 Rock, (It doesn't get better than Tina Fey. It just doesn't) and of course, we all gather around for The Amazing Race every Sunday. I think I would kick ass on that show and Survivor if I wasn't dependent on medicine to keep me alive. I somehow think that it wouldn't fly if I had to have my shot of insulin daily or my methotrexate.
So, what are your favorites. And please don't tell me that you don't watch television. That's right up there with the whoppers that you and your spouse never fight (someone actually wrote to me and said that if their spouse gave them the cold shoulder, they would look for someone else and I just hooted....because they would last for like...ten minutes...with me) or that you don't pee in the shower.
Fess up, y'all.
I never thought that I would like Dexter. I saw ONE show and I was hooked. It is right next door to brilliant. Right up there with The Wire and The Sopranos. I always find myself riveted and then out of nowhere, the black humor just reaches out and grabs me.
I like having one show per night to watch. I am an unashamed Survivor junkie and have been for years. But, now there is a new show (something like Flash Forward?) that looks like it might be good.
Liv, Bing and I all watch Heroes and Lost.
Bing wants to try this new show called Modern Family, but I dunno, it looks a bit cutesy. We'll see.
We watched True Blood all summer long and now it is over until the Spring.
There is some new show with that guy from Moonlight that looks kind of interesting, but the truth is that I will only watch it to see him. And it might be another hospital drama. I tend to snort at those. Anyone who has ever worked in a hospital knows that they are incredibly hokey. Really. There is not THAT much drama in a hospital. If there was, we would never get our work done.
There is also The Office, (I like Jim. I love Jim. I want to work with Jim) 30 Rock, (It doesn't get better than Tina Fey. It just doesn't) and of course, we all gather around for The Amazing Race every Sunday. I think I would kick ass on that show and Survivor if I wasn't dependent on medicine to keep me alive. I somehow think that it wouldn't fly if I had to have my shot of insulin daily or my methotrexate.
So, what are your favorites. And please don't tell me that you don't watch television. That's right up there with the whoppers that you and your spouse never fight (someone actually wrote to me and said that if their spouse gave them the cold shoulder, they would look for someone else and I just hooted....because they would last for like...ten minutes...with me) or that you don't pee in the shower.
Fess up, y'all.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Bing redeems herself.
All is forgiven.
I woke up this morning to the smell of Bing making pancakes for Liv. She does this quite often. I don't thank her very often for it either.
When I came downstairs to my choice of blueberry or banana pancakes (blueberry please!), Bing and Liv announced that they were going to spend the morning going biking at the soap box derby track, did I want to come?
I can't bike anymore, I have Meniere's Syndrome and my balance isn't trustworthy enough to ride bikes, but I decided to come and read a book. We decided to take Socks too, and I would keep him on a long leash. So, we did that. I sat on a picnic table with Sock's leash tethered around the leg of it while Bing and Liv sailed by me over and over again as they biked together. They had many races. Bing never "lets" Liv win. She wants her to learn that we all must work for our victories and not to be surprised or upset if someone older and/or more experienced wins. Liv never beats her. But...she did today. It was their last race and Bing was winded. Not Liv. Her ten year old status beat out Bing's 50 year old stamina.
Liv went flying by me laughing merrily, her mouth wide open, her head thrown back. She was ecstatic. She finally DID it! To those who "let" their children win, I must say that this sort of victory is better. She earned it and she knew it.
Bing and Liv came over to flop next to me, both grinning and both panting. I smiled and shook my head.
"Y'all looked like a couple of crazy horses," I told them.
Bing immediately took out her little thingy (sorry, the name escapes me) and found the song she was looking for and put it on LOUD. Suddenly, she and Liv were on their feet, stomping and rearing to this:
By the end of it, we were all laughing hard and Socks was looking genuinely alarmed...
But, anyway...we stopped for a game of putt putt and then went home. Bing had a gig in the afternoon and Liv had homework to do for school tomorrow.
I sat on the bed while Bing dressed for her gig. We discussed the incident yesterday.
"I knew there was no point in trying to talk to you yesterday," Bing said. "You were too pissed off. But, Maria...I DO love Liv and I wish you would just hear my side of things before you jump all over me like you always do..."
Okay, I told her. What is YOUR side?
Bing pulled on her dress pants and then sat next to me on the bed. Took my hand.
"You have to hold my hand and listen to me until I'm finished," she said. "No interrupting."
I nodded.
She continued.
"The thing is...I HATE those kid games," she said. "They are boring. The games really don't get interesting until the kids get into high school. And I have so little free time. I admit that I just didn't want to go. And then when you got so hot headed about it all and so, so, BOILING MAD, well, it got my back up. You know...I never wanted a child. I never lied and pretended that I did with you. You know that. But, I do love Liv and I do try. I'm not built for parenting, you are. I suck at it. We both know that. But, I try to do what I can. I pick Liv up every day at the sitters and then bring her home and we start dinner together. I help her with her math homework. I do things...like biking...with her that we both enjoy. But, I really, truly hate those soccer games, honey and I refuse to let you bully me into going."
I thought about this. And then I answered.
I told her that I didn't enjoy going to Liv's games either until this year. Up until this year, it had basically been just a bunch of kids running to get the ball. But, that is how Liv LEARNED to play and I knew she needed to be there. And she needs to have me there watching, so I go. I think she would really LOVE it if Bing would show up at a game or two. Would it KILL her to do that? I know that she never wanted to be a parent. But, like it or not, she is a step parent and I expect her to try harder at this. If she can't or won't, well....I can't MAKE her do anything. But, I would really like her to just try harder.
She agreed. She said that she would go to every other game from now on, was that fair?
There was still a little bit of anger in me. I told her that I would believe it when I saw it.
"Now, can I have my hand back?" I asked her.
"First you have to let me make out with it," she told me. "I would rather make out with your face, but I will settle for your dainty little hand here..."
She kissed my hand, ending with a heartfelt kiss into my palm and then she handed my hand back to me.
Winked at me.
I had to smile. After all, how can I not forgive someone who wildly thrashes around to Crazy Horses in public with my ten year old daughter?
So...all's well that ends well.
But, we'll see if she keeps her promise.
We'll see.
I woke up this morning to the smell of Bing making pancakes for Liv. She does this quite often. I don't thank her very often for it either.
When I came downstairs to my choice of blueberry or banana pancakes (blueberry please!), Bing and Liv announced that they were going to spend the morning going biking at the soap box derby track, did I want to come?
I can't bike anymore, I have Meniere's Syndrome and my balance isn't trustworthy enough to ride bikes, but I decided to come and read a book. We decided to take Socks too, and I would keep him on a long leash. So, we did that. I sat on a picnic table with Sock's leash tethered around the leg of it while Bing and Liv sailed by me over and over again as they biked together. They had many races. Bing never "lets" Liv win. She wants her to learn that we all must work for our victories and not to be surprised or upset if someone older and/or more experienced wins. Liv never beats her. But...she did today. It was their last race and Bing was winded. Not Liv. Her ten year old status beat out Bing's 50 year old stamina.
Liv went flying by me laughing merrily, her mouth wide open, her head thrown back. She was ecstatic. She finally DID it! To those who "let" their children win, I must say that this sort of victory is better. She earned it and she knew it.
Bing and Liv came over to flop next to me, both grinning and both panting. I smiled and shook my head.
"Y'all looked like a couple of crazy horses," I told them.
Bing immediately took out her little thingy (sorry, the name escapes me) and found the song she was looking for and put it on LOUD. Suddenly, she and Liv were on their feet, stomping and rearing to this:
By the end of it, we were all laughing hard and Socks was looking genuinely alarmed...
But, anyway...we stopped for a game of putt putt and then went home. Bing had a gig in the afternoon and Liv had homework to do for school tomorrow.
I sat on the bed while Bing dressed for her gig. We discussed the incident yesterday.
"I knew there was no point in trying to talk to you yesterday," Bing said. "You were too pissed off. But, Maria...I DO love Liv and I wish you would just hear my side of things before you jump all over me like you always do..."
Okay, I told her. What is YOUR side?
Bing pulled on her dress pants and then sat next to me on the bed. Took my hand.
"You have to hold my hand and listen to me until I'm finished," she said. "No interrupting."
I nodded.
She continued.
"The thing is...I HATE those kid games," she said. "They are boring. The games really don't get interesting until the kids get into high school. And I have so little free time. I admit that I just didn't want to go. And then when you got so hot headed about it all and so, so, BOILING MAD, well, it got my back up. You know...I never wanted a child. I never lied and pretended that I did with you. You know that. But, I do love Liv and I do try. I'm not built for parenting, you are. I suck at it. We both know that. But, I try to do what I can. I pick Liv up every day at the sitters and then bring her home and we start dinner together. I help her with her math homework. I do things...like biking...with her that we both enjoy. But, I really, truly hate those soccer games, honey and I refuse to let you bully me into going."
I thought about this. And then I answered.
I told her that I didn't enjoy going to Liv's games either until this year. Up until this year, it had basically been just a bunch of kids running to get the ball. But, that is how Liv LEARNED to play and I knew she needed to be there. And she needs to have me there watching, so I go. I think she would really LOVE it if Bing would show up at a game or two. Would it KILL her to do that? I know that she never wanted to be a parent. But, like it or not, she is a step parent and I expect her to try harder at this. If she can't or won't, well....I can't MAKE her do anything. But, I would really like her to just try harder.
She agreed. She said that she would go to every other game from now on, was that fair?
There was still a little bit of anger in me. I told her that I would believe it when I saw it.
"Now, can I have my hand back?" I asked her.
"First you have to let me make out with it," she told me. "I would rather make out with your face, but I will settle for your dainty little hand here..."
She kissed my hand, ending with a heartfelt kiss into my palm and then she handed my hand back to me.
Winked at me.
I had to smile. After all, how can I not forgive someone who wildly thrashes around to Crazy Horses in public with my ten year old daughter?
So...all's well that ends well.
But, we'll see if she keeps her promise.
We'll see.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Troubles in Paradise
I think that I may have mentioned that I find it sort of amusing that so many of you seem to think that Bing and I are role models for a happy coupledom.
We knock heads occasionally. Hard.
Last night, I asked her if she had anything planned for her Saturday. She said that she planned on getting her hair cut at 9 and then going to school to play catch up with her grade book. When this was done, she would go to her work out and be home in time to watch the Husker game on television at 2:30. I sighed but didn't comment.
Liv plays soccer nearly every Saturday morning and Bing has only been to one game. And then she left early because she said she had to get to school to get some work done.
I decided long ago (and Liv has been playing soccer since she was five) that guilting her was not an option. To be honest, I had tried it and it hadn't worked.
So, last night Liv asked if I would come keep her company while she took her bath. I love doing this, but unless she asks, I don't invade her bath time. I think she deserves her privacy. I was pleased to be asked, though, so I washed her back and lathered up her hair and rinsed it. I sort of miss the Barbie dolls that used to sit in the basket on the edge of the old claw footed tub. They were always a tangle of slutty looking, naked, tousle haired dolls, all hanging out together, some in bathing suits, others just naked and unconcerned with it. As I bathed Liv, we would have diving contests with the Barbies. I would give each one a personality. The blondes were always the divas, always complaining that the judging was so not fair! and crying piteously in Ken's arms. The redheads were ferociously ambitious and usually won. The brunettes were brainy, but a bit uncoordinated. I often made them do unintentional belly flops.
Now, Liv's Barbies have long since been donated to the Goodwill and are sitting on other rims of other bathtubs. Now, Liv often sings in the tub. She is studying opera in her music class at school and they are currently on The Barber of Seville so she usually belts out Figaro's Aria, scaring the hell out of Socks.
FIGARO! FIGARO!!! fIGARO!!
But, Friday night, Liv and I talked. I knew it was an important subject that she wanted to discuss because she didn't look at me when she brought it up, just stared down at her washcloth floating in the water.
"Do you think Bing will come to my game tomorrow?" she asked.
I took a breath. Told her that she should ask Bing herself, said that I knew that she was going to school in the morning but since her game wasn't until 11:00, maybe she would be able to make it.
Liv nodded and got out of the tub, quickly changing the subject to the subject of what she is going to bring for treats this week as school since she is treat manager.
I dried her off and slid her nightie over her head, a particularly sweet one that I love that her Aunt Celia bought for her, a plain white shift with delicate pink roses on it.
I was sitting in a chair reading my book when Liv came in to the living room and politely waited for a commercial in The Jay Leno Show before she asked Bing if she would come to her game.
Bing cut her eyes at me before she answered, her face pinking a little bit when she knew that I was listening.
She patted Liv's arm. "No, honey, I'm sorry," she said. "I can't. I have to get my grades in."
Liv gently persisted. "But, my game is really late, Bing. It isn't until 11:00."
Bing's lips pressed tightly together before she answered. "No, I have my work out after my school work, honey. Sorry. Maybe next game, okay?"
Liv said okay and carefully picked up her book and lay down on the floor with Socks to read. Her face was impassive.
I saw red.
I wanted to get up and smack the channel changer right out of Bing's hands and tell her that she was an asshat of the first order.
Instead, I stared at her until she reluctantly looked over at me and then I gave her the most withering look in my arsenal. She quickly looked back to the television.
Her cell phone rang later that night as I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth while she read in bed. I heard her answer it and say, "Hi, Margaret."
Margaret is a friend of hers from her school who is her workout partner and who, I am convinced, has a huge crush on Bing. Bing thinks that this is ridiculous and has told me so.
I unkindly refer to Margaret as the ferret because I honestly can hardly stand her. She looks ferrety to me and she has one of those simpering, sucking up personalities that make you just want her to trip and fall on her face. Twice.
I heard Bing say, "Okay, see you tomorrow then." and she hung up. She looked up at me standing in the bathroom doorway.
"WHAT?" she asked.
"When are you meeting the ferret?" I asked.
She frowned. "Maria, c'mon, don't call her that. It is so unkind. I'm meeting her tomorrow after my hair cut and after I do my grades..."
"OOOOHHHH," I said in my snottiest voice. "So she is the reason you can't go to Liv's game?"
Bing rolled her eyes. "We had this planned long ago and yes, I am missing Liv's game to go to my workout. Maria, stop it."
"Just so you know," I told her, frostily. "I think you are a selfish toad."
"Really?" she replied, sarcastic now. "I would have never known that from your body language and I'm not even a psychiatrist or anything..."
Suffice it to say that she didn't get one single kiss goodnight from me.
The next morning, as she was getting ready to leave the house, she came into our bedroom and sat on the side of the bed. I kept my eyes closed.
"I know you're awake," she said.
I opened one eye.
"I just wanted to say goodbye and I'll see you guys for the Husker game," she said.
I didn't answer. Shut my eye.
I felt her lean down and kiss my shoulder. I quickly turned over, showing her my back.
She left.
I took Liv to her game. Sat next to Will, a single dad, a recent widower. Actually, he isn't technically a widower. He and his wife had divorced and his daughter was living with his wife when she died (a freak heart attack, she was only 36) so now his daughter lives with him. She and Liv both go to Montessori and play soccer. They aren't good friends, but okay friends. Will and I have gotten to know each other at the soccer practices. He obviously had not heard that I was that lesbian mom because one night at practice, (with Bing standing right next to me!) he had asked me out on a date.
I turned him down and then felt compelled to introduce Bing, who gave him her widest cheshire cat smile and actually smirked at him, which I thought was kind of mean.
At any rate, to his credit, he didn't let that get in the way of us becoming soccer parent friends and we often sit together at games. His daughter sucks and mine doesn't, but at this age level, it really doesn't matter.
So, I sat next to him. I didn't spill about Bing. I'm not a sharing type of person with others as a rule and it was way too much information for him. No, this bitchy tidbit would be saved for a coffee with my bff, Harriet, where I could sit across her kitchen table and tell her the whole story of what a total and complete toad Bing was.
Will and I chatted for awhile and then he said, "Say, how about we take the girls out to Dairy Queen for a barbie dog since it is so close to lunchtime? And maybe a cone?"
I said yes.
We watched the game. It was CLOSE. Liv's team was playing an all boy team and they were pretty well matched. We scored a goal and then the other team did. And then neither team could seem to score. Halftime came and Will and I and several other parents discussed what middle schools we were looking at. Will confessed that he thought he'd just put his daughter in public school. I said that I was dreading the whole process. The game started back up again.
In the final minute of the game, Liv scored a goal and the cheering from the sidelines was hearty. I quickly speed dialed Bing, who picked up on the first ring, her voice half hopeful, half wary.
"Do you hear the cheering and clapping?" I asked her. She said she did.
"That is for Liv. She just scored a goal and now we have won the game," I said. "Too freaking bad that you missed it..."
She sounded contrite. "Okay, okay. I'm SORRY. How about if I meet you at home and we all go out to celebrate? We'll get a burger before the Husker game starts?"
"Nope," I told her, with extreme evil pleasure, no...we were going out to lunch with WILL and his daughter...
She started to sputter something and I didn't even say goodbye, just clicked my phone shut with a happy slap.
Selfish toad.
We went out to lunch. Bing was home when we got back. She gave Liv a huge hug, told her she was so proud, etc. Liv, who isn't a grudge holder like some people I know, happily told her all about her goal.
Bing looked at me over the top of Liv's head. I ignored her.
"So," she said, looking back and forth from both of us, "How was your lunch?"
Liv said it was okay, but her burger had too many onions.
Bing opened the fridge and showed us some ice cream that she had bought to eat while we watched the game.
"We already had ice cream," I drawled. "I'm simply stuffed...."
We turned on the game.
And if any of you follow football, you know that it was a heart breaker. My Cornhuskers lost to Virginia Tech by one lousy point, scored in the last minute of the game.
Ugh.
It is now nearly time for bed and I have barely spoken to Bing. She has privately apologized to me for missing Liv's game and I icily accepted it. But, she knows me well. It will be at least a day before I let her kiss me again.
Because I hold a grudge.
So, hey, don't be nominating us for any couple of the year awards. She is a SELFISH TOAD sometimes and I am a bitchy grudge holder.
And there is no joy in the Husker nation tonight.
I have a question, what would YOU have done in my shoes? I'm curious. Am I just a supreme bitch or do I take things too much to heart or what? What would you have done?
We knock heads occasionally. Hard.
Last night, I asked her if she had anything planned for her Saturday. She said that she planned on getting her hair cut at 9 and then going to school to play catch up with her grade book. When this was done, she would go to her work out and be home in time to watch the Husker game on television at 2:30. I sighed but didn't comment.
Liv plays soccer nearly every Saturday morning and Bing has only been to one game. And then she left early because she said she had to get to school to get some work done.
I decided long ago (and Liv has been playing soccer since she was five) that guilting her was not an option. To be honest, I had tried it and it hadn't worked.
So, last night Liv asked if I would come keep her company while she took her bath. I love doing this, but unless she asks, I don't invade her bath time. I think she deserves her privacy. I was pleased to be asked, though, so I washed her back and lathered up her hair and rinsed it. I sort of miss the Barbie dolls that used to sit in the basket on the edge of the old claw footed tub. They were always a tangle of slutty looking, naked, tousle haired dolls, all hanging out together, some in bathing suits, others just naked and unconcerned with it. As I bathed Liv, we would have diving contests with the Barbies. I would give each one a personality. The blondes were always the divas, always complaining that the judging was so not fair! and crying piteously in Ken's arms. The redheads were ferociously ambitious and usually won. The brunettes were brainy, but a bit uncoordinated. I often made them do unintentional belly flops.
Now, Liv's Barbies have long since been donated to the Goodwill and are sitting on other rims of other bathtubs. Now, Liv often sings in the tub. She is studying opera in her music class at school and they are currently on The Barber of Seville so she usually belts out Figaro's Aria, scaring the hell out of Socks.
FIGARO! FIGARO!!! fIGARO!!
But, Friday night, Liv and I talked. I knew it was an important subject that she wanted to discuss because she didn't look at me when she brought it up, just stared down at her washcloth floating in the water.
"Do you think Bing will come to my game tomorrow?" she asked.
I took a breath. Told her that she should ask Bing herself, said that I knew that she was going to school in the morning but since her game wasn't until 11:00, maybe she would be able to make it.
Liv nodded and got out of the tub, quickly changing the subject to the subject of what she is going to bring for treats this week as school since she is treat manager.
I dried her off and slid her nightie over her head, a particularly sweet one that I love that her Aunt Celia bought for her, a plain white shift with delicate pink roses on it.
I was sitting in a chair reading my book when Liv came in to the living room and politely waited for a commercial in The Jay Leno Show before she asked Bing if she would come to her game.
Bing cut her eyes at me before she answered, her face pinking a little bit when she knew that I was listening.
She patted Liv's arm. "No, honey, I'm sorry," she said. "I can't. I have to get my grades in."
Liv gently persisted. "But, my game is really late, Bing. It isn't until 11:00."
Bing's lips pressed tightly together before she answered. "No, I have my work out after my school work, honey. Sorry. Maybe next game, okay?"
Liv said okay and carefully picked up her book and lay down on the floor with Socks to read. Her face was impassive.
I saw red.
I wanted to get up and smack the channel changer right out of Bing's hands and tell her that she was an asshat of the first order.
Instead, I stared at her until she reluctantly looked over at me and then I gave her the most withering look in my arsenal. She quickly looked back to the television.
Her cell phone rang later that night as I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth while she read in bed. I heard her answer it and say, "Hi, Margaret."
Margaret is a friend of hers from her school who is her workout partner and who, I am convinced, has a huge crush on Bing. Bing thinks that this is ridiculous and has told me so.
I unkindly refer to Margaret as the ferret because I honestly can hardly stand her. She looks ferrety to me and she has one of those simpering, sucking up personalities that make you just want her to trip and fall on her face. Twice.
I heard Bing say, "Okay, see you tomorrow then." and she hung up. She looked up at me standing in the bathroom doorway.
"WHAT?" she asked.
"When are you meeting the ferret?" I asked.
She frowned. "Maria, c'mon, don't call her that. It is so unkind. I'm meeting her tomorrow after my hair cut and after I do my grades..."
"OOOOHHHH," I said in my snottiest voice. "So she is the reason you can't go to Liv's game?"
Bing rolled her eyes. "We had this planned long ago and yes, I am missing Liv's game to go to my workout. Maria, stop it."
"Just so you know," I told her, frostily. "I think you are a selfish toad."
"Really?" she replied, sarcastic now. "I would have never known that from your body language and I'm not even a psychiatrist or anything..."
Suffice it to say that she didn't get one single kiss goodnight from me.
The next morning, as she was getting ready to leave the house, she came into our bedroom and sat on the side of the bed. I kept my eyes closed.
"I know you're awake," she said.
I opened one eye.
"I just wanted to say goodbye and I'll see you guys for the Husker game," she said.
I didn't answer. Shut my eye.
I felt her lean down and kiss my shoulder. I quickly turned over, showing her my back.
She left.
I took Liv to her game. Sat next to Will, a single dad, a recent widower. Actually, he isn't technically a widower. He and his wife had divorced and his daughter was living with his wife when she died (a freak heart attack, she was only 36) so now his daughter lives with him. She and Liv both go to Montessori and play soccer. They aren't good friends, but okay friends. Will and I have gotten to know each other at the soccer practices. He obviously had not heard that I was that lesbian mom because one night at practice, (with Bing standing right next to me!) he had asked me out on a date.
I turned him down and then felt compelled to introduce Bing, who gave him her widest cheshire cat smile and actually smirked at him, which I thought was kind of mean.
At any rate, to his credit, he didn't let that get in the way of us becoming soccer parent friends and we often sit together at games. His daughter sucks and mine doesn't, but at this age level, it really doesn't matter.
So, I sat next to him. I didn't spill about Bing. I'm not a sharing type of person with others as a rule and it was way too much information for him. No, this bitchy tidbit would be saved for a coffee with my bff, Harriet, where I could sit across her kitchen table and tell her the whole story of what a total and complete toad Bing was.
Will and I chatted for awhile and then he said, "Say, how about we take the girls out to Dairy Queen for a barbie dog since it is so close to lunchtime? And maybe a cone?"
I said yes.
We watched the game. It was CLOSE. Liv's team was playing an all boy team and they were pretty well matched. We scored a goal and then the other team did. And then neither team could seem to score. Halftime came and Will and I and several other parents discussed what middle schools we were looking at. Will confessed that he thought he'd just put his daughter in public school. I said that I was dreading the whole process. The game started back up again.
In the final minute of the game, Liv scored a goal and the cheering from the sidelines was hearty. I quickly speed dialed Bing, who picked up on the first ring, her voice half hopeful, half wary.
"Do you hear the cheering and clapping?" I asked her. She said she did.
"That is for Liv. She just scored a goal and now we have won the game," I said. "Too freaking bad that you missed it..."
She sounded contrite. "Okay, okay. I'm SORRY. How about if I meet you at home and we all go out to celebrate? We'll get a burger before the Husker game starts?"
"Nope," I told her, with extreme evil pleasure, no...we were going out to lunch with WILL and his daughter...
She started to sputter something and I didn't even say goodbye, just clicked my phone shut with a happy slap.
Selfish toad.
We went out to lunch. Bing was home when we got back. She gave Liv a huge hug, told her she was so proud, etc. Liv, who isn't a grudge holder like some people I know, happily told her all about her goal.
Bing looked at me over the top of Liv's head. I ignored her.
"So," she said, looking back and forth from both of us, "How was your lunch?"
Liv said it was okay, but her burger had too many onions.
Bing opened the fridge and showed us some ice cream that she had bought to eat while we watched the game.
"We already had ice cream," I drawled. "I'm simply stuffed...."
We turned on the game.
And if any of you follow football, you know that it was a heart breaker. My Cornhuskers lost to Virginia Tech by one lousy point, scored in the last minute of the game.
Ugh.
It is now nearly time for bed and I have barely spoken to Bing. She has privately apologized to me for missing Liv's game and I icily accepted it. But, she knows me well. It will be at least a day before I let her kiss me again.
Because I hold a grudge.
So, hey, don't be nominating us for any couple of the year awards. She is a SELFISH TOAD sometimes and I am a bitchy grudge holder.
And there is no joy in the Husker nation tonight.
I have a question, what would YOU have done in my shoes? I'm curious. Am I just a supreme bitch or do I take things too much to heart or what? What would you have done?
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
We all carry our own suitcases
Work has been taking a lot out of this old girl lately. I try to shake off my day when I walk in through the back door after work, but it has been hard.
My Aunt Dottie has been ill lately but a couple of weeks ago, we had the best lunch together.
And I nearly missed it.
I was just sitting down to my desk at work one morning to check my office e-mail before I started my day. The phone rang. I scowled at it. No one that I really wanted to talk to, but well...I was at work and all that. So, I answered it.
No one has a voice like my Aunt Dottie, except for maybe Jean Stapleton as Edith Bunker if she had a slight Irish brogue.
"Well, now. THAT is a pretty sultry voice for a business lady," was the first thing she said to me. "You know you sound like you should be one of those sex ladies who talk to lonely fellas over the telephone."
I snorted, ruining my soft, sexy, sultry voice.
"Hi, Aunt Dottie," I said.
"How did you know it was me, Miss Twinky?" she asked.
"Because no one that I know sounds like you, Auntie," I told her.
She got right to the point.
"What I'm calling for," she began, "Is that I thought I could come to your office for lunch today. I have to go to my eye doctor whose office is down in that bad neighborhood that you work in. I have TOLD that man that he is going to get mugged one of these days. Or I will..."
No, I thought. No. No. No. I do NOT feel like having lunch with anyone. I am stressed out with this job lately and I just want to sit by myself and read my book and eat my orange and yogurt. Is that too much to ask???
"Well, I would LOVE to see you," I said. "What time is good for you?"
We agreed on a time and she told me not to plan to go out, that she would bring samwiches and maybe some fruit for us. She kissed her telephone several times and sent them along to me and we hung up.
She was ten minutes early like she always is.
She had a back pack on over her little old lady pantsuit, bright lime green, her favorite color. And keds.
I introduced her around to everyone and we went into the staff lounge. I was actually kind of hungry by now, so I eyed her carefully as she took out little waxed paper wrapped bundles and set them in front of me.
She had brought us peanut butter and mint jelly sandwiches, two crisp fuji apples, an oreo cookie for each of us and two small sized containers of red jello. And 2 little bottles of something called gridiron chocolate milk.
I smiled. She smiled back.
"I packed your favorites," she said. "Or at least what used to be your favorites when you were knee high to a grasshopper."
I reached for an apple and sniffed it. "I can't remember the last time I had mint jelly," I mused. "I didn't realize how much I'd missed it until just now."
Dottie held up her hand like a traffic cop.
"Don't take a bite until we thank Jesus," she told me.
I bowed my head obediently while she thanked Jesus for our daily bread.
Then we dug in. Dottie is a hearty eater, takes big healthy bites and sometimes talks with her mouth full, which would bother me if it were anyone else but her.
I asked her how Uncle Lester was doing. He was diagnosed with Alzheimer's a year ago and while he is not that bad off yet, it is coming. Already, she has to hire a babysitter to come sit with him when she goes anywhere and she's confessed to me that she can't even take him to the grocery store with her anymore because he wanders off.
She didn't really want to talk about him, brushed my question off with a simple fine, fine.
She had some jelly on her upper lip and I took a napkin and gently cleaned her mouth off.
She laughed and shook her head. "Not so long ago, I was doing that with you, buttercup."
She told me that she liked my office, liked the people in my office. Julie, who has the office next to mine had popped her head out to say hello to Dottie and got a little gushy about me. Told Dottie that I was so funny and Maria makes us all laugh a lot.
Dottie leaned across and patted my hand.
"So, Miss Jay Leno, it sounds like your lady co-workers like you just fine. What? Do you sit around being a wisenheimer all day?"
Pretty much, I told her, keeping a straight face. Pretty much.
Dottie eyed my outfit. That day I had on a simple black business suit with a gold sleeveless shell under it and simple black pumps. She asked me where the funeral is.
And she thinks I'm a wisenheimer.
"It's just that you are such a pale girl. You need to wear some big fat red and yellow flowers, give your complexion a lift. You look like Morticia Addams, dear. You're just such a pale little person. But, I guess everyone wants to look like a vampire these days. You kids...."
She trailed off and I realized that there are very few people in the world who would refer to me as a kid anymore. Just her.
My skirt was a pencil style one and I'd noticed that it was a wee bit tight at the waist this morning when I slid into it. I told Aunt Dottie this and she eyed me carefully.
"Well, you're not a two ton Tony yet," she said. "Get up and walk around so I can get a better look at your butt."
I would not do this for anyone except her.
I did it.
She smiled, her lipstick smudged from her samwich.
"Naw, you're looking just fine, honey lamb."
She asked me how work was going and I didn't say that I was stressed out big time. I didn't tell her about the day that I took my watch off before an appointment because it was making my wrist itch and how after the appointment it had disappeared. I didn't tell her how I saw it on the mother of the child that I work with the next time that they came and how when I eyed it, she carefully slid it off of her wrist and slipped it into her purse when she thought I wasn't looking. I didn't tell her about the child I see who is voluntarily mute and how just when I was getting through, everything was ruined when his mother impatiently blew breath out of her mouth and told him to "quit actin' like a retard and answer the lady!"
I told her a funny story about the man down the street who owns the mini mart. About how he pumps hand sanitizer into his hands immediately after he hands someone their change. I told her how smart Liv is and how she is studying the civil war in school.
I didn't tell her about my last doctor's appointment or how he upped my meds and now my migraines are getting bad again.
Aunt Dottie told me about how she canned last weekend and put her garden to bed early this year because she just couldn't work in it as much as she liked anymore. She told me about her daughter who lives on the West Coast and never calls her but that's okay because her other daughter who lives down south calls her every single day. Just to say hello and I love you. She didn't mention that the man she lives with bears no resemblance to the hunky dude she married 62 years ago.
We both have suitcases full of things that we don't mention.
Instead, we ate our peanut butter and mint jellysandwiches samwiches and talked about television shows.
She likes those dancing shows and American idol.
"I like to see nice Americans and how talented they are," she told me. "I just plain refuse to watch that Obama man, though. He wants to take away my MEDICARE!"
I started to tell her that this was simply not true, but stopped myself. I wasn't up to it and she wouldn't listen so why waste my breath?
She asked me about where I have flown to lately. She loves travel stories. I told her about going to Oregon this summer.
"Just remember," she said, pointing her last bite of oreo at me, "If you stay in a hotel and they have one of those fancy jacuzzi things, ALWAYS PUT IN A TAMPON before you get in to block all those germs in there from sliding up into your gadget."
I choked a little on my swig of chocolate milk, but I nodded. Tried not to smile.
When it was time to go, she grabbed all the wax wrappers and put them into the trash. Then she pulled out three extra bottles of the gridiron chocolate milk. Told me to put them in the fridge to save for when I needed a pick-me-up in the afternoon. She noticed our big giant doll that we keep in a chair at our table.
Why do you have a doll here?" she asked. "Is it for the children when they come in?"
No, I told her. It's sort of a...a...joke doll.
"We take turns dressing her up," I told her. She looked at me curiously, thought this was a strange hobby for grown women, I could tell. I didn't tell her that we sometimes dressed her up in biker chick clothes or dominatrix outfits.
I didn't tell her that we sometimes give her strange props to hold.
I didn't think she would get the sort of gallows humor that goes around in here.
I walked Aunt Dottie to her car. She held my hand and swung it. I liked that.
I looked down at her feet.
"Is it time for us to go shoe shopping?" I asked her. "Do you need me to come over and watch Uncle Lester so that you can go grocery shopping or I could go with you and watch him in the store?"
Aunt Dottie brightened. She thought that this sounded fun and we set a date for me to take her and Lester grocery shopping next week.
She leaned over and kissed my cheek, leaving a bright orangey red imprint. I mentally reminded myself to wipe it off when I got back inside.
You be a good girl, now," she told me. She got into her car and blithely pulled out in front of a dude in a caddy with a doo rag on his head who looked like he could break her in two with one hand but instead he just let her get in front of him and shook his head a little bit. I smiled and waved at him and he waved back, revealing a surprisingly gentle smile.
Aunt Dottie tooted her horn three times, our signal for I love you and got going.
I watched her until I could no longer see her.
I think about how it used to be when I was as she said, knee high to a grasshopper.
Dottie is my mother's older sister and they look a little bit alike; they have the same reddish hair and blue eyes. But the resemblance ends there. My mother was a farm wife, very pragmatic and practical. She wore long wearing farm dresses and sensible shoes. Aunt Dottie tended towards the flashier duds. She wore lots of bright yellows and oranges.
I loved to visit her. Her daughter, Angie is my age and whenever we would visit what, to me, was the big city, I would love staying at Dottie's house. My mother usually stayed at her little brother, Charlie's house and I always clamored to stay at Aunt Dottie and Uncle Lester's house. Partly, it was to see Angie, partly to just be in their big messy house, so different from our tidy quiet one.
Dottie let us stay up as late as we wanted and even encouraged us to watch this awful scary show called Dr. San Guinary that was on late night television. She would make us hot fudge sundaes or root beer floats to slurp while we watched. In the morning, there would be Aunt Dottie, in her silky kimonos and wearing high heeled slippers, which she called mules. She would make us pancakes or scrambled eggs with a lit cigarette hanging out of her mouth. This was back when everyone smoked. Uncle Lester, who worked as ajanitor building engineer at a local college would come into the kitchen and shamelessly stand behind her, kissing her with loud smacky kisses on her neck.
Aunt Dottie had a makeup case in her bathroom that she let us experiment with. Little tiny sample lipsticks from Avon were in there and things that my mother never, ever wore like black cake eyeliner and blue mascara. She had an eyelash curler that I loved to use. My mother seldom wore makeup. If she was getting all dolled up, she would sometimes put on a light coating of Tangee pinky lipstick. She didn't wore perfume. She always smelled like Jergen's lotion.
But what I absolutely coveted of my Aunt Dottie's? Her deodorant pads. She had little round Tussy deodorant pads that came in a little jar. I thought that was so cool! My mother would have never dreamed of splurging to buy something like that. She and my Da shared a simple brown can of Right Guard.
And the food at Dottie's house, GOD....the food. She had junk food. She had oreos and potato chips. Whipped cream in a can. Wonder bread and bologna that was in slices instead of the kind that my mother bought, the big roll that had to be hand cut, so sandwiches always ended up with a lopsided slice of bologna.
My mother made everything from scratch. When I was a kid, I didn't see the beauty of it. She made 3 dozen homemade chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin cookies every Saturday. When they were gone, they were gone. She baked her own bread and that was what I took in my lunch. So, I would be at school with my home baked bread and lopsided bologna sandwiches and a piece of fruit and a homemade cookie for lunch.
I never thought how lucky I was. When I was in college, I almost ate myself sick on oreo cookies, Wonder bread and velveeta and Lay's potato chips. Stuff I never got at home. Now, of course, I realize how healthy I ate as a child. But, back then, all I wanted was the fake stuff.
Aunt Dottie's house was just plain wonderful in my eyes, and so was she.
I still think she is wonderful. But, now her house is much different. It is still the same house, but her two daughters have long since moved out. She and Lester are on a heart healthy diet now, though, so no more Wonder Bread. And the sheer quiet and silence in her house haunts me. I remember her house as being so noisy and fun, with door slamming and Uncle Lester working on his motorcycle and kids from the neighborhood running in and out.
Now, she and Lester are elderly, nearly 90. Her daughters are trying to coax her into moving into an assisted living place but Aunt Dottie is fighting it. She wants to be independent, she says. Soon that will be impossible, though, because that big lug of a sweetheart that she married, my Uncle Lester, who loved to fart and pretend that someone else did it, is now a small, frail question mark of a man, with a stooped walk and and befuddled eyes. The man who once used to sing "You look like a monkey and you act like one too! at everyone's birthday, no matter how old or young they were. He never remembers who I am and even when we have reminded him over and over, he will still walk me to the door as I leave and tell me that it was nice of me to stop by, that I am a good nurse and tell Dr. Tedson (his md) hello.
Time has made it's appearance and it is not leaving.
So, after I waved goodbye to Aunt Dottie until she was out of sight, I shivered a little in the cool air and hugged myself as I walked back into my office.
Aunt Dottie is a gem. My gem. And she knows as well as I do that we all carry our own suitcases full of pain with us everywhere. We all have them, just different kinds of pain. We don't talk about our pain much here on the prairie. We keep stiff upper lips and talk about other things.
She is sick now, with the flu and in the hospital. Her daughter, my cousin Angie, has come down from her home on the West Coast to stay with her father until Dottie comes home. A private nurse has been hired to stay with them until Dottie is back to herself. When I visited her in the hospital, she held her skinny arms out to me for a hug and said, "Well, if it isn't my sweet little gerkin."
I will always be her gerkin. Always. As long as she will have me.
Get well soon, Aunt Dottie.
Love,
The Gerkin.
My Aunt Dottie has been ill lately but a couple of weeks ago, we had the best lunch together.
And I nearly missed it.
I was just sitting down to my desk at work one morning to check my office e-mail before I started my day. The phone rang. I scowled at it. No one that I really wanted to talk to, but well...I was at work and all that. So, I answered it.
No one has a voice like my Aunt Dottie, except for maybe Jean Stapleton as Edith Bunker if she had a slight Irish brogue.
"Well, now. THAT is a pretty sultry voice for a business lady," was the first thing she said to me. "You know you sound like you should be one of those sex ladies who talk to lonely fellas over the telephone."
I snorted, ruining my soft, sexy, sultry voice.
"Hi, Aunt Dottie," I said.
"How did you know it was me, Miss Twinky?" she asked.
"Because no one that I know sounds like you, Auntie," I told her.
She got right to the point.
"What I'm calling for," she began, "Is that I thought I could come to your office for lunch today. I have to go to my eye doctor whose office is down in that bad neighborhood that you work in. I have TOLD that man that he is going to get mugged one of these days. Or I will..."
No, I thought. No. No. No. I do NOT feel like having lunch with anyone. I am stressed out with this job lately and I just want to sit by myself and read my book and eat my orange and yogurt. Is that too much to ask???
"Well, I would LOVE to see you," I said. "What time is good for you?"
We agreed on a time and she told me not to plan to go out, that she would bring samwiches and maybe some fruit for us. She kissed her telephone several times and sent them along to me and we hung up.
She was ten minutes early like she always is.
She had a back pack on over her little old lady pantsuit, bright lime green, her favorite color. And keds.
I introduced her around to everyone and we went into the staff lounge. I was actually kind of hungry by now, so I eyed her carefully as she took out little waxed paper wrapped bundles and set them in front of me.
She had brought us peanut butter and mint jelly sandwiches, two crisp fuji apples, an oreo cookie for each of us and two small sized containers of red jello. And 2 little bottles of something called gridiron chocolate milk.
I smiled. She smiled back.
"I packed your favorites," she said. "Or at least what used to be your favorites when you were knee high to a grasshopper."
I reached for an apple and sniffed it. "I can't remember the last time I had mint jelly," I mused. "I didn't realize how much I'd missed it until just now."
Dottie held up her hand like a traffic cop.
"Don't take a bite until we thank Jesus," she told me.
I bowed my head obediently while she thanked Jesus for our daily bread.
Then we dug in. Dottie is a hearty eater, takes big healthy bites and sometimes talks with her mouth full, which would bother me if it were anyone else but her.
I asked her how Uncle Lester was doing. He was diagnosed with Alzheimer's a year ago and while he is not that bad off yet, it is coming. Already, she has to hire a babysitter to come sit with him when she goes anywhere and she's confessed to me that she can't even take him to the grocery store with her anymore because he wanders off.
She didn't really want to talk about him, brushed my question off with a simple fine, fine.
She had some jelly on her upper lip and I took a napkin and gently cleaned her mouth off.
She laughed and shook her head. "Not so long ago, I was doing that with you, buttercup."
She told me that she liked my office, liked the people in my office. Julie, who has the office next to mine had popped her head out to say hello to Dottie and got a little gushy about me. Told Dottie that I was so funny and Maria makes us all laugh a lot.
Dottie leaned across and patted my hand.
"So, Miss Jay Leno, it sounds like your lady co-workers like you just fine. What? Do you sit around being a wisenheimer all day?"
Pretty much, I told her, keeping a straight face. Pretty much.
Dottie eyed my outfit. That day I had on a simple black business suit with a gold sleeveless shell under it and simple black pumps. She asked me where the funeral is.
And she thinks I'm a wisenheimer.
"It's just that you are such a pale girl. You need to wear some big fat red and yellow flowers, give your complexion a lift. You look like Morticia Addams, dear. You're just such a pale little person. But, I guess everyone wants to look like a vampire these days. You kids...."
She trailed off and I realized that there are very few people in the world who would refer to me as a kid anymore. Just her.
My skirt was a pencil style one and I'd noticed that it was a wee bit tight at the waist this morning when I slid into it. I told Aunt Dottie this and she eyed me carefully.
"Well, you're not a two ton Tony yet," she said. "Get up and walk around so I can get a better look at your butt."
I would not do this for anyone except her.
I did it.
She smiled, her lipstick smudged from her samwich.
"Naw, you're looking just fine, honey lamb."
She asked me how work was going and I didn't say that I was stressed out big time. I didn't tell her about the day that I took my watch off before an appointment because it was making my wrist itch and how after the appointment it had disappeared. I didn't tell her how I saw it on the mother of the child that I work with the next time that they came and how when I eyed it, she carefully slid it off of her wrist and slipped it into her purse when she thought I wasn't looking. I didn't tell her about the child I see who is voluntarily mute and how just when I was getting through, everything was ruined when his mother impatiently blew breath out of her mouth and told him to "quit actin' like a retard and answer the lady!"
I told her a funny story about the man down the street who owns the mini mart. About how he pumps hand sanitizer into his hands immediately after he hands someone their change. I told her how smart Liv is and how she is studying the civil war in school.
I didn't tell her about my last doctor's appointment or how he upped my meds and now my migraines are getting bad again.
Aunt Dottie told me about how she canned last weekend and put her garden to bed early this year because she just couldn't work in it as much as she liked anymore. She told me about her daughter who lives on the West Coast and never calls her but that's okay because her other daughter who lives down south calls her every single day. Just to say hello and I love you. She didn't mention that the man she lives with bears no resemblance to the hunky dude she married 62 years ago.
We both have suitcases full of things that we don't mention.
Instead, we ate our peanut butter and mint jelly
She likes those dancing shows and American idol.
"I like to see nice Americans and how talented they are," she told me. "I just plain refuse to watch that Obama man, though. He wants to take away my MEDICARE!"
I started to tell her that this was simply not true, but stopped myself. I wasn't up to it and she wouldn't listen so why waste my breath?
She asked me about where I have flown to lately. She loves travel stories. I told her about going to Oregon this summer.
"Just remember," she said, pointing her last bite of oreo at me, "If you stay in a hotel and they have one of those fancy jacuzzi things, ALWAYS PUT IN A TAMPON before you get in to block all those germs in there from sliding up into your gadget."
I choked a little on my swig of chocolate milk, but I nodded. Tried not to smile.
When it was time to go, she grabbed all the wax wrappers and put them into the trash. Then she pulled out three extra bottles of the gridiron chocolate milk. Told me to put them in the fridge to save for when I needed a pick-me-up in the afternoon. She noticed our big giant doll that we keep in a chair at our table.
Why do you have a doll here?" she asked. "Is it for the children when they come in?"
No, I told her. It's sort of a...a...joke doll.
"We take turns dressing her up," I told her. She looked at me curiously, thought this was a strange hobby for grown women, I could tell. I didn't tell her that we sometimes dressed her up in biker chick clothes or dominatrix outfits.
I didn't tell her that we sometimes give her strange props to hold.
I didn't think she would get the sort of gallows humor that goes around in here.
I walked Aunt Dottie to her car. She held my hand and swung it. I liked that.
I looked down at her feet.
"Is it time for us to go shoe shopping?" I asked her. "Do you need me to come over and watch Uncle Lester so that you can go grocery shopping or I could go with you and watch him in the store?"
Aunt Dottie brightened. She thought that this sounded fun and we set a date for me to take her and Lester grocery shopping next week.
She leaned over and kissed my cheek, leaving a bright orangey red imprint. I mentally reminded myself to wipe it off when I got back inside.
You be a good girl, now," she told me. She got into her car and blithely pulled out in front of a dude in a caddy with a doo rag on his head who looked like he could break her in two with one hand but instead he just let her get in front of him and shook his head a little bit. I smiled and waved at him and he waved back, revealing a surprisingly gentle smile.
Aunt Dottie tooted her horn three times, our signal for I love you and got going.
I watched her until I could no longer see her.
I think about how it used to be when I was as she said, knee high to a grasshopper.
Dottie is my mother's older sister and they look a little bit alike; they have the same reddish hair and blue eyes. But the resemblance ends there. My mother was a farm wife, very pragmatic and practical. She wore long wearing farm dresses and sensible shoes. Aunt Dottie tended towards the flashier duds. She wore lots of bright yellows and oranges.
I loved to visit her. Her daughter, Angie is my age and whenever we would visit what, to me, was the big city, I would love staying at Dottie's house. My mother usually stayed at her little brother, Charlie's house and I always clamored to stay at Aunt Dottie and Uncle Lester's house. Partly, it was to see Angie, partly to just be in their big messy house, so different from our tidy quiet one.
Dottie let us stay up as late as we wanted and even encouraged us to watch this awful scary show called Dr. San Guinary that was on late night television. She would make us hot fudge sundaes or root beer floats to slurp while we watched. In the morning, there would be Aunt Dottie, in her silky kimonos and wearing high heeled slippers, which she called mules. She would make us pancakes or scrambled eggs with a lit cigarette hanging out of her mouth. This was back when everyone smoked. Uncle Lester, who worked as a
Aunt Dottie had a makeup case in her bathroom that she let us experiment with. Little tiny sample lipsticks from Avon were in there and things that my mother never, ever wore like black cake eyeliner and blue mascara. She had an eyelash curler that I loved to use. My mother seldom wore makeup. If she was getting all dolled up, she would sometimes put on a light coating of Tangee pinky lipstick. She didn't wore perfume. She always smelled like Jergen's lotion.
But what I absolutely coveted of my Aunt Dottie's? Her deodorant pads. She had little round Tussy deodorant pads that came in a little jar. I thought that was so cool! My mother would have never dreamed of splurging to buy something like that. She and my Da shared a simple brown can of Right Guard.
And the food at Dottie's house, GOD....the food. She had junk food. She had oreos and potato chips. Whipped cream in a can. Wonder bread and bologna that was in slices instead of the kind that my mother bought, the big roll that had to be hand cut, so sandwiches always ended up with a lopsided slice of bologna.
My mother made everything from scratch. When I was a kid, I didn't see the beauty of it. She made 3 dozen homemade chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin cookies every Saturday. When they were gone, they were gone. She baked her own bread and that was what I took in my lunch. So, I would be at school with my home baked bread and lopsided bologna sandwiches and a piece of fruit and a homemade cookie for lunch.
I never thought how lucky I was. When I was in college, I almost ate myself sick on oreo cookies, Wonder bread and velveeta and Lay's potato chips. Stuff I never got at home. Now, of course, I realize how healthy I ate as a child. But, back then, all I wanted was the fake stuff.
Aunt Dottie's house was just plain wonderful in my eyes, and so was she.
I still think she is wonderful. But, now her house is much different. It is still the same house, but her two daughters have long since moved out. She and Lester are on a heart healthy diet now, though, so no more Wonder Bread. And the sheer quiet and silence in her house haunts me. I remember her house as being so noisy and fun, with door slamming and Uncle Lester working on his motorcycle and kids from the neighborhood running in and out.
Now, she and Lester are elderly, nearly 90. Her daughters are trying to coax her into moving into an assisted living place but Aunt Dottie is fighting it. She wants to be independent, she says. Soon that will be impossible, though, because that big lug of a sweetheart that she married, my Uncle Lester, who loved to fart and pretend that someone else did it, is now a small, frail question mark of a man, with a stooped walk and and befuddled eyes. The man who once used to sing "You look like a monkey and you act like one too! at everyone's birthday, no matter how old or young they were. He never remembers who I am and even when we have reminded him over and over, he will still walk me to the door as I leave and tell me that it was nice of me to stop by, that I am a good nurse and tell Dr. Tedson (his md) hello.
Time has made it's appearance and it is not leaving.
So, after I waved goodbye to Aunt Dottie until she was out of sight, I shivered a little in the cool air and hugged myself as I walked back into my office.
Aunt Dottie is a gem. My gem. And she knows as well as I do that we all carry our own suitcases full of pain with us everywhere. We all have them, just different kinds of pain. We don't talk about our pain much here on the prairie. We keep stiff upper lips and talk about other things.
She is sick now, with the flu and in the hospital. Her daughter, my cousin Angie, has come down from her home on the West Coast to stay with her father until Dottie comes home. A private nurse has been hired to stay with them until Dottie is back to herself. When I visited her in the hospital, she held her skinny arms out to me for a hug and said, "Well, if it isn't my sweet little gerkin."
I will always be her gerkin. Always. As long as she will have me.
Get well soon, Aunt Dottie.
Love,
The Gerkin.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Who can solve this mystery?
I was blog hopping this morning and noticed that Weese had a blog post about the crawl space in her house, and it made me think of something that happened at my house. A mystery that has never been solved. So, put your Holmes hats on and start smokin' your pipes over this:
I live in a very old home. When I purchased it, Liv was tiny. I had been living in a fancy pants condo and decided that in order to stay home and care for her, I needed money and a fairly cheap house. I sold the condo and bought a fixer upper house in a lovely old neighborhood in my city.
The interesting thing was that my new home was huge, three stories with multiple bedrooms and almost as many bathrooms. And it cost about half as much as my small pricey condo.
Plus, it was gorgeous. It had all the original woodwork. This was gorgeous oak, boy howdy. The drawback was that it also had most of the original wiring and plumbing. It had boiler heat and old copper pipes. The wiring was not ideal. In fact, to this day, we can't run the oven and the washer/dryer at the same time or we blow a fuse.
But, I loved the house. Bing (who was just a good friend at the time) looked at the house with me and she thought it was a find. The realtor pointed out a crawl space in the basement and acted like it was this quaint little thing.
Actually, it was pretty big for a crawl space. There was a tiny glass window to get into it. You couldn't see through the window, it was filthy. But, Bing and I pried the window open and were able to peek in. It looked like just a big empty space made of dirt. Some plumbing was in there, not much else. We thought it might be used for storage, but I never needed to use it. The basement was so huge that it could have been rented out for another apartment. It had it's own fireplace and bathroom. Instead, I used the basement for storage of my exercise bike and Christmas decorations, etc. There was a separate laundry room too and a well room.
So, speed ahead about 6 years. Bing and I were now sharing the home and we had begun to notice a smell like a swimming pool whenever we ventured into the basement. And the water pressure in our shower had dropped, so Bing thought it might be leaking into the....crawlspace.
We went to investigate. We both wore these ridiculous looking head lamps and our oldest jeans. We hadn't bothered to clean the crawl space window, so it was still filthy and it took us a while to pry the window up this time, but we did it. Now, we had to wiggle into the crawl space as the shower was in a far corner of it. The crawl space lived up to it's name. It was barely 4 feet tall but very, very wide. We couldn't stand, so we sort of crawled and shimmied.
I was two steps away from terrified and trying to hide it. It was freakin' DARK in there and I kept thinking that it would be a perfect hideaway for snakes and spiders. But, no. It looked nearly barren when we shone our head lights around. We found that yes, our shower was indeed leaking and Bing swore. Most of our plumbing is copper and it would cost a lot of money to fix this.
I shone my light around before we ventured back out. And saw what looked to be a small bag in the opposite corner. I pointed it out to Bing and asked her to go retrieve it.
Bing very cleverly side stepped it by saying, "Finders keepers, Maria. Go for it."
So I did, crab crawling to the bag and shuddering at the feel of dry dirt all around me with probably eons of old spider bodies and snake skin laying all around.
It was a bag. A brown bag. I picked it up gingerly. It had something in it, but didn't weigh much. We crawled back out into the basement where Liv and her new puppy, Socks, were waiting anxiously for us.
We shut the window firmly behind us and jumped down to the floor.
I opened the bag.
Inside was a pair of men's underpants and a kitchen knife.
That was it. Bing and I looked at each other.
HUH?
The underpants appeared to be um....unworn. The kitchen knife was beautiful, an old fashioned heavy silver one.
But, why?
What was it doing in the back of the crawl space?
We speculated but have never been able to figure this one out.
Only one family has owned our house before us. It was built by a banker for his new bride in the early 1900's. They eventually raised a family there and when I bought it in 2000, it had been occupied by the last of their family, the youngest daughter who had lived there with her husband. They had no children. The husband died and the daughter lived on alone in the house until she died (in our bedroom!) in 1999. She was quite a character, according to our neighbors. They said that she died of lung cancer and for the last few years of her life, she lugged around an oxygen tank and continued to smoke a pack a day of cigarettes. They were certain that she would blow the house up but no, she ended up dying in her bed in the master bedroom. Her name was Madge and she is now a ghost in our house...but that is another story for another post.
But, back to the bag.
WHAT was the story on that?
So, I am throwing it out to you, my wily, smart readers.
What do YOU think?
I live in a very old home. When I purchased it, Liv was tiny. I had been living in a fancy pants condo and decided that in order to stay home and care for her, I needed money and a fairly cheap house. I sold the condo and bought a fixer upper house in a lovely old neighborhood in my city.
The interesting thing was that my new home was huge, three stories with multiple bedrooms and almost as many bathrooms. And it cost about half as much as my small pricey condo.
Plus, it was gorgeous. It had all the original woodwork. This was gorgeous oak, boy howdy. The drawback was that it also had most of the original wiring and plumbing. It had boiler heat and old copper pipes. The wiring was not ideal. In fact, to this day, we can't run the oven and the washer/dryer at the same time or we blow a fuse.
But, I loved the house. Bing (who was just a good friend at the time) looked at the house with me and she thought it was a find. The realtor pointed out a crawl space in the basement and acted like it was this quaint little thing.
Actually, it was pretty big for a crawl space. There was a tiny glass window to get into it. You couldn't see through the window, it was filthy. But, Bing and I pried the window open and were able to peek in. It looked like just a big empty space made of dirt. Some plumbing was in there, not much else. We thought it might be used for storage, but I never needed to use it. The basement was so huge that it could have been rented out for another apartment. It had it's own fireplace and bathroom. Instead, I used the basement for storage of my exercise bike and Christmas decorations, etc. There was a separate laundry room too and a well room.
So, speed ahead about 6 years. Bing and I were now sharing the home and we had begun to notice a smell like a swimming pool whenever we ventured into the basement. And the water pressure in our shower had dropped, so Bing thought it might be leaking into the....crawlspace.
We went to investigate. We both wore these ridiculous looking head lamps and our oldest jeans. We hadn't bothered to clean the crawl space window, so it was still filthy and it took us a while to pry the window up this time, but we did it. Now, we had to wiggle into the crawl space as the shower was in a far corner of it. The crawl space lived up to it's name. It was barely 4 feet tall but very, very wide. We couldn't stand, so we sort of crawled and shimmied.
I was two steps away from terrified and trying to hide it. It was freakin' DARK in there and I kept thinking that it would be a perfect hideaway for snakes and spiders. But, no. It looked nearly barren when we shone our head lights around. We found that yes, our shower was indeed leaking and Bing swore. Most of our plumbing is copper and it would cost a lot of money to fix this.
I shone my light around before we ventured back out. And saw what looked to be a small bag in the opposite corner. I pointed it out to Bing and asked her to go retrieve it.
Bing very cleverly side stepped it by saying, "Finders keepers, Maria. Go for it."
So I did, crab crawling to the bag and shuddering at the feel of dry dirt all around me with probably eons of old spider bodies and snake skin laying all around.
It was a bag. A brown bag. I picked it up gingerly. It had something in it, but didn't weigh much. We crawled back out into the basement where Liv and her new puppy, Socks, were waiting anxiously for us.
We shut the window firmly behind us and jumped down to the floor.
I opened the bag.
Inside was a pair of men's underpants and a kitchen knife.
That was it. Bing and I looked at each other.
HUH?
The underpants appeared to be um....unworn. The kitchen knife was beautiful, an old fashioned heavy silver one.
But, why?
What was it doing in the back of the crawl space?
We speculated but have never been able to figure this one out.
Only one family has owned our house before us. It was built by a banker for his new bride in the early 1900's. They eventually raised a family there and when I bought it in 2000, it had been occupied by the last of their family, the youngest daughter who had lived there with her husband. They had no children. The husband died and the daughter lived on alone in the house until she died (in our bedroom!) in 1999. She was quite a character, according to our neighbors. They said that she died of lung cancer and for the last few years of her life, she lugged around an oxygen tank and continued to smoke a pack a day of cigarettes. They were certain that she would blow the house up but no, she ended up dying in her bed in the master bedroom. Her name was Madge and she is now a ghost in our house...but that is another story for another post.
But, back to the bag.
WHAT was the story on that?
So, I am throwing it out to you, my wily, smart readers.
What do YOU think?
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Bad moods all around.
Well, yesterday wasn't great. It wasn't terrible, but it wasn't good either.
My day seemed to go on forever. I saw one child/parent after another in deep trouble. The one who got to me the most was a mother who brought her four year old daughter in. This woman was only a few years younger than I am. She had decided to go the sperm donor route after it was clear that she wasn't going to meet the man of her dreams and have a family. So, she took a deep breath and did it. The baby was born full term but has Russell Silver Syndrome and is profoundly mentally handicapped. They have been limping along together for the last four years. She loves her baby so much, but the poor little child has so many physical problems that the mother is constantly running in place to hold on to the job she has and put food on the table. She has insurance, yes, but it doesn't cover everything (like most insurance) and the parts that aren't covered are bankrupting her. This is just another argument for Obama's health plan, but I will hold my tongue. It's hard, though. I want to shout out at all these idiots who are simply scared of change.
I left work tired and feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. On the way home, Bing called. She sounded tired too. Could I pick up a pizza on my way home? She just didn't feel like cooking and Liv seemed down in the dumps too.
It started pouring rain. I ran into the pizza place with my purse on top of my head and picked up the pizza. Went home and opened it.
It was all wrong. We had ordered a medium vegetarian. This was a large pepperoni and black olive. I double checked the name. It was mine, all right.
We debated taking it back and then decided that we would just eat the pepperoni. It was okay and since it was large, there were leftovers.
Liv was nearly silent during dinner. I watched her off and on but didn't push her to talk. She is like me that way. She would talk after she got whatever was bothering her squared off in her head a little bit. Bing was quiet too.
After we ate, Liv went off to her room to read and Bing and I cleaned up. I asked her what was wrong. She shook her head. Nothing.
Bullshit. It was something. I told her so.
She finally admitted that she always hated mid September because it was about that time of year that I dumped her the first time we got together.
"You will never know how awful that was for me," she said. "Here, I thought I finally had you and then you told me that no, you just weren't built for this relationship thing and you needed me to leave. It was just like college all over again. You weren't running around drinking and toking up but I had to try to stay friends with you and hear your voice over the phone and hear Liv babbling her baby talk in the back ground and know that I wasn't a part of that family anymore. I just...missed you so much."
I wiped my hands on a towel and reached for her.
"I'm right here," I told her. "I came back. And now I'm here to stay. I promise. No more running off into the sunset."
She smiled weakly. "Well, not yet...," she said.
I asked her what I could do to assure her, to make her feel safe. She said she didn't know, it was just a stupid feeling. She reminded me that she had been in love with me since she was 18 and I just recently came to this table of love only a few years ago.
"And then I heard this song and it just hit home, made me feel sad all over again," she said.
I frowned. What song?
She popped a cd in and there it was. I listened. When it was over, I was confused.
"But, honey," I said. "It has a happy ending."
"I KNOW that," she said. "But, I had to get through the middle of it and I remember the middle as being pretty awful."
I tried to make her smile.
"So, am I Kid Rock or Sheryl Crow?" I asked.
She had to smile.
"Definitely Kid Rock. You were the sleep around druggie, Maria. I was the one who sat around waiting for you to get your head screwed on tight."
I went over to her, put my arms around her waist.
"So, feel my head now," I challenged her. "I'm not going anywhere, Bing. I love you and you are stuck with me. You won't think it's so fun when you have to change my diapers...."
She finally smiled a real smile and I knew she would be okay.
This was the song she heard and yes, I am definitely the Kid Rock side of things. I am the idiot who took off with strange men and rode off on their motorcycles and might have been killed. I am the one who had a bong and knew how to use it. I am the one who almost ended up in re-hab. But, I turned out okay. It just took me forty years to get there while she made it in eighteen.
So, with that problem solved, I headed into Liv's bedroom and sat down in the rocker by her bed. She was reading, or pretending to.
"How was school today?" I started.
Liv shrugged. "Okay, I guess," she said, not looking up from her book.
I leaned over to pet Socks, the dog, for a while while she read silently. Waited.
Socks looked up at me and smiled. Don't go! She needs to talk. I could hear him in my head.
I waited some more.
Finally, she looked up.
"It was...kind of an icky day," she finally said, her voice trembling just a little.
"Tell me," I said. I held out my arms and soon she was tucked in the rocking chair with me, not in my lap anymore, she is too big now. She squeezed in next to me. I gently rocked the chair back and forth.
Fifth grade has started off rockily at her little Montessori school. Her much loved teacher of the past two years went back to Rhode Island to live and her new teacher is Miss Padhi.
Miss Padhi is a small dark woman who is the complete opposite of Liv's beloved Miss Perris. Miss Perris was nearly six feet tall and didn't walk so much as bounded everywhere. She was into learning games. She had a roostery laugh.
No. Liv likes Miss Padhi, but not as much as Miss Perris. Miss Padhi is short and small wristed and ankled. She wears her long black hair up in an old fashioned bun and she doesn't bound, really. She scurries. Miss Perris used to go outside with the children at lunch time recess and play ball. Not Miss Padhi. She waves from the window and sips her tangerine tea.
Liv finally started talking in a small voice that grew larger as it all came spilling out.
"We had to draw names for our study partners and guess who I got? Xander! I don't like Xander. He picks his nose and eats it, Mama. And guess who Constance (her best friend) got? ISOBEL! Why do I have to be stuck for a whole semester with Xander. It's NOT FAIR. And...and...and...when it was lunch time, Constance and Isobel chose a two seated table to eat their lunch at and so there was no room for me. By the time I looked around, there was no where else to sit except with Xander and I had been stuck with him all morning. I didn't think I could eat if he picked his nose and I had to watch it, so I sat by myself. It was a long lunch. I felt like crying but I didn't."
I cut in.
"So, what did you do? Did you read a book or something?"
"No. I didn't. Because guess what DUMB books Miss Padhi picked for us to read this semester? SARAH, PLAIN AND TALL and THE WITCH OF BLACKBIRD POND! You read those books to me in like...kindergarten! I can't believe that she picked two books that I have already read. How boring that will be! No, I didn't read. I thought about the pythagorean theorum."
I asked her what exactly that was. It sounded familiar but I couldn't place it.
"In any right triangle, the area on the square whose side is the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the areas of the square whose sides are two legs."
She said this like it was the ABC's or something. I almost smiled. Because, okay, how humiliating is it that my daughter is surpassing me in intelligence and she is a fifth grader?
She went on.
"So, I thought about Euclid's proof on that and it took up most of lunch. But then...
She stops. Gulps. Is trying not to cry. I cuddle her. Kiss her forehead.
"So, anyway, after lunch I went outside and well....no one would play with me. I mean, well...I didn't try that hard, to be honest, but I wanted to play with Constance and she was all into Isobel and jump roping, which I don't like much, so I ended up sitting by Miss Huong, the recess monitor and she made me play Old Maid with her!"
She stops, looks up at me, her eyes full of tears.
"But, the worst thing, Mama....I think I might have the...the....SWINE FLU!"
I stare at her for a minute. Then I ask her (trying so hard not to smile) why she thinks she has the swine flu, does she feel ill?
"No, but...this afternoon, Xander went home sick and as he was packing up his books to take to the office, he told some of us that he thought he had the swine flu. And I SAT NEXT TO HIM all morning! And now I have a sore throat!"
She burrows into my neck.
"I don't want to get the swine flu like Sven and Great Aunt Dottie and all those kids in Bing's school!"
I stroke her hair. I understand now. The topic of the swine flu has been discussed a lot with us lately. Sven, our neighbor who goes to college on the West Coast was recently diagnosed with a mild case of it and my Aunt Dottie, who is in her late 80's is currently hospitalized with flu like symptoms and being tested for it. Plus, Bing's high school has had a huge sick count lately with kids having flu symptoms. This is something that I should have discussed with Liv before her fears grew about it but like so many other things, I have failed to be a good parent and do this.
I ask her careful questions about Xander. What were his symptoms?
Liv tells me that he had a bloody nose and a temperature of something like 120 degrees.
I tell her that it is not humanly possible for a human to live with that high of a temp.
"Well, he SAID it was!" she exclaims.
I remind her that Xander went home like 20 times last year because of his bloody noses and if he had truly had a high temperature, he would have been unable to even speak. I tell her that I am fairly sure that Xander does not have swine flu.
As far as Sven and Aunt Dottie, well....okay. Yes, they do have it. But, not everyone gets it and even if she does get it, she is very young and healthy. The swine flu would not kill her. But, let's not worry about things before they happen, okay? We can make get well soon cards for Sven and Aunt Dottie, okay?
Liv says okay and nuzzles into my neck again. She speaks again in a small voice.
"Please don't get swine flu, okay, Mama? Will you promise to wash your hands carefully?"
I promise her that I will take good care of myself. We rock for awhile and then I take her temperature just to be sure since her throat is sore. It is 99.6.
I tell her that she needs to come drink some green tea in the kitchen and watch some silly television with Bing and me. She does this.
The day is finally over and I am very glad.
This morning, though, Liv does have a small fever and her throat still hurts, so I decide that she and I will stay home while Bing takes a couple of friends to the Husker game.
Before Bing leaves, I hold her close and give her a long hard kiss.
"I'll be right here when you get back," I tell her, looking at her meaningfully. She grins.
"I know, she answers. "Because who else will be willing to change your diapers when you are 90?"
So, now it is just me and Liv. We will turn on the radio at 1:00 to listen to the game. In the meantime, we have get well cards to make and Liv plans to go whole hog on them with glitter and whatnot.
I have a healthy, happy child. A good spouse. Nothing here to complain about.
Have a good weekend, y'all.
And what do YOU think of that pythagorean theorum?
Smiling....
My day seemed to go on forever. I saw one child/parent after another in deep trouble. The one who got to me the most was a mother who brought her four year old daughter in. This woman was only a few years younger than I am. She had decided to go the sperm donor route after it was clear that she wasn't going to meet the man of her dreams and have a family. So, she took a deep breath and did it. The baby was born full term but has Russell Silver Syndrome and is profoundly mentally handicapped. They have been limping along together for the last four years. She loves her baby so much, but the poor little child has so many physical problems that the mother is constantly running in place to hold on to the job she has and put food on the table. She has insurance, yes, but it doesn't cover everything (like most insurance) and the parts that aren't covered are bankrupting her. This is just another argument for Obama's health plan, but I will hold my tongue. It's hard, though. I want to shout out at all these idiots who are simply scared of change.
I left work tired and feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. On the way home, Bing called. She sounded tired too. Could I pick up a pizza on my way home? She just didn't feel like cooking and Liv seemed down in the dumps too.
It started pouring rain. I ran into the pizza place with my purse on top of my head and picked up the pizza. Went home and opened it.
It was all wrong. We had ordered a medium vegetarian. This was a large pepperoni and black olive. I double checked the name. It was mine, all right.
We debated taking it back and then decided that we would just eat the pepperoni. It was okay and since it was large, there were leftovers.
Liv was nearly silent during dinner. I watched her off and on but didn't push her to talk. She is like me that way. She would talk after she got whatever was bothering her squared off in her head a little bit. Bing was quiet too.
After we ate, Liv went off to her room to read and Bing and I cleaned up. I asked her what was wrong. She shook her head. Nothing.
Bullshit. It was something. I told her so.
She finally admitted that she always hated mid September because it was about that time of year that I dumped her the first time we got together.
"You will never know how awful that was for me," she said. "Here, I thought I finally had you and then you told me that no, you just weren't built for this relationship thing and you needed me to leave. It was just like college all over again. You weren't running around drinking and toking up but I had to try to stay friends with you and hear your voice over the phone and hear Liv babbling her baby talk in the back ground and know that I wasn't a part of that family anymore. I just...missed you so much."
I wiped my hands on a towel and reached for her.
"I'm right here," I told her. "I came back. And now I'm here to stay. I promise. No more running off into the sunset."
She smiled weakly. "Well, not yet...," she said.
I asked her what I could do to assure her, to make her feel safe. She said she didn't know, it was just a stupid feeling. She reminded me that she had been in love with me since she was 18 and I just recently came to this table of love only a few years ago.
"And then I heard this song and it just hit home, made me feel sad all over again," she said.
I frowned. What song?
She popped a cd in and there it was. I listened. When it was over, I was confused.
"But, honey," I said. "It has a happy ending."
"I KNOW that," she said. "But, I had to get through the middle of it and I remember the middle as being pretty awful."
I tried to make her smile.
"So, am I Kid Rock or Sheryl Crow?" I asked.
She had to smile.
"Definitely Kid Rock. You were the sleep around druggie, Maria. I was the one who sat around waiting for you to get your head screwed on tight."
I went over to her, put my arms around her waist.
"So, feel my head now," I challenged her. "I'm not going anywhere, Bing. I love you and you are stuck with me. You won't think it's so fun when you have to change my diapers...."
She finally smiled a real smile and I knew she would be okay.
This was the song she heard and yes, I am definitely the Kid Rock side of things. I am the idiot who took off with strange men and rode off on their motorcycles and might have been killed. I am the one who had a bong and knew how to use it. I am the one who almost ended up in re-hab. But, I turned out okay. It just took me forty years to get there while she made it in eighteen.
So, with that problem solved, I headed into Liv's bedroom and sat down in the rocker by her bed. She was reading, or pretending to.
"How was school today?" I started.
Liv shrugged. "Okay, I guess," she said, not looking up from her book.
I leaned over to pet Socks, the dog, for a while while she read silently. Waited.
Socks looked up at me and smiled. Don't go! She needs to talk. I could hear him in my head.
I waited some more.
Finally, she looked up.
"It was...kind of an icky day," she finally said, her voice trembling just a little.
"Tell me," I said. I held out my arms and soon she was tucked in the rocking chair with me, not in my lap anymore, she is too big now. She squeezed in next to me. I gently rocked the chair back and forth.
Fifth grade has started off rockily at her little Montessori school. Her much loved teacher of the past two years went back to Rhode Island to live and her new teacher is Miss Padhi.
Miss Padhi is a small dark woman who is the complete opposite of Liv's beloved Miss Perris. Miss Perris was nearly six feet tall and didn't walk so much as bounded everywhere. She was into learning games. She had a roostery laugh.
No. Liv likes Miss Padhi, but not as much as Miss Perris. Miss Padhi is short and small wristed and ankled. She wears her long black hair up in an old fashioned bun and she doesn't bound, really. She scurries. Miss Perris used to go outside with the children at lunch time recess and play ball. Not Miss Padhi. She waves from the window and sips her tangerine tea.
Liv finally started talking in a small voice that grew larger as it all came spilling out.
"We had to draw names for our study partners and guess who I got? Xander! I don't like Xander. He picks his nose and eats it, Mama. And guess who Constance (her best friend) got? ISOBEL! Why do I have to be stuck for a whole semester with Xander. It's NOT FAIR. And...and...and...when it was lunch time, Constance and Isobel chose a two seated table to eat their lunch at and so there was no room for me. By the time I looked around, there was no where else to sit except with Xander and I had been stuck with him all morning. I didn't think I could eat if he picked his nose and I had to watch it, so I sat by myself. It was a long lunch. I felt like crying but I didn't."
I cut in.
"So, what did you do? Did you read a book or something?"
"No. I didn't. Because guess what DUMB books Miss Padhi picked for us to read this semester? SARAH, PLAIN AND TALL and THE WITCH OF BLACKBIRD POND! You read those books to me in like...kindergarten! I can't believe that she picked two books that I have already read. How boring that will be! No, I didn't read. I thought about the pythagorean theorum."
I asked her what exactly that was. It sounded familiar but I couldn't place it.
"In any right triangle, the area on the square whose side is the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the areas of the square whose sides are two legs."
She said this like it was the ABC's or something. I almost smiled. Because, okay, how humiliating is it that my daughter is surpassing me in intelligence and she is a fifth grader?
She went on.
"So, I thought about Euclid's proof on that and it took up most of lunch. But then...
She stops. Gulps. Is trying not to cry. I cuddle her. Kiss her forehead.
"So, anyway, after lunch I went outside and well....no one would play with me. I mean, well...I didn't try that hard, to be honest, but I wanted to play with Constance and she was all into Isobel and jump roping, which I don't like much, so I ended up sitting by Miss Huong, the recess monitor and she made me play Old Maid with her!"
She stops, looks up at me, her eyes full of tears.
"But, the worst thing, Mama....I think I might have the...the....SWINE FLU!"
I stare at her for a minute. Then I ask her (trying so hard not to smile) why she thinks she has the swine flu, does she feel ill?
"No, but...this afternoon, Xander went home sick and as he was packing up his books to take to the office, he told some of us that he thought he had the swine flu. And I SAT NEXT TO HIM all morning! And now I have a sore throat!"
She burrows into my neck.
"I don't want to get the swine flu like Sven and Great Aunt Dottie and all those kids in Bing's school!"
I stroke her hair. I understand now. The topic of the swine flu has been discussed a lot with us lately. Sven, our neighbor who goes to college on the West Coast was recently diagnosed with a mild case of it and my Aunt Dottie, who is in her late 80's is currently hospitalized with flu like symptoms and being tested for it. Plus, Bing's high school has had a huge sick count lately with kids having flu symptoms. This is something that I should have discussed with Liv before her fears grew about it but like so many other things, I have failed to be a good parent and do this.
I ask her careful questions about Xander. What were his symptoms?
Liv tells me that he had a bloody nose and a temperature of something like 120 degrees.
I tell her that it is not humanly possible for a human to live with that high of a temp.
"Well, he SAID it was!" she exclaims.
I remind her that Xander went home like 20 times last year because of his bloody noses and if he had truly had a high temperature, he would have been unable to even speak. I tell her that I am fairly sure that Xander does not have swine flu.
As far as Sven and Aunt Dottie, well....okay. Yes, they do have it. But, not everyone gets it and even if she does get it, she is very young and healthy. The swine flu would not kill her. But, let's not worry about things before they happen, okay? We can make get well soon cards for Sven and Aunt Dottie, okay?
Liv says okay and nuzzles into my neck again. She speaks again in a small voice.
"Please don't get swine flu, okay, Mama? Will you promise to wash your hands carefully?"
I promise her that I will take good care of myself. We rock for awhile and then I take her temperature just to be sure since her throat is sore. It is 99.6.
I tell her that she needs to come drink some green tea in the kitchen and watch some silly television with Bing and me. She does this.
The day is finally over and I am very glad.
This morning, though, Liv does have a small fever and her throat still hurts, so I decide that she and I will stay home while Bing takes a couple of friends to the Husker game.
Before Bing leaves, I hold her close and give her a long hard kiss.
"I'll be right here when you get back," I tell her, looking at her meaningfully. She grins.
"I know, she answers. "Because who else will be willing to change your diapers when you are 90?"
So, now it is just me and Liv. We will turn on the radio at 1:00 to listen to the game. In the meantime, we have get well cards to make and Liv plans to go whole hog on them with glitter and whatnot.
I have a healthy, happy child. A good spouse. Nothing here to complain about.
Have a good weekend, y'all.
And what do YOU think of that pythagorean theorum?
Smiling....
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Joe Wilson
Did anyone watch the President's address?
What did you think of Joe Wilson's hot headed outburst about the health reform plan not covering illegal immigrants?
If you didn't see it, he yelled something like, "LIE! YOU LIE!"
This pissed me off on many levels.
1) It was distasteful and disrespectful. That kind of behavior goes on at town hall meetings all over America but had no place in that venue.
2) It showed ignorance. I have read the health reform bill and while I agree with it, I can see where a few areas might cause concern. This is not one of them. This area, in particular, is crystal clear and without any murkiness at all. In fact, a bipartisan fact checking agency came to this conclusion too. That kind of ignorance bugs the hell out of me. I have no problem with people exercising their right of free speech, their right to disagree. I DO have problems with people who spout off about health care reform and how it is such a bad idea....but have not read the proposal.
FOR CHRIST SAKE....at least READ it before you start spouting off. And don't give me this shit about how it is too long. It is not. I read it and it didn't take me all day. I have had to sit through more dinners with my brother in law, listening to him trounce this thing and then repeat Palin speak to me. But, when I ask a simple question:
Have you read it?
Well, no. But, he has HEARD about it.
I watch the CNN coverage of these town hall meetings with these red faced screamers (and c'mon....WHY must they scream?) and I am reminded of the screamers who had such problems with black kids going to a white high school. You know...you get so much more respect when you stand up straight and tall and clearly state your opinion. Screaming just makes you look like the village idiot.
I have no problems with those who disagree. And I would be happy to debate you if you have READ the proposal and can speak your opinion without screaming like a screech owl about death squads pulling plugs on the elderly or having to wait for an appendectomy for so long that you die.
Please.
Joe Wilson came across as a red faced buffoon.
What do you think? And please, all opinions are welcome here as long as they are respectful and not in caps. There is room at the table for all of us.
What did you think of Joe Wilson's hot headed outburst about the health reform plan not covering illegal immigrants?
If you didn't see it, he yelled something like, "LIE! YOU LIE!"
This pissed me off on many levels.
1) It was distasteful and disrespectful. That kind of behavior goes on at town hall meetings all over America but had no place in that venue.
2) It showed ignorance. I have read the health reform bill and while I agree with it, I can see where a few areas might cause concern. This is not one of them. This area, in particular, is crystal clear and without any murkiness at all. In fact, a bipartisan fact checking agency came to this conclusion too. That kind of ignorance bugs the hell out of me. I have no problem with people exercising their right of free speech, their right to disagree. I DO have problems with people who spout off about health care reform and how it is such a bad idea....but have not read the proposal.
FOR CHRIST SAKE....at least READ it before you start spouting off. And don't give me this shit about how it is too long. It is not. I read it and it didn't take me all day. I have had to sit through more dinners with my brother in law, listening to him trounce this thing and then repeat Palin speak to me. But, when I ask a simple question:
Have you read it?
Well, no. But, he has HEARD about it.
I watch the CNN coverage of these town hall meetings with these red faced screamers (and c'mon....WHY must they scream?) and I am reminded of the screamers who had such problems with black kids going to a white high school. You know...you get so much more respect when you stand up straight and tall and clearly state your opinion. Screaming just makes you look like the village idiot.
I have no problems with those who disagree. And I would be happy to debate you if you have READ the proposal and can speak your opinion without screaming like a screech owl about death squads pulling plugs on the elderly or having to wait for an appendectomy for so long that you die.
Please.
Joe Wilson came across as a red faced buffoon.
What do you think? And please, all opinions are welcome here as long as they are respectful and not in caps. There is room at the table for all of us.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Reminder
Don't forget to make a wish at either 9:09 this morning or 9:09 tonight.
It is 09-09-09.
It will come true!
Today is a lucky day. Bing bought Liv and I new books. They were laying on the table this morning when we came down for breakfast. A note said:
TODAY IS 09-09-09! A LUCKY DAY! READ A GOOD BOOK! DON'T FORGET TO MAKE YOUR WISHES!
Don't y'all forget either!
It is 09-09-09.
It will come true!
Today is a lucky day. Bing bought Liv and I new books. They were laying on the table this morning when we came down for breakfast. A note said:
TODAY IS 09-09-09! A LUCKY DAY! READ A GOOD BOOK! DON'T FORGET TO MAKE YOUR WISHES!
Don't y'all forget either!
Monday, September 07, 2009
The back yard on Labor Day
We didn't do anything to celebrate the day. Oh. I take that back. We went shopping at a Goodwill.
Bing bought a cd. Liv found a black leather jacket that was neat as a pin, no signs of wear and it suited her to a tee. She looks like a mini James Dean. With a blonde braid down her back....
I bought a pair of khaki shorts. Very suburban mom-ish looking. But, they were 99 cents. Fit like a dream.
We came home, debated going to a movie, decided to skip it. Bing made hamburgers for dinner, something she rarely does, being a near vegetarian. But, my last doctor's visit showed that I am once again dangerously anemic and she decided that I needed to eat some red meat, so she made nice rare burgers for us.
The afternoon was very Septemberish. Cool but sunny.
Bing went out to mow the yard. Liv and I went out to the back yard too. She took her current project, a Civil War timeline that she is working on. She is also reading The Emancipation Proclamation. Liv sat at our round picnic table, leaning on her elbow, reading intently. Every now and then, she looked up at the chattering squirrels in our oak tree or took a deep sniff of the air. Socks sat under the table, at her feet, his favorite place to be besides under my chair when Bing is mowing the yard.
He is terrified of the lawn mower, but won't admit it. He scurries under the picnic table or my adirondack chair the second he sees Bing dragging out the lawn mower and then tries valiantly to pretend that he isn't quaking with fear. The squirrels tease him mercilessly. As soon as Bing is finished with the lawn, he runs out into the yard barking, pretending that it has nothing to do with the fact that she is finally done mowing.
I took my book outside to read and a tootsie pop sucker. I leaned back in my chair, thinking how different everything smells in September. The grass doesn't smell like hot hay as it does in summer, it smells more like wheat, like something pungent and green. It smells and feels like nostalgia.
When the air feels like this and the sun looks as anemic as I feel, for some odd reason, I think of the poem, The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes.
I have no idea where this comes from. What cue comes from the weather. Maybe it dates back to the time when my Da first read the poem to me? Perhaps. All I know is that on days like this, even though the sun is shining softly, I think to myself
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas...
And
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
plaiting a dark red love knot into her long black hair...
I close my eyes and run the lines from this poem over in my head and then open them to look up into the green leaves of our big oak tree. Another month, maybe, I think. Then all those leaves will start turning all yellow and golden, all red and pinkish.
I look at Bing mowing. She always wears the same thing: jean shorts and an orange tee shirt that used to be so bright it was nearly neon. Many washings have faded it now. Bing wears her white baseball cap and black sneakers. She smiles at me as she walks by. She knows that I like watching her. This pleases her.
What she doesn't know is that I like watching her best when she is lost in thought. When she gets a look on her face that tells me she is long gone somewhere else. I once asked her what she thinks about when she mows the yard. She thought for a second.
"Mostly, I think of odd things like the bike I used to ride, the one with the banana seat and the motorcycle handle bars," she said.
I set my book down in my lap facedown. Reach over to stroke my white petunias. I love the silkiness of their fragile looking petals. But, they are anything but fragile. That is why I love them so much. They look fragile with their tender ruffles and soft white blooms, but they are hardy things. I only water them in the summer when a drought comes, they do fine on rain water. And they come back every year. Petunias will do that, you know. Just make sure that you deadhead them when they need it. I am partial to the white ones, but I love my hot pink ones too. And the red ones. And the purples. The white ones are the only ones that carry a distinctive fragrance, though. Some people think petunias are common. They tend to think pansies are too.
Not me. I like their sturdy brightness. I have a rose garden, so I deal with picky blooms often. But, petunias? They are like the girl at the dance who wears the dress her mother bought on sale at JC Penneys. They might not stand out like the belle who wears the hand sewn lace from a designer store, but you know that they won't balk if you ask them to mind the punch bowl. Nothing spoiled about them. I think petunias are lovely.
I look over at Liv, chin in hand, lost in her reading. She sighs, strokes the tail end of her braid across her lips, a habit from her toddler days.
Bing is mowing carefully around my garden. It is still producing nicely, but in a couple weeks, it will be time to can, time to freeze. I try to do it on a Saturday, but I am thinking that I may start a tradition of keeping Liv home with me on a weekday to help me do it. She likes helping and it is something for me to hand down to her, as my mother handed down to me and her mother to her and so on. Our jars of tomato sauce and salsa will taste good on a cold winter's day. I will bring it up from the basement and hold it up to the light, remembering how warm it was when I canned and how bright red it looks now against the white pristine snow outside. I will can beans and peas too. Make pickles. Beets. A friend always brings us a big bushel basket of corn on the cob. We will freeze that and put it in baggies to have on nights when we need to taste summer again. Corn tastes especially good in February, when you are thinking that spring will never get here, when the boys of summer will never bring out their bats again.
Bing has finished the yard and goes into the house returning with a bat in her hands. Socks jumps up immediately, looking for the ball. She laughs and tells him no, no chasing the ball today. Today she is going to tamp down all the mole runs in the back yard. Bing walks purposefully to the middle of the yard, frowning down at the grass where small mounds of dirt have been thrown up. Socks pounces on a couple of them, growling ferociously. He smells mole and it makes his blood boil a little. Not that he will ever catch one. Those blind moles will never venture into the sunlight. Bing goes from hole to hole, tamping the dirt down carefully. The muscles in her upper arm show and I find this very sexy. I tell her so and she deliberately flexes for me, laughing.
I stretch in my chair. The air is getting chilly. Bing heads back to us and leans down to kiss the top of Liv's head, asks her how the Civil War timeline is coming. Liv yawns.
"Who wants an ice cream cone from Cold Stone?" she asks.
Liv yelps happily.
ME! ME!
We all troop into the house to get Socks on his leash and then set out to walk the eight blocks to the ice cream store. We are all happy. Bing is glad that the yard is done. Liv is glad to be done with her Civil War studying and me? I'm just glad to be in such good company.
Bing and I trail behind Liv and Socks, who are scampering ahead of us.
"What kind of cone will you get?" I ask her.
She thinks. "Pistachio," she says. She always chooses pistachio. "How about you?" she asks.
I tell her that I feel like something brand new. Maybe there will be some outlandish flavor tonight like bubblegum or lemonade. I will try that one. Liv, I know, will get mint, her favorite.
I have a busy week ahead, so much to do. Bing is swamped too. And Liv. It's been nice being together this long weekend, but we are all ready to get out and do our jobs now.
I stretch my arms out over my head and Bing tickles my arm pit gently, making me laugh.
Aw hell...maybe I will just get plain old vanilla. There is a lot to say for the tried and true. A lot.
Bing bought a cd. Liv found a black leather jacket that was neat as a pin, no signs of wear and it suited her to a tee. She looks like a mini James Dean. With a blonde braid down her back....
I bought a pair of khaki shorts. Very suburban mom-ish looking. But, they were 99 cents. Fit like a dream.
We came home, debated going to a movie, decided to skip it. Bing made hamburgers for dinner, something she rarely does, being a near vegetarian. But, my last doctor's visit showed that I am once again dangerously anemic and she decided that I needed to eat some red meat, so she made nice rare burgers for us.
The afternoon was very Septemberish. Cool but sunny.
Bing went out to mow the yard. Liv and I went out to the back yard too. She took her current project, a Civil War timeline that she is working on. She is also reading The Emancipation Proclamation. Liv sat at our round picnic table, leaning on her elbow, reading intently. Every now and then, she looked up at the chattering squirrels in our oak tree or took a deep sniff of the air. Socks sat under the table, at her feet, his favorite place to be besides under my chair when Bing is mowing the yard.
He is terrified of the lawn mower, but won't admit it. He scurries under the picnic table or my adirondack chair the second he sees Bing dragging out the lawn mower and then tries valiantly to pretend that he isn't quaking with fear. The squirrels tease him mercilessly. As soon as Bing is finished with the lawn, he runs out into the yard barking, pretending that it has nothing to do with the fact that she is finally done mowing.
I took my book outside to read and a tootsie pop sucker. I leaned back in my chair, thinking how different everything smells in September. The grass doesn't smell like hot hay as it does in summer, it smells more like wheat, like something pungent and green. It smells and feels like nostalgia.
When the air feels like this and the sun looks as anemic as I feel, for some odd reason, I think of the poem, The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes.
I have no idea where this comes from. What cue comes from the weather. Maybe it dates back to the time when my Da first read the poem to me? Perhaps. All I know is that on days like this, even though the sun is shining softly, I think to myself
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas...
And
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
plaiting a dark red love knot into her long black hair...
I close my eyes and run the lines from this poem over in my head and then open them to look up into the green leaves of our big oak tree. Another month, maybe, I think. Then all those leaves will start turning all yellow and golden, all red and pinkish.
I look at Bing mowing. She always wears the same thing: jean shorts and an orange tee shirt that used to be so bright it was nearly neon. Many washings have faded it now. Bing wears her white baseball cap and black sneakers. She smiles at me as she walks by. She knows that I like watching her. This pleases her.
What she doesn't know is that I like watching her best when she is lost in thought. When she gets a look on her face that tells me she is long gone somewhere else. I once asked her what she thinks about when she mows the yard. She thought for a second.
"Mostly, I think of odd things like the bike I used to ride, the one with the banana seat and the motorcycle handle bars," she said.
I set my book down in my lap facedown. Reach over to stroke my white petunias. I love the silkiness of their fragile looking petals. But, they are anything but fragile. That is why I love them so much. They look fragile with their tender ruffles and soft white blooms, but they are hardy things. I only water them in the summer when a drought comes, they do fine on rain water. And they come back every year. Petunias will do that, you know. Just make sure that you deadhead them when they need it. I am partial to the white ones, but I love my hot pink ones too. And the red ones. And the purples. The white ones are the only ones that carry a distinctive fragrance, though. Some people think petunias are common. They tend to think pansies are too.
Not me. I like their sturdy brightness. I have a rose garden, so I deal with picky blooms often. But, petunias? They are like the girl at the dance who wears the dress her mother bought on sale at JC Penneys. They might not stand out like the belle who wears the hand sewn lace from a designer store, but you know that they won't balk if you ask them to mind the punch bowl. Nothing spoiled about them. I think petunias are lovely.
I look over at Liv, chin in hand, lost in her reading. She sighs, strokes the tail end of her braid across her lips, a habit from her toddler days.
Bing is mowing carefully around my garden. It is still producing nicely, but in a couple weeks, it will be time to can, time to freeze. I try to do it on a Saturday, but I am thinking that I may start a tradition of keeping Liv home with me on a weekday to help me do it. She likes helping and it is something for me to hand down to her, as my mother handed down to me and her mother to her and so on. Our jars of tomato sauce and salsa will taste good on a cold winter's day. I will bring it up from the basement and hold it up to the light, remembering how warm it was when I canned and how bright red it looks now against the white pristine snow outside. I will can beans and peas too. Make pickles. Beets. A friend always brings us a big bushel basket of corn on the cob. We will freeze that and put it in baggies to have on nights when we need to taste summer again. Corn tastes especially good in February, when you are thinking that spring will never get here, when the boys of summer will never bring out their bats again.
Bing has finished the yard and goes into the house returning with a bat in her hands. Socks jumps up immediately, looking for the ball. She laughs and tells him no, no chasing the ball today. Today she is going to tamp down all the mole runs in the back yard. Bing walks purposefully to the middle of the yard, frowning down at the grass where small mounds of dirt have been thrown up. Socks pounces on a couple of them, growling ferociously. He smells mole and it makes his blood boil a little. Not that he will ever catch one. Those blind moles will never venture into the sunlight. Bing goes from hole to hole, tamping the dirt down carefully. The muscles in her upper arm show and I find this very sexy. I tell her so and she deliberately flexes for me, laughing.
I stretch in my chair. The air is getting chilly. Bing heads back to us and leans down to kiss the top of Liv's head, asks her how the Civil War timeline is coming. Liv yawns.
"Who wants an ice cream cone from Cold Stone?" she asks.
Liv yelps happily.
ME! ME!
We all troop into the house to get Socks on his leash and then set out to walk the eight blocks to the ice cream store. We are all happy. Bing is glad that the yard is done. Liv is glad to be done with her Civil War studying and me? I'm just glad to be in such good company.
Bing and I trail behind Liv and Socks, who are scampering ahead of us.
"What kind of cone will you get?" I ask her.
She thinks. "Pistachio," she says. She always chooses pistachio. "How about you?" she asks.
I tell her that I feel like something brand new. Maybe there will be some outlandish flavor tonight like bubblegum or lemonade. I will try that one. Liv, I know, will get mint, her favorite.
I have a busy week ahead, so much to do. Bing is swamped too. And Liv. It's been nice being together this long weekend, but we are all ready to get out and do our jobs now.
I stretch my arms out over my head and Bing tickles my arm pit gently, making me laugh.
Aw hell...maybe I will just get plain old vanilla. There is a lot to say for the tried and true. A lot.
Too real
Bing turned 50 last week. She is not into birthdays, usually forgets mine and Liv's unless we remind her of them. I usually respect her wishes and merely wish her a happy day on her birthday, but this being her 50th one, I thought we should celebrate it in some way. I asked her to give me an idea of what to get for her.
Bing, being a savvy 50 year old, told me that she really only wanted one thing: to see the movie District Nine with me.
Ugh. I had been ducking that particular movie for weeks. But, a birthday wish is a birthday wish.
So, I arranged for Liv to spend the afternoon at a friend's house and we went to see the movie.
Here is the trailer.
It was fantastic. Gory, yes. Graphic, yes.
But, mostly it was thought provoking.
And I feared it to be almost too real. I believe in my heart that this is exactly what would happen if an alien species landed on our planet. I don't think it would be some big global extinction. I think it would be us being our scared selves, so instead of assimilating them into our world, accepting them in their uniqueness and seeing what they could offer to advance our civilization....well...we would end up putting them in isolation camps. Racism, prejudice would surface and cause massive problems.
I told Bing that I wish that we had taken Liv with us, that I thought she could have learned so much from this. But, the R rating had given us pause and we both noted that the reviews had said it was graphic and violent, not meant for children. Well, I'm a parent and I can tell you that I think she should have seen this. I think that greater harm comes to her just being subjected to my brother in law's asinine political and racial views on any given family get-together than in what this movie had to show.
I think that sometimes it is good for children to learn hard truths. This is why I allowed her to watch the news of Jaycee Dugard. While I do not think she needs to hear the specifics of the horror that this child went through, I want her to be as educated as she can about it. I sat down with her and we talked about it. We talked about how the human mind is bent towards surviving against all odds. That this little girl was not ever to be blamed for what happened to her, that she was only doing her best to survive. I get so infuriated at people who go around asking Why didn't she fight back? Why didn't she run away when she had the chance?
Idiots. The human mind is a complex thing. She did what she had to, what she needed to do to stay alive.
I look at photos of her creepy ass kidnappers and just cringe. I think of this monster sitting at his computer tapping on the keys and writing his religious blog and think of his wife being the one who actually did the kidnapping of this child and it nauseates me. But, what I want Liv to understand is that this little girl, this child who was only a year older than she is when she was taken, well....she is to be commended for surviving.
The mother in me is almost sickened beyond words. The scientist in me looks in wonder at the ability of the human mind to cope.
And like most parents, I wanted Liv to know that if this ever happens to her, even if it is someone she knows, that she must scream and flail, yell "FIRE!" Jaycee did all of those things to no avail, but nevertheless, I want Liv to know to make a big fuss, if she can.
I was watching the news this morning about all these groups of people who are upset because our president wants to speak to the children going back to school.
This baffles me. What is the big deal? Can someone tell me?
It seems like a very good idea to me. I am certain that Obama will not use this medium to try to get Democrat dogma into into these children's minds. More than likely, it will be a message to stay in school to educate yourself and make yourself into a productive member of our planet.
And I think it is a great idea. I would have LOVED it when I was in school to have a president think so highly of me that he wanted to address me and my fellow students.
I would love to be sitting right next to Liv when the message is sent.
So, tell me...I am really curious. What do all of you think about these things?
1) What do you think would REALLY happen if aliens came to our planet? (And maybe, who knows...they are already here?)
2) What do you think of the Jaycee Durand case? What should be done with her kidnappers?
3) Do you think it a good idea that our president wants to address our children?
I am so curious and I have a pretty wide range of readers, so tell me...what do YOU think?
Bing, being a savvy 50 year old, told me that she really only wanted one thing: to see the movie District Nine with me.
Ugh. I had been ducking that particular movie for weeks. But, a birthday wish is a birthday wish.
So, I arranged for Liv to spend the afternoon at a friend's house and we went to see the movie.
Here is the trailer.
It was fantastic. Gory, yes. Graphic, yes.
But, mostly it was thought provoking.
And I feared it to be almost too real. I believe in my heart that this is exactly what would happen if an alien species landed on our planet. I don't think it would be some big global extinction. I think it would be us being our scared selves, so instead of assimilating them into our world, accepting them in their uniqueness and seeing what they could offer to advance our civilization....well...we would end up putting them in isolation camps. Racism, prejudice would surface and cause massive problems.
I told Bing that I wish that we had taken Liv with us, that I thought she could have learned so much from this. But, the R rating had given us pause and we both noted that the reviews had said it was graphic and violent, not meant for children. Well, I'm a parent and I can tell you that I think she should have seen this. I think that greater harm comes to her just being subjected to my brother in law's asinine political and racial views on any given family get-together than in what this movie had to show.
I think that sometimes it is good for children to learn hard truths. This is why I allowed her to watch the news of Jaycee Dugard. While I do not think she needs to hear the specifics of the horror that this child went through, I want her to be as educated as she can about it. I sat down with her and we talked about it. We talked about how the human mind is bent towards surviving against all odds. That this little girl was not ever to be blamed for what happened to her, that she was only doing her best to survive. I get so infuriated at people who go around asking Why didn't she fight back? Why didn't she run away when she had the chance?
Idiots. The human mind is a complex thing. She did what she had to, what she needed to do to stay alive.
I look at photos of her creepy ass kidnappers and just cringe. I think of this monster sitting at his computer tapping on the keys and writing his religious blog and think of his wife being the one who actually did the kidnapping of this child and it nauseates me. But, what I want Liv to understand is that this little girl, this child who was only a year older than she is when she was taken, well....she is to be commended for surviving.
The mother in me is almost sickened beyond words. The scientist in me looks in wonder at the ability of the human mind to cope.
And like most parents, I wanted Liv to know that if this ever happens to her, even if it is someone she knows, that she must scream and flail, yell "FIRE!" Jaycee did all of those things to no avail, but nevertheless, I want Liv to know to make a big fuss, if she can.
I was watching the news this morning about all these groups of people who are upset because our president wants to speak to the children going back to school.
This baffles me. What is the big deal? Can someone tell me?
It seems like a very good idea to me. I am certain that Obama will not use this medium to try to get Democrat dogma into into these children's minds. More than likely, it will be a message to stay in school to educate yourself and make yourself into a productive member of our planet.
And I think it is a great idea. I would have LOVED it when I was in school to have a president think so highly of me that he wanted to address me and my fellow students.
I would love to be sitting right next to Liv when the message is sent.
So, tell me...I am really curious. What do all of you think about these things?
1) What do you think would REALLY happen if aliens came to our planet? (And maybe, who knows...they are already here?)
2) What do you think of the Jaycee Durand case? What should be done with her kidnappers?
3) Do you think it a good idea that our president wants to address our children?
I am so curious and I have a pretty wide range of readers, so tell me...what do YOU think?
Saturday, September 05, 2009
I saw him standing there....
His ties intrigued me.
I've been at my current job for a year now. When I started, I knew that I liked it very much. What I didn't like was the boring drive in the morning. One day when I had been at my job for about a week, I noticed a man waiting at a bus stop. I always seemed to catch the red light at this intersection and it was a semi-popular bus stop as well. There were always several people waiting for the downtown bus.
He was a slight man. He wore a nice short sleeved shirt and a tie, nice trousers and shiny black shoes every day. The shirt color varied, but his ties were colorful and interesting. I was close enough, parked at my red light to see different patterns of his ties. One day he wore a tie with coffee cups. On Fridays, he often wore his Husker tie. He was not afraid, like some silly men are, to wear a pink tie. I never saw him with a suit coat on, he either wore a sweater or a light jacket. As it grew colder, he wore a parka and I could not see his ties anymore. He had salt and peppered hair with a tidy mustache and beard. Wire rimmed glasses. He carried a brown briefcase.
I found myself wondering what his life was like. Was he married? It was hard to tell if he wore a wedding ring and I didn't want to hang out my window, to peer at him.
One morning, after I had been seeing him every day for nearly a month, on a whim....
I caught his eye and waved at him.
He looked surprised for a moment, glanced around himself to make sure it was he who was being waved at, and then he shrugged and waved back.
The light changed and I went to to work.
For nearly two weeks, we waved at each other every morning. And smiled.
And then one morning, he was just....gone.
Hmm..I wondered. Was he sick? On vacation.
I didn't see him for two weeks.
Then, it was the week of Thanksgiving and there he was, back again.
On crutches. With a walking cast.
I waved to him and rolled down the passenger door window to talk to him.
"Well, now," I said. "What happened?"
He smiled sheepishly. "I did a foolish thing," he said. "I decided to clean my gutters. And fell off the ladder...broke my ankle and two toes."
The light changed, no time to answer. So, I waved and drove on.
On the way to work, I started worrying.
The bus stop was in a borderline bad area of the city. It was on the edge of where the tidy, but lower income homes started teetering into what we in this city call the projects or simply, the 'hood.
He was crippled from his injury. What if someone decided to rob him?
I thought harder. Well...the bus stop was in a busy area, lots of traffic and there were always at least three other people waiting for the bus. So, he wasn't in any real danger at the bus stop. But how far did he have to walk from his home?
I made my decision.
The next day, instead of stopping at the red light, I pulled into the gas station next to the bus stop and parked my car. I walked over to where the the man was waiting for the bus stop, this time wearing a light rain coat as it was one of those miserable chilly misty late November days. The man had watched me park my car and smiled curiously as I walked over to him.
I held out my hand.
"I thought we should meet," I told him. "My name is Maria."
He shook my hand gingerly, balancing on his crutch.
"I'm Gus," he said.
I told him that I worked in the northern part of the city and I sure did like his ties.
He smiled.
My wife and kids keep me well supplied," he said.
So, I got down to business. I knew that downtown buses ran every 20 minutes.
I told him that I was concerned that he might get mugged going to his bus stop. Did he live far? And would he like me to give him a ride to work until he mended?
(Since he was obviously going downtown and out of my way, I didn't want to commit to giving him a ride every day.)
He smiled again and shook his head. Told me that he just lived a block away and that his neighbors were good about keeping an eye on everyone and helping. He felt perfectly safe. Plus, if I worked down in the projects, I would be going out of my way to give him a ride. But, he wanted me to know that he appreciated the kindness.
We both looked up to see his bus coming, so we shook hands again and said our goodbyes.
Thanksgiving came and then we were back to waving at each other every morning. He would sometimes dig his tie out from his jacket to show it to me and I always laughed and waved.
It grew colder. Gus stopped using his crutches, employing a natty little cane instead.
One day, on the way home from work, I noticed that I was low on gas, so I stopped at the gas station behind the bus stop on my way home to fill up. I took a different route home, going through a pretty little neighborhood. One house, in particular, caught my eye. It was decorated for Christmas in tasteful blues. A simple nativity was set into the yard. I liked this nativity because it didn't sport the blonde, blue eyed Mary, the gentle rock star lookalike Joseph and the sweetly smiling, definitely Caucasian Jesus. The holy family looked middle eastern, as they should.
I began taking that drive home every night instead of the quicker one that I used to take. I found that house and it's decorations soothing. The curtains were always drawn as I drove by, but a golden light spilled out around the curtains. I bet that there was a happy family inside.
You know what happened next, don't you?
One day, I took down the address and sent a Christmas card to it. I wrote that I drove by their home every evening after work and that I found their beautiful decorations to be soothing and they made my spirit feel calm after a hectic day. I signed my name and put my return address on the envelope.
A few days later, as I was driving by Gus in the morning, I saw that he was grinning and holding up what looked to be a little sign. On closer inspection, I saw that it was my Christmas card!
He pointed to it.
"Is this you?" he called. He probably thought it was not much of a chance, my name is not an uncommon one and I am sure that there are lots of Marias in the city.
I gasped and then burst out laughing.
"YES!" I shouted before the light turned green and a beep behind me prodded me to get moving.
As I drove by, his warm laugh followed me, little white puffs of cold coming out of his mouth.
A few days later, a Christmas card came in the mail. Inside was a photo of Gus and a rather stout, sweet looking woman with bright red hair surrounded by a family of five children, all red headed as well.
Inside the card, handwritten in a woman's careful prose it said:
Dear Maria,
I wanted to write and wish a Merry Christmas from all of us. Gus tells me that you drive by each day and make his day start with a happy wave. He said that you have complimented him on his ties. This made me smile because it has been a family joke for years that we always get him ties. Please feel free to stop anytime for some coffee and cookies.
Your friends in Christ,
Gus, Shannon, and our children, Tate (17), Ruthie (13), Ulysses(10), Thomas (8) and Hannah (6)
I kept meaning to stop for coffee but never got around to it.
I sent another Christmas card, this time with a photo of Bing, Liv and me. It was one of my favorites. I was sitting at the kitchen table with Liv perched on my lap. Bing stood behind us, leaning down to smile into the camera with her arms circled around both of us.
I hoped that they weren't homophobic. They didn't seem to be as Gus continued to wave back at me and show off his ties, smiling.
Months passed. Gus and I kept waving. By springtime, he lost the cast and seemed back to normal.
One morning in mid summer, Gus was gone again. I thought that maybe he was on vacation. After two weeks, I decided...what the hell...and after work one evening, I stopped at his house and knocked. A red haired pre-teen opened the door. I asked if her parents were home.
The stout but pretty red haired woman came to the door.
I introduced myself and she smiled hugely, gave me a hug.
"Well, you come on in. But, it is so hot for coffee...how about an iced tea?" she asked.
I told her that would be fine. She brought me a sweet tea and pulled out some fig newtons and put them on a pretty gold rimmed plate. We sat at her kitchen table. I looked around at her little house. It was neat and tidy, like her. Reminded me a little of my sister's homes with all of their Holly Hobbie knick knacks, not my style at all, but sweet looking. A large knock off of da Vinci's Last Supper hung over the dining table. Crucifixes in every room.
I sipped my sweet tea and explained that I hadn't seen Gus for a while and hoped he was okay. Shannon nodded.
"Oh, my, yes...he's just fine. It's just...we finally saved enough to buy a second car and so he doesn't take the bus anymore. I swan, it feels like we've been saving for centuries instead of just five years!" she said.
I was happy for them. Taking a bus for that long had to be tedious, I told her.
"Oh, it was!" she answered. "I hated to see him trudging off in all kinds of weather, but he wanted me and the kids to have the car during the day. And you know, he left ME the new car now and he drives the old one to work every day. He is such a good man. Looks out for us all every day."
I told her that I would miss seeing him wave every day, but I was glad for the reason of it. Then, we heard the back door open and there was Gus.
"I thought I recognized that little bug on the side of the street!" he said, giving his wife a kiss and then reaching around to pat my arm. "Did Shannon explain why I'm not at the bus stop anymore? I've been meaning to get a note off to you. I miss those waves every day, Maria!"
We talked for a little bit. Shannon got up to check an delicious smelling roast in the oven and called to one of the children to set the table. She invited me for dinner but I said that I needed to get going. As I left, I told them that Bing and I have season tickets to the Husker games every year but sometimes can't make the games. Would they like to go to a Husker game some time?
They both beamed and said that they certainly would and I left soon after.
So, that is what is happening today. It is the season opener for the Huskers tonight, but it is also one of the few nights that our neighbor, Sven's football team will be televised on national television playing their first game as well. We decided to stay home and watch Sven's game instead.
I stopped by to give Gus and Shannon our tickets to tonight's game this morning. I took Liv along with me. They both greeted us at the door wearing their Husker sweatshirts.
It IS game day. And this IS the Husker nation. We are pretty loyal in this town to our boys in red.
A lot can happen when you act on a whim. I waved at a guy with a great tie and look what happened?
I often have readers tell me that I must lead a charmed life or something. I seem to know so many interesting people.
Well, boy howdy, so do you. Look around you. There are blog posts all around you. Just have a look-see, as we say here on the plains.
Have a good weekend, y'all.
I've been at my current job for a year now. When I started, I knew that I liked it very much. What I didn't like was the boring drive in the morning. One day when I had been at my job for about a week, I noticed a man waiting at a bus stop. I always seemed to catch the red light at this intersection and it was a semi-popular bus stop as well. There were always several people waiting for the downtown bus.
He was a slight man. He wore a nice short sleeved shirt and a tie, nice trousers and shiny black shoes every day. The shirt color varied, but his ties were colorful and interesting. I was close enough, parked at my red light to see different patterns of his ties. One day he wore a tie with coffee cups. On Fridays, he often wore his Husker tie. He was not afraid, like some silly men are, to wear a pink tie. I never saw him with a suit coat on, he either wore a sweater or a light jacket. As it grew colder, he wore a parka and I could not see his ties anymore. He had salt and peppered hair with a tidy mustache and beard. Wire rimmed glasses. He carried a brown briefcase.
I found myself wondering what his life was like. Was he married? It was hard to tell if he wore a wedding ring and I didn't want to hang out my window, to peer at him.
One morning, after I had been seeing him every day for nearly a month, on a whim....
I caught his eye and waved at him.
He looked surprised for a moment, glanced around himself to make sure it was he who was being waved at, and then he shrugged and waved back.
The light changed and I went to to work.
For nearly two weeks, we waved at each other every morning. And smiled.
And then one morning, he was just....gone.
Hmm..I wondered. Was he sick? On vacation.
I didn't see him for two weeks.
Then, it was the week of Thanksgiving and there he was, back again.
On crutches. With a walking cast.
I waved to him and rolled down the passenger door window to talk to him.
"Well, now," I said. "What happened?"
He smiled sheepishly. "I did a foolish thing," he said. "I decided to clean my gutters. And fell off the ladder...broke my ankle and two toes."
The light changed, no time to answer. So, I waved and drove on.
On the way to work, I started worrying.
The bus stop was in a borderline bad area of the city. It was on the edge of where the tidy, but lower income homes started teetering into what we in this city call the projects or simply, the 'hood.
He was crippled from his injury. What if someone decided to rob him?
I thought harder. Well...the bus stop was in a busy area, lots of traffic and there were always at least three other people waiting for the bus. So, he wasn't in any real danger at the bus stop. But how far did he have to walk from his home?
I made my decision.
The next day, instead of stopping at the red light, I pulled into the gas station next to the bus stop and parked my car. I walked over to where the the man was waiting for the bus stop, this time wearing a light rain coat as it was one of those miserable chilly misty late November days. The man had watched me park my car and smiled curiously as I walked over to him.
I held out my hand.
"I thought we should meet," I told him. "My name is Maria."
He shook my hand gingerly, balancing on his crutch.
"I'm Gus," he said.
I told him that I worked in the northern part of the city and I sure did like his ties.
He smiled.
My wife and kids keep me well supplied," he said.
So, I got down to business. I knew that downtown buses ran every 20 minutes.
I told him that I was concerned that he might get mugged going to his bus stop. Did he live far? And would he like me to give him a ride to work until he mended?
(Since he was obviously going downtown and out of my way, I didn't want to commit to giving him a ride every day.)
He smiled again and shook his head. Told me that he just lived a block away and that his neighbors were good about keeping an eye on everyone and helping. He felt perfectly safe. Plus, if I worked down in the projects, I would be going out of my way to give him a ride. But, he wanted me to know that he appreciated the kindness.
We both looked up to see his bus coming, so we shook hands again and said our goodbyes.
Thanksgiving came and then we were back to waving at each other every morning. He would sometimes dig his tie out from his jacket to show it to me and I always laughed and waved.
It grew colder. Gus stopped using his crutches, employing a natty little cane instead.
One day, on the way home from work, I noticed that I was low on gas, so I stopped at the gas station behind the bus stop on my way home to fill up. I took a different route home, going through a pretty little neighborhood. One house, in particular, caught my eye. It was decorated for Christmas in tasteful blues. A simple nativity was set into the yard. I liked this nativity because it didn't sport the blonde, blue eyed Mary, the gentle rock star lookalike Joseph and the sweetly smiling, definitely Caucasian Jesus. The holy family looked middle eastern, as they should.
I began taking that drive home every night instead of the quicker one that I used to take. I found that house and it's decorations soothing. The curtains were always drawn as I drove by, but a golden light spilled out around the curtains. I bet that there was a happy family inside.
You know what happened next, don't you?
One day, I took down the address and sent a Christmas card to it. I wrote that I drove by their home every evening after work and that I found their beautiful decorations to be soothing and they made my spirit feel calm after a hectic day. I signed my name and put my return address on the envelope.
A few days later, as I was driving by Gus in the morning, I saw that he was grinning and holding up what looked to be a little sign. On closer inspection, I saw that it was my Christmas card!
He pointed to it.
"Is this you?" he called. He probably thought it was not much of a chance, my name is not an uncommon one and I am sure that there are lots of Marias in the city.
I gasped and then burst out laughing.
"YES!" I shouted before the light turned green and a beep behind me prodded me to get moving.
As I drove by, his warm laugh followed me, little white puffs of cold coming out of his mouth.
A few days later, a Christmas card came in the mail. Inside was a photo of Gus and a rather stout, sweet looking woman with bright red hair surrounded by a family of five children, all red headed as well.
Inside the card, handwritten in a woman's careful prose it said:
Dear Maria,
I wanted to write and wish a Merry Christmas from all of us. Gus tells me that you drive by each day and make his day start with a happy wave. He said that you have complimented him on his ties. This made me smile because it has been a family joke for years that we always get him ties. Please feel free to stop anytime for some coffee and cookies.
Your friends in Christ,
Gus, Shannon, and our children, Tate (17), Ruthie (13), Ulysses(10), Thomas (8) and Hannah (6)
I kept meaning to stop for coffee but never got around to it.
I sent another Christmas card, this time with a photo of Bing, Liv and me. It was one of my favorites. I was sitting at the kitchen table with Liv perched on my lap. Bing stood behind us, leaning down to smile into the camera with her arms circled around both of us.
I hoped that they weren't homophobic. They didn't seem to be as Gus continued to wave back at me and show off his ties, smiling.
Months passed. Gus and I kept waving. By springtime, he lost the cast and seemed back to normal.
One morning in mid summer, Gus was gone again. I thought that maybe he was on vacation. After two weeks, I decided...what the hell...and after work one evening, I stopped at his house and knocked. A red haired pre-teen opened the door. I asked if her parents were home.
The stout but pretty red haired woman came to the door.
I introduced myself and she smiled hugely, gave me a hug.
"Well, you come on in. But, it is so hot for coffee...how about an iced tea?" she asked.
I told her that would be fine. She brought me a sweet tea and pulled out some fig newtons and put them on a pretty gold rimmed plate. We sat at her kitchen table. I looked around at her little house. It was neat and tidy, like her. Reminded me a little of my sister's homes with all of their Holly Hobbie knick knacks, not my style at all, but sweet looking. A large knock off of da Vinci's Last Supper hung over the dining table. Crucifixes in every room.
I sipped my sweet tea and explained that I hadn't seen Gus for a while and hoped he was okay. Shannon nodded.
"Oh, my, yes...he's just fine. It's just...we finally saved enough to buy a second car and so he doesn't take the bus anymore. I swan, it feels like we've been saving for centuries instead of just five years!" she said.
I was happy for them. Taking a bus for that long had to be tedious, I told her.
"Oh, it was!" she answered. "I hated to see him trudging off in all kinds of weather, but he wanted me and the kids to have the car during the day. And you know, he left ME the new car now and he drives the old one to work every day. He is such a good man. Looks out for us all every day."
I told her that I would miss seeing him wave every day, but I was glad for the reason of it. Then, we heard the back door open and there was Gus.
"I thought I recognized that little bug on the side of the street!" he said, giving his wife a kiss and then reaching around to pat my arm. "Did Shannon explain why I'm not at the bus stop anymore? I've been meaning to get a note off to you. I miss those waves every day, Maria!"
We talked for a little bit. Shannon got up to check an delicious smelling roast in the oven and called to one of the children to set the table. She invited me for dinner but I said that I needed to get going. As I left, I told them that Bing and I have season tickets to the Husker games every year but sometimes can't make the games. Would they like to go to a Husker game some time?
They both beamed and said that they certainly would and I left soon after.
So, that is what is happening today. It is the season opener for the Huskers tonight, but it is also one of the few nights that our neighbor, Sven's football team will be televised on national television playing their first game as well. We decided to stay home and watch Sven's game instead.
I stopped by to give Gus and Shannon our tickets to tonight's game this morning. I took Liv along with me. They both greeted us at the door wearing their Husker sweatshirts.
It IS game day. And this IS the Husker nation. We are pretty loyal in this town to our boys in red.
A lot can happen when you act on a whim. I waved at a guy with a great tie and look what happened?
I often have readers tell me that I must lead a charmed life or something. I seem to know so many interesting people.
Well, boy howdy, so do you. Look around you. There are blog posts all around you. Just have a look-see, as we say here on the plains.
Have a good weekend, y'all.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Nabbed by the Face Book and Twitter outlaws.
My niece, Kat, recently started college. I have her address and we have already sent several care packages along to her but she wasn't answering my e-mails or phone calls. I called my sister, Jessie, her mother, to ask if she was okay.
"She's doing okay," Jessie told me, "But, she doesn't check her e-mail that often and unless you text her, usually won't return a phone call."
I must be really old, because I simply do not get this.
Why is it easier to text? In my book, it is much harder. I can't figure out how anyone could text and drive. I sit there with my phone in hand, feeling like I am typing a letter on a very strange typewriter. It takes forever. If I attempted this while I drove, well....god help us all.
It is so much easier to just TALK.
And I am no fan of e-mail either. I only check my home e-mail about twice a week, if that. I check my office e-mail daily. My family knows to e-mail me there if they need a speedy response. But, if I get an e-mail that asks for an answer...I answer it.
I talked to my other sister, Patrice, about facebook and twitter.
"It's easy," Patrice told me. "Just sign up and then you get to go to Kat's face book and twitter accounts and read all about how she is doing. She updates daily."
Well, I thought, I might as well join the throngs of people who have signed up for twitter and facebook.
A mistake.
I created my account and signed up, all that hoopla.
I checked out Kat's page and decided right there and then that this was WAY more than I wanted to know about her. Mostly, I itched to correct her spelling and grammar.
She's an ENGLISH major??? With THAT grammar and spelling?
And she mostly seemed to update about food. What food she was eating. What fast food place she had visited.
I am thinking that the freshman fifteen are not far behind if she is eating that much.
Maybe I should stop sending brownies.
The thing is...the picture that facebook and twitter show of Kat is not the Kat that I know. It is more the Kat that her close teenage friends know, I suspect.
In my opinion, she spends too much of her time in that beginning English Colonial Literature class checking out boys and not enough taking notes.
I suppose that is the old biddy in me talking.
But, seriously, she is there to get a college degree, not eat Taco Hell on a daily basis and update us all on what that cute boy in her class is wearing today.
I wish that she had a blog.
I've read some of her stories, I know that she can write well.
But, you can't tell that on her face book or twitter.
I looked around at a few other's face book and twitter accounts and was totally befuddled. Who the fuck cares that it is raining and this makes them sad? Or that their puppy makes them laugh?
One wrote that she was going grocery shopping for her family.
Fascinating.
Please, please, PLEASE tell us what is on your grocery list next time, kay?
Inquiring minds want to know.
I don't get this AT ALL.
Are we a nation of people with the attention span of gnats?
Because I think I would lose my mind if I had to journey through all my friends and family's tweets just to read that they like the color blue or that the mail was late today.
Who the HELL CARES?
Now, reading a blog about why the color blue just makes them feel fantastic because it reminds them of their mother's apron or something, well okay, I can dig it.
At least I can sink my teeth into it.
And another thing. I finally got around to checking my e-mail last night and discovered that I had 78 messages. I was shocked. I never get more than ten messages and most of it is junk mail.
Warily, I opened up my e-mail and discovered that almost all the messages were from twitter and face book telling me that various people wanted me to be their "friend."
Good lord.
I checked the names. Some were from bloggers, some were from family, but some of them were from old high school friends and even a few friends from old jobs, college acquaintances.
I felt slightly panicked.
My good manners set in. Now what? Did I have to sign up to be friends with everyone and then spend my nights journeying around face book and twitter, seeing what sort of ice cream they were eating that night or if they had taken their dog to the vet that day?
I decided to try to delete my face book and twitter accounts. I hadn't really wanted to join up in the first place, only wanted to check in on my niece.
It was not easy, mind you, this deleting process.
It was like telling someone who really has it bad for you that you want out of the relationship.
There were hoops to jump through, and even then, I was asked over and over again if I was sure. Did I really want to close down this account? Was there anything that they could do to tempt me to stay?
And the thing is, I think I am once again a drummer out of step with my companions. I'm marching to the music I hear, just like good old Thoreau, but I am so confused.
I know that many of you bloggers are also on face book and/or twitter. So, this is my question and I really am trying to be respectful.
Why are you on face book and twitter? What is the appeal?
I honestly do not get it. So, maybe you could enlighten me?
"She's doing okay," Jessie told me, "But, she doesn't check her e-mail that often and unless you text her, usually won't return a phone call."
I must be really old, because I simply do not get this.
Why is it easier to text? In my book, it is much harder. I can't figure out how anyone could text and drive. I sit there with my phone in hand, feeling like I am typing a letter on a very strange typewriter. It takes forever. If I attempted this while I drove, well....god help us all.
It is so much easier to just TALK.
And I am no fan of e-mail either. I only check my home e-mail about twice a week, if that. I check my office e-mail daily. My family knows to e-mail me there if they need a speedy response. But, if I get an e-mail that asks for an answer...I answer it.
I talked to my other sister, Patrice, about facebook and twitter.
"It's easy," Patrice told me. "Just sign up and then you get to go to Kat's face book and twitter accounts and read all about how she is doing. She updates daily."
Well, I thought, I might as well join the throngs of people who have signed up for twitter and facebook.
A mistake.
I created my account and signed up, all that hoopla.
I checked out Kat's page and decided right there and then that this was WAY more than I wanted to know about her. Mostly, I itched to correct her spelling and grammar.
She's an ENGLISH major??? With THAT grammar and spelling?
And she mostly seemed to update about food. What food she was eating. What fast food place she had visited.
I am thinking that the freshman fifteen are not far behind if she is eating that much.
Maybe I should stop sending brownies.
The thing is...the picture that facebook and twitter show of Kat is not the Kat that I know. It is more the Kat that her close teenage friends know, I suspect.
In my opinion, she spends too much of her time in that beginning English Colonial Literature class checking out boys and not enough taking notes.
I suppose that is the old biddy in me talking.
But, seriously, she is there to get a college degree, not eat Taco Hell on a daily basis and update us all on what that cute boy in her class is wearing today.
I wish that she had a blog.
I've read some of her stories, I know that she can write well.
But, you can't tell that on her face book or twitter.
I looked around at a few other's face book and twitter accounts and was totally befuddled. Who the fuck cares that it is raining and this makes them sad? Or that their puppy makes them laugh?
One wrote that she was going grocery shopping for her family.
Fascinating.
Please, please, PLEASE tell us what is on your grocery list next time, kay?
Inquiring minds want to know.
I don't get this AT ALL.
Are we a nation of people with the attention span of gnats?
Because I think I would lose my mind if I had to journey through all my friends and family's tweets just to read that they like the color blue or that the mail was late today.
Who the HELL CARES?
Now, reading a blog about why the color blue just makes them feel fantastic because it reminds them of their mother's apron or something, well okay, I can dig it.
At least I can sink my teeth into it.
And another thing. I finally got around to checking my e-mail last night and discovered that I had 78 messages. I was shocked. I never get more than ten messages and most of it is junk mail.
Warily, I opened up my e-mail and discovered that almost all the messages were from twitter and face book telling me that various people wanted me to be their "friend."
Good lord.
I checked the names. Some were from bloggers, some were from family, but some of them were from old high school friends and even a few friends from old jobs, college acquaintances.
I felt slightly panicked.
My good manners set in. Now what? Did I have to sign up to be friends with everyone and then spend my nights journeying around face book and twitter, seeing what sort of ice cream they were eating that night or if they had taken their dog to the vet that day?
I decided to try to delete my face book and twitter accounts. I hadn't really wanted to join up in the first place, only wanted to check in on my niece.
It was not easy, mind you, this deleting process.
It was like telling someone who really has it bad for you that you want out of the relationship.
There were hoops to jump through, and even then, I was asked over and over again if I was sure. Did I really want to close down this account? Was there anything that they could do to tempt me to stay?
And the thing is, I think I am once again a drummer out of step with my companions. I'm marching to the music I hear, just like good old Thoreau, but I am so confused.
I know that many of you bloggers are also on face book and/or twitter. So, this is my question and I really am trying to be respectful.
Why are you on face book and twitter? What is the appeal?
I honestly do not get it. So, maybe you could enlighten me?
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