So...ask me a question, if you have one.
I am not particularly squeamish or shy, so will try to honestly answer every one.
Anyone have any burning questions?
I'll answer the obvious one:
I'm an Aquarius. You know it was killing you not knowing my astrology sign.
So...have at me.
So to speak.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
You tell me...
How do you NOT fall in love with a book that starts out with THIS opening sentence:
"It's a weekday in sunny Los Angeles and I want to rip his dick off."
I mean, how could anyone pass this book up? Not me.
The book is called My Boyfriend Wrote A Book About Me and it is written by Hilary Winston.
Best opening line....ever.
"It's a weekday in sunny Los Angeles and I want to rip his dick off."
I mean, how could anyone pass this book up? Not me.
The book is called My Boyfriend Wrote A Book About Me and it is written by Hilary Winston.
Best opening line....ever.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Race for the cure
We do it every year. Well...truth? Bing runs it and Liv and I take her photo as she sprints over the finish line.
Bing has done this every single year since my sister, Jessie was diagnosed with breast cancer. My mother died of breast cancer. All of us sisters are vigilant, but we were still shocked when the baby of us found out that she had breast cancer when she was 39 years old.
She is now 44 and hit her five year remission marker in May.
Bing asks her to send a photo of herself each year and she applies it to a tee shirt. And then she runs. Liv and I stand at the finish line and cheer her on, although she is in incredibly good shape (she's a runner) and doesn't need our cheering to get her over that finish line.
It means a lot to my sister but I think it means more to me. The woman whom I love dedicates her run to my baby sister, the wonder baby. The golden child in our family. She is eight years younger than I am and I was the baby for a LONG time until she showed up (and to say I was disgruntled at giving up my baby status is to put it mildly...) and ruined my sweet ride.
I love Jessie with all of my heart. So do my sisters. So does her husband and her three teenaged daughters.
I will never forget the day that Patrice came to our door all those years ago, her face white with shock. She said, "Maria, sit down."
When she told me that Jessie had cancer, stupidly I argued.
That's ridiculous! She's had that lump for three years and her doctor always said that it was nothing to worry about. He only removed it at her insistence! There must be a mistake! I held my tears back until Patrice left and then, alone in the bathtub that night, I wept until my eyes nearly swelled shut. I kept crazily thinking to myself that this had to be a mistake. It HAD to be.
There was no mistake. For three years she let her small town family doctor pooh pooh her worries. Finally, she said it just bothered her to feel that lump every time she took a shower and asked him to remove it just for her peace of mind. He did and it was then that they discovered that it was cancerous.
I shudder to think what might have happened if she had listened to him and not acted on her feelings.
I had murderous words for that doctor and it was Jessie herself who told me to stop ranting and raving and threatening to knock his teeth out and START HELPING HER DEAL WITH THIS.
We all did. We went in together and had her house cleaned top to bottom by a cleaning team. We bought her 1000 count thread sheets so that she could be comfortable when she came home from chemo and could barely lift her head.
Her husband shaved her head and told me that he joked the entire time with her and told her that he found bald women incredibly sexy. Later, as she slept, he said he went outside and shook his fist at God and called him/her/it a colossal asshole. And then he went back inside and talked to his three daughters and told them they WOULD NOT CRY when they saw their mother. They didn't. At least not in front of her. Later, her oldest, Lyndsay, would cry in my arms, Patrice's arms, Celia's arms. Her sisters would cry in Lyndsay's arms while, as the oldest, she told them not to worry, that all would be fine. It would be fine. It would. Lyndsay saved her tears for when she was away from her younger sisters and could finally let it out.
I sent Jessie all of my Anne Lamott books because no one says it better than she does and I knew she would find something in there to help her. She did. She wrote out a quote from one of the books saying, "Courage is fear that has said it's prayers." That quote is still on her fridge and I finger it whenever I visit her.
Jessie is a teacher and she spent her summer getting chemo and feeling like shit. She elected to have both of her breasts removed. They thought they got it all. She came to my city for the operation and then had her chemo in the small Iowa town where she lives. But, often she would ask her husband to drive her to Patrice's house, away from the small town's pitying eyes. Patrice is a retired nurse and an excellent caregiver.
I talked Jessie into trying grass to help with her nausea from the chemo. She said no about twenty times and finally I suppose the nausea got to her, because she said yes, with the condition that I NEVER let her daughters know. I never have. And it was one of those times that you never forget. Getting high with my very Catholic, very conservative sister. We talked fearlessly about every aspect of our lives. We did all the things that you do when you are high. I hadn't smoked since Liv's conception, so I was out of practice too. But, it's like riding a bike, it all came back. I handled that bong like the pro I used to be. We commented on how incredibly intense and beautiful everything was. We looked at each other and remarked at how remarkably gorgeous we were. We laughed. Hard. We ate. A lot. And then some more. Afterwards, we fell asleep in each other's arms on the sofa. Bing brought Liv home from the movie she had taken her to so that I could take illegal drugs with my sibling and she said that we looked like two rag dolls flung together.
"But, you were holding hands," she commented. "I fell in love with you all over again that night and decided that Jessie would not die. She would fight this and win and that I would run the Susan Komen race for the cure every year until Jessie never had to be scared of her yearly cancer screen because there would be a cure."
Jessie did fight. She has won for the last five years.
She told me once that all she wanted was to see her three daughters graduate high school. Her first graduated last year. Her next one is a senior. Her youngest is a freshman this year. I tell Jessie all the time that she will see them through not only high school graduation, but college graduation and live to see her grandchildren.
"Well, just please God let them all be married before I get grandkids," she said. "First things first."
Did I mention that Jessie is one of the most devout Catholics on the planet? She struggles with having a sister who is in a relationship with another woman. She struggles with the fact that she ADORES Bing when I know she wants to dislike her. It would be easier for her, I think. But, this is how prejudice is beaten down. One person at a time. One person who meets a gay person and realizes that they are good and kind and a worthy person. It is hard to hold on to your strident religious beliefs when your sister's partner is running the Susan Komen race for the cure with your photo safety pinned to her shirt.
We will be there next Sunday with bells on.
For all the Jessies out there. But, especially for MY Jessie.
Bing has done this every single year since my sister, Jessie was diagnosed with breast cancer. My mother died of breast cancer. All of us sisters are vigilant, but we were still shocked when the baby of us found out that she had breast cancer when she was 39 years old.
She is now 44 and hit her five year remission marker in May.
Bing asks her to send a photo of herself each year and she applies it to a tee shirt. And then she runs. Liv and I stand at the finish line and cheer her on, although she is in incredibly good shape (she's a runner) and doesn't need our cheering to get her over that finish line.
It means a lot to my sister but I think it means more to me. The woman whom I love dedicates her run to my baby sister, the wonder baby. The golden child in our family. She is eight years younger than I am and I was the baby for a LONG time until she showed up (and to say I was disgruntled at giving up my baby status is to put it mildly...) and ruined my sweet ride.
I love Jessie with all of my heart. So do my sisters. So does her husband and her three teenaged daughters.
I will never forget the day that Patrice came to our door all those years ago, her face white with shock. She said, "Maria, sit down."
When she told me that Jessie had cancer, stupidly I argued.
That's ridiculous! She's had that lump for three years and her doctor always said that it was nothing to worry about. He only removed it at her insistence! There must be a mistake! I held my tears back until Patrice left and then, alone in the bathtub that night, I wept until my eyes nearly swelled shut. I kept crazily thinking to myself that this had to be a mistake. It HAD to be.
There was no mistake. For three years she let her small town family doctor pooh pooh her worries. Finally, she said it just bothered her to feel that lump every time she took a shower and asked him to remove it just for her peace of mind. He did and it was then that they discovered that it was cancerous.
I shudder to think what might have happened if she had listened to him and not acted on her feelings.
I had murderous words for that doctor and it was Jessie herself who told me to stop ranting and raving and threatening to knock his teeth out and START HELPING HER DEAL WITH THIS.
We all did. We went in together and had her house cleaned top to bottom by a cleaning team. We bought her 1000 count thread sheets so that she could be comfortable when she came home from chemo and could barely lift her head.
Her husband shaved her head and told me that he joked the entire time with her and told her that he found bald women incredibly sexy. Later, as she slept, he said he went outside and shook his fist at God and called him/her/it a colossal asshole. And then he went back inside and talked to his three daughters and told them they WOULD NOT CRY when they saw their mother. They didn't. At least not in front of her. Later, her oldest, Lyndsay, would cry in my arms, Patrice's arms, Celia's arms. Her sisters would cry in Lyndsay's arms while, as the oldest, she told them not to worry, that all would be fine. It would be fine. It would. Lyndsay saved her tears for when she was away from her younger sisters and could finally let it out.
I sent Jessie all of my Anne Lamott books because no one says it better than she does and I knew she would find something in there to help her. She did. She wrote out a quote from one of the books saying, "Courage is fear that has said it's prayers." That quote is still on her fridge and I finger it whenever I visit her.
Jessie is a teacher and she spent her summer getting chemo and feeling like shit. She elected to have both of her breasts removed. They thought they got it all. She came to my city for the operation and then had her chemo in the small Iowa town where she lives. But, often she would ask her husband to drive her to Patrice's house, away from the small town's pitying eyes. Patrice is a retired nurse and an excellent caregiver.
I talked Jessie into trying grass to help with her nausea from the chemo. She said no about twenty times and finally I suppose the nausea got to her, because she said yes, with the condition that I NEVER let her daughters know. I never have. And it was one of those times that you never forget. Getting high with my very Catholic, very conservative sister. We talked fearlessly about every aspect of our lives. We did all the things that you do when you are high. I hadn't smoked since Liv's conception, so I was out of practice too. But, it's like riding a bike, it all came back. I handled that bong like the pro I used to be. We commented on how incredibly intense and beautiful everything was. We looked at each other and remarked at how remarkably gorgeous we were. We laughed. Hard. We ate. A lot. And then some more. Afterwards, we fell asleep in each other's arms on the sofa. Bing brought Liv home from the movie she had taken her to so that I could take illegal drugs with my sibling and she said that we looked like two rag dolls flung together.
"But, you were holding hands," she commented. "I fell in love with you all over again that night and decided that Jessie would not die. She would fight this and win and that I would run the Susan Komen race for the cure every year until Jessie never had to be scared of her yearly cancer screen because there would be a cure."
Jessie did fight. She has won for the last five years.
She told me once that all she wanted was to see her three daughters graduate high school. Her first graduated last year. Her next one is a senior. Her youngest is a freshman this year. I tell Jessie all the time that she will see them through not only high school graduation, but college graduation and live to see her grandchildren.
"Well, just please God let them all be married before I get grandkids," she said. "First things first."
Did I mention that Jessie is one of the most devout Catholics on the planet? She struggles with having a sister who is in a relationship with another woman. She struggles with the fact that she ADORES Bing when I know she wants to dislike her. It would be easier for her, I think. But, this is how prejudice is beaten down. One person at a time. One person who meets a gay person and realizes that they are good and kind and a worthy person. It is hard to hold on to your strident religious beliefs when your sister's partner is running the Susan Komen race for the cure with your photo safety pinned to her shirt.
We will be there next Sunday with bells on.
For all the Jessies out there. But, especially for MY Jessie.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
What to do, what to do.......
She stood in the kitchen, staring out the window.
Something wasn't right.
I could feel it before I asked.
"What's up, Bing?"
She turned and looked at me for a long time. I mean A LONG TIME. Like maybe a minute. Which doesn't sound like such a long time until you time it out for yourself. Do that now. Look at your watch or a clock. Sit quietly for one minute. And then imagine that you are standing with someone, not speaking for that time allotment.
Finally, she spoke. She had a folded paper in her hand.
"I need you to read this, but I am just really worried that you will be upset."
I was torn between wanting desperately to read it and wanting to tell her to just put the thing away.
I held out my hand. She said, "Before you read it, you need to know that I didn't answer it. Didn't do anything. And I was surprised and taken off guard. Okay?"
I nodded. Kept my hand out. She gingerly gave it to me.
It was a typewritten note. Like all the notes she used to send to Bing. I knew who it was from before I looked at it.
The ferret.
That is my nickname for her because she reminds me of one. Kind of like that rat character in Harry Potter. The one, who even as a human, resembles a rat.
She looks and moves like a ferret in her life.
Sticking close to the walls, slithering. Hiding.
A long, thin face with a large bulbous nose.
A body that is slight and quick to move.
She has had a crush on Bing for years. Bing has never handled this properly, in my opinion. I haven't laid down any orders or expectations. It's her life, she needs to handle this as she feels fit.
But, still. I have my own opinions and I share them.
I think the ferret is ill. Mentally deluded. I think she has delusions about Bing. Bing, on the other hand, disagrees. She sees her as a sad, lonely woman who is married to a man whom she doesn't love.
Bing sees her as someone to feel very sorry for.
At one time, they were friends. Good friends. They met when they were both teaching at Bing's high school. They began working out together. They worked on a grant together and this caused them to travel a lot together to give presentations at educational seminars. Then, things began to get sticky.
I saw it WAY before Bing did. And to be honest, I think there has always been a small part of Bing that enjoys the attention, the adoring looks, the admiring words.
As I have said many times, I am a poor partner. I don't always express myself well and I am not particularly romantic. Well, I am that way inside. Just not on the outside. So, I think that in many ways I have failed Bing. I think there is a part of her that seeks out attention from the ferret because she doesn't get enough from me.
The ferret began giving Bing inappropriate gifts. The kind of gifts that you give to a romantic partner. She gave her a lot of cards. They never really crossed the line, were just vague enough that she could say "Oh, my NO! I didn't mean it LIKE THAT!!"
But, they were heavy with "let's have an emotional affair" even if it went unsaid.
Bing didn't show me these cards for a very long time. I stumbled on them. Read them. Accused her of having an affair. She hotly denied it. Said that okay, yes...she had sort of liked having someone crush on her, but she figured it was harmless. And she had never encouraged her, not really.
I argued that by not stopping it, she had encouraged it.
She haltingly agreed. Said she was ashamed. Told me that she would end the friendship. Swore up and down and sideways that the ferret meant nothing to her. She visibly shuddered when I asked if she was attracted to her. Said no, that it wasn't like that. Not at all. Just that...well....okay...it was kind of nice to have someone think she was so incredibly cool, so athletic, so fun, so...perfect.
I am not an idiot and since a good part of my job is analyzing psychological intent and reasoning, I saw the writing on the wall. This was a problem for ALL of us.
For Bing...it was because she enjoyed, basked in being adored. I knew that she wasn't in love with the ferret, knew that she didn't reciprocate the feelings, but still. She hadn't stopped her.
For the ferret....this was an unscrupulous woman. Someone who felt unloved in her marriage. She had a crush and it was Bing. She also sort of got a kick out of feeling as if she was sneaking, hiding. She fed on the illicit feeling that this relationship gave her.
For me...it was that I had failed to make Bing feel special and loved within our marriage. I didn't give enough, so she felt the lack and was vulnerable to someone like the ferret, someone who gave her adulation.
For the ferret's husband...it was just plain idiocy and ignorance. I had met him twice and found him to be a pompous bore. He wasn't too concerned about his wife's obsession with Bing. This was a woman. He was a man. He trumped her easily.
Bing stopped seeing the ferret. She put all the cards, notes, through our shredder. She stopped working out with her, stopped accepting her daily (sometimes hourly) calls just to say "howdy do!"
Did I mention that the ferret also had this almost ridiculous valley girl way of speaking and acting? She referred to the high school students they taught as "youngsters" and often said things like, "goody goody gumdrops or "yippy skippy fun bunny times!"
I loathed her and not just because she had a crush on my wife, but also because she annoyed me with her baby talk. I especially hated reading the notes in the cards she sent Bing, full of spelling and grammar errors.
It has been over a year now since Bing stopped the friendship.
So here I was, holding a note in my hand. Bing's birthday was a few weeks ago and Bing said that the note, along with a card, an incredibly stupid card about aging with a vase on the front of it, came to her via school mail.
The ferret has retired from Bing's school district and like a lot of teachers, is now working in a smaller Iowa high school so that she can "double dip", receive a retirement check and a paycheck too.
The note was long and mushy.
It said that she thought she and Bing were "old sames", an ancient Chinese expression about two women with bound feet who sought out other women to be their dearest confidantes, secret keepers and most trusted alliances.
The ferret is not particularly intelligent, although she does hold a master's degree. Anyone who spells and uses such poor grammar doesn't impress me all that much. So, I am guessing that she found this expression in a popular "chick lit" novel that is going around about "old sames" in a book about Chinese women with bound feet, stuck in loveless marriages.
The note ended with a birthday greeting and the fervent hope that she could be a part of Bing's life again in any way, shape or form. Basically, she was willing to take crumbs.
What bothered me the most was that she seemed so comfortable addressing Bing. I asked Bing if she had retained some sort of relationship with this woman.
She frowned, looked at the floor.
"I take her calls, provided that they are purely professional. She calls often with "professional questions." I suspect that she just wants to stay in touch. But, Maria...I don't want to hurt her, I feel so badly that she is so lonely. I'm not sure what to do about this note. So...I brought it home. It's been sitting in my drawer for a couple of weeks now. I've been trying to work up the courage to ask you what you think I should I do."
Well, I guess the GOOD news is that she showed it to me.
The bad news is that this...woman...this predator...is still on the prowl.
I started to read Bing the riot act, started to tell her that THIS WOMAN MUST GO OR ELSE.
And then I stopped. This isn't MY LIFE. This is Bing's life. She has freedom of choice. It is her decision. I told her that I wanted to know what her decision was when she reached it since obviously it concerns me too.
And now I have spent the weekend trying not to be very, very angry with her.
Our easy going relationship is strained again. I hate this. But, I will NOT lay down a law, force Bing to do what I think she should.
So, I wait.
But, I'm curious....what do you think I should do? What would you do?
Something wasn't right.
I could feel it before I asked.
"What's up, Bing?"
She turned and looked at me for a long time. I mean A LONG TIME. Like maybe a minute. Which doesn't sound like such a long time until you time it out for yourself. Do that now. Look at your watch or a clock. Sit quietly for one minute. And then imagine that you are standing with someone, not speaking for that time allotment.
Finally, she spoke. She had a folded paper in her hand.
"I need you to read this, but I am just really worried that you will be upset."
I was torn between wanting desperately to read it and wanting to tell her to just put the thing away.
I held out my hand. She said, "Before you read it, you need to know that I didn't answer it. Didn't do anything. And I was surprised and taken off guard. Okay?"
I nodded. Kept my hand out. She gingerly gave it to me.
It was a typewritten note. Like all the notes she used to send to Bing. I knew who it was from before I looked at it.
The ferret.
That is my nickname for her because she reminds me of one. Kind of like that rat character in Harry Potter. The one, who even as a human, resembles a rat.
She looks and moves like a ferret in her life.
Sticking close to the walls, slithering. Hiding.
A long, thin face with a large bulbous nose.
A body that is slight and quick to move.
She has had a crush on Bing for years. Bing has never handled this properly, in my opinion. I haven't laid down any orders or expectations. It's her life, she needs to handle this as she feels fit.
But, still. I have my own opinions and I share them.
I think the ferret is ill. Mentally deluded. I think she has delusions about Bing. Bing, on the other hand, disagrees. She sees her as a sad, lonely woman who is married to a man whom she doesn't love.
Bing sees her as someone to feel very sorry for.
At one time, they were friends. Good friends. They met when they were both teaching at Bing's high school. They began working out together. They worked on a grant together and this caused them to travel a lot together to give presentations at educational seminars. Then, things began to get sticky.
I saw it WAY before Bing did. And to be honest, I think there has always been a small part of Bing that enjoys the attention, the adoring looks, the admiring words.
As I have said many times, I am a poor partner. I don't always express myself well and I am not particularly romantic. Well, I am that way inside. Just not on the outside. So, I think that in many ways I have failed Bing. I think there is a part of her that seeks out attention from the ferret because she doesn't get enough from me.
The ferret began giving Bing inappropriate gifts. The kind of gifts that you give to a romantic partner. She gave her a lot of cards. They never really crossed the line, were just vague enough that she could say "Oh, my NO! I didn't mean it LIKE THAT!!"
But, they were heavy with "let's have an emotional affair" even if it went unsaid.
Bing didn't show me these cards for a very long time. I stumbled on them. Read them. Accused her of having an affair. She hotly denied it. Said that okay, yes...she had sort of liked having someone crush on her, but she figured it was harmless. And she had never encouraged her, not really.
I argued that by not stopping it, she had encouraged it.
She haltingly agreed. Said she was ashamed. Told me that she would end the friendship. Swore up and down and sideways that the ferret meant nothing to her. She visibly shuddered when I asked if she was attracted to her. Said no, that it wasn't like that. Not at all. Just that...well....okay...it was kind of nice to have someone think she was so incredibly cool, so athletic, so fun, so...perfect.
I am not an idiot and since a good part of my job is analyzing psychological intent and reasoning, I saw the writing on the wall. This was a problem for ALL of us.
For Bing...it was because she enjoyed, basked in being adored. I knew that she wasn't in love with the ferret, knew that she didn't reciprocate the feelings, but still. She hadn't stopped her.
For the ferret....this was an unscrupulous woman. Someone who felt unloved in her marriage. She had a crush and it was Bing. She also sort of got a kick out of feeling as if she was sneaking, hiding. She fed on the illicit feeling that this relationship gave her.
For me...it was that I had failed to make Bing feel special and loved within our marriage. I didn't give enough, so she felt the lack and was vulnerable to someone like the ferret, someone who gave her adulation.
For the ferret's husband...it was just plain idiocy and ignorance. I had met him twice and found him to be a pompous bore. He wasn't too concerned about his wife's obsession with Bing. This was a woman. He was a man. He trumped her easily.
Bing stopped seeing the ferret. She put all the cards, notes, through our shredder. She stopped working out with her, stopped accepting her daily (sometimes hourly) calls just to say "howdy do!"
Did I mention that the ferret also had this almost ridiculous valley girl way of speaking and acting? She referred to the high school students they taught as "youngsters" and often said things like, "goody goody gumdrops or "yippy skippy fun bunny times!"
I loathed her and not just because she had a crush on my wife, but also because she annoyed me with her baby talk. I especially hated reading the notes in the cards she sent Bing, full of spelling and grammar errors.
It has been over a year now since Bing stopped the friendship.
So here I was, holding a note in my hand. Bing's birthday was a few weeks ago and Bing said that the note, along with a card, an incredibly stupid card about aging with a vase on the front of it, came to her via school mail.
The ferret has retired from Bing's school district and like a lot of teachers, is now working in a smaller Iowa high school so that she can "double dip", receive a retirement check and a paycheck too.
The note was long and mushy.
It said that she thought she and Bing were "old sames", an ancient Chinese expression about two women with bound feet who sought out other women to be their dearest confidantes, secret keepers and most trusted alliances.
The ferret is not particularly intelligent, although she does hold a master's degree. Anyone who spells and uses such poor grammar doesn't impress me all that much. So, I am guessing that she found this expression in a popular "chick lit" novel that is going around about "old sames" in a book about Chinese women with bound feet, stuck in loveless marriages.
The note ended with a birthday greeting and the fervent hope that she could be a part of Bing's life again in any way, shape or form. Basically, she was willing to take crumbs.
What bothered me the most was that she seemed so comfortable addressing Bing. I asked Bing if she had retained some sort of relationship with this woman.
She frowned, looked at the floor.
"I take her calls, provided that they are purely professional. She calls often with "professional questions." I suspect that she just wants to stay in touch. But, Maria...I don't want to hurt her, I feel so badly that she is so lonely. I'm not sure what to do about this note. So...I brought it home. It's been sitting in my drawer for a couple of weeks now. I've been trying to work up the courage to ask you what you think I should I do."
Well, I guess the GOOD news is that she showed it to me.
The bad news is that this...woman...this predator...is still on the prowl.
I started to read Bing the riot act, started to tell her that THIS WOMAN MUST GO OR ELSE.
And then I stopped. This isn't MY LIFE. This is Bing's life. She has freedom of choice. It is her decision. I told her that I wanted to know what her decision was when she reached it since obviously it concerns me too.
And now I have spent the weekend trying not to be very, very angry with her.
Our easy going relationship is strained again. I hate this. But, I will NOT lay down a law, force Bing to do what I think she should.
So, I wait.
But, I'm curious....what do you think I should do? What would you do?
Thursday, September 22, 2011
A bicycle built for two
Our neighbor was cleaning out his garage a few days ago. Liv went over to help. Hal and Nora had been my lifesavers when she was little and I would need a babysitter. For three years, Nora and Hal picked up Liv from school each day and kept her busy at their home until either Bing or I could get her from work. Now, she is old enough to take care of herself and if one of can't pick her up, she takes the bus home and then texts us to make sure that she is in the house safely.
So, Liv is close to Hal and Nora.
Liv dragged out a two seated bicycle. Hal smiled hugely, said that he and Nora used to cart their daughter (now living in a different city and a career woman) around on it. Liv asked to try it out, so he found the air pump to fill the tires and pronounced the tires still good.
Liv rode it over to me where I was watering my petunias (on their last legs but still bravely hanging on) and I shielded my eyes from the setting sun and grinned up at her.
"Well, lookee there," I said.
Liv smiled back at me with her jack o'lantern smile.
"Wanna come for a little ride?" she asked.
I smiled ruefully and told her that I didn't think my arthritic hands and legs would be of any use and that even if they did manage to be working today, my Meniere's Syndrome (an inner ear disorder that causes me to have some trouble with balance sometimes) would probably not take kindly to it.
"But, you don't have to do any of the work," she coaxed. "I can keep us up and running!"
I sighed. Hesitated. And then shrugged and stood up. I carefully got on the back seat and slowly, carefully Liv navigated down our driveway and headed over to the school parking lot nearby. Lots of room there.
Too late, I thought that we should have worn helmets. Oh, well. Hope for the best. We wouldn't go far. I'd spent the better part of my childhood on a bike without a helmet and done fine.
Liv's braids sailed back as we cruised onward. She pumped a bit harder. My legs went through the motions but it was she who did the heavy lifting. She was carrying us both.
I had a flashback of the old bike we had when she was a baby. It was old and ancient back then. I had purchased it at a garage sale because it had a baby seat. I used to take her on long summer rides to the park with a picnic tucked in the front basket. I'd steer us both happily while Liv pumped her legs and cooed at me, smiling with her baby jack o'lantern smile, one lone tooth popping up in her front gums.
Well, I thought, here we are at last, full circle. Now Liv is carting me around. Her legs are long and lean now, she has a full set of pearly whites and her boyish body with the slim torso and straight swimmer shoulders is tooling around effortlessly.
Life is funny. First she was my baby. My colicky, screaming infant. Then she was my happy Buddha baby, never a fat, round child...always long and lean, her little froggy legs kicking. She commando crawled before she walked and never really crawled any other way. She went right to heaving herself up on the sofa cushions and then...her first tentative steps and then her teetering first three steps while I watched fascinated and rapturous.
"YOU DID IT, LIVVIE! YOU WALKED, SWEETIE!"
This was followed by a soft plop down as she calmly decided that once was fine but she would wait for another month to do it again. Commando crawling was faster.
I guided her, her little fat hands in mine, bent over, as we walked all over the house. Then, seemingly in an instant, she was walking and she never looked back. She walked one week and was running the next. And there I was race walking behind her, trying to keep up, laughing.
She drove a tricycle first, her legs pumping furiously. Once she got the hang of it, she loved to pretend that she was in her car and I was the gas station. I recall that Vince and Thuan, friends from Chicago, even bought her a miniature plastic gas station with a little yellow hose. I rued the day they brought it for her because I spent the next summer pretending to fill up her trike tank.
Hey, there ma'am, what can I do for you today?
"Fill 'er up, gas station lady!"
She learned to ride a bike in one hour. Flawlessly. We bought the bike for her 6th birthday and that same evening, Bing taught her how to put on her helmet, (a ridiculously silly Ninja turtle one....in pink...) to steer, how to use the brakes and then helped her on and after one scary fall, my little girl gritted her teeth and got right back on, ignoring her scraped elbow.
And she was off. Braids flying behind her.
And now, here we were again. Except now...she was holding us both up, doing all the work. It made my throat close, a golf ball lodged in my throat.
I reached up to pat her back. She glanced back, concerned.
"You okay back there, Mama?" she asked, her face worried.
"I'm fine, my love. I was just thinking about how I used to take you for rides on that old blue Schwinn that we used to have," I answered.
"I remember," she said, although I doubted that she really did.
Liv pulled up to the swings in the school playground and we both got off and rested for a while, each taking a swing.
"I remember how you used to take me to this park, too," she said. "I would sit in your lap facing you and throw my hair back and look at the trees. I always felt perfectly safe in your lap. And then you taught me to swing and you would push me and say Try to touch the sky with your feet, Livvie, try to touch the sky now! and I would. It was so much fun."
I was so close to tears that I didn't trust my voice so I didn't answer, just rubbed a toe in the dirt with my sneaker.
Liv reached out and touched my hand. I looked up.
"Mama, I will never let you fall. I will always help you even when your arthritis gets so bad that it is hard to walk. You can trust me. Do you know that?"
I smiled. Nodded. I do trust her to do this. I just fervently hope that it won't ever happen. I never want her to be my caregiver.
But, I guess that may be part of this cycle of life too.
Liv and I aren't really prone to big demonstrations of emotion. She had something to say and I heard her. We were ready to go back home. We got back on the bike and she guided us home, slowly at first and then picking up speed.
We were flying in the late September sundown. We had sweaters on, it is getting nippy outside in the evenings.
She is still adjusting to junior high and I suspect that she lies to me when she says that it gets better each day. She doesn't want me to worry. Her teachers tell me that while she is very quiet, she is smart and a good student. Not really one for joining groups, that she tends towards aloofness (wonder where she gets that...?) but that she is holding her own and making her way slowly but surely.
I am growing older. I am not elderly yet, but I am feeling my age more every day.
One day I will be old. And hopefully, not too dependent on my daughter. But, this I know:
If I need her, she will be there.
I can depend on her every bit as much as she depended on me when she was learning to walk. We've just traded places for the first time.
She still needs me. I will always need her. She and I fit like a pair of well worn slippers that somehow make a hard day easier.
I reached up and caught one her flying braids with my hand and smiled wistfully, then let it go and watched the wind take it again.
Liv turned her head briefly and smiled at me, her jack o'lantern grin genuine and full of kindness and fun and glee. There is something winsome about her, something of the fairies.
A sweet old soul in a youthful body.
We rode and enjoyed the sun on our faces and the cool snap in the air.
So, Liv is close to Hal and Nora.
Liv dragged out a two seated bicycle. Hal smiled hugely, said that he and Nora used to cart their daughter (now living in a different city and a career woman) around on it. Liv asked to try it out, so he found the air pump to fill the tires and pronounced the tires still good.
Liv rode it over to me where I was watering my petunias (on their last legs but still bravely hanging on) and I shielded my eyes from the setting sun and grinned up at her.
"Well, lookee there," I said.
Liv smiled back at me with her jack o'lantern smile.
"Wanna come for a little ride?" she asked.
I smiled ruefully and told her that I didn't think my arthritic hands and legs would be of any use and that even if they did manage to be working today, my Meniere's Syndrome (an inner ear disorder that causes me to have some trouble with balance sometimes) would probably not take kindly to it.
"But, you don't have to do any of the work," she coaxed. "I can keep us up and running!"
I sighed. Hesitated. And then shrugged and stood up. I carefully got on the back seat and slowly, carefully Liv navigated down our driveway and headed over to the school parking lot nearby. Lots of room there.
Too late, I thought that we should have worn helmets. Oh, well. Hope for the best. We wouldn't go far. I'd spent the better part of my childhood on a bike without a helmet and done fine.
Liv's braids sailed back as we cruised onward. She pumped a bit harder. My legs went through the motions but it was she who did the heavy lifting. She was carrying us both.
I had a flashback of the old bike we had when she was a baby. It was old and ancient back then. I had purchased it at a garage sale because it had a baby seat. I used to take her on long summer rides to the park with a picnic tucked in the front basket. I'd steer us both happily while Liv pumped her legs and cooed at me, smiling with her baby jack o'lantern smile, one lone tooth popping up in her front gums.
Well, I thought, here we are at last, full circle. Now Liv is carting me around. Her legs are long and lean now, she has a full set of pearly whites and her boyish body with the slim torso and straight swimmer shoulders is tooling around effortlessly.
Life is funny. First she was my baby. My colicky, screaming infant. Then she was my happy Buddha baby, never a fat, round child...always long and lean, her little froggy legs kicking. She commando crawled before she walked and never really crawled any other way. She went right to heaving herself up on the sofa cushions and then...her first tentative steps and then her teetering first three steps while I watched fascinated and rapturous.
"YOU DID IT, LIVVIE! YOU WALKED, SWEETIE!"
This was followed by a soft plop down as she calmly decided that once was fine but she would wait for another month to do it again. Commando crawling was faster.
I guided her, her little fat hands in mine, bent over, as we walked all over the house. Then, seemingly in an instant, she was walking and she never looked back. She walked one week and was running the next. And there I was race walking behind her, trying to keep up, laughing.
She drove a tricycle first, her legs pumping furiously. Once she got the hang of it, she loved to pretend that she was in her car and I was the gas station. I recall that Vince and Thuan, friends from Chicago, even bought her a miniature plastic gas station with a little yellow hose. I rued the day they brought it for her because I spent the next summer pretending to fill up her trike tank.
Hey, there ma'am, what can I do for you today?
"Fill 'er up, gas station lady!"
She learned to ride a bike in one hour. Flawlessly. We bought the bike for her 6th birthday and that same evening, Bing taught her how to put on her helmet, (a ridiculously silly Ninja turtle one....in pink...) to steer, how to use the brakes and then helped her on and after one scary fall, my little girl gritted her teeth and got right back on, ignoring her scraped elbow.
And she was off. Braids flying behind her.
And now, here we were again. Except now...she was holding us both up, doing all the work. It made my throat close, a golf ball lodged in my throat.
I reached up to pat her back. She glanced back, concerned.
"You okay back there, Mama?" she asked, her face worried.
"I'm fine, my love. I was just thinking about how I used to take you for rides on that old blue Schwinn that we used to have," I answered.
"I remember," she said, although I doubted that she really did.
Liv pulled up to the swings in the school playground and we both got off and rested for a while, each taking a swing.
"I remember how you used to take me to this park, too," she said. "I would sit in your lap facing you and throw my hair back and look at the trees. I always felt perfectly safe in your lap. And then you taught me to swing and you would push me and say Try to touch the sky with your feet, Livvie, try to touch the sky now! and I would. It was so much fun."
I was so close to tears that I didn't trust my voice so I didn't answer, just rubbed a toe in the dirt with my sneaker.
Liv reached out and touched my hand. I looked up.
"Mama, I will never let you fall. I will always help you even when your arthritis gets so bad that it is hard to walk. You can trust me. Do you know that?"
I smiled. Nodded. I do trust her to do this. I just fervently hope that it won't ever happen. I never want her to be my caregiver.
But, I guess that may be part of this cycle of life too.
Liv and I aren't really prone to big demonstrations of emotion. She had something to say and I heard her. We were ready to go back home. We got back on the bike and she guided us home, slowly at first and then picking up speed.
We were flying in the late September sundown. We had sweaters on, it is getting nippy outside in the evenings.
She is still adjusting to junior high and I suspect that she lies to me when she says that it gets better each day. She doesn't want me to worry. Her teachers tell me that while she is very quiet, she is smart and a good student. Not really one for joining groups, that she tends towards aloofness (wonder where she gets that...?) but that she is holding her own and making her way slowly but surely.
I am growing older. I am not elderly yet, but I am feeling my age more every day.
One day I will be old. And hopefully, not too dependent on my daughter. But, this I know:
If I need her, she will be there.
I can depend on her every bit as much as she depended on me when she was learning to walk. We've just traded places for the first time.
She still needs me. I will always need her. She and I fit like a pair of well worn slippers that somehow make a hard day easier.
I reached up and caught one her flying braids with my hand and smiled wistfully, then let it go and watched the wind take it again.
Liv turned her head briefly and smiled at me, her jack o'lantern grin genuine and full of kindness and fun and glee. There is something winsome about her, something of the fairies.
A sweet old soul in a youthful body.
We rode and enjoyed the sun on our faces and the cool snap in the air.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Plucky
I was in a soupy mood last night. I felt fat. My hair looked stupid. I was sitting in my favorite chair,snarfing down pumpkin pie (homemade from MY garden!!!) and watching the premiere of Glee (WHERE THE FUCK WAS SAM??? HE WAS MY FAVORITE!!) I looked down at my ankles, for some reason. They looked a little....puffy.
Well, great. My last bit of beauty gone. I have always prided myself on my tiny ankles. I have really great ankles. Always have. Which is why I wore heels so often, because they made my ankles look so boss.
This made me look at my hands, which is always a mistake. I used to have nice small capable hands, ring size 4. Now, they are well....veiny. LIKE MY MOTHER"S HANDS USED TO LOOK.
Well, I thought to myself, at least I am a good person. That should account for something.
But, am I? Really? I spent 200 dollars on a sweater yesterday because I can never resist cashmere and it was burgundy and I don't own a burgundy cashmere sweater. I didn't NEED the sweater. I could have donated that money to the women's shelter.
I snapped at Julie,our cruise director my co-worker. I told her that she should have REMINDED me that yesterday was the day that we met with Health and Human Services for our quarter report. I ALWAYS wear a business suit to those meetings, but since I FORGOT it was being held, I wore my black swirly skirt, black sweater, black tights and black combat boots (Bing calls this outfit Love child of Johnny Cash and Stevie Nicks) and did NOT look professional.
It isn't her job to REMIND me because I am OLD and FORGETFUL. I had no right to snipe at her.
I sighed when Liv brought out her English homework and asked me to help her. I am getting really, really sick of helping her diagram sentences, even though she is doing much better at it since Tinton (her father) suggested that I present it like a math problem and she would get it much better. It worked. But, I shouldn't have sighed and made her feel badly. I should have smiled and said, "Let's get to it, sugar!"
I felt ugly and not nice. Why would anyone want me? I am no prize, I thought.
I went over to Bing, who was studying her law book (she is taking night classes to see if maybe she might be interested in pursuing a law degree)....
I sat down next to her and stared at her until she looked up.
She smiled sleepily. "What's up, sugarfoot?"
"Why do you love me?" I asked.
She groaned. She HATES this shit.
She looked away for a second and then turned back to me.
"Well, you are very......plucky," she started...
PLUCKY!!!??? PLUCKY!????
Can't she do better than that? Can't she say that I am a sizzling hot mama with beauty to spare and besides that, I am...I don't know....Gandhi-like and more wonderful than...than....Forrest Gump's box of chocolates?
But...PLUCKY?
Seriously?
I burst into new bride tears and ran upstairs to run a bath and drown my sorrows.
Later, when Bing came to bed, she hugged me close and said, "C'mere, plucky girl..."
It seemed funny then and we both laughed over my silly vanity and whatnot.
But, um...PLUCKY?
Well, great. My last bit of beauty gone. I have always prided myself on my tiny ankles. I have really great ankles. Always have. Which is why I wore heels so often, because they made my ankles look so boss.
This made me look at my hands, which is always a mistake. I used to have nice small capable hands, ring size 4. Now, they are well....veiny. LIKE MY MOTHER"S HANDS USED TO LOOK.
Well, I thought to myself, at least I am a good person. That should account for something.
But, am I? Really? I spent 200 dollars on a sweater yesterday because I can never resist cashmere and it was burgundy and I don't own a burgundy cashmere sweater. I didn't NEED the sweater. I could have donated that money to the women's shelter.
I snapped at Julie,
It isn't her job to REMIND me because I am OLD and FORGETFUL. I had no right to snipe at her.
I sighed when Liv brought out her English homework and asked me to help her. I am getting really, really sick of helping her diagram sentences, even though she is doing much better at it since Tinton (her father) suggested that I present it like a math problem and she would get it much better. It worked. But, I shouldn't have sighed and made her feel badly. I should have smiled and said, "Let's get to it, sugar!"
I felt ugly and not nice. Why would anyone want me? I am no prize, I thought.
I went over to Bing, who was studying her law book (she is taking night classes to see if maybe she might be interested in pursuing a law degree)....
I sat down next to her and stared at her until she looked up.
She smiled sleepily. "What's up, sugarfoot?"
"Why do you love me?" I asked.
She groaned. She HATES this shit.
She looked away for a second and then turned back to me.
"Well, you are very......plucky," she started...
PLUCKY!!!??? PLUCKY!????
Can't she do better than that? Can't she say that I am a sizzling hot mama with beauty to spare and besides that, I am...I don't know....Gandhi-like and more wonderful than...than....Forrest Gump's box of chocolates?
But...PLUCKY?
Seriously?
I burst into new bride tears and ran upstairs to run a bath and drown my sorrows.
Later, when Bing came to bed, she hugged me close and said, "C'mere, plucky girl..."
It seemed funny then and we both laughed over my silly vanity and whatnot.
But, um...PLUCKY?
Monday, September 19, 2011
The Battle of the Toner or How Maria Almost Decked a Little Person
No, not a child. I did NOT almost deck a child.
It was a little person. In my family we call them midgets, but I realize that this is socially unacceptable. We also call mentally handicapped, retarded, but we get away with it because my niece is mentally handicapped and we don't say it in a derogatory way. It's kind of like if you have one, you can say the word but if you don't, you can't. Kind of like my African American friend at work can run up to one of her African American friends and say, "Hey, nigger!"
I can't say that. Nor would I find it acceptable to hear anyone else say it except for Loretta, who is my African American friend. Even when she says it, I cringe.
So, I almost decked a little person. Over toner. For our fax machine at work.
It all started so innocuously.
We got a fax at work and I noticed that it looked kind of streaky, so I told Nanette, my secretary from Hades.
Nanette is in charge of maintaining all the machines in the office. She doesn't do a bang up job of this. I have told her that we need to always keep a spare toner canister handy for our printer, fax and copier. She nods and then doesn't do it.
So...when we run out, someone has to run up to the top floor of our building where the office supply people live in their dark moldy cave and ask for toner. I have learned the hard way that you need to know the exact number of the toner that you need. Ours is something like Q126E. I always forget, so I had Julie,our cruise director my co-worker write it down for me and I keep it in my desk drawer.
Whoever is free runs up and gets it. Somehow this is never Nanette, even though the fact that we DO NOT HAVE A BACK UP CANISTER is all her fault. She is either coughing too hard or sniffly or her back hurts or something. You'd think we were asking her to climb Mount Everest instead of walk halfway down the hall and jump on the elevator.
Anyway, that day...I had free time, so I yanked out the used canister and schlepped upstairs with it. This also helps since the number is right on the thing and if you get Irene and not Lola, she will recycle it for you so you don't have to make a separate trip to the recycling room.
I didn't get Lola or Irene. I got Gil. Gil is amidget little person. Gil is an asshole. At first I felt guilty having that opinion of him because it is like calling someone in a wheelchair an asshole. You don't want to, you WANT them to be decent. It is a good life lesson. Some little people are assholes. Some wheelchair bound people are assholes too. And some George Clooney lookalikes are probably assholes as well, but not George Clooney himself. My friend, Harriet met him once when she was vacationing in Las Vegas and he was filming Ocean's Eleven and she said he was incredibly kind and yes, his eyes really do twinkle and crinkle like that.
But, Gil is just an asshole.
He was sitting at his desk and quickly turned the computer screen away from me which caused me to wonder if he was looking at porn. So, I kind of tried to take a peek and he got rid of the screen. I would bet money that it was porn.
Anyway, here was our conversation.
Maria: Hi, Gil. How're things going?
Gil doesn't answer. Because he is an asshole. He never wastes time on pleasantries. He just stared at me. I sighed.
Maria: I need a new toner canister, Gil. Here's the old one. The number is right on it.
Gil takes the canister warily as if I am handing him a garden snake.
Gil: Did you gals shake it to make it last a few more days?
It really bugs the hell out of me when he calls us GALS, but I want my toner and it seems like something I can let slide. So, I lie and tell him that yes, we did shake it for a few days. We didn't. We never do. This does not make the toner last longer than a few more pages and I just wanted a new one.
Gil gets up, scowling at me. This is his FUCKING JOB. I am not asking him to whip me up some red velvet cake.
He leaves the room and comes back several minutes later.
Gil: We're out.
Pause. Because...well...what is next? Can't he just fucking OFFER it up without me having to drag it out of him?
Maria: Can you order some new ones? And how long will it take?
Gil: I checked and Lola forgot to order your number of toner a few days ago. I'll put a new order in next week.
Maria: So, we have to go a WEEK without toner for our fax machine? Gil, we get lots and lots of faxes. This blows, buddy.
Gil smiles. It is an oily smile. I don't like his smile.
Maria: Can you order one today?
Gil: Can't do that. The orders go out on Monday. It is Tuesday.
Maria: Can I just go to Office Max and you can reimburse me?
Gil: (smiling again...that asshole) Nope. Sorry. Against company policy. Well, unless you want to pay for it yourself.
Maria: Order it on Monday, will ya?
Gil: Sureeeee.
I go back but take the old canister with me because I intend to shake that motherfucker.
I shake it. It works for two more days. Wowweee.
We arrange with the dentist office above us to let us use their fax number when we need to get something by fax and they will call us when something for us comes through. I also tell Nanette that she needs to put in an order for toner in two weeks so that we will have one as back up. It is like telling a teenager to take out the garbage. She stares at me and doesn't see me. When I ask her to please write herself a note, she glares at me before she pouts and picks up a pencil and puts it to paper.
I am pretty sure that she wrote Maria is a smelly bitch and I hate her guts instead of DON'T FORGET TO RE-ORDER TONER IN TWO WEEKS.
The next Monday, Marisol, our office manager, has to go up to office supplies to get some white out and a few boxes of staples. I tell her to remind Gil to order toner. When she comes back a few moments later she says, "I always feel like they are doing something really dirty up there. Do you notice the way they all jump back from their computers or their huddles when you walk in the door? It's like being Mom at the kid's 15th birthday party and you just know that they are playing Spin The Bottle but pretending to play Clue when they see you coming. Or Naked Twister."
She also says that Gil told her that he FORGOT to order that toner but he will do it next week. I asked her if she slugged him.
She looked aghast. "Maria, he's a little person. I was nice."
I told her that he didn't have cancer, he was small. That doesn't buy him niceties when he fucks up. I go upstairs and I swear to god, they all scattered like cock roaches when I walked in the door. Gil was nowhere to be found. I thought I saw a shadow move under his desk and wanted to go have a look see, but decided to deal with Lola instead. I asked her WHY THE HELL THE TONER WASN'T ORDERED. THIS IS CAUSING US TO LOSE OUR DENTAL ALLIES AS THEY ARE SICK TO DEATH OF GETTING OUR FAXES.
And we are getting several faxes that we are unable to read, so can't even call them back to tell them to send it to the dentist's office instead.
Lola is sensitive. She literally puffs out her bottom lip like a four year old who has been denied a third cookie. I want to yank her lip and pull it over her head, but I smile and say that I am really annoyed and maybe there is some way to solve this problem? Like maybe expedite this situation?
Her lip is really quivering now, so I ask where Gil is. She glances toward the supply closet but says, "Um, don't know. He was just here..."
I grin evilly at her and almost tell her that she really needs to keep her day job and not entertain fantasies about joining a theater troupe because she sucks big time at acting. I go to the supply closet and yank open the door. Gil is standing behind a big box. I know this because I can see him in the big mirror on the other side of the room. I walk right up to him and he looks shocked, like I am psychic or something. He looks like Liv used to look when we would play hide and seek when she was four and she would hide her eyes on her bed and think that if she couldn't see me, I couldn't see her. I will let him keep his illusions.
I am only five feet tall, so it isn't like I am hugely hovering over him,but hey...I am hovering nicely. I glare at him and tell him that I want toner by this afternoon. I don't care if he has to go skip to Office Max or wherever himself, I WANT THAT TONER.
I was promised the toner and I want it, I am clear when I say this. I say it slowly and meaningfully. He glares up at me and looks as if he might say something snotty to me. So, I decide to take a chance.
I say, "Gil, I wasn't planning to take this to Alan (Alan is head of office supplies, but he is always in meetings or at office supply seminars...I practically never see him but I know for a fact that he is an even bigger asshole than Gil) but if you don't get me that freakin' toner, I will not only make a big stink to Alan, I will also let him know that you are looking at porn during office hours. Which, by the way, is just odious."
Gil's eyes almost pop out of his head. I almost smile because like...SCORE! Instead, I hold his gaze. Gil already thinks I am psychic because I looked through a packing box and saw him, now he thinks that I have totally spied his porn stash too.
Gil looks away for a second and then tells me that he will have the toner by late this afternoon.
"Make it two canisters," I say. "We need a back up canister."
By 4:15, we had our toner. Nanette signed the requisition form and we were gold.
I told Nanette that she needs to always keep an extra toner for ALL the machines. She gave me her surly nod. Yeah, that bedroom is going to be all tidy when I get home, you bet your butt, Brittney.
Not.
But, at least I shook up Gil's ass.
And do I look like I feel guilty for yelling and waving my freak flag at a little person? Nope. Because we are all equal. We all have to eat a serving of shit now and again and it was his turn. Nobody puts Baby in a corner! Nobody messes with a righteous woman and her toner.
Now, if I could just intimidate Nanette. Maybe I could pretend to be able to read her cat's mind. Yeah.
I have the makings of a real bitch in me, yes? And I am just scratching the surface.
Don't mess with the Maria. She kicks ass and takes names, sucker.
It was a little person. In my family we call them midgets, but I realize that this is socially unacceptable. We also call mentally handicapped, retarded, but we get away with it because my niece is mentally handicapped and we don't say it in a derogatory way. It's kind of like if you have one, you can say the word but if you don't, you can't. Kind of like my African American friend at work can run up to one of her African American friends and say, "Hey, nigger!"
I can't say that. Nor would I find it acceptable to hear anyone else say it except for Loretta, who is my African American friend. Even when she says it, I cringe.
So, I almost decked a little person. Over toner. For our fax machine at work.
It all started so innocuously.
We got a fax at work and I noticed that it looked kind of streaky, so I told Nanette, my secretary from Hades.
Nanette is in charge of maintaining all the machines in the office. She doesn't do a bang up job of this. I have told her that we need to always keep a spare toner canister handy for our printer, fax and copier. She nods and then doesn't do it.
So...when we run out, someone has to run up to the top floor of our building where the office supply people live in their dark moldy cave and ask for toner. I have learned the hard way that you need to know the exact number of the toner that you need. Ours is something like Q126E. I always forget, so I had Julie,
Whoever is free runs up and gets it. Somehow this is never Nanette, even though the fact that we DO NOT HAVE A BACK UP CANISTER is all her fault. She is either coughing too hard or sniffly or her back hurts or something. You'd think we were asking her to climb Mount Everest instead of walk halfway down the hall and jump on the elevator.
Anyway, that day...I had free time, so I yanked out the used canister and schlepped upstairs with it. This also helps since the number is right on the thing and if you get Irene and not Lola, she will recycle it for you so you don't have to make a separate trip to the recycling room.
I didn't get Lola or Irene. I got Gil. Gil is a
But, Gil is just an asshole.
He was sitting at his desk and quickly turned the computer screen away from me which caused me to wonder if he was looking at porn. So, I kind of tried to take a peek and he got rid of the screen. I would bet money that it was porn.
Anyway, here was our conversation.
Maria: Hi, Gil. How're things going?
Gil doesn't answer. Because he is an asshole. He never wastes time on pleasantries. He just stared at me. I sighed.
Maria: I need a new toner canister, Gil. Here's the old one. The number is right on it.
Gil takes the canister warily as if I am handing him a garden snake.
Gil: Did you gals shake it to make it last a few more days?
It really bugs the hell out of me when he calls us GALS, but I want my toner and it seems like something I can let slide. So, I lie and tell him that yes, we did shake it for a few days. We didn't. We never do. This does not make the toner last longer than a few more pages and I just wanted a new one.
Gil gets up, scowling at me. This is his FUCKING JOB. I am not asking him to whip me up some red velvet cake.
He leaves the room and comes back several minutes later.
Gil: We're out.
Pause. Because...well...what is next? Can't he just fucking OFFER it up without me having to drag it out of him?
Maria: Can you order some new ones? And how long will it take?
Gil: I checked and Lola forgot to order your number of toner a few days ago. I'll put a new order in next week.
Maria: So, we have to go a WEEK without toner for our fax machine? Gil, we get lots and lots of faxes. This blows, buddy.
Gil smiles. It is an oily smile. I don't like his smile.
Maria: Can you order one today?
Gil: Can't do that. The orders go out on Monday. It is Tuesday.
Maria: Can I just go to Office Max and you can reimburse me?
Gil: (smiling again...that asshole) Nope. Sorry. Against company policy. Well, unless you want to pay for it yourself.
Maria: Order it on Monday, will ya?
Gil: Sureeeee.
I go back but take the old canister with me because I intend to shake that motherfucker.
I shake it. It works for two more days. Wowweee.
We arrange with the dentist office above us to let us use their fax number when we need to get something by fax and they will call us when something for us comes through. I also tell Nanette that she needs to put in an order for toner in two weeks so that we will have one as back up. It is like telling a teenager to take out the garbage. She stares at me and doesn't see me. When I ask her to please write herself a note, she glares at me before she pouts and picks up a pencil and puts it to paper.
I am pretty sure that she wrote Maria is a smelly bitch and I hate her guts instead of DON'T FORGET TO RE-ORDER TONER IN TWO WEEKS.
The next Monday, Marisol, our office manager, has to go up to office supplies to get some white out and a few boxes of staples. I tell her to remind Gil to order toner. When she comes back a few moments later she says, "I always feel like they are doing something really dirty up there. Do you notice the way they all jump back from their computers or their huddles when you walk in the door? It's like being Mom at the kid's 15th birthday party and you just know that they are playing Spin The Bottle but pretending to play Clue when they see you coming. Or Naked Twister."
She also says that Gil told her that he FORGOT to order that toner but he will do it next week. I asked her if she slugged him.
She looked aghast. "Maria, he's a little person. I was nice."
I told her that he didn't have cancer, he was small. That doesn't buy him niceties when he fucks up. I go upstairs and I swear to god, they all scattered like cock roaches when I walked in the door. Gil was nowhere to be found. I thought I saw a shadow move under his desk and wanted to go have a look see, but decided to deal with Lola instead. I asked her WHY THE HELL THE TONER WASN'T ORDERED. THIS IS CAUSING US TO LOSE OUR DENTAL ALLIES AS THEY ARE SICK TO DEATH OF GETTING OUR FAXES.
And we are getting several faxes that we are unable to read, so can't even call them back to tell them to send it to the dentist's office instead.
Lola is sensitive. She literally puffs out her bottom lip like a four year old who has been denied a third cookie. I want to yank her lip and pull it over her head, but I smile and say that I am really annoyed and maybe there is some way to solve this problem? Like maybe expedite this situation?
Her lip is really quivering now, so I ask where Gil is. She glances toward the supply closet but says, "Um, don't know. He was just here..."
I grin evilly at her and almost tell her that she really needs to keep her day job and not entertain fantasies about joining a theater troupe because she sucks big time at acting. I go to the supply closet and yank open the door. Gil is standing behind a big box. I know this because I can see him in the big mirror on the other side of the room. I walk right up to him and he looks shocked, like I am psychic or something. He looks like Liv used to look when we would play hide and seek when she was four and she would hide her eyes on her bed and think that if she couldn't see me, I couldn't see her. I will let him keep his illusions.
I am only five feet tall, so it isn't like I am hugely hovering over him,but hey...I am hovering nicely. I glare at him and tell him that I want toner by this afternoon. I don't care if he has to go skip to Office Max or wherever himself, I WANT THAT TONER.
I was promised the toner and I want it, I am clear when I say this. I say it slowly and meaningfully. He glares up at me and looks as if he might say something snotty to me. So, I decide to take a chance.
I say, "Gil, I wasn't planning to take this to Alan (Alan is head of office supplies, but he is always in meetings or at office supply seminars...I practically never see him but I know for a fact that he is an even bigger asshole than Gil) but if you don't get me that freakin' toner, I will not only make a big stink to Alan, I will also let him know that you are looking at porn during office hours. Which, by the way, is just odious."
Gil's eyes almost pop out of his head. I almost smile because like...SCORE! Instead, I hold his gaze. Gil already thinks I am psychic because I looked through a packing box and saw him, now he thinks that I have totally spied his porn stash too.
Gil looks away for a second and then tells me that he will have the toner by late this afternoon.
"Make it two canisters," I say. "We need a back up canister."
By 4:15, we had our toner. Nanette signed the requisition form and we were gold.
I told Nanette that she needs to always keep an extra toner for ALL the machines. She gave me her surly nod. Yeah, that bedroom is going to be all tidy when I get home, you bet your butt, Brittney.
Not.
But, at least I shook up Gil's ass.
And do I look like I feel guilty for yelling and waving my freak flag at a little person? Nope. Because we are all equal. We all have to eat a serving of shit now and again and it was his turn. Nobody puts Baby in a corner! Nobody messes with a righteous woman and her toner.
Now, if I could just intimidate Nanette. Maybe I could pretend to be able to read her cat's mind. Yeah.
I have the makings of a real bitch in me, yes? And I am just scratching the surface.
Don't mess with the Maria. She kicks ass and takes names, sucker.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Liv, when you choose a mate...
....I have some snoggestions (this is a family joke...we say snoggestion instead of suggestion just because we are so clever and all...)
First, I need to tell you that I am not the best person to listen to when it comes to mating.
I sincerely hope that you didn't inherit my lack of skill sets when it comes to co-habitation. I don't couple with ease. But, I am older now and with age comes wisdom. Truly, it does. When you are young, you think this is bullshit. Because older people seem kind of well....stupid. But, the truth is that it is the young twenty somethings who are well....STUPID. Age gives you perspective.
So..these are my top snoggestions for how to know if he/she will be a good mate. Things to look for. I am counting on a few readers to help me out here too. And I will also include some items suggested by your grandfather, my Da. Oh, Liv...you would have ADORED this man and he, you. It is one of the tragedies of my life that you never met.
DA'S RULES
These were written out for me and your aunties by my Da before he died. And he was YOUNG when he died, only 41 years old. How did he get so wise? My Da used the pronoun he because I don't think he ever imagined having a bi-sexual daughter, but feel free to change it to she if you need to.
1) Does he open doors for you? This may sound like not a big deal but manners are important and so is upbringing and if he was taught to open doors for a lady, he was taught by someone who had good manners.
2) What is the relationship with his mother? If he is kind this is good. But, watch out here. If he ADORES THE GROUND SHE WALKS ON and OBEYS HER WITHOUT THOUGHT, he will continue that behavior in your marriage. And do you really want to compete with his MOTHER? And if he is sneering with his mother, he will be sneering with you.
3) Is he a party boy? MOST men need to get their wild oats out. It is just a coming-of-age thing. But, if he gets drunk at a party when he knows that he needs to drive you home, he isn't thoughtful or giving. And if he insists on partying every weekend? Probably will continue this behavior after you marry, and guess who will be staying home watching the babies?
4) How is he around kids? Don't be deceived, most men are kind of nervous holding infants. We don't get the babysitting experience that you girls do. But, does he smile at babies when they are in their mother's arms? This matters. Child rearing is a two parent job. He will be the father of your children some day. Can you see this? Or does this make you cringe or laugh? If it does, go ahead and marry him if you don't want kids. Then it won't matter. If you want children, think hard before going any further.
5) Does he think you hung the moon? There are several phases in relationships. The most fun phase (and the most unnatural) phase is the one where you think that the other hangs the moon. Many people make the mistake of marrying during this phase. Don't. That phase passes. That phase is called "the onstage" phase because neither one of you are showing your true colors yet. That will come later on when you are driving somewhere and get into a fender bender. Or when he gets passed over for that promotion he wanted. Or when you get into a huge fight over whether to go to your cousin's wedding or that game that he has waited to see for months. That will tell the tale. But, after that crazy phase is over, he should STILL pretty much think that you are the best thing that ever happened to him and you, him. If not, do not marry.
Ok...Liv..those sage words were courtesy of your granddad.
I'd like to add mine. I will continue with the pronoun he just because I am pretty sure you are heterosexual. But, if you aren't, put an s in front of it and you are good to go.
1) This kind of goes along with Da's # 5...How does he handle stress?
This will matter more than you know because you will have SO much stress in your life. Hopefully, not daily, but it will be there. Furnaces break down in the middle of snowstorms, roofs leak, cars crash and your teenager WILL sneak out of the house.
How does he handle it? Does he freak out? Or worse, find a way to blame you? Those two are the ones to watch. If he is a pouter, cut him some slack. I don't know too many people who handle stress beautifully, but he should NEVER take it out on you. It sucks, what happened sucks. You are both mad, both stressed, both inclined to snap at each other, but if he verbally attacks you or blames you...he is a really bad choice. Because stress is ongoing, it never really ends. You might be one of the lucky ones and go months, even years with smooth sailing, but eventually...it hits.
2) Does he care about what you like in bed?
He almost always does at first. We all do. We all like to be good in bed. But, after you have been together for awhile, does he STILL not get that you HATE it when he sticks his tongue in your ear? Does he know that there is that place at the base of your throat that makes you swoon when he kisses it? He should because you should have LET HIM KNOW. He isn't psychic. Let him know, but if he never goes down on you but expects you to give him head all the time, then he is being selfish and this will cost him. I am blushing just writing this,thinking of you reading it, but I am trusting that by the time you read it...you will be older and not the 12 year old I see reading a book and munching on an apple as I write.
Liv, sex is important. It is your way of connecting with each other intimately. It brings you two closer and keeps you united. You may not notice the way sometimes Bing and I smile a little more softly at each other some mornings. It is because the night before we spent some time making love and re-connecting. And because she just whispered in my ear, "I love the way your neck smells like vanilla..." Sex is important.
3) Being the same sort of person is not all that important.
I have read lots of articles, etc. about how important it is to marry someone who is companionable with you. Bullshit. Not important. What IS important is support. Suppose you like sports and he hates them. That is fine. But, he DOES have to be willing to attend your games and cheer you on or let you watch your shows from time to time. Just like you have to give in now and then attend a poetry reading with him. But, having interests outside of your relationship is healthy and can be fun. Bing doesn't like to read fiction or watch documentaries. But, she listens when I go on and on at dinner about them. And I am not interested in the newest computer gadget, but I let her show me how it works (and promptly forgot it the next minute, but that doesn't matter, what matters is that I listened.) It is important, too, to find something that you CAN share. Bing and I both love football, so we have season tickets to the Husker games. We both love pie, so when one of us has had a bad day,she and I go out for a piece of pie and some good coffee and a talk. Find your football. Find your pie. And if you happen to fall in love with someone who shares all your interests, that is great. But remember...you have to have some time to yourself in the marriage. I know couples who seem joined at the hip and it works for them. But, I also knew a couple who had no life outside of each other and when she met a man at work and fell madly in love with him and left the marriage, he floundered because he was not used to entertaining himself and didn't have any outside friends.
4) How does he handle anger?
This kind of goes hand in hand with the stress factor. But, you know...we all bring different plates to the marriage table and it usually has to do with how your family handled things. In my family, we swallowed anger. It was a rarity for us to argue and fighting with my sisters was a huge NO NO. I had NO idea how to socially work through anger. I still have trouble with it. Bing, on the other hand, grew up in a family where it was ANYTHING GOES as far as anger went. The first family dinner I attended with her shocked the hell out of me. One of her sisters threw a SHOE at another one and called her a "bleached blonde slut." I was stunned. And even more stunned when, at the end of the evening, they were hugging and exchanging recipes for chicken piccata. This is why you may have noticed that when we argue, Bing tends to yell and rant and then she is FINE. Like nothing happened. Your mother, on the other hand, silently seethes and freezes up, gives Bing the silent treatment and glares at her if she tries to touch me. We both brought very different ways of dealing with anger to the marriage table. And we have spent A LOT of time helping each other deal with anger and get to a place that is workable for both of us. Bing now knows that shouting upsets me and she tries hard to rein it in. And I try hard to speak up when something bothers me instead of holding it in. We still mess up. Bing still storms out when she is mad sometimes because she wants to scream and shout and knows that this is unacceptable, so she removes herself from things until she can calm down. And me? I still clam up and then end up crying in the bathtub. But, you know...what is important is that we recognized that we both had different anger management skill sets and we tried to adapt to each other.
DO NOT EVER put up with someone who hits you. EVER. EVER. SO important, Liv.
5) Last, but not least....Follow your gut.
If it doesn't feel right, don't go forward. Even if you can't put your finger on it. Even if your family loves him or your friends say he is perfect for you. If it feels false, it is.
Mate with the one who makes your heart sing and who doesn't put up red warning flags. Follow your HEAD too. Sometimes your heart wants someone and your head knows he is wrong. And vice versa. Sometimes someone looks really good on paper, but your heart isn't engaged. If you aren't sure in both your heart and your head...DO NOT go forward.
You might feel scared. Maybe you'll feel like this is your last chance. A lot of women I know married because of that. Here is the cure for that: make sure that you like living with you. Cultivate your interests. If you love gardening, have a garden. If you love to read, stack your library. If you love math, volunteer at one of those places that help people do their taxes for free. If you are spiritual and have a deep faith in God, join a church. If you love coffee, go to that new coffee place and try it out.
I've never had a huge circle of friends, Liv. Maybe you will. But, it is important to have some. I have Harriet. You've seen us together and finding a good friend is a lot like finding a good mate (minus the sex stuff)...you'll feel it when you click. I am close to your aunties. Family is something you can't chose. But, I am lucky that I genuinely love my sisters. But, you know...it wasn't always this way. For a long, long time I was not close to Aunt Patrice and Jessie.
What I am trying to tell you is that if you have backup for yourself, you won't look for a mate to fill some gap in yourself. A mate should be a part of you, but not a crucial part. You should be perfectly able to stand on your own, but be so happy that they are there to add to your life.
I think you will be fine, Liv. I will tell you right now that the boys are going to come calling. I see that when we are out in public. You are already getting second looks. You will be tall, slim and golden haired. You are smart. You are funny. You also have something that I had when I was your age: an aloofness that makes you desirable. Believe me, I banked on this when I was in my younger years. A woman who doesn't look like she is dying to be asked out will be sought after. The part of me that didn't want or need a lid is the part of me that pretty much drove men (and a few women) wild. Yes, Liv...your Mama was an IT girl at one time. It is a very small crack in life, a small amount of time when you are young and pretty and desirable. And I enjoyed my time in the sun. But, now I am not even close to an IT girl. Now, I am a 53 year old woman who has arthritis and a droopy neck and I am doing fine. You have to be able to do fine, Liv. NEVER believe that your looks are the most important thing about you. They fade. And they fade fast.
Instead, be INTERESTING. To yourself.
And you will be fine. And take my advice about finding a mate. And your grandfather's advice. And now...my reader's advice:
So? Readers? Any advice for my Livvie?
First, I need to tell you that I am not the best person to listen to when it comes to mating.
I sincerely hope that you didn't inherit my lack of skill sets when it comes to co-habitation. I don't couple with ease. But, I am older now and with age comes wisdom. Truly, it does. When you are young, you think this is bullshit. Because older people seem kind of well....stupid. But, the truth is that it is the young twenty somethings who are well....STUPID. Age gives you perspective.
So..these are my top snoggestions for how to know if he/she will be a good mate. Things to look for. I am counting on a few readers to help me out here too. And I will also include some items suggested by your grandfather, my Da. Oh, Liv...you would have ADORED this man and he, you. It is one of the tragedies of my life that you never met.
DA'S RULES
These were written out for me and your aunties by my Da before he died. And he was YOUNG when he died, only 41 years old. How did he get so wise? My Da used the pronoun he because I don't think he ever imagined having a bi-sexual daughter, but feel free to change it to she if you need to.
1) Does he open doors for you? This may sound like not a big deal but manners are important and so is upbringing and if he was taught to open doors for a lady, he was taught by someone who had good manners.
2) What is the relationship with his mother? If he is kind this is good. But, watch out here. If he ADORES THE GROUND SHE WALKS ON and OBEYS HER WITHOUT THOUGHT, he will continue that behavior in your marriage. And do you really want to compete with his MOTHER? And if he is sneering with his mother, he will be sneering with you.
3) Is he a party boy? MOST men need to get their wild oats out. It is just a coming-of-age thing. But, if he gets drunk at a party when he knows that he needs to drive you home, he isn't thoughtful or giving. And if he insists on partying every weekend? Probably will continue this behavior after you marry, and guess who will be staying home watching the babies?
4) How is he around kids? Don't be deceived, most men are kind of nervous holding infants. We don't get the babysitting experience that you girls do. But, does he smile at babies when they are in their mother's arms? This matters. Child rearing is a two parent job. He will be the father of your children some day. Can you see this? Or does this make you cringe or laugh? If it does, go ahead and marry him if you don't want kids. Then it won't matter. If you want children, think hard before going any further.
5) Does he think you hung the moon? There are several phases in relationships. The most fun phase (and the most unnatural) phase is the one where you think that the other hangs the moon. Many people make the mistake of marrying during this phase. Don't. That phase passes. That phase is called "the onstage" phase because neither one of you are showing your true colors yet. That will come later on when you are driving somewhere and get into a fender bender. Or when he gets passed over for that promotion he wanted. Or when you get into a huge fight over whether to go to your cousin's wedding or that game that he has waited to see for months. That will tell the tale. But, after that crazy phase is over, he should STILL pretty much think that you are the best thing that ever happened to him and you, him. If not, do not marry.
Ok...Liv..those sage words were courtesy of your granddad.
I'd like to add mine. I will continue with the pronoun he just because I am pretty sure you are heterosexual. But, if you aren't, put an s in front of it and you are good to go.
1) This kind of goes along with Da's # 5...How does he handle stress?
This will matter more than you know because you will have SO much stress in your life. Hopefully, not daily, but it will be there. Furnaces break down in the middle of snowstorms, roofs leak, cars crash and your teenager WILL sneak out of the house.
How does he handle it? Does he freak out? Or worse, find a way to blame you? Those two are the ones to watch. If he is a pouter, cut him some slack. I don't know too many people who handle stress beautifully, but he should NEVER take it out on you. It sucks, what happened sucks. You are both mad, both stressed, both inclined to snap at each other, but if he verbally attacks you or blames you...he is a really bad choice. Because stress is ongoing, it never really ends. You might be one of the lucky ones and go months, even years with smooth sailing, but eventually...it hits.
2) Does he care about what you like in bed?
He almost always does at first. We all do. We all like to be good in bed. But, after you have been together for awhile, does he STILL not get that you HATE it when he sticks his tongue in your ear? Does he know that there is that place at the base of your throat that makes you swoon when he kisses it? He should because you should have LET HIM KNOW. He isn't psychic. Let him know, but if he never goes down on you but expects you to give him head all the time, then he is being selfish and this will cost him. I am blushing just writing this,thinking of you reading it, but I am trusting that by the time you read it...you will be older and not the 12 year old I see reading a book and munching on an apple as I write.
Liv, sex is important. It is your way of connecting with each other intimately. It brings you two closer and keeps you united. You may not notice the way sometimes Bing and I smile a little more softly at each other some mornings. It is because the night before we spent some time making love and re-connecting. And because she just whispered in my ear, "I love the way your neck smells like vanilla..." Sex is important.
3) Being the same sort of person is not all that important.
I have read lots of articles, etc. about how important it is to marry someone who is companionable with you. Bullshit. Not important. What IS important is support. Suppose you like sports and he hates them. That is fine. But, he DOES have to be willing to attend your games and cheer you on or let you watch your shows from time to time. Just like you have to give in now and then attend a poetry reading with him. But, having interests outside of your relationship is healthy and can be fun. Bing doesn't like to read fiction or watch documentaries. But, she listens when I go on and on at dinner about them. And I am not interested in the newest computer gadget, but I let her show me how it works (and promptly forgot it the next minute, but that doesn't matter, what matters is that I listened.) It is important, too, to find something that you CAN share. Bing and I both love football, so we have season tickets to the Husker games. We both love pie, so when one of us has had a bad day,she and I go out for a piece of pie and some good coffee and a talk. Find your football. Find your pie. And if you happen to fall in love with someone who shares all your interests, that is great. But remember...you have to have some time to yourself in the marriage. I know couples who seem joined at the hip and it works for them. But, I also knew a couple who had no life outside of each other and when she met a man at work and fell madly in love with him and left the marriage, he floundered because he was not used to entertaining himself and didn't have any outside friends.
4) How does he handle anger?
This kind of goes hand in hand with the stress factor. But, you know...we all bring different plates to the marriage table and it usually has to do with how your family handled things. In my family, we swallowed anger. It was a rarity for us to argue and fighting with my sisters was a huge NO NO. I had NO idea how to socially work through anger. I still have trouble with it. Bing, on the other hand, grew up in a family where it was ANYTHING GOES as far as anger went. The first family dinner I attended with her shocked the hell out of me. One of her sisters threw a SHOE at another one and called her a "bleached blonde slut." I was stunned. And even more stunned when, at the end of the evening, they were hugging and exchanging recipes for chicken piccata. This is why you may have noticed that when we argue, Bing tends to yell and rant and then she is FINE. Like nothing happened. Your mother, on the other hand, silently seethes and freezes up, gives Bing the silent treatment and glares at her if she tries to touch me. We both brought very different ways of dealing with anger to the marriage table. And we have spent A LOT of time helping each other deal with anger and get to a place that is workable for both of us. Bing now knows that shouting upsets me and she tries hard to rein it in. And I try hard to speak up when something bothers me instead of holding it in. We still mess up. Bing still storms out when she is mad sometimes because she wants to scream and shout and knows that this is unacceptable, so she removes herself from things until she can calm down. And me? I still clam up and then end up crying in the bathtub. But, you know...what is important is that we recognized that we both had different anger management skill sets and we tried to adapt to each other.
DO NOT EVER put up with someone who hits you. EVER. EVER. SO important, Liv.
5) Last, but not least....Follow your gut.
If it doesn't feel right, don't go forward. Even if you can't put your finger on it. Even if your family loves him or your friends say he is perfect for you. If it feels false, it is.
Mate with the one who makes your heart sing and who doesn't put up red warning flags. Follow your HEAD too. Sometimes your heart wants someone and your head knows he is wrong. And vice versa. Sometimes someone looks really good on paper, but your heart isn't engaged. If you aren't sure in both your heart and your head...DO NOT go forward.
You might feel scared. Maybe you'll feel like this is your last chance. A lot of women I know married because of that. Here is the cure for that: make sure that you like living with you. Cultivate your interests. If you love gardening, have a garden. If you love to read, stack your library. If you love math, volunteer at one of those places that help people do their taxes for free. If you are spiritual and have a deep faith in God, join a church. If you love coffee, go to that new coffee place and try it out.
I've never had a huge circle of friends, Liv. Maybe you will. But, it is important to have some. I have Harriet. You've seen us together and finding a good friend is a lot like finding a good mate (minus the sex stuff)...you'll feel it when you click. I am close to your aunties. Family is something you can't chose. But, I am lucky that I genuinely love my sisters. But, you know...it wasn't always this way. For a long, long time I was not close to Aunt Patrice and Jessie.
What I am trying to tell you is that if you have backup for yourself, you won't look for a mate to fill some gap in yourself. A mate should be a part of you, but not a crucial part. You should be perfectly able to stand on your own, but be so happy that they are there to add to your life.
I think you will be fine, Liv. I will tell you right now that the boys are going to come calling. I see that when we are out in public. You are already getting second looks. You will be tall, slim and golden haired. You are smart. You are funny. You also have something that I had when I was your age: an aloofness that makes you desirable. Believe me, I banked on this when I was in my younger years. A woman who doesn't look like she is dying to be asked out will be sought after. The part of me that didn't want or need a lid is the part of me that pretty much drove men (and a few women) wild. Yes, Liv...your Mama was an IT girl at one time. It is a very small crack in life, a small amount of time when you are young and pretty and desirable. And I enjoyed my time in the sun. But, now I am not even close to an IT girl. Now, I am a 53 year old woman who has arthritis and a droopy neck and I am doing fine. You have to be able to do fine, Liv. NEVER believe that your looks are the most important thing about you. They fade. And they fade fast.
Instead, be INTERESTING. To yourself.
And you will be fine. And take my advice about finding a mate. And your grandfather's advice. And now...my reader's advice:
So? Readers? Any advice for my Livvie?
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Nothing better
A chilly Saturday.
A packed stadium in Lincoln, Ne.
A sea of red, including me in my jeans, red sweatshirt and red baseball cap. Bing and Liv dressed identically.
We are up by 3 at halftime but man....those Washington Huskies are freakin' TOUGH. This is still anyone's game.
Am carraaazzzzy about Taylor Martinez. And Abdullah. And Green. But...Jared Crick takes my heart each and every time.
There is ham and bean soup cooking in the crock pot at home.
A freshly baked pumpkin pie on the counter made with one of my early pumpkins from my own yard.
Rolls to be heated.
Diet vanilla Pepsi in the fridge.
Driving to the game, Liv said, "Mother, look. There are already some trees turning."
I looked. There were.
Can hardly believe this. Not even the end of September yet. The Farmer's Almanac says to prepare for a frigid winter. The Farmer's Almanac is uncannily right nearly all the time.
It was an awful summer....so hot and humid. No soft summer breezes, just gasping for breath. But, I am not anxious for autumn yet. The house is holding at 67 degrees but I will not turn on the boiler.
Next week is supposed to be warmer, in the high 60's, low 70's.
All of my vegetables from the garden have been harvested save for one lone tomato plant who got a late start. One of my heirloom Nebraska Galas. It stand alone in the plowed over garden, gallantly working in the cool air to produce more tomatoes. We eat them like apples, they are that delicious.
We will have a couple with the ham and bean soup, sliced and sprinkled with salt and vinegar.
I love that tomato plant. It bloomed late, but refuses to give up. The only produce left in my garden are the pumpkins, so it doesn't have much company. But, that's ok. It stands alone in the cool late September sun, pushing hard to bring nutrients up it's stem to feed it's tomatoes. It is no quitter. I tell Liv to see herself like that tomato plant. No coward's heart is hers.
In the meantime, we drink hot coffee in the stands, hot cocoa for Liv. She leans into me under our red Husker blanket.
"Mama," she says, "I love Saturday Husker games with you and Bing. I love the smell of football on the field and our swirling sea of red."
I smile at her and think that my scientific daughter may just have a poet's soul.
I am happy. Time to get back to the game. Time for the crunch of helmets, the ooompph of bodies bracing against each other.
Tonight, in bed, I will cuddle up to my wife and put my cold nose on her cheek and she will laugh and pull me in as close to her as she can. I will slowly feel the electric blanket warm us and then I will reach across to cup her breast in my hand and feel her soft intake of breath. I will find her nipple with my tongue and bask in the power I have over her in this moment, the stirring of the excitement, our legs entangling and breathing quickening.
These moments in time will pass before my eyes when I am dying. The flash of red in this football stadium, my lone tomato plant, a perfect bowl of ham and bean soup, my daughter's upturned face and jack o'lantern smile and Bing. Always Bing. Driving and telling us funny stories about her cousin Rich, reaching over to touch my knee, smiling at me.
And me, sitting in the car, on the bleachers, at the kitchen table...or stretching my body taut on top of hers.
I will not forget this day.
Enough sentimental musing. Back to the game.
A packed stadium in Lincoln, Ne.
A sea of red, including me in my jeans, red sweatshirt and red baseball cap. Bing and Liv dressed identically.
We are up by 3 at halftime but man....those Washington Huskies are freakin' TOUGH. This is still anyone's game.
Am carraaazzzzy about Taylor Martinez. And Abdullah. And Green. But...Jared Crick takes my heart each and every time.
There is ham and bean soup cooking in the crock pot at home.
A freshly baked pumpkin pie on the counter made with one of my early pumpkins from my own yard.
Rolls to be heated.
Diet vanilla Pepsi in the fridge.
Driving to the game, Liv said, "Mother, look. There are already some trees turning."
I looked. There were.
Can hardly believe this. Not even the end of September yet. The Farmer's Almanac says to prepare for a frigid winter. The Farmer's Almanac is uncannily right nearly all the time.
It was an awful summer....so hot and humid. No soft summer breezes, just gasping for breath. But, I am not anxious for autumn yet. The house is holding at 67 degrees but I will not turn on the boiler.
Next week is supposed to be warmer, in the high 60's, low 70's.
All of my vegetables from the garden have been harvested save for one lone tomato plant who got a late start. One of my heirloom Nebraska Galas. It stand alone in the plowed over garden, gallantly working in the cool air to produce more tomatoes. We eat them like apples, they are that delicious.
We will have a couple with the ham and bean soup, sliced and sprinkled with salt and vinegar.
I love that tomato plant. It bloomed late, but refuses to give up. The only produce left in my garden are the pumpkins, so it doesn't have much company. But, that's ok. It stands alone in the cool late September sun, pushing hard to bring nutrients up it's stem to feed it's tomatoes. It is no quitter. I tell Liv to see herself like that tomato plant. No coward's heart is hers.
In the meantime, we drink hot coffee in the stands, hot cocoa for Liv. She leans into me under our red Husker blanket.
"Mama," she says, "I love Saturday Husker games with you and Bing. I love the smell of football on the field and our swirling sea of red."
I smile at her and think that my scientific daughter may just have a poet's soul.
I am happy. Time to get back to the game. Time for the crunch of helmets, the ooompph of bodies bracing against each other.
Tonight, in bed, I will cuddle up to my wife and put my cold nose on her cheek and she will laugh and pull me in as close to her as she can. I will slowly feel the electric blanket warm us and then I will reach across to cup her breast in my hand and feel her soft intake of breath. I will find her nipple with my tongue and bask in the power I have over her in this moment, the stirring of the excitement, our legs entangling and breathing quickening.
These moments in time will pass before my eyes when I am dying. The flash of red in this football stadium, my lone tomato plant, a perfect bowl of ham and bean soup, my daughter's upturned face and jack o'lantern smile and Bing. Always Bing. Driving and telling us funny stories about her cousin Rich, reaching over to touch my knee, smiling at me.
And me, sitting in the car, on the bleachers, at the kitchen table...or stretching my body taut on top of hers.
I will not forget this day.
Enough sentimental musing. Back to the game.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Meet my office mates....
I don't think I have ever really written much about any of the people in my office except for Nanette, my secretary from hell...so I will try to describe them to you.
PIPER AND JULIE
Piper and Julie were a duo before I joined their office and made a trio. Julie is the one who decided to open shop and she talked Piper into joining with her. Julie specializes in autism spectrum disorders while Piper specialized in child psychology. I'm even farther off the grid as I specialized in grief counseling but had done some minor work with autistic children. I'm not sure how I ended up in this office, but Julie swears that I fit right in and I am the one who deals with all the children who are suffering from some sort of grief whether it be from a death in the family to a molestation.
Julie reminds me of Big Bird. She even has sort of a high shrill voice. She is extremely tall, nearly 6 feet and very, very thin. Not anorexic thin, but close. She has Ellen Degeneres hair. Her mother was her secretary until last year when she retired. Julie has NEVER lived alone, has lived with her mother in the same apartment they've had since her father abandoned them when she was five. Julie is in love for about the millionth time in her life and this time she swears up and down and sideways that he is THE ONE. Piper and I are holding our applause until he stays put for a year since Julie's boyfriends tend to leave after 6 months. But, you know...this one seems to be a good fit with her...so maybe, just maybe this dog can hunt. Julie is my favorite in our office and my confidante, my partner in crime and is Heckle to my Jeckle and Ethel to my Lucy. We are the same age, the same political party and get along amazingly well. I knew Julie in med school briefly but lost track of her when I moved to Maryland for a short while. When we ran into each other at a medical conference over a decade later, she convinced me to join her office since they sorely needed a third person. I've never regretted it. Julie is goofy. She can mimic Will Geer as Grandpa Walton, that kid who used to say, "DY NO MITE!" from that 80's show and she does such a perfect Pee Wee Herman that I have almost peed my pants a few times from laughing. She's also one of the most caring, tender medical practitioners that I have ever met.
Piper is a few years older than we are and I thought I had her all figured out until she surprised me by showing her freak flag. Piper is Jewish and her husband was some sort of electrical engineer genius so they are wealthy. They have two children who are grown, married and have made them grandparents. Piper looks like she would be snooty and I kind of thought she was for a while, but then she confessed to me once in a car that she would fuck Keith Urban if given the chance. She also makes me toast with cinnamon and sugar on it when my blood sugar is low and I haven't noticed. She and I like the same movies and books and she is even more liberal than I am and that is pretty liberal, dudes. Piper tends to work with the older children while Julie works with the younger ones and I deal with the ones who have special grief needs. Piper admits that she dislikes dealing with crying babies or most children under the age of seven. "Once they are potty trained and I don't have to tie their shoes, I'm jiggy with it," she has said. Piper is fun. Not as fun as Julie, but fun. And she can do all these 60's dances like the mashed potato and the jive and the real twist. She has tried unsuccessfully to teach Julie and I to do them but we are both uncoordinated and not good students. Piper and her husband go on cruises a lot or go visit their "grandbabies" in New York and Chicago frequently. She never has to use up vacation days because she hasn't used them.
Betsy.
Betsy was hired in the Spring. She is our office manager and we all wonder how we got along without her. She is 40, but I am not kidding, could pass for 28. The first time she told me that she had two teenaged sons, I laughed..thought she was kidding. She is married to a high school math teacher whom Bing knows and says is one of the best in the district. I love Betsy even though she is kind of a holy roller and has psalms passages and bible verses up on her walls. She has a sarcastic sense of humor that mirrors mine and we often entertain each other. We have practically nothing in common except that we both love to read. But, she likes memoirs and I like fiction. We often eat our lunches together. She is tall, thin and has gorgeous blonde hair. She wears NO makeup and looks like some sort of Swedish model. Her husband looks like Gomer Pyle. But seeing them together is seeing a perfect fit. Betsy is incredibly organized, can fix almost anything, manages all of our billing and accounts, and is a good sport, a team player. She has no problem making coffee or going on sandwich runs. She has only been cross with me once and that is when she asked me to please stop saying the word fuck around her because she found it vulgar. I try hard to accommodate her, but often fail and when I do, she just frowns and looks at the floor while I scramble around apologizing.
Milagros
Milagros used to be one of our secretaries, but she went to nursing school at night and earned her nursing degree and now she is our office nurse. Since we specialize in autism spectrum disorders, she mostly weighs children and notifies us if one seems malnourished or in need of serious medical attention. She also is on the phone a lot dealing with parents who need their children's meds adjusted. Milagros, like Betsy, is drop dead gorgeous...but instead of being blonde and blue eyed, she is Hispanic and looks like a young Jennifer Lopez. She is small, but curvy. She is generally easy going, but if you get her mad, she gets REALLY, REALLY MAD. She is married to her her high school sweetheart. They married the DAY after they both graduated high school. They have 5 children under the age of ten and they are every one of them, hooligans. 4 boys and 1 girl. Her husband is a night watchman and he comes to pick her up in the evenings because they share a car, so he brings all the kids with him. They are responsible for stopping up our toilet not once, not twice, not thrice but FOUR times. They also have broken our coffee maker and knocked over several trash cans. I love Milagros but her children are hellions.
THE SECRETARIES
1) Bambi
2) Cathy
3) Nanette
Bambi is Piper's secretary and has been for years. Bambi looks exactly like you would think she would. She is tallish, blondish and fine featured. She has a soft hushy voice. She tends to be sort of absent minded. She makes coffee and then forgets the rule about IF YOU MAKE IT, YOU CLEAN IT UP. Her desk is a total disaster area. I have no idea how she gets anything done but she does it. She has two children, aged 4 and 2 and has photos of them everywhere. She talks a lot about them and yes, I get bored. I tend to agree that most people only want to know so much about your kids and if they aren't related, even less so. Bambi's husband used to be a Nebraska Cornhusker but now he sells lawn furniture. She used to be a Nebraska Cornhusker's cheerleader. She is always on a diet but you can usually find a half eaten snickers bar on her desk. She does things that are just a little too cutesy for my taste. Like she dressed up as Cinderella last year for Halloween AT THE OFFICE. I like Bambi, I don't like her a whole bunch, though.
Cathy is Julie's secretary. She came aboard last year after Julie's mother retired. Cathy is an incredibly good secretary. She is neat as a pin. She is small and mousey looking but she has a spine, that one. She may look like she wouldn't say boo but she would not only say boo, she would also say a lot more. Cathy didn't marry until a couple of years ago when she married her boss of more than ten years when she worked at a different company. She didn't feel like she wanted to be his secretary after they married, but she still loves to be one, so she took a job with us. She inherited her husband's four kids who live with them every other week as part of his divorce settlement. Yes. She was the "other woman" and yes, she was not only the "other woman" but his secretary. I was surprised when Julie told me that because Cathy does not look like I would imagine a husband stealing secretary would look like. She doesn't fit the bill. And the more I got to know her, the less I thought of her in that vein. I think she is a woman who fell in love with a man who was in an unhappy marriage and just happened to be her boss. Cathy nurtures her husband and his children about as much as she nurtures us. She uses her sick days to stay home with him when he has a cold (he is such a typical guy...catches a cold and acts like the world is ending) and bakes cookies for his kid's turn at bringing treats to soccer. She has these huge family holiday dinners that include 50-60 people and doesn't blink an eye or freak out like I would. She is kind to animals and this is good since they have two dogs, three cats, a hamster, four sharkfish, a turtle who lives in her guest room bathtub and four white mice. Whenever we have food day at work, she brings the best of the best. Everyone gets a personally baked cake from her on their birthday and she does her homework about it. She took the time to find out that my favorite cake was angel food with drippy lemon icing and then made one so delicious that my mouth is watering just remembering it. Cathy and I are probably the least likely to discuss our personal lives at work, so I don't know a lot about her emotionally. But, she does her job well and is a valued team player and that matters a lot to me.
Nanette
Well, you have heard me bitch about her too many times already, so I won't say much. She is in her 70's, threatens to quit regularly and my fingers are crossed that maybe someday she will keep her word. Nanette is always either sick, getting sick, is recovering or just not feeling all that great. She coughs and DOES NOT cover her mouth even though I have had several discussions about this with her. She does not get along with Bambi or Cathy and refuses to try, thinks that since she is the oldest, she has seniority in all things. She is rude to patients, seldom smiles and when she does she looks scary and scares the children. She seldom talks except to complain. It is too cold outside. She didn't sleep well because that god damned grass smoking neighbor of hers had friends over too late and then she was up and couldn't go back to sleep. Her brother and sister in law are cretins. She loves her cat and that is about it. I hired her because she had a lot of experience in dealing with government forms and since we do lots of work with WIC families, she knew the ins and outs of all the forms. Well, Cathy quickly learned the ropes and now we could do without Nanette and be fine but I just can't seem to fire her. And she never does anything so heinous that I feel like I could fire her and be okay with it. She has this habit of smart mouthing everyone,including me and then just when we are ready to let her have it, she retreats and is quiet and mannerly for a few days. It's all a ruse. She always comes back with her sour face and pinched mouth. Nanette is a thorn in my side. I am quite certain that one day I will be pushed hard enough to fire her, but hopefully she will quit first. I don't relish putting an elderly woman out of work.
Corona
Corona is thejanitor building engineer on our floor. He is responsible for emptying our waste paper baskets, vacuuming and keeping our break room and bathroom clean. I don't see a lot of Corona since he comes to work at 3 and I leave an hour or two later. But, I like Corona. He always says, "Goodnight, Miss Maria" and keeps everything ship shape. Once when I had a flat tire, he changed it for me. He likes Jones soda so we keep them in our break room fridge just for him. Sometimes on food days, he participates and has his wife bake these Mexican pastries that are so good that it is like eating a cloud that is crispy on the outside and soft as butter on the inside. He doesn't speak much English and Milagros is the only one who regularly talks to him. She says that he is a football nut and has a high school son whom he worries about because he is showing interest in joining a gang. When I bring Liv to the office, he smiles hugely at her and pretends to punch her arm. Not sure what that is about, but she likes it.
Last but not least is: Ernesto
Ernesto is the building doorman. He is not there in the mornings when I arrive. That is Mike. Mike is nondescript and boring. He barely nods when I walk by and while he watches us all walk through the security port and he sees my various purses go down the belt, he rarely even says good morning. But, Ernesto...wow. He is in his late 70's, is a retired cop and is small and ropey, but strong enough to carry everyone's boxes to their cars. Since we don't have to go through the security port on our way out, he holds the front door for everyone and chats. There must be 400 people in my building and he knows ALL of our names. He and I share a love of Stephen King and Sookie Stackhouse novels and we compare notes. He often asks after Liv and the only time I have seen him without a smile on his face was the day that he and his wife had to put their rottweiler to sleep because he was so old and arthritic that he could barely walk and it pained them to see him hurting.
I've left out a lot of people. There are the cafeteria servers and cashiers. The people on the fifth floor who handle all the requisitions for office supplies. They are a good story, though and I might use a new blog post on them. I think I will call it The Battle For Fax Machine Toner or How Maria Almost Decked The Guy On The Third Floor Who Hoarded Toner...
Yeah, next time. Next time.
So...tell me something about one person you work with. Or not. Your choice. And you know, I wonder what all the people I wrote about would write if they were describing ME. Now that would be interesting, yes?
What do you think? Think I'm well liked? Not so much? Detested? Liked a little bit?
PIPER AND JULIE
Piper and Julie were a duo before I joined their office and made a trio. Julie is the one who decided to open shop and she talked Piper into joining with her. Julie specializes in autism spectrum disorders while Piper specialized in child psychology. I'm even farther off the grid as I specialized in grief counseling but had done some minor work with autistic children. I'm not sure how I ended up in this office, but Julie swears that I fit right in and I am the one who deals with all the children who are suffering from some sort of grief whether it be from a death in the family to a molestation.
Julie reminds me of Big Bird. She even has sort of a high shrill voice. She is extremely tall, nearly 6 feet and very, very thin. Not anorexic thin, but close. She has Ellen Degeneres hair. Her mother was her secretary until last year when she retired. Julie has NEVER lived alone, has lived with her mother in the same apartment they've had since her father abandoned them when she was five. Julie is in love for about the millionth time in her life and this time she swears up and down and sideways that he is THE ONE. Piper and I are holding our applause until he stays put for a year since Julie's boyfriends tend to leave after 6 months. But, you know...this one seems to be a good fit with her...so maybe, just maybe this dog can hunt. Julie is my favorite in our office and my confidante, my partner in crime and is Heckle to my Jeckle and Ethel to my Lucy. We are the same age, the same political party and get along amazingly well. I knew Julie in med school briefly but lost track of her when I moved to Maryland for a short while. When we ran into each other at a medical conference over a decade later, she convinced me to join her office since they sorely needed a third person. I've never regretted it. Julie is goofy. She can mimic Will Geer as Grandpa Walton, that kid who used to say, "DY NO MITE!" from that 80's show and she does such a perfect Pee Wee Herman that I have almost peed my pants a few times from laughing. She's also one of the most caring, tender medical practitioners that I have ever met.
Piper is a few years older than we are and I thought I had her all figured out until she surprised me by showing her freak flag. Piper is Jewish and her husband was some sort of electrical engineer genius so they are wealthy. They have two children who are grown, married and have made them grandparents. Piper looks like she would be snooty and I kind of thought she was for a while, but then she confessed to me once in a car that she would fuck Keith Urban if given the chance. She also makes me toast with cinnamon and sugar on it when my blood sugar is low and I haven't noticed. She and I like the same movies and books and she is even more liberal than I am and that is pretty liberal, dudes. Piper tends to work with the older children while Julie works with the younger ones and I deal with the ones who have special grief needs. Piper admits that she dislikes dealing with crying babies or most children under the age of seven. "Once they are potty trained and I don't have to tie their shoes, I'm jiggy with it," she has said. Piper is fun. Not as fun as Julie, but fun. And she can do all these 60's dances like the mashed potato and the jive and the real twist. She has tried unsuccessfully to teach Julie and I to do them but we are both uncoordinated and not good students. Piper and her husband go on cruises a lot or go visit their "grandbabies" in New York and Chicago frequently. She never has to use up vacation days because she hasn't used them.
Betsy.
Betsy was hired in the Spring. She is our office manager and we all wonder how we got along without her. She is 40, but I am not kidding, could pass for 28. The first time she told me that she had two teenaged sons, I laughed..thought she was kidding. She is married to a high school math teacher whom Bing knows and says is one of the best in the district. I love Betsy even though she is kind of a holy roller and has psalms passages and bible verses up on her walls. She has a sarcastic sense of humor that mirrors mine and we often entertain each other. We have practically nothing in common except that we both love to read. But, she likes memoirs and I like fiction. We often eat our lunches together. She is tall, thin and has gorgeous blonde hair. She wears NO makeup and looks like some sort of Swedish model. Her husband looks like Gomer Pyle. But seeing them together is seeing a perfect fit. Betsy is incredibly organized, can fix almost anything, manages all of our billing and accounts, and is a good sport, a team player. She has no problem making coffee or going on sandwich runs. She has only been cross with me once and that is when she asked me to please stop saying the word fuck around her because she found it vulgar. I try hard to accommodate her, but often fail and when I do, she just frowns and looks at the floor while I scramble around apologizing.
Milagros
Milagros used to be one of our secretaries, but she went to nursing school at night and earned her nursing degree and now she is our office nurse. Since we specialize in autism spectrum disorders, she mostly weighs children and notifies us if one seems malnourished or in need of serious medical attention. She also is on the phone a lot dealing with parents who need their children's meds adjusted. Milagros, like Betsy, is drop dead gorgeous...but instead of being blonde and blue eyed, she is Hispanic and looks like a young Jennifer Lopez. She is small, but curvy. She is generally easy going, but if you get her mad, she gets REALLY, REALLY MAD. She is married to her her high school sweetheart. They married the DAY after they both graduated high school. They have 5 children under the age of ten and they are every one of them, hooligans. 4 boys and 1 girl. Her husband is a night watchman and he comes to pick her up in the evenings because they share a car, so he brings all the kids with him. They are responsible for stopping up our toilet not once, not twice, not thrice but FOUR times. They also have broken our coffee maker and knocked over several trash cans. I love Milagros but her children are hellions.
THE SECRETARIES
1) Bambi
2) Cathy
3) Nanette
Bambi is Piper's secretary and has been for years. Bambi looks exactly like you would think she would. She is tallish, blondish and fine featured. She has a soft hushy voice. She tends to be sort of absent minded. She makes coffee and then forgets the rule about IF YOU MAKE IT, YOU CLEAN IT UP. Her desk is a total disaster area. I have no idea how she gets anything done but she does it. She has two children, aged 4 and 2 and has photos of them everywhere. She talks a lot about them and yes, I get bored. I tend to agree that most people only want to know so much about your kids and if they aren't related, even less so. Bambi's husband used to be a Nebraska Cornhusker but now he sells lawn furniture. She used to be a Nebraska Cornhusker's cheerleader. She is always on a diet but you can usually find a half eaten snickers bar on her desk. She does things that are just a little too cutesy for my taste. Like she dressed up as Cinderella last year for Halloween AT THE OFFICE. I like Bambi, I don't like her a whole bunch, though.
Cathy is Julie's secretary. She came aboard last year after Julie's mother retired. Cathy is an incredibly good secretary. She is neat as a pin. She is small and mousey looking but she has a spine, that one. She may look like she wouldn't say boo but she would not only say boo, she would also say a lot more. Cathy didn't marry until a couple of years ago when she married her boss of more than ten years when she worked at a different company. She didn't feel like she wanted to be his secretary after they married, but she still loves to be one, so she took a job with us. She inherited her husband's four kids who live with them every other week as part of his divorce settlement. Yes. She was the "other woman" and yes, she was not only the "other woman" but his secretary. I was surprised when Julie told me that because Cathy does not look like I would imagine a husband stealing secretary would look like. She doesn't fit the bill. And the more I got to know her, the less I thought of her in that vein. I think she is a woman who fell in love with a man who was in an unhappy marriage and just happened to be her boss. Cathy nurtures her husband and his children about as much as she nurtures us. She uses her sick days to stay home with him when he has a cold (he is such a typical guy...catches a cold and acts like the world is ending) and bakes cookies for his kid's turn at bringing treats to soccer. She has these huge family holiday dinners that include 50-60 people and doesn't blink an eye or freak out like I would. She is kind to animals and this is good since they have two dogs, three cats, a hamster, four sharkfish, a turtle who lives in her guest room bathtub and four white mice. Whenever we have food day at work, she brings the best of the best. Everyone gets a personally baked cake from her on their birthday and she does her homework about it. She took the time to find out that my favorite cake was angel food with drippy lemon icing and then made one so delicious that my mouth is watering just remembering it. Cathy and I are probably the least likely to discuss our personal lives at work, so I don't know a lot about her emotionally. But, she does her job well and is a valued team player and that matters a lot to me.
Nanette
Well, you have heard me bitch about her too many times already, so I won't say much. She is in her 70's, threatens to quit regularly and my fingers are crossed that maybe someday she will keep her word. Nanette is always either sick, getting sick, is recovering or just not feeling all that great. She coughs and DOES NOT cover her mouth even though I have had several discussions about this with her. She does not get along with Bambi or Cathy and refuses to try, thinks that since she is the oldest, she has seniority in all things. She is rude to patients, seldom smiles and when she does she looks scary and scares the children. She seldom talks except to complain. It is too cold outside. She didn't sleep well because that god damned grass smoking neighbor of hers had friends over too late and then she was up and couldn't go back to sleep. Her brother and sister in law are cretins. She loves her cat and that is about it. I hired her because she had a lot of experience in dealing with government forms and since we do lots of work with WIC families, she knew the ins and outs of all the forms. Well, Cathy quickly learned the ropes and now we could do without Nanette and be fine but I just can't seem to fire her. And she never does anything so heinous that I feel like I could fire her and be okay with it. She has this habit of smart mouthing everyone,including me and then just when we are ready to let her have it, she retreats and is quiet and mannerly for a few days. It's all a ruse. She always comes back with her sour face and pinched mouth. Nanette is a thorn in my side. I am quite certain that one day I will be pushed hard enough to fire her, but hopefully she will quit first. I don't relish putting an elderly woman out of work.
Corona
Corona is the
Last but not least is: Ernesto
Ernesto is the building doorman. He is not there in the mornings when I arrive. That is Mike. Mike is nondescript and boring. He barely nods when I walk by and while he watches us all walk through the security port and he sees my various purses go down the belt, he rarely even says good morning. But, Ernesto...wow. He is in his late 70's, is a retired cop and is small and ropey, but strong enough to carry everyone's boxes to their cars. Since we don't have to go through the security port on our way out, he holds the front door for everyone and chats. There must be 400 people in my building and he knows ALL of our names. He and I share a love of Stephen King and Sookie Stackhouse novels and we compare notes. He often asks after Liv and the only time I have seen him without a smile on his face was the day that he and his wife had to put their rottweiler to sleep because he was so old and arthritic that he could barely walk and it pained them to see him hurting.
I've left out a lot of people. There are the cafeteria servers and cashiers. The people on the fifth floor who handle all the requisitions for office supplies. They are a good story, though and I might use a new blog post on them. I think I will call it The Battle For Fax Machine Toner or How Maria Almost Decked The Guy On The Third Floor Who Hoarded Toner...
Yeah, next time. Next time.
So...tell me something about one person you work with. Or not. Your choice. And you know, I wonder what all the people I wrote about would write if they were describing ME. Now that would be interesting, yes?
What do you think? Think I'm well liked? Not so much? Detested? Liked a little bit?
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Meme# 5009
Stolen from one of my favorite bloggers: Jason.
1) Using what's in your fridge right now, what sort of meal would you be able to make for guests who are knocking on your door this very minute?
To be honest, if I had a fully stocked fridge, I would be hard put to make a decent dinner. I am not the best of cooks. But, let's see...we have some deli ham and lots of cheese...there's a pie shell in the freezer and some cream..I could make a ham and cheese quiche. We also have some really good pecan bread that makes for delicious toast. Lots and lots of veggies from my garden's harvest, so I could have a nice veggie plate. No wine, though. :( But, I can make coffee and we do have milk, green tea and diet Jones soda. For dessert? Hmmm. There's a pint of the new banana offering from Ben and Jerry's (which is yucky, in my opinion, so I would skip it...more for everyone else...) but with only a pint, everyone could only get one small scoop. But, it would do.
2) What is something about yourself that you hope you will change but probably never will?
My inability to be a good marriage partner. I try, seriously, I do. I'm just not adept at being in a relationship. I don't enjoy compromising and that is a huge part of co-habitation with a partner. I am not particularly sexual. I could honestly go without sex and be just fine. And it has nothing to do with my partner. I'm very attracted to her, think she is sexy, etc. I just have a very low functioning libido. Even when I was younger and everyone was a horn dog, I was just a half horn dog. I also am not good at sharing my feelings or doing all those things that you need to do to remain close in a marriage. Bing does ALL the heavy lifting in our relationship. She keeps it up and running. I just concentrate on walking the walk and hoping that it is enough.
3) What is something about yourself that you hope will never change?
My ability to parent. I am good at it. I always figured that since I sucked at relationships that maybe I would suck at parenting too. But, they are two very different beasts. And I am not kidding when I say that I had the ability to parent the SECOND that Liv was born. I was one of those born parents. Caring for her, loving her, it all came second nature to me. I think this has a lot to do with my Da. I only had him for the first eight years of my life, but I knew that I was deeply loved and when Liv was born, I told myself that if I did half as good a job as my Da did, I would be okay. Liv and I have an almost identical relationship that I did with my Da. I also seem to "get" that aspect of parenting that knows that you must give with no thought of getting anything back. It has to be unconditional and heartfelt or it won't work properly. Once you jump that fence, the rest falls into place.
4) Do you usually send serious or funny greeting cards. Why?
Almost always funny. Even my cards to Bing are funny and hers to me. We just don't roll any other way. It feels false to me. Neither one of us are particularly romantic. We both give cards now and then, but they are almost always funny. As for my friends and family, it's the same. I'm just not a soupy person. The only serious cards that I send are sympathy ones.
5) Bird watching, shell gathering or star gazing--your choice for whiling away the hours.
Probably bird watching. More interesting. Not many shells on the prairie and I know all the star constellations so that can only last for a short time. But a bird can entertain you for hours. We have bird feeders in our back yard and there is a cardinal family that we watch a lot. We also have lesbian woodpeckers in our back yard (Thelma and Louise)...The guy I called at the county extension office told me that it is "highly unusual" for female birds to be mates, so that probably they are two "widow" woodpeckers who are companions. I disagree. I've seen them spooning with each other, tucking their wings together. They found the perfect home here, yes? I love them for the most part although that knock knocking sound can be disturbing. Not sure that the old oak tree that they live in likes them so much.
6) Do you double or triple check things? If so, what?
Not so much when I was younger, but age has brought forgetfulness to my life. We have a new computer with a mouse that is not attached to the computer, so Bing practically drove Liv and me crazy with her lectures about REMEMBERING TO TURN OFF THE MOUSE when we finished using the computer. Now, it has been over a week and I still check that mouse at least twice before I get up from my desk. Guess who has forgotten consistently to turn hers off? Yup. Bing. I also check to see that our alarm is turned on at least twice every night before bed. I have been known to get two blocks from my home and suddenly wonder if I remember the garage door going down although I have never once forgotten to push the remote button in my car for it. I have arthritis meds that I only take on Sunday and nearly every Sunday afternoon, I wrack my brain trying to remember if I took my RA meds. So, I end up going into the kitchen drawer where I keep my meds and counting the pills to make sure that I did even though, inside, I KNOW that I took them. I have gotten up in the middle of the night before because we made a pizza in the oven that evening and I can't remember if we shut the oven off. I have NEVER found it on when I checked. If I have directions from Google printed out on a piece of paper and tucked in my purse, I check to make sure that I have it over and over. The one thing I never worry about is locking the door. We have an automatic lock that clicks in when the door is shut. I have locked myself out of the house a time or two, but never had to worry about whether the door was locked. Growing older sucks.
7) What's your favorite place for people watching?
Bing, Liv and I play a game when we go to restaurants. We look at other patrons and try to guess if they are married, dating, just friends, siblings, or whatever. I especially enjoy eavesdropping on conversations. Married couples are easy to spot. The women don't touch their hair often and neither party smiles A LOT. First dates are easy too. Both are trying too hard. Dating couples are in the middle, they are easy with each other but the women still primp and the men, for the most part, ignore their cell phones. Married couples may not talk on their cell phones (a rule in our house is NO CELL PHONES AT THE DINNER TABLE EVER), but they are more inclined to check them. Friends are the most relaxed, not a lot of touching, but lots more laughter and the men are nearly always more inclined to be rowdy.
8) Insert your own random thoughts here:
I shouldn't have had that tootsie pop after dinner. My stomach feels all bloated now and my blood sugar is off. I really need to get to bed earlier at night. I always PLAN on it and then don't follow through. But getting up is so hard. I need to promise myself to get in bed by 9 at night and take my book with me. I must remember to shower really well tonight. It was so gross when that older woman started coughing up her lungs while riding down in the elevator tonight on the way to my car after work. God, what IS it with people that they don't cover their mouths? She probably got germs all over my head since she was right behind me. You could just see everyone on the elevator cringing and holding their breath. But, of course, none of us said a word to her. We prairie people are WAY too polite.
Anyone wanna try this one?
1) Using what's in your fridge right now, what sort of meal would you be able to make for guests who are knocking on your door this very minute?
To be honest, if I had a fully stocked fridge, I would be hard put to make a decent dinner. I am not the best of cooks. But, let's see...we have some deli ham and lots of cheese...there's a pie shell in the freezer and some cream..I could make a ham and cheese quiche. We also have some really good pecan bread that makes for delicious toast. Lots and lots of veggies from my garden's harvest, so I could have a nice veggie plate. No wine, though. :( But, I can make coffee and we do have milk, green tea and diet Jones soda. For dessert? Hmmm. There's a pint of the new banana offering from Ben and Jerry's (which is yucky, in my opinion, so I would skip it...more for everyone else...) but with only a pint, everyone could only get one small scoop. But, it would do.
2) What is something about yourself that you hope you will change but probably never will?
My inability to be a good marriage partner. I try, seriously, I do. I'm just not adept at being in a relationship. I don't enjoy compromising and that is a huge part of co-habitation with a partner. I am not particularly sexual. I could honestly go without sex and be just fine. And it has nothing to do with my partner. I'm very attracted to her, think she is sexy, etc. I just have a very low functioning libido. Even when I was younger and everyone was a horn dog, I was just a half horn dog. I also am not good at sharing my feelings or doing all those things that you need to do to remain close in a marriage. Bing does ALL the heavy lifting in our relationship. She keeps it up and running. I just concentrate on walking the walk and hoping that it is enough.
3) What is something about yourself that you hope will never change?
My ability to parent. I am good at it. I always figured that since I sucked at relationships that maybe I would suck at parenting too. But, they are two very different beasts. And I am not kidding when I say that I had the ability to parent the SECOND that Liv was born. I was one of those born parents. Caring for her, loving her, it all came second nature to me. I think this has a lot to do with my Da. I only had him for the first eight years of my life, but I knew that I was deeply loved and when Liv was born, I told myself that if I did half as good a job as my Da did, I would be okay. Liv and I have an almost identical relationship that I did with my Da. I also seem to "get" that aspect of parenting that knows that you must give with no thought of getting anything back. It has to be unconditional and heartfelt or it won't work properly. Once you jump that fence, the rest falls into place.
4) Do you usually send serious or funny greeting cards. Why?
Almost always funny. Even my cards to Bing are funny and hers to me. We just don't roll any other way. It feels false to me. Neither one of us are particularly romantic. We both give cards now and then, but they are almost always funny. As for my friends and family, it's the same. I'm just not a soupy person. The only serious cards that I send are sympathy ones.
5) Bird watching, shell gathering or star gazing--your choice for whiling away the hours.
Probably bird watching. More interesting. Not many shells on the prairie and I know all the star constellations so that can only last for a short time. But a bird can entertain you for hours. We have bird feeders in our back yard and there is a cardinal family that we watch a lot. We also have lesbian woodpeckers in our back yard (Thelma and Louise)...The guy I called at the county extension office told me that it is "highly unusual" for female birds to be mates, so that probably they are two "widow" woodpeckers who are companions. I disagree. I've seen them spooning with each other, tucking their wings together. They found the perfect home here, yes? I love them for the most part although that knock knocking sound can be disturbing. Not sure that the old oak tree that they live in likes them so much.
6) Do you double or triple check things? If so, what?
Not so much when I was younger, but age has brought forgetfulness to my life. We have a new computer with a mouse that is not attached to the computer, so Bing practically drove Liv and me crazy with her lectures about REMEMBERING TO TURN OFF THE MOUSE when we finished using the computer. Now, it has been over a week and I still check that mouse at least twice before I get up from my desk. Guess who has forgotten consistently to turn hers off? Yup. Bing. I also check to see that our alarm is turned on at least twice every night before bed. I have been known to get two blocks from my home and suddenly wonder if I remember the garage door going down although I have never once forgotten to push the remote button in my car for it. I have arthritis meds that I only take on Sunday and nearly every Sunday afternoon, I wrack my brain trying to remember if I took my RA meds. So, I end up going into the kitchen drawer where I keep my meds and counting the pills to make sure that I did even though, inside, I KNOW that I took them. I have gotten up in the middle of the night before because we made a pizza in the oven that evening and I can't remember if we shut the oven off. I have NEVER found it on when I checked. If I have directions from Google printed out on a piece of paper and tucked in my purse, I check to make sure that I have it over and over. The one thing I never worry about is locking the door. We have an automatic lock that clicks in when the door is shut. I have locked myself out of the house a time or two, but never had to worry about whether the door was locked. Growing older sucks.
7) What's your favorite place for people watching?
Bing, Liv and I play a game when we go to restaurants. We look at other patrons and try to guess if they are married, dating, just friends, siblings, or whatever. I especially enjoy eavesdropping on conversations. Married couples are easy to spot. The women don't touch their hair often and neither party smiles A LOT. First dates are easy too. Both are trying too hard. Dating couples are in the middle, they are easy with each other but the women still primp and the men, for the most part, ignore their cell phones. Married couples may not talk on their cell phones (a rule in our house is NO CELL PHONES AT THE DINNER TABLE EVER), but they are more inclined to check them. Friends are the most relaxed, not a lot of touching, but lots more laughter and the men are nearly always more inclined to be rowdy.
8) Insert your own random thoughts here:
I shouldn't have had that tootsie pop after dinner. My stomach feels all bloated now and my blood sugar is off. I really need to get to bed earlier at night. I always PLAN on it and then don't follow through. But getting up is so hard. I need to promise myself to get in bed by 9 at night and take my book with me. I must remember to shower really well tonight. It was so gross when that older woman started coughing up her lungs while riding down in the elevator tonight on the way to my car after work. God, what IS it with people that they don't cover their mouths? She probably got germs all over my head since she was right behind me. You could just see everyone on the elevator cringing and holding their breath. But, of course, none of us said a word to her. We prairie people are WAY too polite.
Anyone wanna try this one?
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Where I was
It's on everyone's mind today.
Where we were when the towers came down.
I was in my newly purchased fixer upper home. Liv was two. We had moved in several months ago and I was just beginning to understand that I had truly purchased a home that needed a lot of work.
The plumbing was ancient, wiring ancient. The roof lost shingles like an old man. It was a gorgeous day, though. I had quit my job the previous year to be able to stay at home to raise Liv up until kindergarten. I had sold my cushy town home with the Danish modern decor and moved into a home in a nicer old neighborhood. My home had been built in 1918 and was a steal when I bought it. It was huge, nearly twice as big as the town home, with good oak floors, glass doorknobs and what the realtor called "good bones."
I had adjusted as well as I ever would to being a stay at home mom. I kept my fingers in the pot (and therefore some money in the pot as well) by working as a free lance jury consultant. I worked about one or two times a week, whenever my sister or a neighbor could take Liv for an hour or two. Bing and I had tried to make it work in a relationship when Liv was an infant and it had failed horribly, mostly because of my aversion to being a lid to anyone's pot. She had moved back to New Orleans but we kept in touch. Or I should say that she did. I was a terrible correspondent, often didn't return e-mails or phone calls for days or even weeks.
Still, though, she refused to let me go.
I was living off my savings account and the money earned from selling my town home. I knew that I could live well, albeit frugally for at least 3 more years. I was nearly a recluse; my life was Liv. Tending to her, caring for her. I went out rarely with friends and practically never had dates. I was exhausted almost constantly but oddly, happier than I had ever been. Because of Liv. Always because of her. I worried constantly that I would not be able to get back into the job market when I would attempt it when Liv was kindergarten age. But, when she was two...kindergarten seemed like eons away. I felt like I was forever shackled to potty training, packing apple slices to take to the playground and doing all my own cleaning (I think I missed my cleaning lady more than anything, but she had been sacrificed so that I could stay at home and I thought to myself how hard can it be? Hard. Really hard.)
Sesame Street, Caillou, Max and Ruby and Barney were staples in my house. I rarely watched any other shows, even in the evenings when Liv was asleep. Instead, I savored my books, sat cuddled up in my Danish modern barrel chair, one of the few pieces of furniture that wasn't sold along with the town house, and read voraciously. I was always so tired, but the ache in me to read was like an addiction.
On that day in early September of 2001, the 11th, I was finishing up cleaning up the scrambled egg messy pan from Liv's breakfast. She sat in her high chair, chewing on some banana slices, making her usual mess of it.
No other sounds in the house. We never watched television until late morning. I tried hard not to use the television as a babysitter, but sometimes at around 11:00, it was tempting to use it just for a little bit so that I could get some laundry folded, or prepare her diaper bag to put out on the front steps for the diaper company. (I was a snob about disposable diapers, insisted on cloth ones...but I would be damned if I would wash them myself.....)
The phone rang. I didn't have caller id yet. I almost didn't answer it but then thought that it might be a job and I hadn't worked in over a week, so decided to take it.
It was my friend, Vince, from Chicago. His voice was strangely high pitched and tense.
"I just wanted to hear your voice. I'm calling everyone I love. This is just so...sooo...awful. Oh, Maria. Oh, baby cakes..."
I had to ask him three times to explain his stress. The first time, I was annoyed. Well, yeah...it was SAD that a plane hit a building in New York, but Jesus...
The second time, I began to understand.
The third time, I shut my eyes and bit my lip.
I hung up and quickly turned on the tiny television in the kitchen. It was on every single channel. Over and over and over. The horror of the towers plummeting again and again and yet again.
I watched like a zombie, sick with horror.
Liv perked up at the turning on of the television. She kept saying "Caillou? Ernie? Big Bird" until I finally turned to her and wet a towel to wipe her banana face and hands. I cleaned her methodically without smiling or talking and set her down on the floor and got out the Windex and cleaned her tray and the counters.
She knew something was wrong and clung to my legs as I tried to navigate around the kitchen and keep my eyes on the television at the same time. Eventually, she whimpered and I started, then leaned down and smiled at her in what I hoped was a normal way. I picked her up and kissed her smackily on her cheek.
"How's my sweet baby girl? How's my Liv?"
She smiled back, reassured.
The morning wore on. I kept the television on as much as I could, although it was fruitless, the same images just kept marching across the screen. Over and over, the towers falling, the tight face of Tom Brokaw as he tried to say the same thing in a different way. The sick feeling of knowing that all those people
were...laying...in...rubble...families....shattered....dreams....dashed...lives...changed...horrifically....daddy/mommy/sister/brother/friend/husband/wife...not...coming...home....tonight...not....coming....home....EVER.....
The cool of the morning slipped into the sunny warmth of almost afternoon. I went upstairs with Liv riding in the half full laundry basket on my hip. I began putting laundry away with my bedroom television still on, eying it. I went to open my bedroom window and there was a jolting sound and...
the entire window came off of it's frame and went crashing into the front yard. I stood open mouthed with shock, staring down. Liv, ever curious, came toddling over to investigate and I quickly picked her up and carried her a few feet away.
It was such a clean break, like popping off a bottle lid.
I stood there silently for a moment, holding Liv to me.
She smiled uncertainly. Silly Mama. What had she done? She pushed the window into the yard!
I smiled back so as not to alarm her.
I set her in her play pen (I privately called it baby jail as I only used it when I needed her to stay put...) and got out the yellow pages.
I called the first name I saw. A family window business. The phone rang almost ten times before it was answered by a woman who sounded as if she were watching television at the same time.
I told her my problem, oddly ashamed to even be complaining when there were so many bigger fish to fry in this country today. She was distracted but passed me off to her father. He sounded calm. Old and wise. He said he'd be right out.
"I'm sorry to bother you on this awful day," I said, falteringly.
There was a long silence before he answered.
"I need to work with my hands right now," he said. "I'm on my way."
I was settling Liv in with a bowl of chicken noodle soup for her lunch when the doorbell rang.
He looked like he sounded. Old. Wise. Crinkly blue eyes and a blue work shirt. A tool belt around his waist. He held bits of my window frame in his hands.
"It fell right into the yard, huh?" he said.
I nodded. Explained that the house was very old and I was relatively new to it, didn't know much about home repair. Could he help? He said he could and asked if I'd like him to have a "look see" at the other windows in the house. I hesitated, money was tight...but thought that this was better than having more windows fall out. Winter was coming and I didn't relish this happening on a snowy day in January.
He went around and looked, feeling carefully. Whenever he passed a television, he paused and glanced and then looked away, his eyes sad.
He said that the rest of the windows were okay for now, but that they'd probably need to be replaced in the next decade.
"She has good bones, your house," he said. I said I'd been told that.
"But, good lord...those are original copper pipes in your basement," he went on. "And the plumbing looks like it was put in during the 30's...you might have some expenses in the next few years when they start to go out..."
I grimly agreed.
He said his name was Tom and he gave me his estimate on the window. It was lower than I thought it would be. We shook on it and I signed the papers for him to begin. I asked him when he could start.
"Maria," he said, sadly. "I have nothing going on today. I can do it today and finish it today. And honey, I can't tell you how badly I need to work."
I nodded, offered him coffee. He said sure.
He worked all afternoon. I put Liv down for her nap and then went to sit with him. Asked him if he minded me watching. He said no, he liked the company. I asked if he minded the television on. He shook his head.
"I don't mind," he said. "Maybe, there will be some survivor stories."
He worked all afternoon. Said it was a fairly easy job because it had broken out so cleanly. The window panes hadn't even broken when they hit the grass below. He told me that this was the beauty of those old lead glass panes. Sturdy, he said. Built to last at least 50 years. Not like the flimsy, environmentally friendly ones he would be putting in today.
He called two of his sons to come help him and they finished putting the window in right around dinnertime. He carefully gathered up the sheet he had lain down to protect my floor, said that the bedroom needed a good dusting, but that would be it.
His sons left first, taking off in their truck, peeling out of my driveway.
He smiled as he looked at them.
"Kids," he said. "Always in a hurry to get nowhere special."
He winked at me and I suddenly didn't want Tom to leave. If I had to live in post 9/11, I wanted Tom with me. I wanted someone strong, old, and wise to spend the days with. Silly, I knew...but I almost felt like crying.
I asked him if he'd like to stay for supper, knowing that this was unprofessional and not at all a good idea. He declined sweetly saying that his wife would be holding his supper for him. Time for him to go. Thank you kindly for the check and the work, he said and then he reached out and ran his finger up Liv's cheek.
"Pretty little girl you have there," he said. "You are a good mama, I can tell."
I set Liv down and was embarrassed to feel tears in my eyes. All those mamas and daddies that weren't coming home tonight to all those children.
Tom looked at me, looked at the television screen and then back at me.
Without speaking,we embraced. A father/daughter embrace. Two strangers comforting each other on a terrible, terrible day.
When we broke apart, I looked away, embarrassed. I was not a hugger in general and had certainly NEVER hugged a repair person in my home.
When I looked up, he was smiling kindly at me, nonplussed.
He leaned down, picked up his tool box and said, "We'll all get through this, Maria. I know it sounds hokey, but we're Americans. We band together when push comes to shove. Just like any good family."
Tom left and I never saw him again. He was right about my windows, it is now a decade later and many are in need of replacing. But, it's ten years later and Bing is back now. She handles all the repairing, has friends who have friends who can replace windows cheaply.
In ten years, my daughter has grown into an adolescent who loves fantasy football, Husker football, high school football, math, The Hunger Games series, Harry Potter, sushi, gardening, Lady Gaga, soccer, but mostly me. She loves me the most. The best.
Bing came back into our lives when Liv was in kindergarten and this time we joined together and vowed to make it stick and it has.
Liv's father returned to her when she was three and now I breathe easier knowing that there is one more person whose hands will join mine in raising Liv up. Because the smartest of us know that it really does take a village. The more love the better. We all need as much love as we can get in our lives.
I've gone back to work full time and my life is so busy and chock full that I feel overwhelmed sometimes. I love my family, my work, my books and my writing.
But, today...I pause and look back on that day and remember that hollowness in my heart that stayed for weeks after the towers fell. That day when I stood with Tom in my doorway and felt like he was something to hold on to on a day when everything was falling. The way I felt when I shut the door behind him and he drove away home to his wife, his sons and his dinner while I turned to Liv and smiled at her and said, "How about a happy meal for supper tonight, baby love?"
God knows we all needed a happy meal that night.
So, that is exactly what we did. I shut the television off and it stayed off until after her bedtime. We drove to McDonald's for her happy meal and my bacon double cheeseburger and yes, I supersized those fries. We ate outside that evening, feeding bits of our hamburger buns to the birds, looking out at the garden that had recently been harvested of it's bounty.
Liv and I ate and enjoyed the proximity of each other. It was a day for that.
Later, I would put her to bed, turn on the television again, put my head down and cry. It was a time for that, too.
What did you do? Where were you on that day?
Where we were when the towers came down.
I was in my newly purchased fixer upper home. Liv was two. We had moved in several months ago and I was just beginning to understand that I had truly purchased a home that needed a lot of work.
The plumbing was ancient, wiring ancient. The roof lost shingles like an old man. It was a gorgeous day, though. I had quit my job the previous year to be able to stay at home to raise Liv up until kindergarten. I had sold my cushy town home with the Danish modern decor and moved into a home in a nicer old neighborhood. My home had been built in 1918 and was a steal when I bought it. It was huge, nearly twice as big as the town home, with good oak floors, glass doorknobs and what the realtor called "good bones."
I had adjusted as well as I ever would to being a stay at home mom. I kept my fingers in the pot (and therefore some money in the pot as well) by working as a free lance jury consultant. I worked about one or two times a week, whenever my sister or a neighbor could take Liv for an hour or two. Bing and I had tried to make it work in a relationship when Liv was an infant and it had failed horribly, mostly because of my aversion to being a lid to anyone's pot. She had moved back to New Orleans but we kept in touch. Or I should say that she did. I was a terrible correspondent, often didn't return e-mails or phone calls for days or even weeks.
Still, though, she refused to let me go.
I was living off my savings account and the money earned from selling my town home. I knew that I could live well, albeit frugally for at least 3 more years. I was nearly a recluse; my life was Liv. Tending to her, caring for her. I went out rarely with friends and practically never had dates. I was exhausted almost constantly but oddly, happier than I had ever been. Because of Liv. Always because of her. I worried constantly that I would not be able to get back into the job market when I would attempt it when Liv was kindergarten age. But, when she was two...kindergarten seemed like eons away. I felt like I was forever shackled to potty training, packing apple slices to take to the playground and doing all my own cleaning (I think I missed my cleaning lady more than anything, but she had been sacrificed so that I could stay at home and I thought to myself how hard can it be? Hard. Really hard.)
Sesame Street, Caillou, Max and Ruby and Barney were staples in my house. I rarely watched any other shows, even in the evenings when Liv was asleep. Instead, I savored my books, sat cuddled up in my Danish modern barrel chair, one of the few pieces of furniture that wasn't sold along with the town house, and read voraciously. I was always so tired, but the ache in me to read was like an addiction.
On that day in early September of 2001, the 11th, I was finishing up cleaning up the scrambled egg messy pan from Liv's breakfast. She sat in her high chair, chewing on some banana slices, making her usual mess of it.
No other sounds in the house. We never watched television until late morning. I tried hard not to use the television as a babysitter, but sometimes at around 11:00, it was tempting to use it just for a little bit so that I could get some laundry folded, or prepare her diaper bag to put out on the front steps for the diaper company. (I was a snob about disposable diapers, insisted on cloth ones...but I would be damned if I would wash them myself.....)
The phone rang. I didn't have caller id yet. I almost didn't answer it but then thought that it might be a job and I hadn't worked in over a week, so decided to take it.
It was my friend, Vince, from Chicago. His voice was strangely high pitched and tense.
"I just wanted to hear your voice. I'm calling everyone I love. This is just so...sooo...awful. Oh, Maria. Oh, baby cakes..."
I had to ask him three times to explain his stress. The first time, I was annoyed. Well, yeah...it was SAD that a plane hit a building in New York, but Jesus...
The second time, I began to understand.
The third time, I shut my eyes and bit my lip.
I hung up and quickly turned on the tiny television in the kitchen. It was on every single channel. Over and over and over. The horror of the towers plummeting again and again and yet again.
I watched like a zombie, sick with horror.
Liv perked up at the turning on of the television. She kept saying "Caillou? Ernie? Big Bird" until I finally turned to her and wet a towel to wipe her banana face and hands. I cleaned her methodically without smiling or talking and set her down on the floor and got out the Windex and cleaned her tray and the counters.
She knew something was wrong and clung to my legs as I tried to navigate around the kitchen and keep my eyes on the television at the same time. Eventually, she whimpered and I started, then leaned down and smiled at her in what I hoped was a normal way. I picked her up and kissed her smackily on her cheek.
"How's my sweet baby girl? How's my Liv?"
She smiled back, reassured.
The morning wore on. I kept the television on as much as I could, although it was fruitless, the same images just kept marching across the screen. Over and over, the towers falling, the tight face of Tom Brokaw as he tried to say the same thing in a different way. The sick feeling of knowing that all those people
were...laying...in...rubble...families....shattered....dreams....dashed...lives...changed...horrifically....daddy/mommy/sister/brother/friend/husband/wife...not...coming...home....tonight...not....coming....home....EVER.....
The cool of the morning slipped into the sunny warmth of almost afternoon. I went upstairs with Liv riding in the half full laundry basket on my hip. I began putting laundry away with my bedroom television still on, eying it. I went to open my bedroom window and there was a jolting sound and...
the entire window came off of it's frame and went crashing into the front yard. I stood open mouthed with shock, staring down. Liv, ever curious, came toddling over to investigate and I quickly picked her up and carried her a few feet away.
It was such a clean break, like popping off a bottle lid.
I stood there silently for a moment, holding Liv to me.
She smiled uncertainly. Silly Mama. What had she done? She pushed the window into the yard!
I smiled back so as not to alarm her.
I set her in her play pen (I privately called it baby jail as I only used it when I needed her to stay put...) and got out the yellow pages.
I called the first name I saw. A family window business. The phone rang almost ten times before it was answered by a woman who sounded as if she were watching television at the same time.
I told her my problem, oddly ashamed to even be complaining when there were so many bigger fish to fry in this country today. She was distracted but passed me off to her father. He sounded calm. Old and wise. He said he'd be right out.
"I'm sorry to bother you on this awful day," I said, falteringly.
There was a long silence before he answered.
"I need to work with my hands right now," he said. "I'm on my way."
I was settling Liv in with a bowl of chicken noodle soup for her lunch when the doorbell rang.
He looked like he sounded. Old. Wise. Crinkly blue eyes and a blue work shirt. A tool belt around his waist. He held bits of my window frame in his hands.
"It fell right into the yard, huh?" he said.
I nodded. Explained that the house was very old and I was relatively new to it, didn't know much about home repair. Could he help? He said he could and asked if I'd like him to have a "look see" at the other windows in the house. I hesitated, money was tight...but thought that this was better than having more windows fall out. Winter was coming and I didn't relish this happening on a snowy day in January.
He went around and looked, feeling carefully. Whenever he passed a television, he paused and glanced and then looked away, his eyes sad.
He said that the rest of the windows were okay for now, but that they'd probably need to be replaced in the next decade.
"She has good bones, your house," he said. I said I'd been told that.
"But, good lord...those are original copper pipes in your basement," he went on. "And the plumbing looks like it was put in during the 30's...you might have some expenses in the next few years when they start to go out..."
I grimly agreed.
He said his name was Tom and he gave me his estimate on the window. It was lower than I thought it would be. We shook on it and I signed the papers for him to begin. I asked him when he could start.
"Maria," he said, sadly. "I have nothing going on today. I can do it today and finish it today. And honey, I can't tell you how badly I need to work."
I nodded, offered him coffee. He said sure.
He worked all afternoon. I put Liv down for her nap and then went to sit with him. Asked him if he minded me watching. He said no, he liked the company. I asked if he minded the television on. He shook his head.
"I don't mind," he said. "Maybe, there will be some survivor stories."
He worked all afternoon. Said it was a fairly easy job because it had broken out so cleanly. The window panes hadn't even broken when they hit the grass below. He told me that this was the beauty of those old lead glass panes. Sturdy, he said. Built to last at least 50 years. Not like the flimsy, environmentally friendly ones he would be putting in today.
He called two of his sons to come help him and they finished putting the window in right around dinnertime. He carefully gathered up the sheet he had lain down to protect my floor, said that the bedroom needed a good dusting, but that would be it.
His sons left first, taking off in their truck, peeling out of my driveway.
He smiled as he looked at them.
"Kids," he said. "Always in a hurry to get nowhere special."
He winked at me and I suddenly didn't want Tom to leave. If I had to live in post 9/11, I wanted Tom with me. I wanted someone strong, old, and wise to spend the days with. Silly, I knew...but I almost felt like crying.
I asked him if he'd like to stay for supper, knowing that this was unprofessional and not at all a good idea. He declined sweetly saying that his wife would be holding his supper for him. Time for him to go. Thank you kindly for the check and the work, he said and then he reached out and ran his finger up Liv's cheek.
"Pretty little girl you have there," he said. "You are a good mama, I can tell."
I set Liv down and was embarrassed to feel tears in my eyes. All those mamas and daddies that weren't coming home tonight to all those children.
Tom looked at me, looked at the television screen and then back at me.
Without speaking,we embraced. A father/daughter embrace. Two strangers comforting each other on a terrible, terrible day.
When we broke apart, I looked away, embarrassed. I was not a hugger in general and had certainly NEVER hugged a repair person in my home.
When I looked up, he was smiling kindly at me, nonplussed.
He leaned down, picked up his tool box and said, "We'll all get through this, Maria. I know it sounds hokey, but we're Americans. We band together when push comes to shove. Just like any good family."
Tom left and I never saw him again. He was right about my windows, it is now a decade later and many are in need of replacing. But, it's ten years later and Bing is back now. She handles all the repairing, has friends who have friends who can replace windows cheaply.
In ten years, my daughter has grown into an adolescent who loves fantasy football, Husker football, high school football, math, The Hunger Games series, Harry Potter, sushi, gardening, Lady Gaga, soccer, but mostly me. She loves me the most. The best.
Bing came back into our lives when Liv was in kindergarten and this time we joined together and vowed to make it stick and it has.
Liv's father returned to her when she was three and now I breathe easier knowing that there is one more person whose hands will join mine in raising Liv up. Because the smartest of us know that it really does take a village. The more love the better. We all need as much love as we can get in our lives.
I've gone back to work full time and my life is so busy and chock full that I feel overwhelmed sometimes. I love my family, my work, my books and my writing.
But, today...I pause and look back on that day and remember that hollowness in my heart that stayed for weeks after the towers fell. That day when I stood with Tom in my doorway and felt like he was something to hold on to on a day when everything was falling. The way I felt when I shut the door behind him and he drove away home to his wife, his sons and his dinner while I turned to Liv and smiled at her and said, "How about a happy meal for supper tonight, baby love?"
God knows we all needed a happy meal that night.
So, that is exactly what we did. I shut the television off and it stayed off until after her bedtime. We drove to McDonald's for her happy meal and my bacon double cheeseburger and yes, I supersized those fries. We ate outside that evening, feeding bits of our hamburger buns to the birds, looking out at the garden that had recently been harvested of it's bounty.
Liv and I ate and enjoyed the proximity of each other. It was a day for that.
Later, I would put her to bed, turn on the television again, put my head down and cry. It was a time for that, too.
What did you do? Where were you on that day?
Thursday, September 08, 2011
Just what the doctor ordered
I picked up Liv from school today and when we got home I made us both a milk shake and we went outside to sit in the back yard. It was glorious out, warm and silky with a breeze that felt just right.
I had brought out Bing's old boom box with us and I set it down next to us while we went around giving all the flowers a good long drink from the hose.
I asked her if it was getting better. She nodded, said that yes, it was getting easier.
"I still don't get this style of learning," she said. "It's just...tedious. All that waiting around for others to catch up on the things you already know and then when you feel as if you are faltering, you are scrambling to find a way to stay up with the others. Math is so easy for me, I get so bored while the teacher explains again and again about the same thing. English is hard. I DETEST diagramming sentences. It is so hard and some of the rules just don't make sense. I feel myself falling behind and don't feel comfortable saying that I don't get clause configurations, although predicates make sense. I get so worried that I will fall behind...."
We can work on that, I told her. I can diagram a sentence. I don't LIKE to, but I can. So, we can work on that tonight, if you think you can stomach it...
She said yes and thank you, Mama.
She said that the teasing by certain boys was abating. But, the girls...how does one figure them? Some were just plain snotty and she had no idea WHY. Others seemed nice but when in a group would often abandon her. Why was that?
I told her that human nature is a tough nut. Especially junior high girls. The snotty ones? Probably not worth your time. The ones who are nice one on one but abandon her in a group? They may not realize that they are doing it, maybe are just hanging with their groups.
You don't really have a group yet, maybe you will never have one. I never really did. But, you must be patient and just enjoy your own company sometimes until you get the opportunity to reach out to someone who interests you. Don't let it matter if it is a boy or a girl, just look for interesting personalities. Like that boy who talked to you about fantasy football. What was his name?
"David. He's nice, but very quiet. And someone teased him for talking to me, a GIRL, so he shied away a little bit," she answered.
Well, I told her. He was a start, yes?
She nodded.
The flowers were sated, all had their drinks.
I reached down and flipped on the boom box and held out my arms.
"Wanna dance?" I asked.
She rolled her eyes and smiled, but took my hands.
"I love you, mother," she said very, very quietly.
"And I adore you, Livvie Belle," I told her.
Slowly and then with more gusto, with no cares about who was watching (no one) or who would judge us (no one), we danced...just me and Livvie. With the flowers all around us, slowly nodding in the breeze, approving our almost Autumn dance. The flowers liked us, I think. They are in their old age, getting ready to sleep all Winter. They like music. They like watching us dance, feeling us love each other.
Because, really...all is love.
Just me and Liv. All is love.
I had brought out Bing's old boom box with us and I set it down next to us while we went around giving all the flowers a good long drink from the hose.
I asked her if it was getting better. She nodded, said that yes, it was getting easier.
"I still don't get this style of learning," she said. "It's just...tedious. All that waiting around for others to catch up on the things you already know and then when you feel as if you are faltering, you are scrambling to find a way to stay up with the others. Math is so easy for me, I get so bored while the teacher explains again and again about the same thing. English is hard. I DETEST diagramming sentences. It is so hard and some of the rules just don't make sense. I feel myself falling behind and don't feel comfortable saying that I don't get clause configurations, although predicates make sense. I get so worried that I will fall behind...."
We can work on that, I told her. I can diagram a sentence. I don't LIKE to, but I can. So, we can work on that tonight, if you think you can stomach it...
She said yes and thank you, Mama.
She said that the teasing by certain boys was abating. But, the girls...how does one figure them? Some were just plain snotty and she had no idea WHY. Others seemed nice but when in a group would often abandon her. Why was that?
I told her that human nature is a tough nut. Especially junior high girls. The snotty ones? Probably not worth your time. The ones who are nice one on one but abandon her in a group? They may not realize that they are doing it, maybe are just hanging with their groups.
You don't really have a group yet, maybe you will never have one. I never really did. But, you must be patient and just enjoy your own company sometimes until you get the opportunity to reach out to someone who interests you. Don't let it matter if it is a boy or a girl, just look for interesting personalities. Like that boy who talked to you about fantasy football. What was his name?
"David. He's nice, but very quiet. And someone teased him for talking to me, a GIRL, so he shied away a little bit," she answered.
Well, I told her. He was a start, yes?
She nodded.
The flowers were sated, all had their drinks.
I reached down and flipped on the boom box and held out my arms.
"Wanna dance?" I asked.
She rolled her eyes and smiled, but took my hands.
"I love you, mother," she said very, very quietly.
"And I adore you, Livvie Belle," I told her.
Slowly and then with more gusto, with no cares about who was watching (no one) or who would judge us (no one), we danced...just me and Livvie. With the flowers all around us, slowly nodding in the breeze, approving our almost Autumn dance. The flowers liked us, I think. They are in their old age, getting ready to sleep all Winter. They like music. They like watching us dance, feeling us love each other.
Because, really...all is love.
Just me and Liv. All is love.
Wednesday, September 07, 2011
A step
Thanks for all of your suggestions and advice.
I have an appt with two of the administrators today. Liv doesn't know and although I am loathe to keep secrets from her, hopefully ...she will never know.
I just think that they should be aware. I'm going to ask them to just keep an eye on this situation.
Liv ate cereal for breakfast this morning. A step.
I have an appt with two of the administrators today. Liv doesn't know and although I am loathe to keep secrets from her, hopefully ...she will never know.
I just think that they should be aware. I'm going to ask them to just keep an eye on this situation.
Liv ate cereal for breakfast this morning. A step.
Tuesday, September 06, 2011
Dear Liv, again
Hi honey. It's your Mama. You know, the one who is often not the best role model, asks you to do hard things and loves you more than you will ever know.
I want to talk to you about school. I know. I know. Not a fun topic.
Liv, first I want to tell you that I am proud of you. Second, I want you to know that I know it is hard for you. But mostly, I want you to continue to be strong.
I didn't raise a quitter. I won't let you fall, promise. I'm right here and I won't let you fall. But, I agree. No quitting.
You know, this probably feels as if you are all alone in this. But, there are so many others footprints preceding yours.
You will get made fun of because I am your mother. Because you have two mothers.
Prejudice is not a new concept in our country. Ask any Muslim who ever tries to get on an airplane these days. Remember how mad you were when our friend, Mustafa, got taken off that airplane a few months ago? He knew prejudice.
A long time ago when I was just a little girl, black and white people did not go to school together. Finally, in 1963, President John Kennedy tried to get a Civil Rights Act passed so that all of this could change. He was assassinated before he saw that happen, but Lyndon Johnson got it passed in 1964. But, just because there was a law, did not mean that it was easy for the black people who tried to go to white schools, Liv. They were treated so badly that I can't imagine how they endured it. But, they didn't quit. And if it wasn't for them, things would not have changed. Always, always...for things to change, there must be those who walk ahead and take the brunt of other people's ignorance.
For a long time, black people could not even marry white people. Doesn't that seem ridiculous to you now?
Remember last year when that boy in Bing's class wore a kilt to school and the principal made him go home and change into pants? Remember how Bing and some other teachers and students went to bat for this kid and they won? He wore that kilt and I'm sure lots of other kids made his life miserable. But, he did it.
Liv, you are one of many. And I know that doesn't make it easier. But, sweetie, someone has to be in the front. And you know what? I guarantee you that others will step up to help you, will not let you walk alone. Maybe it doesn't feel like it now, but I believe that there are many, many good people out there who know that the way a few kids decided to treat you is very wrong.
Be patient. Until they show up, you might have to walk alone for a while. No one likes to be different, but Liv...it is GOOD to be yourself, isn't it? Isn't it good to refuse to be bullied by someone who is just cruel for the sake of being cruel?
I have a feeling that there may be other kids in your school who have two parents who are the same sex. Or not. Maybe not. And just because they are in the same circumstance as you, doesn't mean that you will automatically like them. You may or may not.
Liv, you are totally likeable, so loveable exactly as you are. I love it that you are into sports and like math and I even support that crazy fantasy football thing that you and your father are so interested in. I love so many things about you. I love the way you think and the way that you treat others. I love the things that you find funny. You are so unique. So special. I wonder if you know how many times my throat just closes up with tears because I love you more than I love anyone else on this planet. Seeing you get hurt makes me feel like running into the fray and smacking everyone who hurts you. But, that doesn't help you in the long run, Liv. What helps you in the long run is teaching you to not back down, to not quit and to stick up for yourself and what you believe to be right, true and good.
This doesn't help with the ongoing pain, does it? Well, I can't make that creepy kid stop. I could ask an administrator to step in if things get out of hand and I am COUNTING on you to tell me if that happens. Until then, know that you are doing fine and that I see your strength and your brainy way of handling him and I am in full agreement.
I put a book on your bed. It's an old one. It is by John Steinbeck and is called Travels With Charley. I think you will like it. Books can take us away from hard parts in our lives sometimes. And as long as we don't run away from our problems, they can be a good balm.
I also want you to listen to this:
This young man is in the forefront of helping to make changes in our country. Always be in the group that works for good change and a better life for all of us and you will never go wrong.
This is hard to ask of you but try not to hate those who spew hate at you. Try to pity them. Oh, honey..they have so far to go! This does not mean that you be their doormat, but just be aware that they are not very evolved and find it in your heart to have pity on them.
Now, I want you to listen to something else. This:
Remember when you were little and you ADORED Kermit? I always liked this song because he says the truth. It is never easy to be a certain way, especially if there aren't a lot of others who are like you. But, there is always beauty in everyone. Well, okay. Not everyone. I will tell you right now that you will run into those who have no redeeming qualities. They exist. But, as long as you don't allow them to win, they can't gain power over you. If you can't ignore them and can't change them, then just fight back when you must and never compromise yourself to make them shut up. Then, they do win.
Liv, you will be fine. I know this in my heart. Lean into those you feel you can trust and stand separate from those whom you cannot trust.
You won't walk alone forever.
I'm always here. I love it that you are not quitting. Katniss didn't quit. Kermit didn't quit. That little black girl who had to to walk into that all white school didn't quit. The first bi-racial couple to marry didn't quit.
Bing and I aren't quitting. We will never let others tell us that our love is wrong because we know better. And you do too.
I trust in your heart, Liv. You have such a great one.
I'm here. I love you and I am proud to be your mama. I want you to be proud to be my daughter.
I'm right here. For always. And we will get through this together.
Love,
Mama (who sends you four million kisses and twenty billion hugs...)
I want to talk to you about school. I know. I know. Not a fun topic.
Liv, first I want to tell you that I am proud of you. Second, I want you to know that I know it is hard for you. But mostly, I want you to continue to be strong.
I didn't raise a quitter. I won't let you fall, promise. I'm right here and I won't let you fall. But, I agree. No quitting.
You know, this probably feels as if you are all alone in this. But, there are so many others footprints preceding yours.
You will get made fun of because I am your mother. Because you have two mothers.
Prejudice is not a new concept in our country. Ask any Muslim who ever tries to get on an airplane these days. Remember how mad you were when our friend, Mustafa, got taken off that airplane a few months ago? He knew prejudice.
A long time ago when I was just a little girl, black and white people did not go to school together. Finally, in 1963, President John Kennedy tried to get a Civil Rights Act passed so that all of this could change. He was assassinated before he saw that happen, but Lyndon Johnson got it passed in 1964. But, just because there was a law, did not mean that it was easy for the black people who tried to go to white schools, Liv. They were treated so badly that I can't imagine how they endured it. But, they didn't quit. And if it wasn't for them, things would not have changed. Always, always...for things to change, there must be those who walk ahead and take the brunt of other people's ignorance.
For a long time, black people could not even marry white people. Doesn't that seem ridiculous to you now?
Remember last year when that boy in Bing's class wore a kilt to school and the principal made him go home and change into pants? Remember how Bing and some other teachers and students went to bat for this kid and they won? He wore that kilt and I'm sure lots of other kids made his life miserable. But, he did it.
Liv, you are one of many. And I know that doesn't make it easier. But, sweetie, someone has to be in the front. And you know what? I guarantee you that others will step up to help you, will not let you walk alone. Maybe it doesn't feel like it now, but I believe that there are many, many good people out there who know that the way a few kids decided to treat you is very wrong.
Be patient. Until they show up, you might have to walk alone for a while. No one likes to be different, but Liv...it is GOOD to be yourself, isn't it? Isn't it good to refuse to be bullied by someone who is just cruel for the sake of being cruel?
I have a feeling that there may be other kids in your school who have two parents who are the same sex. Or not. Maybe not. And just because they are in the same circumstance as you, doesn't mean that you will automatically like them. You may or may not.
Liv, you are totally likeable, so loveable exactly as you are. I love it that you are into sports and like math and I even support that crazy fantasy football thing that you and your father are so interested in. I love so many things about you. I love the way you think and the way that you treat others. I love the things that you find funny. You are so unique. So special. I wonder if you know how many times my throat just closes up with tears because I love you more than I love anyone else on this planet. Seeing you get hurt makes me feel like running into the fray and smacking everyone who hurts you. But, that doesn't help you in the long run, Liv. What helps you in the long run is teaching you to not back down, to not quit and to stick up for yourself and what you believe to be right, true and good.
This doesn't help with the ongoing pain, does it? Well, I can't make that creepy kid stop. I could ask an administrator to step in if things get out of hand and I am COUNTING on you to tell me if that happens. Until then, know that you are doing fine and that I see your strength and your brainy way of handling him and I am in full agreement.
I put a book on your bed. It's an old one. It is by John Steinbeck and is called Travels With Charley. I think you will like it. Books can take us away from hard parts in our lives sometimes. And as long as we don't run away from our problems, they can be a good balm.
I also want you to listen to this:
This young man is in the forefront of helping to make changes in our country. Always be in the group that works for good change and a better life for all of us and you will never go wrong.
This is hard to ask of you but try not to hate those who spew hate at you. Try to pity them. Oh, honey..they have so far to go! This does not mean that you be their doormat, but just be aware that they are not very evolved and find it in your heart to have pity on them.
Now, I want you to listen to something else. This:
Remember when you were little and you ADORED Kermit? I always liked this song because he says the truth. It is never easy to be a certain way, especially if there aren't a lot of others who are like you. But, there is always beauty in everyone. Well, okay. Not everyone. I will tell you right now that you will run into those who have no redeeming qualities. They exist. But, as long as you don't allow them to win, they can't gain power over you. If you can't ignore them and can't change them, then just fight back when you must and never compromise yourself to make them shut up. Then, they do win.
Liv, you will be fine. I know this in my heart. Lean into those you feel you can trust and stand separate from those whom you cannot trust.
You won't walk alone forever.
I'm always here. I love it that you are not quitting. Katniss didn't quit. Kermit didn't quit. That little black girl who had to to walk into that all white school didn't quit. The first bi-racial couple to marry didn't quit.
Bing and I aren't quitting. We will never let others tell us that our love is wrong because we know better. And you do too.
I trust in your heart, Liv. You have such a great one.
I'm here. I love you and I am proud to be your mama. I want you to be proud to be my daughter.
I'm right here. For always. And we will get through this together.
Love,
Mama (who sends you four million kisses and twenty billion hugs...)
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