just eat your cupcake

Reaching out to.....?

2012-02-18T09:57:00.001-06:00

It is the oddest thing that has happened to me in...I don't know when.
Makes no sense to me. Maybe it makes sense to seers, but I'm just this..person.

Last night, I was getting ready for bed and Liv came up to me, her eyes ringed. I hugged her. She is studying way too hard, I thought to myself.

"Mama, would you listen to this song? I..just..I just heard it and it is just sort of sticking with me for some reason."

I said sure.

She and I sat on the edge of the bed and she gave me an ear bud while she took the other.

"I just downloaded this from itunes," she said.

The song began.

Taylor Swift, I thought. Well, hmmm. Maybe not. Maybe. I mouthed "Taylor Swift?" to Liv. She nodded. We listened.

It was a lovely little lullaby, but dark too. Halfway through, my throat closed and I was surprised to find myself in tears. I looked over at Liv. She was crying too. We took each other's hands.

When the song ended, I took the ear bud out and we talked. Agreed that yes, the song was lovely. Incredibly haunting. Beautiful in sort of a murky way. Liv told me that it was going to be in the movie Hunger Games and that set us talking about the book.

I told Liv that while I loved the character of Katniss, it was the character of Rue who really tugged at my heart.

"She reminded me so much of you," I said.

Liv nodded. Said she had felt the same. We sat for a while, talking of other things, school, spelling bees, what movie to see this weekend. Then I walked her to her bedroom and she let me tuck her in, something that she rarely allows anymore.

Socks came in and put his paws on the side of the bed, asking politely to be admitted. I settled him next to Liv and then leaned down to kiss her, savoring her Liv smell: blueberries, grass and something else? The way the world smells as Winter bleeds into Spring. That. Yes.

I went to bed myself soon after.

Had a haunting dream.

I was in some sort of cabin, mending something. Socks? Blue socks. A child was crying and I went to a trundle bed and lifted her, holding her close. The smell of blueberries, grass and....something else. Very familiar. I looked down to see my toddler. Liv. Except her name wasn't Liv. She was scared, clutching me and I murmured, looked out a window into the inkiness of some sort of forest. I could see orange and gold in the distance and smoke. It was getting closer, I thought. I should leave. We should leave. I was exhausted just thinking about loading up the horse and buggy and where the hell should I go. Where was safe? Where was my husband? Was he dead yet? Hurt?

Suddenly, a crashing of rabbits, deer, birds, small animals of all sorts coming out of the trees. They were fleeing the fire, I thought. He must be burning his way across the land. I'd heard this was coming. I looked down at Liv. Maybe we should just stay and burn. Her father was dead. I just knew it. But, I had a duty to her, to my daughter. We would go. There was a loud crash and I knew I had to go. NOW. I started humming that Taylor Swift song that Liv and I had listened to before bed, trying to ease Liv.

And then, I thought to myself in my dream: How odd. Who is Taylor Swift? And was that grown girl sitting on a bed with me...Liv? God, I'm losing my mind.

Another loud crash and this time, I heard a horse screaming in the barn.

And then I woke up, shivering and scared.

Bing reached over and held me.

"Bad dream?" she asked. I said yes. Was that a dream? It felt so real.

"Wow, must be the night for them," she said. "I just went in to Liv's bedroom because she was whimpering in her sleep. I can't believe you didn't wake up. You always hear her before I do...Anyway, I got her a glass of water and she said she'd had a bad dream, something about being in some sort of log cabin with you and there was a fire, she said you were singing some Taylor Swift song to her.....She's back to sleep now. And then, I just get back in bed and YOU start whimpering. What did you dream?"

Holy Shit.

Well, now. Shut my mouth.

2012-02-16T15:27:00.001-06:00

This morning, I was standing behind Liv, braiding her hair as she went over her spelling bee words.

"So, did you get many valentines?" I asked her. She had NOT shared a one.

She shrugged.

"Well, I got yours and Bing's. The tants (her childspeak for "aunts"...we have held on to that one...) sent me one each. A couple from a few girls on the basketball team. That's about it."

She was WAY too casual.

I am her mother. I sniff this shit out like...so easy.

And okay...when I was grabbing up her laundry basket this morning, I saw a red card shape sticking out of her pillow. I went and peeked. The front of it was a plain red heart shape. On the inside, it said, "That sound you hear? It's just my heart. Pay no attention to that silly man behind the curtain..."

It was simply signed "A"

Already I liked his/her sense of humor. Quick. Smart.

But, she hadn't shared, so I didn't pry.

When I got to work this morning, I was visiting with the cashier in the cafeteria after I bought a chai latte. (For a BUCK...cannot beat that price!)

She has a daughter who is a freshman in high school.

She pulled a card out of her pocket. "Look what I found on her dresser this morning after she left for school," she said, sighing.

I looked at the card. There was an um....very bodacious looking shirtless man on the front of the card. When you opened it, it said, "Feel like some catnip, Kitty?" And then the card sender had written this: I like you best undressed.

Did I mention that she is a FRESHMAN? In HIGH SCHOOL?

I was suddenly very, very grateful for Liv's valentine.

I handed it back and commiserated with the cashier. Ugh. How to handle THAT sticky wicket....?

After I got back to my desk, I texted Liv.

Just wanted to say that I hope the spelling bee goes well. I love you small, I love you big, I love you like a little pig....Mama.

She didn't answer until 10:00 a.m....her break. When she is allowed to check her phone for messages.

She sent back a smiley face with a tongue sticking out.

God, I am so glad that no one likes her best undressed yet.

My funny valentine

2012-02-14T18:49:00.002-06:00

She's

the aching across an ocean
every summer when she's gone

a leg in the bed to rest my cold toes against
shoveling the snow, head bent
and then coming in and finding a blanket for me because she thinks I look cold

not such a great cook, but compared to me? Julia Child

a box of chocolate covered cherries and watching as I allow myself one per night
with my eyes closed, sucking in that cream and cherry and chocolate
opening my eyes and then almost choking as I start laughing
at her eyes, staring

I hold out the box? Do you want one? You look like you want one.
No, she says, I just want to watch you eat them....

a rude interruption when I am trying to read here, missy
but no, this won't wait..she needs to tell me something.

What was that cat's name that you befriended in college and snuck in the dorm?
I am incredulous. She interrupted me for THAT?

I roll my eyes. Bilbo, I say. His name was Bilbo.
She smiles, remembering and I can't get mad, not when she smiles that way.

Cats always like you, she says.

I nod. They do. Not sure why, though. Since the feeling is rarely reciprocated.

Aloof attracts aloof, she decides.
I nod again. Could be. Could be.

She's a steadying hand when the streets are icy and she grins as she reads her ipad
I wonder what she's reading but am too lazy to get up to see.

She's a coupon cutter and a shower scrubber.
A hot cuppa coffee on a Sunday morning.
A pancake flipper for Liv's breakfast
and a soft egg boiler for mine....which she always undercooks and I cringe a little
at the snotty looking egg and hand it back for ten seconds in the microwave

She whimpers in her sleep, making slow groaning worried sounds
until I reach over, lift her tee shirt and place my hand on the small of her back
and then she stops, settles, ceases.

She listens to music with her brow furrowed and her lips pursed
concentrating

She calls me bebe and pretty girl and so delicious

I would not let anyone else call me pretty girl or sweet ass gal
Just her.
Just us.

When we go South, her accent returns and I turn to look at her, surprised
Who is THAT?
She smiles a rogue rebel smile and I decide that I like it after all
that accent

She shares bowls of ice cream, peanut butter toast and that one blanket

She plays Ventura Highway on her guitar, her shoulder dipping down and then across and up as she glides over those first few tricky notes
Looks up at me, through long black lashes
I just may swoon

She pulls me in to her lap, especially when I'm mad
and says, "Ah,chere, don'tcha go and be mad now"
I sit stiffly until she lets up and then I walk away
but when I turn around, her eyes are still on me

Don't go

I go back and plop down into her lap and she laughs her big laugh, surprisingly girly

She's a lawn mower, a tree trimmer, a garden tiller
wearing those shorts

She's a bunion rubber and has a weakness for coffee ice cream and egg salad
sandwiches with relish

Her mouth is the last thing I taste before sleep and the first one I taste on
awakening

and if I die before I wake

I'm so glad she's there, the last one I will see when the light fades

Bing finds a driver's license and the whole family becomes Walking Dead addicts.

2012-02-12T15:24:00.003-06:00

First...last night, Bing wanted to watch the marathon of Walking Dead. Most of her students are fans and she wanted to see what the fuss was about. I agreed to it, sure that I wouldn't be interested and planned to read throughout.

The book was set aside after ten minutes.

Hooked. All of us.

So now, I am officially a couch potato, I suppose. I mean...JEEZO PETE!

On Sundays, I watch The Amazing Race at 7 and now..Walking Dead at 8:00.

Mondays...free. (Stopped watching Alcatraz...found myself getting bored...)

Tuesdays, Glee.

Wednesdays. Either Survivor or American Idol or both. They are both on at the same time and I don't know how to work that thingee that lets you tape one show while watching another. I refused to let Bing show me how it worked, saying, "I will NEVER be that much of a television addict that I have to tape one show and watch another."

Famous last words.

Thursdays: Idol.

Fridays: Fringe.

Saturday. Free.

But, keep in mind that we have several shows that we are watching on HBO on demand. And I just ordered the complete set of Mad Men, which we we will watch on Mondays and Saturdays....

This is crazy. Plus, I try to blog and read blogs in the early morning hour before work and/or while Bing is making dinner when I get home from work,

And I am reading a FANTASTIC book: The Lost Saints of Tennessee.

And of course, I work full time.

And things come up. If Liv needs homework help, just needs to talk, anything...all the other shit goes down the drain. She comes first.

Followed closely by Bing. (And think some soft thoughts for her, won't y'all? She has been having horrid back and hip pain...so much trouble sleeping that she's been camped out in the guest bedroom...will see an ortho on Thursday...but she's used to being the fit one and it is KILLING her to have to have me drive everywhere, etc. And she refuses to even take an aspirin...so stubborn....)

I'm also doing most of the cooking now, god help us. I am a decent baker but I am not the best cook. It's hard enough making ONE thing, but a DINNER? Boy howdy, give me a break, will ya? I am baking a batch of bourbon brownies with praline icing for my office's Fat Tuesday party, though. I found a recipe on the internet but am certain it won't come close to Lizette's and since she REFUSED to share her recipes with me (a Yankee) when we were in New Orleans, I am winging it. Still...I will attempt.

The most recent news is that Bing found a driver's license by our mailbox a few days ago. Bing and I perused it closely. The photo showed a 19 year old black woman, smiling hugely with a wad of green gum in her mouth. The address listed was near to the school where Bing teaches.

My first instinct was to call this person. Her name was Cyncere Latreshea Lastname. Bing looked incredulously at me.

"Honey, no," she chided, gently. "Let's see if we can find her on face book, just to see who we are dealing with."

We found her. Oh, dear. Cyncere ("call me Sinful or Cha Cha") has a face book page with many many photos of her doing many illegal and very, very unsavory things. In each photo, there is her green gum sitting on the left side of her mouth. She also says that she is "bi-sexual or lesbian" and loves to give lap dances, blow smoke rings over penises and just have fun givin' love, givin' head an gettin' high wich ma boos!!!

Her last entry said, "So, boos..I got robbed by some mothrfukers. I parked my wheels at the church across the school from my college an thin sum mothrfukers stole my purse. I had 200 bucks in there, with my lisents, my baby ruths and my ounce. Now, I can replace the lisents, but no way in mothrfukng hell can I replace that ounce. Sheeiiitttte, Dos mothrfukrs can suk my puss."

Um. Okay.

Bing and I shared a look. Now, ~~Sinful Cha Cha~~ Cyncere has lots of friends. And they all came to her defense against the um....mothrfukers. One said that if she could find who stole her shit, he would be happy to "put some metal in em."

Bing looked wryly at me.

"I don't think I want to take that driver's license up to her door or even call her," she said. "She sounds like the type who will immediately decide that I'm the motherfucker who took her purse."

I agreed.

I had further thoughts.

"What sort of a dumb ass is this girl?" I asked. "I mean, how stupid do you have to be to leave your PURSE sitting in view in your car?"

Bing agreed. "The kind of dumb ass who will decide to have one of her boos put some metal in me," she decided.

Cyncere went on to say that whomever had robbed her purse, had broken the window on the driver's side of her car to get to it. And that she was not happy about having to "get glas slivers up ma peek-a-boo."

Nope. That would not be fun to get glass slivers up the peek-a-boo. Maybe you want to um...clean up that shit before you sit your peek-a-boo down in it?

And god, this girl is in college. So, yes...maybe that is a very good thing. And maybe she deliberately misspells everything to sound cool, but I ~~cyncerely~~ sincerely hope that she isn't an English major.

In a few of the photos, she seemed to be showing off her biceps, so maybe she is a sports training major or dance major. She also seemed to like to bend down and show her breasts spilling out of her bra, nipples showing.

I asked Bing to check if she listed where she works. If she works.

She does. It is for someplace called "Lovepats." Neither one of us had any idea what sort of place that was, so we looked it up. Could find nothing. Hmmm. Maybe a private pole dancing club? Because I could see where those biceps and large breasts with piercings and extremely large nipples might come in handy there.

Oh, well. We'll never know.

Bing decided to just mail the ~~licents~~ license back to her. Safer.

We certainly wish her well. And hope that she's learned that maybe it isn't very smart to leave your purse in view on the front seat of your car when you go to class.

We wondered if she called the police? Maybe. But, in all probability she didn't tell them that she was really peeved about losing that ounce.....

Bing and I sat in the chair together last night and talked about it.

"Was I that stupid in college?" I asked her.

She snorts. "Honey, no. You were a little reckless, yes. But, stupid? No. Why? Do you think I was like Cyncere in college?"

I think about it. Say no. And then we both admit that yes, when one is 19, one is pretty dense about life. But, that kind of dense? Well, that is just special dense. But, that...yes...it is a very good thing that she is in college. A good step. Education is a very good start to help with that spelling problem.

We discuss if we should let Liv go on face book. She's mentioned it casually a few times. Some of her friends are on it. We decide that when she is in high school, okay. Not now.

And that if she ever says her pet name is "Sexy baybee", brags about giving good lap dance or head and is stupid enough to leave her purse on the front seat of her car...well, she will be in some deep trouble with us.

Later, as I stop in the guest room to give her some good night kisses, I have her turn over on her stomach so that I can rub her back. I straddle her and ask her if she wants a butt dance, as opposed to a lap dance. She laughs into the pillow and wiggles around to her back, holding me in place. I'm naked except for a tee shirt and she pulls it up to caress my breasts.

"You have such pretty breasts," she says, sweetly. "I think you should get a second job at Lovepats, Maria."

Shivering, I pull my shirt back down and fall off of her before her back starts to really hurt.

"Just call me Miss Hot Titty," I say, demurely.

We share a few kisses and I get up to go in to our bed, wishing her a good sleep, telling her I will miss her.

"I forgot to tell you something," Bing says sheepishly.

I stop and wait.

"When I was putting Cyncere's license in an envelope to send back to her? I came THIS CLOSE to slapping one of our return labels on it," she groans. "God, and I thought Cyncere was kind of dense. How dense it THAT?"

I laugh and head out the door.

So...do you think we handled the Cyncere dilemma well?

And what are YOU watching on television these days?

Are you in or are you out?

2012-02-09T18:46:00.000-06:00

The whole bi-sexuality thing.

I wish I could explain it better. It's hard for me to get my mind around it, but explaining it to others? Tough.

First of all, just the word bi-sexual sends up red flags. When I say that I am bi-sexual, people automatically assume that this means that I am some sort of sex addict. (That's Bing you hear laughing...)

Like, I'm sitting in a room full of people, just jonesin' to jump 'em all.

And try being at a funeral and having your Aunt Genina say, "Honey, are you still one of those gays?"

Ok, if I say yes, I am leaving out half of my sexuality. If I say "Actually, I'm bi-sexual" the whole table goes suddenly quiet.

Personally, I think everyone is bi-sexual, but tend towards one end (heterosexuality) or the other (homosexuality)....I think that if the circumstances were right, a woman who swears that she is straight, well, she could fall in love with a woman. And vice versa.

Bing disagrees. Says that she could NEVER be attracted to a man. My sisters agree. They would never be attracted to women.

My bff, Harriet, is more open minded.

"I think that I could possibly fall for a woman. I think that I am strongly pulled towards men, but if the circumstances were right, I could fall in love with a woman."

I think the key word here is circumstance.

I've known that I was bi-sexual ever since I started having feelings. You know the kind I mean. Stirrings.

I was a very late bloomer, so this was when I was about 15. Yes, that old. When I was 13, I was still more interested in getting boys/girls to have bike races with me, not give me flowers.

My first stirrings were toward a boy. But, a few months later, I had them for a girl. And so on and so on.

I was living in a small Iowa town, going to a Catholic high school. I am old. There was no internet to look this shit up on. I settled on going to a college library and looking up bisexuality. Not much there.

More on homosexuality. This was the mid 70's. California and New York were pretty used to gay people. Not Iowa. No sirree bob.

Homosexuality was a psychiatric disorder, according to the books that I read.

But, you know...even at the young age of 16, it never once occurred to me that the books were right. I strongly felt that I was just fine as is. That the books and most of the 50 states just had to catch up to me.

However, I knew better then to say any of this to my mother...

So, I just kept my thoughts to myself. Dated a boy.

When I set foot on college ground? It was like a wild woman was unleashed. I met my dorm mate, Bing...liked her fine, even though privately I thought she was what I referred to in my mind as a "cookie cutter lesbo."

I smoked cigarettes. In public. No more sitting up in my bedroom smoking huddled next to the cracked window. (And now that I am a parent myself, this cracks me up...did I REALLY think my mother didn't know?)

Bing found a buyer within a week and several bars that would let under aged college kids in, rarely checked ids. One was a gay bar. Two weren't. We utilized all of them. I made friends both gay and straight. Tried every drug at least once. Found out that I really, really loved smoking weed.

I refused to cut my hair in those loopy waves that everyone else had. Kept it long and straight down my back. I went to thrift shops and found clothes that suited the new me.

Bing refers to my look as Stevie Nicks sings "Gypsy." I was known as the girl who wore swirly skirts with combat boots, overalls with a silk man's jacket. My standard bar wear was a pair of faded, tight blue jeans with a white man's shirt and loose tie and hiking boots or high tops. I'd wear my hair in tight braids all day long and then let it loose right before we left for the bar. Kohl liner and cherries-in-the-snow lipstick.

I was a fashion icon. Uh huh.

And I sometimes went home with a woman, sometimes with a man. Didn't matter one bit to me. Just as long as they made me laugh, were smart and had good hygiene. A motorcycle was a plus.

I slept around, but then...honestly? We all did. It was that sort of time.

My lesbian friends were aghast that I dated men too. It especially rankled Bing. She would come back to the dorm from class, walk in and plug her nose, saying that she smelled "gross man drippings." I'd laugh and tell her that she was hypersensitive. She swore that she always knew if I'd been with a man instead of a woman, that men just stink.

Now that she's older, she admits that she was mainly just jealous. But that she was MORE jealous when I was with a woman.

And I actually lost lesbian friends who accused me of being a sell out, a fake lesbian. When I said that I was bi-sexual, they rolled their eyes. Women were yummy, men were icky. No middle ground. One woman whom I dated during my sophomore year told me that she didn't want to keep dating me if I was dating men too, that it "sickened" her.

Funny, it never seemed to bother the men if I was bi-sexual. In fact, you probably know what I'm going to say: some suggested that it might be "fun" if I told them what I did with other women on dates.

I didn't kiss and tell. Ever.

But, I was always honest with my dates and never once promised to be faithful. I was always clear about the fact that we were both free to date others if we chose to do that.

The men never seemed to mind if I dated other women, didn't really consider them to be competition. But, other guys? No, they weren't too jiggy with that idea.

I've tried to explain it to Bing many times. I truly am equally attracted to men and women. Not 60/40. 50/50.

She says that she finds the idea of a penis to be incredibly unappealing.

"Vaginas are so gorgeous, so lush...so incredible," she says, dreamily.

This is usually when I remind her that she doesn't need to think in the plural. MY vagina is what she should be thinking of. Not vaginas.

She always saves the day by whispering that mine is the only one that matters to her, that she craves. "Nice save!" I tell her....

Bing is the first person that I ever promised to be faithful to. And I have kept that promise.

Not easily. But, I've kept it. And I don't think it is always easy for her either. But, I learned a lesson in my mid forties and yes, it really did take THAT long:

It is good to be faithful, to be a couple and not let anyone else in to that delicious intimacy. The looks, the words that are just for you and another. It is incredibly wonderful to wake up with a foot next to yours. A foot that belongs to the one person on earth who would walk through fire for you.

I get the whole monogamy thing now. And I adhere to it.

But, I'm human. I do look. I look at Johnny Depp and tip my head to the left, pondering what his kisses taste like. I do the same with Claire Danes.

It's just how I'm built.

So, here are my questions for you:

Do you think less of me for being bi-sexual?

If you are straight, do you ever look at someone of the same sex and have those...stirrings? And if you are gay, have you ever wanted to kiss someone of the opposite sex?

Are you in, out, sideways, open, closed, whatever?

And what sort of circumstance would it take for you to veer from your chosen path of sexuality?

Curious. Very curious.

Bringing my parents home to each other

2012-02-06T19:01:00.006-06:00

Today was my Aunt Dottie's funeral. I took the day off and allowed Liv to skip school to go with me. Bing had gone with us to the wake the night before, so I didn't whine when she said she had too much to do at school to take the day off.

Liv didn't know her great Aunt well but she was game to go to the funeral. Now that she is attending a parochial school for junior high, she has become fascinated with the Catholic mass, not because she has become a believer, but because she finds the whole litany of it....interesting. She'd never been to a Catholic funeral and she wanted to see it.

It was your typical funeral. Long. Lots of singing. Standing, sitting. Standing again. Sitting again. Kneeling. Standing. Sitting. Kneeling. We sat with my sisters, two who came in from Iowa. They were all thrilled, of course, to see Liv. Beamed at her. They beamed less when they realized that I was not participating in the mass. At all. Not one sign of the cross. No bowing my head. Absolutely no communion. I think that they'd hoped that I would set a good example by showing Liv that her mother was raised Catholic.

I saw no reason to pretend. I am no longer Catholic. So, Liv and I sat respectfully in our seats while those around us engaged in the Catholic Mass Dance. Liv had told me that she finds her weekly masses at school to be incredibly relaxing, almost like meditating. I could feel her relax against my shoulder.

After the mass, my other two sisters headed back home to Iowa while Liv and I went to the luncheon with Patrice, my eldest sister. We sat at the Lastname table with our closest kin and Liv enjoyed listening to her great uncle and aunt talk about what life was like in the olden days.

And then, she leaned in and asked my Uncle Tommy and Aunt Genina what her grandparents, my parents, were like. Was her grandfather smart? Funny? Was her grandmother a good student? I had told her all I could about her grandparents, but had no real knowledge of what they were like before they had their four daughters.

Uncle Tommy (my Da's brother) and Aunt Genina (my mother's last remaining sibling) were thoughtful for a moment and then told their stories. Ones that I had never heard. And a picture was painted.

My Da, who had dropped out of high school to help his father run the farm, was a straight A student, smart as a whip. He read almost non stop and embarrassed his brother, Tommy, by reading poetry. He redeemed himself, however, by being a true ladies man. A handsome guy who could make a girl blush with one long look.

"He wasn't particularly funny, couldn't play sports because he was kinda sickly, if there was a cold to be caught, he did just that. But, lordy...we'd go to dances and girls would be smiling and flinging their hair right and left. He could get a date with one hand tied behind his back."

And then Aunt Genina painted the picture of Liv's grandmother Rosie, my mother.

She did okay in school, didn't get A's, didn't flunk either. She never had dates. Boys liked her as a friend. She wasn't all that pretty. She had pretty red hair and was tall and skinny, but she was covered from head to foot with freckles. No. She never was asked to dance. Dottie and I would dance all night and she'd find a girlfriend to dance with a few times, but usually ended up looking at her shoes, sitting in a chair all night, waiting for someone to ask her. No one ever did.

Until my Da.

They all lived in the same area and they all hung out with the other Irish kids in the neighborhood. So they saw each other from childhood, knew of each other.

And then one fateful night (for my existence anyway), Jack asked Rosie to dance. There is a disagreement as to why. My Uncle Tommy thinks he maybe felt sorry for her. Aunt Genina maintains that he asked her first and she said, "Why don't you ask my sister and then I'll dance with ya, Jack."

Whatever happened that night, we won't really know.

But, Jack asked Rosie to dance. They danced. He was dating some girl casually and she wasn't at the dance because she had the measles.

Her loss.

Because Jack walked Rosie home after the dance and when he tried to kiss her, she ducked away and ran into the house.

But, he came back the next day with a gang of friends, supposedly to pick up her brother for a pick up baseball game. It was early Spring and the farm wasn't too busy yet. Jack had some free time.

And he spent it with Rosie.

She never understood his bookish ways or the way he daydreamed.

Or as Aunt Genina put it: "She was blinded by those deep dimples of his. God, Jack was handsome. And he could have been MINE! He asked me to dance first! So, it was me who got them together. Not that either of them ever thanked me."

Uncle Tommy remembers:

"We didn't get what he saw in Rosie. She wasn't good looking and he liked his gals to be good looking. And she wasn't bookish like the girl he had been dating. She just followed him around with her eyes, looking like she couldn't believe that he was talking to her. Maybe that was what hooked him. She adored the ground he walked on. She must have known that she was going to be a farm wife and would have to work hard. But, I don't think she cared. She just wanted Jack."

Liv listened hard. So did I.

I loved hearing my parents come to life as a young dating couple. And then a young married couple. Both Uncle Tommy and Aunt Genina said that they ended up being a good match. My mother was a good farm wife, a good penny pincher. Never asked for the moon. Would leave him alone when he'd go into his dark moods. Smiled with pure joy when he came out of them. Worshiped the ground he walked on. Gave him four daughters. And in return, he made a freckled, not-that-pretty gangly, tall woman feel as if she were beautiful.

Rosie wasn't much of a laugher. She was a sober, practical girl. And Jack would kiss her until she blushed a deep red and then pick her up and dance her around until she laughed and batted at him with her hands.

Once, they say, he picked her up and carried her over his shoulder and then jumped off a dock into a lake and when she bobbed up furious...kissed her so fiercely that everyone looked discreetly away. While she kissed him back.

Most agree that while they were opposites, they loved each other. Deeply. I think maybe she brought him a steady hand and he gave her a glimpse of Irish blarney, a peek at the faerie world.

And when he died at age 41, leaving her with two teenagers, a nine year old (me) and a 1 year old baby, she ducked her head and kept her tears to herself. Because my mother didn't believe in showing your emotions in public.

And she kept that farm going.

Later, as Liv and I drove home, she looked over at me and said, "You're kind of a mix of both of your parents. You're a dreamer like your Da and logical like your Mother." I agreed.

"But isn't it kind of cool that they found each other?" she asked.

Yes, I agreed. They found each other and without them, you wouldn't be here.

I reached over and stroked her hair with my free hand. She is part me and part her father. Part Irish dreamer, Irish tenacity and part Native American fierceness and pride.

And, like all of us, part just herself.

I looked at the photo I have of my parents when we got home. The one that sits on our piano with the rest of the family photos. It is the only one I have of them both. It is on their wedding day. They are posed standing before their wedding cake and both hold the cake cutter. My Da is looking at the camera, looking happy and like he just might laugh out loud. My Mother is staring up at him with sheer adoration on her freckled face. She looks almost pretty, with her hair held back in two clasps, in a popular Loretta Young style.

They made a home in each other.

And a home for me.

I'm so glad that in this great big world, they found each other. Maybe not their ideal mate, but no matter.

They had all they needed.

Aching for Lake Ponchartrain in the middle of the blizzard

2012-02-04T12:52:00.002-06:00

It's February and we've only had two blizzards so far, so I guess it has been a mild winter.

Still.

I really, really detest winter. I woke up around 4 this morning and peeked out the hurricane blinds to see what the world looked like in my back yard.

There was our naked lady sitting in her birdbath. Except now she looked like a bizarre female pope decked out in pure white. The snow was piled on her head like a mitre and snow wrapped around her body like a weirdly shaped white mink stole. Oddly, one pointy grey breast lay bare, peeping out of the snow.

I looked at my statue of the laughing boy. He stands in the midst of our garden in the summer, looking down at all the flowers that came before we did. Bachelors buttons, bleeding hearts, bluebells, forget me not,lady's slipper, and lily of the valley. He is old, we had a friend who knows such things tell us how old he was and he guessed that he was at least 80 years old. And beautifully preserved. The only flaw in him is a slight crack that circles his round belly and the very tip of his nose has come off. Birds love to rest on him in the summer.

Now, he still wore his delighted smile, but it looked a bit crazed as he gazed down, not at pretty flowers, but at lumps of blown snow.

I shivered and went in to check on Liv and Socks and then flew back to bed to warm my freezing toes against Bing's warm ones. She groaned softly in her sleep. I was disturbing her dreams. I let the heat of the electric mattress pad lure me back to my own.

But, this morning, I sat at the table, looked morosely down at my peanut butter toast and gazed out at the heavy snow batting against the window. I felt tears come to my eyes. Bing had just come in from taking Socks out to pee and was wiping his paws carefully at the back door, using the old gray towel. She looked up and frowned.

"Honey, are you okay?"

I said that yes, I was...I was just pining for...for...for...okay...I was pining for a beignet. One of Lisette's beignets, to be specific.

She looked at my face curiously.

"Sweetie, I love you dearly. But, we are on the prairie. There are some foods that just taste best regionally and beignets are one of them. Want me to make pancakes?"

I said no and gnawed at my toast, scowling.

I've felt out of sorts all morning. And I think I've figured it out.

I miss Louisiana.

We visited there last year and it was one of the best vacations I have ever spent. Bing was born and raised in New Orleans. She is southern way down deep. We stayed with Bing's Aunt Eugenie and Uncle Henri at their old family sugar cane plantation just a few miles away from New Orleans. The plantation is long gone, as are..yes...the slave quarters. But the house remains. And all the big vats and buildings are still there, but weathered.

We had the best time. It was the whole experience that sank into my skin. Bing's family is mostly Creole, some Cajun. Their accents are unspeakably gorgeous. Slow and thick and hard to understand initially, but by the end of our week there, I had no trouble with understanding their words. Except when they were in french. Which happened a lot. When Aunt Eugenie heard that Liv had been learning french at her Montessori school for over five years, she insisted that Liv ONLY speak french. Liv complied and they smiled at her fancy pants accent but by the end of the week, she had picked up their odd mix of Creole/Cajun french mix. I tried gamely to converse in french at dinner and they were patient with me, except for Uncle Henri, who had to place an oversized napkin over his head to hide his chuckles.

I went fishing in Lake Borgne and caught my first large speckled trout, which Lisette fried up for our dinner that evening. Bing and her nephew, Rene, took us on a tour of Deer Island in Mississippi. I shook from head to foot as I witnessed a large alligator standing not six feet away from me and realized that if he had chosen, he could have bitten me in two. He didn't, though. At Bing's instruction, we all froze and walked carefully backwards and I swear he was laughing at us. He meant us no harm. He probably thought it was pretty funny to see me pick up Liv and carry her like she was two years old. Liv was annoyed, but I was terrified. It wasn't until we got back home and I tried to pick up Liv again and couldn't do it that I realized that my "mother strength" had come into play.

I walked all around Lake Pontchartrain with various family members and once or twice with Bing, where we found a quiet place to sit and steal some kisses.

I went to my first real fais do do, a party that you can only have in New Orleans or thereabouts. I learned (okay...I TRIED to learn) the Cajun two step, the Lake Charles Slide and the Whiskey River Jitterbug. The night was silky, I wore red ballet slippers, bright red lipstick, a peach colored sundress with a red shawl and nothing else. Bing and I fell asleep in a hammock under a swamp chestnut tree, breathing in the soft scent of a crepe myrtle tree nearby. A little lagniappe in the morning sun. I felt as if Louisiana had bewitched me.

I listened to Bing's cousin Lafayette's tales of Marie Laveau and her gris gris. He gave me a special powder to sprinkle around the four sides of our home and doorways to protect us from those who would mean us harm. Since I have always had a worry that my blog stalker would show up one day, it made me smile to picture her paralyzed and unable to come near me or my family. Nonsense, I know...but still. I even went to a New Orleans' voodoo shop and bought some crazed Jesus rings to wear when I was feeling especially feisty. I think I've only worn them once or twice. Yeah, my life here on the prairie is pretty tame.

I ate like a pig. Lizette is the family cook and she was always cooking, always in the kitchen, always singing. She made andouille and eggs for breakfast, beignets and coffee with chicory. She made a crawfish etouffee for Bing, who astounded me by not just taking one helping, not two, but THREE helpings. She thought she'd died and gone to heaven. Lizette made desserts like bourbon brownies with praline icing and french bread pudding. I gained SEVEN pounds in one week. A pound a day.

Bing has always called me endearments in Creole (bebe, mon chere), but I was also referred to as mo shou (mawn shoo), klere, zepis, etwal, sik ete and sikre, endearments that I didn't know the meaning of until Bing educated me on the plane ride home.

Mostly, I felt as if Louisiana creole/cajun slippery magic had sifted into my skin. I began to walk and talk more slowly, laugh more deeply. I found myself smiling for no reason at all, simply because I was just so relaxed and so happy to be there.

Bing and I walked all over the french quarter in New Orleans. She was restless, bored. I was enchanted. I wore a crown on flowers in my hair and around my neck, courtesy of one of Bing's male relatives (and seriously...the men in Louisiana are incredibly seductive) and skipped from one store to the next. We stopped for shrimp po'boys at a local cafe and laughed as neither one of us could keep them from dripping all over our hands. She took Liv and I to Marie Laveau's grave and we dropped silver bracelets to intermingle with the other offerings. We rode a trolley down St. Charles street and it was there that I told Bing that I wanted to retire here, buy one of those beautiful shotgun houses and let that New Orleans breeze slide all over me, all year round. NO snow.

We've talked about it seriously since. Bing is leery, worries that New Orleans is just a bowl waiting to fill with water again with the next hurricane. I am less worried. I talk about maybe finding some place closer to her Aunt and Uncle. Someplace near Deer Island in Biloxi or Lake Pontchartrain.

I just want to go back. And stay.

I'll probably get very stout. But, I will be happy.

And since I am also very vain, I might push myself away from the table so that I can wear those sun dresses well into my prime.

I feel the lure of that place calling me. Like a siren calling to a sailor.

Bing smiles and shakes her head.

"I can't believe my prairie girl has been so easily seduced by my home town. I should have taken you home in college. Maybe you would have fallen in love with me faster..."

Maybe.

All I know is that on days like today, when we are housebound, trapped by a blizzard...when my world is a swirl of white and teeth chattering cold...I ache, I ache...I ache for beignets, for a fais do do, some gris gris and a little lagniappe.

I long to go back.

Bing and I have decided that we will definitely move south when Liv leaves for college. Right now, we shall stay put, get her through junior high and high school and save our pennies. Houses on St. Charles street are not cheap. Or as Bing would prefer, houses in a cheaper area...

All I know is that I hear it calling me and one day I will go there to stay.

No more snow. No more bone chilling cold.

I might miss the sturdiness of my prairie ancestors but I am already seduced by the soft colors of Lake Pontchartrain.

There are two ways to say this, Bing tells me. One is proper, one more relaxed. I mean both.

Mi aime jou, New Orleans.

Mwen renmen, Lake Pontchartrain....

And now, I will go make a hot turkey sandwich for my daughter and try to read a good book and stay warm.

In my head, I am wearing a peach colored sun dress.....

Crazy, mad love and Happy Anniversary to you, you snoring fool.

2012-02-01T07:25:00.001-06:00

Yesterday was our anniversary.

It started out badly. An early call from my sister informing me that our Aunt Dottie had died in her sleep. But, it was a peaceful death and she was 90 years old and in a retirement home in California. So..we will be going to a funeral in a few days. One of the aides said that she had been talking to someone named Rosie for almost a week and no one was there.

Well, someone was there. My mother's name was Rosie. She and Dottie were sisters. She died nearly two decades ago, but I am very sure that she was there. So, it sounds like the way I'd like to die: in my sleep and someone I loved to help me find my way.

But the rest of the day was lovely.

A bouquet of bluebells (constancy), honeysuckle (devotion) and daisies (my favorite of flowers and they symbolize cheerfulness) under a sprinkling of baby's breath (everlasting love) arrived at my office at 9 a.m.

And really, when your partner knows that you firmly believe in the language of flowers and goes to the trouble to find the perfect ones...that is pretty great.

We shared cards (mine funny, as always...hers, sweetly romantic, unusual..we almost always go for the humor) and I gave her a single pecan cluster. She rarely eats sweets, but is happy to receive a single chocolate. She gave me a box of cherry cordials. Again, my hands down favorite.

We shared our anniversary dinner with Liv, went to our favorite restaurant. I had the Chiangmai dinner. Bing had salmon. Liv had mussel curry. Liv got her pineapple drink and Bing and I had Thai coffee. For dessert, we all shared mango cake and ice cream.

And then we rolled home, stuffed full. Happy people.

The waiter knows us and even though we always get the same thing, he always waits to write our order down until we speak. He bows to us when we leave and I find that very sweet.

And then we came home and Liv and I watched Glee and then she went up to her homework and I took a shower.

Bing didn't go anywhere near that shower afterwards. No cleaning tonight...

Bing and I settled on the sofa to watch Southland and within ten minutes I was out like a light. When the show ended, she gently woke me up and led me upstairs to bed. I plopped on that bed like a dead fish and was asleep almost instantly.

This morning, as Bing and I were saying goodbye, Liv commented, "Mama, Bing is crazy mad for you."

We both looked up and laughed and Bing jokingly said, "Hey, now. Not true. I'm only marginally fond of the woman...."

Liv went on.

"Last night, I got up to get some milk before bed and you were laying on her shoulder sleeping while she watched her show. Mama, you were SNORING like...REALLY LOUDLY. And DROOLING on her shoulder. I asked Bing why she didn't just jostle you and tell you to go to bed so that she could at least hear her show. And she said no, she liked your company, snoring and all. And you know...that is crazy mad love, in my opinion!"

I looked at Bing. She smiled. Shrugged. Kissed me goodbye and was gone.

I went upstairs to get ready for work.

Yes, that IS crazy mad love.

And I do NOT snore. Nor drool.

Ever.

Just sayin'.....

The best laid plans

2012-01-31T07:27:00.001-06:00

So...there I was last night, fresh out of the shower. Ready to watch some Alcatraz. Liv goes upstairs to read in her room before bed.

I sit on the sofa in my pale pink cozy robe with my slinky white nightie on underneath. At some point in the show, I plan to flash Bing with it. Just a peek of what's to come....

She's crabby. Wants to know if I "properly" cleaned the shower. I roll my eyes, tell her that I cleaned it just fine. No worries.

During a commercial, she goes upstairs and I hear her heading towards the bathroom. I sigh. God. I am SO FUCKING SICK OF THIS. WHY is she SO obsessive about that shower? Every time Liv or I take a shower, she is either standing at the door ready to coach us on how to properly clean it afterwards to avoid buildup or will go in to "check" to make sure that we've wiped it down properly.

Liv is getting pretty good at it. I suck at it because I refuse to do this.

I AM CLEAN, for godsake. I DO NOT want to wipe down a shower and clean it. Save that shit for a Saturday morning.

I hear the water come on upstairs and know that she is carefully wiping down the shower since I didn't.

I bite my lip. Resolve to say nothing when she comes down. Nothing.

And I am steadily losing interest in having sex with her too.

Quite steadily.

She comes back downstairs and plops on the recliner, giving me a long look which I do not return. I just watch the television. She starts with:

"Honey, would it kill you to just..."

I stop her with my cop-at-a-traffic-stop hand. Ignore her.

She sighs and turns back to the television.

"What did I miss?" she asks.

I shrug. "Shh. I'm watching this. If you don't want to miss things, you should probably not clean showers during commercials."

She starts to rebut. Stops. We watch the rest of the show in silence.

Afterwards, I get up and say that I am tired, going to go to bed.

She stands up, says that she will too. I ignore her and walk up the steps, leaving her to shut off all the lights, etc.

I go in and check on Liv. Asleep with a book next to her, Socks at his perch at the end of the bed. I kiss them both and shut off her bedside lamp.

Bing is brushing her teeth in the bathroom off of our bedroom. She glances up as I take off my robe.

I stand in the white nightie and give her one long, very cool look. She just stares.

I go over to the bureau and dig out my old red man's nightshirt that I usually wear to bed. I sling the white nightie over my head and shuck the red nightshirt over my head in two quick motions.

She is in the doorway, holding her toothbrush.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I can see that you were in a pretty sexy nightie there and now it's replaced by the regular sleep shirt. Is there any way to save this? Hey, I'm sorry. I was a bitch about the shower, okay?"

I sigh. Kiss her once, softly.

"I'm just tired now, okay? It seemed like a good idea at 7:30. Now, I'm just...tired...okay? Tomorrow is our anniversary. Maybe then, yes?"

I get into bed and slide into the warmth. After a few moments, she joins me, turns off the bedside lamp. Reaches for me to hug me close.

"You have no idea how fucking sorry I am right now," she says.

I smile in the dark. We kiss a few times. But, no. Not there. Not tonight.

We roll over and sleep.

Unbelievable

2012-01-30T18:02:00.001-06:00

Drove by the bank with that time and temp flashing.

68 degrees. On January 30.

Late January is misery time here on the prairie where you are right next door to going mad from the steady snowstorms and below zero weather. The blinding snow and the constant shivering.

Not this year. Not THIS FUCKING YEAR.

God, I could seriously get used to this. I LOVE not slogging through snow, love not walking carefully on that ice and seeing my breath puff out like mini clouds.

Nope. I just took the dog for a walk with Bing. In a sweater. A sweater. On January 30th. Boy howdy.

I can't stop smiling.

If one more person tells me that "Hey, don't be too excited. We still have two more months before Spring..." I will just keep grinning.

February is a short month. And March is right next door to Spring. Right. Next. Door.

My new favorite show is on tonight: Alcatraz. Bing is making scrambled eggs, sausage and bumble berry jam on toast.

I'm back at work and everyone said that they missed me. Well, not Nanette, but she smiled at me and said, "Well, you have some color in your cheeks again. Last week, you looked like death warmed over..."

This is GOOD from Nanette.

Smiling. Smiling. Smiling.

Nothing can harsh my mellow tonight.

I feel like watching my show, taking a long hot shower and going to bed early...and not sleeping. I feel like seducing my wife. Wearing that little white summer nightie with the spaghetti strap and having one slip down my shoulder and then crooking my finger at her. Making my eyes go wide.

SIXTY EIGHT DEGREES. IN LATE JANUARY!

Oh, it's gonna be a good night.....

The man with the child in his eyes returns; what gets you through

2012-01-28T13:14:00.007-06:00

He's not readily accessible. I only see him in my sleeping dreams and then, not often and not regularly.

There is a pattern that I have noticed. When I am sick or when I am very, very tired, bordering on exhaustion, then...then...he shows up.

I've been ill the last week. With a cold that became worse. Due to the drugs I have to take and an illness that took me over a few years ago, I have an impaired immune system. Or as my doctor professionally puts it: "That system of yours is always running on empty." I can't fight colds, etc. Not well. I do what I can. I get a flu shot every year, am always updated on my pneumonia shots. Liv and Bing are careful around me when they have colds. (Bing, predictably, tends to go over the top. She used to wear a face mask and latex gloves when she was sick until I told her that she was scaring Liv and needed to stop.)

I can't do much at work. I see lots and lots children and as we all know, they are little germ carriers. But, after each session, I carefully douse myself in hand sanitizer and I am always very, very careful NOT to touch my face. (This is harder than it seems. Try not to touch your face for a half hour. Good luck.)

So, occasionally, I catch a cold. And when I do, I get really, really ill. This is what happened recently. It started, as they all seem to do, with a slight sore throat, a slim slice of pain every time I swallowed. A scratchiness. And then it got worse. I woke up the following morning barely able to swallow and I ached all over. Had a fever that spiked from 100 to 102 in a mornings time. I went to the doctor, did all the necessary bloodwork and yes, my white blood cell count was up there and I was put on antibiotics and told to go to bed and stay there for a few days.

Felt so guilty. I have two co-workers. Piper and Julie. Piper found out that she had cancer last month and had a hysterectomy. She won't be back at work for another few months. Julie and I decided that rather than hire someone to replace her, we would just hope that she comes back when she can. So, we have taken on her clients and it has been crazy busy. Also, Julie told me recently that she plans to leave us in July. She has fallen in love for real at the ripe old age of 53 and she and her betrothed want to move to Mexico (his home) and open a practice there. So, she has one foot out the door. We will find someone to take her place and quite possibly, Piper's too, if she can't come back to us.

It was a bad time to be sick. But, Julie, being Julie, was upbeat. ("Everything is just fine. Just take the rest of the week off. I can hold down the fort. I don't go to the gym five nights a week for nothing! I have this, Maria! No worries!") I had Nanette re-schedule everyone she could and you would think I asked her to go to the moon and back, but she did it.

Mostly, I slept. Sometimes I swam up to the surface of sleep, awakened by the coughing or the pain in my joints. Then, I watched all the shorts for Sundance or read some Poe (he calls to me when I am feeling sick, for some odd reason) or watched CNN.

I entertained myself by trying to remember favorite lines from Poe. And succeeded nicely:

Two of my favorites are from The Tell-Tale Heart.

"True! Nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad?"

"Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then, am I mad? Harken! And observe how healthily--how calmly I can tell you the whole story."

I said these lines poised in my dark, midnight blue nightgown with the white piping, arms outstretched beseechingly while I gazed crazily at myself in the mirror.

Socks was troubled, very troubled. He nervously looked behind him, hoping to hear Bing, Liv, anyone, even the postal carrier at the front door.

And then, of course, I had a coughing fit and my acting career ended abruptly.

But, when I slept...I slept the sleep of the dead. I went to odd places in my dreams, the sun from the slats in the hurricane blinds playing across my eyelids with my eyes in REM state, going rapidly back and forth.

I dreamed of whipped cream snow drifts in deserts, sand creatures that looked like fish with legs, creeping towards me, claws clicking like crabs. They wanted to pinch me. I could sense it.

I dreamed of being on a prairie and sitting alone with an old Indian warrior who was trying to teach me how to make a bow and arrow. I kept missing the point and he was patient.

I dreamed of being with Bing in my childhood farm, of showing her the old shed where I used to sneak away and write and of us finding, instead of the old box that I used to sit at and the bigger box that I used to write upon, a drum set with the words The Monkees emblazoned across the front of it. "This is so cool," Bing said, in my dream, "I never knew that you knew Micky Dolenz!"

I dreamed of teaching a writing class and saying, "Let's find our main character. What does she look like? What is his name? Should our novel be in first person, third or in omniscient?" And my students, all dressed up as if they were going to the opera or the ballet, raising their hands, leaning anxiously toward me.

And then...I dreamed of him.

I call him the man with the child in his eyes after an old Kate Bush song. I've been dreaming of him since I was in college and he never ages, never changes, always slightly resembles Jonathan Rhys-Meyers

As I said, I only dream of him very infrequently, maybe three times a year or so. And then only when I am at my weakest, either ill or extremely tired, too tired or sick or both to hold him back. Keep him at arm's length. My bff, Harriet believes that he is from another life of mine, long ago...and that he and I are both on to other lives, new lives now, but manage to reach out and touch each other in dreams. When I am feeling my cynical self, I laugh and tell her that she should be a screenwriter, that this is the stuff of movie making. I don't know where he comes from, but he comes. He comes.

And we are always so relieved to see each other. He always laughs and says a little breathlessly, "So...here we are again, dreaming of each other. Isn't this just so...random? So good to see you, baby, so, so good...."

The setting varies. But, we are almost always somewhere very green, very verdant. Ireland. Like Ireland. Sometimes we have a child with us, usually an infant daughter, called Ostara. (Again...Harriet maintains that this child actually existed in another life and is come back in this life as Liv.) Sometimes, it is just us. The setting is never upsetting. Always soothing. Warm. We laugh, kiss, sometimes make love or just...touch. We catch each other up with our lives. I tell him of troublesome cases involving autistic children in hard circumstances, he tells me of how he never has time to fly his airplanes, too busy trying to keep the bar afloat, support the family he has now. We never talk of our present families, really, maybe it is too hard? I don't know. I don't really want to hear of his wife and I'm sure he doesn't want to hear much about Bing. We laugh. Once we played a game of chess and I beat him, which made him pout slightly. Bad sport. Another time we were at a fair and on a ferris wheel, all the way to the top and he reached up and pulled the lip of the sky down to show me the soft blue behind it, the new day coming in a few hours. I laughed happily at his magic trick.

The thing is, it has always been my safe place. My soft reckoning. My memory that doesn't really exist.

This time was different. I dreamed that I was standing in front of my mirror, spouting lines from Poe and he suddenly appeared in the mirror. He smiled at me, but there was something fearful about his eyes.

"I can't come through right now, but I just really, really wanted to see your eyes," he said. "It's been so long, Siobhan." (He calls me that sometimes, sometimes, Meggie, sometimes Caledonia.)

I reach out and touch his hand through the mirror. It feels real. He pulls back.

"Don't do that. I can't come there, no time. And god...I don't want you to be here right now," he says, snatching his hand away before I can touch it again.

I say I don't care. I need to see him. Doesn't he miss me? He looks behind him, worried and then turns back to me, softening.

"Okay," he says. "Take my hand. But, just for a quick minute. One kiss, yes?"

I take his hand and am pulled through the mirror.

I am surprised. I look around. It isn't green here. It is dark. A bar, I think. Smells like a bar. And then, yes...I see bar stools. Before I can talk, I am pulled in close to his chest and I let my head sink into him, curling my hands around his waist, as I love to do. We kiss slowly and it is very soft, very warm. A yearning. An aching. A missing.

And suddenly there are bright lights and noise and he is pulling my hand and running, yanking me through a door and outside into a rainy day. We dodge around cars and almost slam into a moving car but dodge it and go into some sort of warehouse. We are running up steps, our feet slamming against the metal and I can hear shouting behind us. I fearfully look over my shoulder and see three large men with some sort of billy clubs careening in the door just below us. One points to us and they hit the steps.

"Don't look, just move with me," he says. "I'll get you back. Just...C'MON. MOVE, SIOBHAN! Please, baby. I'll get you out, I swear. Trust me."

We are curling around boxes now, in and out and around in a dizzying way. I am struggling to keep up but he holds my hand tightly, looking around once to smile encouragingly.

I am terrified. Those men. They will hurt us. Him.

We finally make it down a long corridor and we hurl towards a wall. When we get to the wall, he suddenly pulls down a small door, like a coal chute that I hadn't seen there before. He tells me to get in. Just get in. Now.

I am trying to hurry, hindered by my long blue nightgown, but he lifts me up and pushes me in.

"I love you," he says. "Next time, it will be better. I should have never gotten you into this. So sorry, baby. So sorry. Now, go. Be safe!"

I slide down and as I am slipping down a wet greasy tunnel, I look back in time to see that he hasn't made it after me. They've got him and he is yanked back and then the chute is gone and all is black.

I am slipping and sliding towards some sort of bleached whiteness.

And then, wow...there I am, sitting on the floor of my bedroom, next to my little dressing chair by the mirror.

I try to get up but my legs are aching badly and I can barely move. I manage to slowly get to my feet and then I see it. His hand print on the mirror. Fingers slightly splayed. I quickly put my hand up to his but as soon as I do, the print fades away.

And then I woke up.

In my bed, a violent coughing spell. I cough and cough but it is fruitless, nothing wants to come up. Not enough mucinex in the world to unloosen that from my lungs.

The bed was bouncing up and down. Socks sat at the end of the bed, looking irritated. As soon as the coughing abated, he sighed and slipped off, deciding to go see if there was any more food in his dog dish.

And so I was left with the dream.

My man with the child in his eyes. The first time I ever dreamed of him where it wasn't full of love and happiness, but danger and pain.

I closed my eyes, praying for his safety. Wondering why I was praying for someone who was a dream figure and not really real, just a figment of a tenacious nightmare. A slip left over.

I got up on shaky legs to go to the bathroom for a long cool drink of water and then headed back to bed.

Then I thought of it. What the dream reminded me of. That song...that song from so long ago. What was it? A-Ha? Hmmm. Decided to look it up later.

I shuffled back to bed, letting myself sink into the softness of the sheets.

My aqua blue sheets that I love. The ones that my sister bought for me the last time that I was sick, about a year ago. Shimmery, watery blue ones that were so incredibly soft that they just begged you to relax, to close your sleepy eyes.

Sheets can get you through a lot of things. So can many other things.

A good book.

A random radio show in the middle of the night where the crazy ones come out to talk about alien invasions and weird lights in the sky.

A perfect granny smith apple cut into perfect orbs on a white plate.

A glass of orange juice shimmering with Vitamin C. You swallow it and can feel goodness slaking down your throat and sluicing all the crud off your insides and replacing it with sun and cool heat.

The sound of a back door slamming and feet on the steps up to your bedroom when you know it is your daughter coming to sit on the edge of the bed and tell you about the spelling bee and that word that almost tripped her up: paradigm.

Bing's smiling face, cold from the outside, tipping into yours for a soft kiss.

Sun shining through the blinds,making straight patterns on a soft brown wooden floor.

That depression era glass that you like, filled to the brim with seven up. You can look over and see the bubbles sliding up and down the glass, ready to skim down your hot, parched throat.

Looking out the window at 11:00 a.m. The house is quiet. The street outside is quiet, except for a lone postal worker who comes sauntering up the hill to your house, stopping at all the ones before yours. He is whistling something, a tune you can't really hear, just sense.

The way your rings shine on your fingers against the aqua blue pillow case. The yellow one from Africa, the purple amethyst, the silver claddagh ring perched jauntily on your thumb.

The man with the child in his eyes who saved you from the bad guys in a very bad dream.....

Sundance shorts 2012

2012-01-26T07:14:00.001-06:00

Entertaining myself by watching the Sundance 2012 shorts.

Watch this one: Una Hora Por Favora.

I kid you not, I sat up in my bed laughing until I started crying. Hilarious. And in English.

But, Wilmer Valderrama is incredible. And here I thought he could never escape Fez.

Check it out.

screen.yahoo.com/Sundance/

Please excuse Maria from Blogville again

2012-01-25T18:21:00.000-06:00

She's sick as a dog and crabby as hell.

Believe me, you don't want to read anything she would write right now.

Bing is contemplating moving out until she is better. Especially when she wants to watch political shows and Maria pulls the I'm-sickkkkk-I-get-to-watch-whatever-I-want-and-that's-American-Idollllll.

The dog is doing long shifts of cuddle duty.

Bed is calling....

the anniversary gift

2012-01-22T12:32:00.001-06:00

Our anniversary is January 31. No, we aren't married. Of course not. We don't get that marriage date that heterosexuals get to celebrate: the date of our legal marriage.

Nope. Not us. It isn't easy being green and all that shit.

So, like most same sex couples, we celebrate our anniversary on one of four dates: the day we met, the date we first kissed, the day we said I love you or the day we ~~fucked~~ made love for the first time.

I'll just let you guess which one ours is.

But it is January 31st.

We usually don't make a huge deal of it. Neither one of us are particularly romantic and to be honest, we usually just exchange cards and try to get away sometime near that date for a dinner, just us. Even our cards aren't very gooey. My card to her this year says:

it's our anniversary
and i'm so happy i'm not
bored or tired of you.
i thought for sure by
now i would be.

So, yes...we veer toward funny and slightly sarcastic. Just the way we roll.

Sometimes, usually in the bedroom in talk before sleep or before or after particularly satisfying sex, we can get pretty mushy. But, in general, no.

So, I was surprised when she texted me at work last Friday with this message:

I just bought the perfect anniversary gift for us to share this year. I'll show you when I get home. I'm too ecstatic to wait.

Well, my mind raced all afternoon. This sounded...big.

Did she finally come around to buying us a new car?

Tickets to the ballet? She loves Tchaikovsky. I love ballet. Swan Lake is coming to our city in the Spring with a national company and I'd mentioned that it might be a good fit for us to go.

A trip back to Louisiana? She and I often talk about when we can go back there for a visit. But time and scheduling is always a problem.

I tried to think of anything else that would be for both of us. Hm. Stuck. I decided to just be patient and wait.

So, when I got home from work she was grinning like the Cheshire cat. I raised an eyebrow and smiled. Told her to TELL ME.

She was holding up two tickets in her hand. I smiled. The ballet. Perfect.

I got closer.

Not the ballet.

The tickets were to.....a Barry Manilow concert in late February.

Um...excuse moi? BARRY MANILOW???

What the hell?

She started gushing on right away.

Ok! I know they're expensive seats. But I got a really good deal on Craig's List and can you believe this??? We are in row 12!! And they were only 50 bucks apiece! Aren't you excited??!! This is going to be perfect! I saw them and knew it was the perfect gift...I just..um...honey?

I mustered up a smile. Managed to say something like...okay...kind of a tepid WOW.

She faltered. Frowned.

"Maria? I thought you'd be excited too. Aren't you? I mean...c'mon...he is only the Bach of our era. The man is a brilliant composer! He makes it look so easy but his pieces are so incredibly intricate, so exuberantly perfect!....."

I tried to regain my footing. I smiled and just nodded.

"Wow, Bing. This was....so....thoughtful...of you. Thank you. Yes. I know we'll have a great time..."

She looked relieved and went on.

"Hey, we'll make it a real fancy pants date night, okay? Let's get reservations somewhere special. Maybe that French place in the old market that you love so much. I'll wear my velvet blazer and you can wear that little black dress and high heels. SPIKY heels. Carry that shiny black clutch that you say you never get to use. And then we will go have our ears treated to the work of a real genius. Doesn't this sound fun?"

I said, yes...of course.

And then Liv came in with news of her spelling bee and gratefully, I didn't have to keep that fake smile plastered on my face anymore.

Because.

Seriously.

BARRY MANILOW???

Ok, I'm not dissing the guy. I think some of his stuff is pretty good. I loved Mandy when it first came out. Now, I have no idea why, but I remember just loving that song. I like Weekend In New England.

But, Barry has never been a stand out in my ipod. And I have no desire whatsoever to see him in concert. I mean, okay...if someone had free tickets, sure. But, pay money to see him? No.

Now, on the other hand, Bing has always maintained that Barry Manilow is a musical genius. She is a musician and probably understands this kind of shit more than I do. I just know if I like a song or not, if it speaks to my heart. Bing notices EVERYTHING in a song, how it is composed, what instruments are used where, cadence, mixing. So, she probably is much more equipped to recognize good music than I am.

But, here's the rub.

Bing has this nasty habit of thinking that if she likes something, I automatically will as well. If I do, it's nice...but we are two different people and our personalities are not very closely aligned. We seldom love the same things.

Okay. Goat cheese. We both love goat cheese. And goat milk. Thai food. Dexter. True Blood. Spring. Danish modern furniture. Bill Clinton. Cherry chapstick. Tina Fey.

But, our differences are marked. She likes action movies, I like documentaries, serious films. She likes fish. I like meat. She likes to watch caucuses, I don't really get into politics until things get really, really interesting in the last few months. She likes how-to books or books about how to invest money wisely or how to go completely green. I like fiction. Literature.

Why in the WORLD would she think that tickets to a Barry Manilow concert would be something that would knock my socks off? That is like me assuming that since I love Lee DeWyze's album, Slumberland (and dudes...it is fantastic), that she will too. (For the record, she did listen to it for ten minutes during a car ride once and then said that she could not stand it any longer, that he was just a run of the mill coffee house singer.)

She tends to do this with other things too. Sometimes, she will come home with a "surprise" gift of ice cream for me. This is invariably something that she loves, like rum raisin or Ben and Jerry's Chubby Hubby. I don't mind those flavors, but I would never buy them if I got to choose. I would choose Ben and Jerry's Americone Dream or butter brickle. Peach. Even lime sherbet. And she has seen me order these flavors over and over. Yet...she assumes.

She came into the bathroom while I was taking a bath last night and said, "Hey, it looks like a new episode of Southland is up tonight on On Demand, wanna watch it when you get out?"

Every single time we have watched Southland, I have told her that it is OKAY, but not that great. But, she just assumes.

I feel like she doesn't really listen. Not really.

Now, I'm not a perfect spouse either. But, I do listen and I do know her favorites. And I would NEVER come home all excited with tickets to go see Snow Patrol and think that she would swoon. Adele, yes. She would love those. But, she thinks Snow Patrol is a "table tune" band.

When I order pizza, I know that she likes her half to be vegetarian. Or..she sometimes doesn't mind pineapple and canadian bacon topping. But, she ALWAYS has to check with me about MY half. I like hamburger with black olives and extra cheese.

We would lose big time on The Newleywed Game. And it would be HER fault.

Now, she would argue that sometimes she is right about things. She bought the first Harry Potter book for us to read to Liv when she was in 1st grade. I rolled my eyes when I saw it. I had heard the hoopla and had no intention of reading some book about a boy (and they are ALWAYS boys) who was a wizard. I thought it sounded stupid. But, one day when I was completely out of books to read and there was a snowstorm raging outside, I picked it up. I figured that I would read the first two chapters to make sure that it was appropriate to read to Liv.

I was hooked by page seven. And subsequently read every single book to Liv, finishing the last with her when she was in sixth grade.

Bing brought home The Hunger Games and said that she thought I would like the character of Katniss, that it was my kind of girl. I glanced at the cover and read the inside cover and did the same thing that I did with Harry Potter: set it up on a shelf and forgot about it. Until, another snowy day. And then I fell in love with Katniss from the get go.

So, she does know me. Sort of. Most of the time.

But, then Barry Manilow happens and I am left looking at her and thinking, How can she have known me since I was 18 and STILL get me wrong so often?

But...I couldn't stand to hurt her feelings. If I had been honest, I would have told her that Barry Manilow just didn't do much for me, sorry. That maybe she could find someone else to go with her?

But, I couldn't. I saw the way she looked at me, so excited about our upcoming big fancy date.

And for the record...I don't like that French restaurant, she does. I like the Bohemian one across the street. Or the Italian one. And that little black dress? She thinks I look yummy in it, it isn't one of my favorites. It has this weird material around the waist that doesn't lay properly and that bugs me. And the shiny black clutch purse? It can hold like...a kleenex and a credit card. A tube of lipstick? No.

She was spot on about the high heels, though. I ADORE wearing high heels. I just can't do it much any more. I pay for it with leg pain the next day and sometimes they make my ankles swell up.

So...I play nice.

I try to remember all the times she gets it right. And hey...I am so lucky in so many ways. Not everyone has a spouse who stops to pick up ice cream for them when they've had a bad day. Even if it is rum raisin instead of butter brickle.

And she does remember that I like cadbury eggs.

She puts up with that goat milk shampoo and body wash that I adore even though she swears it turns the shower floor into a slippery ice skating rink.

It will be fun. I just may end up loving Barry's show. Okay, not Copacabana. I can't stand that song. And of course, she says it is a masterpiece of our generation's equivalent of Mozart.

What do I know? In two hundred years, I suppose people will regard Copacabana as a work of art and Lee's Predicament won't even make a listen-to list.

So...tell me this? How well does your partner know you? And if, like mine, they think they know you better than they actually do...do you have a really, really funny story to tell me?

Typical trip through McDonald's

2012-01-21T12:15:00.004-06:00

Liv had an 8 a.m. basketball game today (they won!) so okay...we snuck to McDonald's for breakfast afterwards.

This is all pretty much on the sly. Bing HATES McDonald's and I am not really a fan either, but I do like their sausage egg biscuits. Whenever Liv has a game and we are in a separate car from Bing, though we ALWAYS stop for breakfast on the way home or if it is an afternoon game, we stop to get her fries on the way home. It's an unspoken rule with us that if Bing is along, we skip it. Don't even talk about it.

Well, today Bing was going off to school after the game to do some last minute fixing up for their open house tomorrow, so we knew we could go through the drive thru and not have to eat there. (And yes, this is terrible, I KNOW...but I confess that I throw our take out bags into my briefcase afterwards and then throw them away at work on Monday to hide the evidence....yes, I feel guilty. Yes...it is very wrong to keep things from one's spouse. No, I am not going to stop. I just really, really don't need to hear the lecture for the 100th time that this food is so bad for us. Bad mother. So be it.)

So. Time to head through the drive thru. The line looks really, really long, even at 9:30. And there are two lanes. Probably would be faster to just send Liv in for the food, but it is cold and she is shivery from going from being all sweaty to being in the frigid outdoors and I'm lazy and don't want to go in. So, I think, how long can fast food take?

Long. Very long. As soon as I am ensconced in line, I realize that this is taking WAY too long and unfortunately there is no way to get out now. So, we prepare to wait. We talk about the game, visit a little bit about our plans for the rest of the day (she is studying spelling words with a friend since they both made the spelling bee team at school, I'm going to go see The Artist with my sister.) We are not moving. Well, okay. A little bit. But, it has been TEN minutes and we are only two cars closer.

The car in front of me honks it's horn. Wow. That helped. Then another one. Another one. So, the guy at the speaker phone steps out of his car and shouts, "The girl taking my order can't hear because of the honking, just chill, dudes!" and jumps back in. The honking stops, but the natives are restless. You can feel it.

I start seething. For godsakes, how fucking hard is THIS?

I calm down, tell myself to listen to my daughter's voice, the cadence. I do this.

In 15 minutes we are finally at the speaker. A woman with a heavy Hispanic accent asks to take my order. I tell her two number four value breakfasts with one orange juice, one coffee. She seems to sputter. I wait.

"Um..repeat? Please do the repeat!"

I carefully repeat, enunciating carefully. There is a pause.

"So sorry. I cannot do the understanding. Please do the repeat?"

I repeat, but inside I am starting to see what the problem is. They have someone taking orders whose English is not advanced enough to take care of this. This is unfair to everyone involved. Because now there are a few racist people in this line who assume that this girl is a dumbass when she simply does not know the language that well yet.

I try to think what it would be like for me if I were in Mexico working at a McDonald's with my minimal knowledge of Spanish.

It would be a bad situation. But, I am so very angry at the manager here. He/she surely knew that this was a bad fit.

We eventually get the order in. She says, "Please to do to second window to do the money."

Of course. No one is doing the money window. So everything is also being done at the second window, further slowing things down.

The car limps around. Liv says quietly, "God, I'm not even that hungry now. I feel really bad for that girl. She must be so scared."

I agree. We pass the first window where a young Hispanic woman is sitting with her arms across her chest talking into her headset, she keeps looking down at a menu in large letters in front of her and then she tries to enter it into a computer and obviously makes a mistake, giggles nervously and tries again.

At least she isn't sobbing. I would have been crying if I were a teenager who didn't speak the language trying to work a drive thru window.

Two cars in front of us suddenly decide to hell with it and veer off into the exit. Great. Now our order will be mixed up.

We get to the window and I have to explain to the girl at the window that no, we did not order three big breakfasts, that was the car two places in front of us and no, we did not order a breakfast burrito and two griddle breakfasts with four orange juices and two mocha coffees, that was the car in front of us.

The girl is slack jawed with either boredom or lack of intelligence. She gives me a long look and says, "So, you don't want your big breakfast? You need to change your order now?"

I repeat that I do not need to change my order, that we are the TWO NUMBER FOUR VALUE BREAKFASTS WITH AN ORANGE JUICE AND A COFFEE!

She stares at me vacuously and then shrugs. Calls loudly behind her.

"This lady is changing up her order now. Can I get two number four value breakfasts and two orange juices with a mocha coffee?"

God, help me.

I tell her that she took the order incorrectly.

She rolls her eyes and mutters something about the fact that SHE isn't the one who decided to change her order at the last minute.

I should ask for the manager. But, I am angry and there is a crowd behind me probably wondering who the hell that lady is who ordered 100 big breakfasts or something.

I will write a complaint letter when I get home. But, will that help? They'll probably send me a coupon for a breakfast burrito like they did the last one. Neither Liv nor I like those.

I hold out my hand with the money and double check my change. She has shorted me 20 cents. I say nothing. I take the bag and the two orange juices and the coffee that I am very sure is not black as I ordered, but a mocha double caramel latte which I can't touch unless I want my blood sugar to go through the roof.

I tell Liv, "Well, let's get home and see what our surprise breakfast is today!"

We both end up laughing as she pulls out a big breakfast, a burrito, two number four value breakfasts and yes, two, count 'em, TWO mocha lattes out. No orange juice.

I drive home and uh oh.

Bing's car is in the driveway. Liv and I look at each other guiltily.

I take a breath. "Time to face the music," I tell her.

We troop in. Bing is getting ready to go. "I stopped home because I forgot my keys and then I checked my e-mail while I was waiting for you," she says.

She looks at our McDonald's bags. Looks at me. Doesn't say a word.

I open up the bags on the kitchen table.

"Is that a breakfast burrito?" she asks.

I say yes. That I guess there was a mix up.

"And a mocha caramel latte?"

I nod again. Another mix up.

Suddenly, she throws her head back and laughs.

"Good thing I love burritos and mocha lattes," she says.

We all sit down and divvy up the food.

All's well that ends well.

And no wrappers smelling up my briefcase.

But, I am STILL gonna write to that manager.

Any one have any good fast food stories to share?

Any suggestions?

2012-01-20T07:00:00.001-06:00

I'm all out of a certain type of book and I am seriously hungry for one.

I like a lot of genres, but I am in the mood for some Elizabeth Berg, Anne Tyler or Jill McCorkle. THOSE kinds of books. Smart, funny, great women characters, no murder or science fiction. (I like murder and sci fi, but have to be in a certain mood.)

Trouble is I've read everything the above wrote.

Anyone have any suggestions? I'd much appreciate it......

Random early morning thoughts

2012-01-19T07:27:00.001-06:00

My hands are freezing. I need Bing to come let me warm them under her sweatshirt.

So tired of coughing.

God, that yogurt I just ate was expired. How long can one eat yogurt that is expired? I check with Bing who rolls her eyes and says, "It's ONE freakin' day, sugar."

It's only 7 degrees outside. Fuck.

I can hear Liv sneezing. Shit.

Why does that dog always look at me like I've forgotten something important?

The poinsettia is blooming. A little late, kiddo.

I hate the beginning of American Idol. All those idiotic first auditions. But, who knows? Maybe they'll be a new Lee DeWyze. I said this to Bing, who was sitting on the sofa pretending to play on her ipad, but she was really watching. She laughed and said, "WOW! Another coffee house singer. We need some more of those...."

I really like Snow Patrol's new album.

I wonder if I can get away with making oatmeal tonight since it's my night to cook?

What if God was one of us?

If Mitt takes the republican nomination, Obama could slice him up and dice him with one arm behind his back. I hate it when I hear someone dissing Obama at work and then when I asked him what he's specifically done to piss him off, the woman next to him with the god awful ringlets said, "Well, look at the job rate." So, I told them that Bush left him a house in ruins and he's doing pretty well considering the house and senate aren't backing anything he does. The woman looked away uncomfortably and broke eye contact. She did"t know jack shit anyway and was just trying to impress that dumb ass guy in the elevator. I think the Goldilocks ringlets did that anyway. He looked like the type that can be done in by ringlets. I had this terrible urge to tell her that those Spanks she had on really help with that jiggling ass, but I just listened to Muzak kill a John Lennon song. Who am I to disturb the universe?

Do I dare to eat a peach?

I've never liked wrestling. It makes me feel like I want to frown and look away.

Wouldn't it be fun to be in Tuscany right now?

Why do my rings keep falling off of my fingers? Should probably see if I'm losing weight.

Is the Cherries in the Snow lipstick too bright on me? Maybe I should stop thinking mean thoughts in elevators. Maybe people are looking at me and thinking, "A woman of her age should really be in a nice quiet pink instead of that whorish red."

I love that photo of Bing. She looks like she just rolled out of bed.

Why do drivers think that if they are in their cars and pick their noses, no one will see them?

I haven't called my sister in almost two weeks. I should probably call her.

Or text. Texting is better.

Why will Liv always answer a text, but lets phone calls go to voice mail?

I've been craving a steak lately. Maybe I can Bing to take us out for dinner tonight so I won't have to cook.

The dog really needs a bath. Groomers or save money and do it at home?

My skin feels like rice paper this time of year.

I miss Thanksgiving and Christmas. Pretty stupid considering I couldn't wait until all that hoopla was over while I was living it.

Time for work. Must remember my lunch today so I don't have to eat in the cafeteria. Reminder to self to see that Liv has mittens today. And a hat. A scarf. Good hell, she's 12. Stop hovering.

But still....do we still have those hand warmers in the closet?

Woke up mad

2012-01-18T07:29:00.000-06:00

I woke up furious with Bing this morning. I dreamed that she was hiding a large dog in our basement. Apparently, she had promised a neighbor that we would keep it and then she had hidden it away and had neglected to feed it or take it outside. In my dream, I was almost crazed with anger.

How could she do this to a poor animal?

I was yelling about it in my dream and then noticed picnic baskets all over the house filled to the brim with junk. She had been hoarding apparently.

When I screamed at her about all of this, she looked me square in the eye and said, "Shut your fat mouth."

This whole dream is unheard of. In the first place, Bing is not a pet person and would never volunteer to care for someone's pet and of course, if we somehow did, she would be the one getting up to let it outside at 2 in the morning.

The junky picnic baskets? Possible, to a lesser degree. She saves everything and I have a lot to say about that.

But what infuriated me the most was that she had called me....FAT.

Okay, my mouth. She called my mouth fat. In my dream. Not in real life.

And I was seeing red, dudes.

She came in to kiss me goodbye as I readied to take my morning shower, took one look at my face and said, "God, I did something in one of your dreams, didn't I?

I told her that yes, in fact, she had. She had boarded a dog and not taken care of him, hoarded junky picnic baskets and told me to shut my FAT mouth.

I continued making the bed and then heard a sound and looked up.

She was standing there....LAUGHING.

"I'm sorry, honey...but GOOD LORD, it was a DREAM!" she said, shaking her head.

I knew that, I told her, rolling my eyes. But...GOD...did she HAVE to call my mouth FAT?

She burst out laughing.

"I nearly kill a dog with neglect, trash up our house and what you are most angry about is that I said you had a FAT MOUTH??? Oh, sweetie....."

She came and tried to hug me and I stiffened. This seemed to make her laugh harder.

Finally, she said, "I'll bring pizza home for dinner, okay? To redeem myself for my bad behavior in your dreams, okay?"

I nodded. "Hamburger with extra cheese on my half!"

She came over to me again and I allowed her to kiss me goodbye.

She paused at the door. And then said, "God, I sure do love you and your big fat mouth...."

My slipper missed her head.

Here lies madness

2012-01-17T20:18:00.003-06:00

I'm currently reading a book that has me thinking about our choices in life. Regrets. Good choices. Bad ones. Ones that maybe are good and turn bad and vice versa.

I think about all the steps that I've taken to get me where I am now. All the turns that I almost made, but didn't. Turns that either evolved from gut instinct (rarely) or logic (frequently) and twists that didn't seem to matter at the time, but proved long lasting.

If I'd never gone to that Halloween party (and I very nearly didn't), I would never have met Liv's father. If I'd gone to a different college (and I very nearly did), I would never have met Bing.

And all those times of pure grace. Saved when I had set myself up neatly for pandemonium and pain. All that drinking. All those drugs. All those mornings of waking up swearing that I was done with it. All of it. The cleaning of the apartment, the pouring Grey Goose down the drain, flushing hash down the toilet. And then coming home from a long day of heartbreaking work, stopping at the liquor store and then sitting in front of the phone unsuccessfully trying not to call my dealer.

All those freaking men and women who I slept with but didn't really care about. The ones who I let in as far as I could until they began to be needy and wanted more from me than I was prepared to give. And then quickly slapping them away from me before they found their way too deeply into my heart.

Some things were deliberate choices. The way that I innately knew that education was my way to protect myself so that I would never have to depend on someone else to care for me. All of my sisters married with an eye for finding a man who could take care of them. I knew what a sorry choice that would be for me. I knew enough of myself to know that I would come to resent the chains that would be around my ankles if I made that choice.

The way that I was scrupulous (usually, but okay...not when I was totally fucked up on drugs or drink) about using birth control when I was in my twenties and thirties, knowing that I was not in any shape to be anyone's parent. But luck came into play there too. I was sometimes lazy with it when I was high and could have ended up with a child whom I was unequipped to deal with.

But, then? What? What if I had gotten pregnant? I would have found a way to deal just as almost everyone does.

And therein lies the madness.

What in my life was delegated by choice and what by happenstance?

And could I have been happy some way if I had become pregnant at twenty two and dropped out of school, became that woman who stacks books in the library? Could I have been happy?

I hope so.

I'll never know, though. Not really.

I'm famous for being the pot who refused a lid. But, in truth? Bing has saved me on so many levels that I have to acknowledge the fact that her sheer love of my flawed self has been, in many ways, my salvation. She would argue because that is how she is. She would say that I saved her from a life of being with someone who doesn't um...challenge her. That we are each other's safety nets. I think it is sort of sad testament to my lack of confidence in my nurturing capabilities that I have a very hard time seeing myself as anyone's safety net.

Except, possibly, my own.

I have so much and on my best days, I acknowledge that.

I've been feeling poorly lately. I have a cold that has now settled in my chest. This always alarms me because I have had a premonition since my teens that this is how I will die eventually, struggling to breathe. I had asthma as a child, grew out of it in adolescence but I remember vividly long days on the sofa, sitting upright because it was so hard to breathe when I laid down. To this day, I become panicky when I feel closed in by either circumstance or anxiety and become an air gulper.

So, the last few days have been unsettling. When I lay in bed at night, it takes about two hours before I wake up struggling to breathe, feeling that heaviness in my chest, hearing my lungs wheezing out air. Each time, I woke up choking, there was Bing's steadying hand on my back, rubbing in circles. Her murmurings of "It's okay, babe. Right here. I'm here," even as she felt sleep pulling her back in.

My secretary at work is recovering from pneumonia. And yes, because it is Nanette, she has milked this for everything she can. She has coughed with vigor, making a show of putting on latex gloves when she had to carry a birthday cake in (we take turns buying cake on each other's birthdays) and walking with an exaggerated limp when she feels anyone looking. (This has nothing to do with pneumonia, but the limp comes out whenever she feels she is not getting sufficient attention.) I have rolled my eyes privately at co-workers over this and shook my head in a desultory manner at her attempts to steal the oscar from Meryl Streep.

But, last night as I sat up in bed, feeling Bing's hand rubbing circles on my back, it occurred to me that Nanette has no one to rub hers. Maybe this is just her way of seeking what she feels is lacking her life. She has a cat. A cat so cherished that it is the one photo that she has as wallpaper on her computer.

Now, I don't know her background really. I know that she never married. I know that she speaks in an odious manner to her co-workers way too often. But, she is a product of her life and choices and...welll.....happenstance.

And I don't imagine the cat gives back rubs when she awakens alone and scared in the night.

I have this life and it would be folly to wonder if I took all the right paths to get here. I did what I thought best at the time and other times, like a Mary Chapin Carpenter song about the moon and St. Christopher, I have just not known which way to go, so simply...ran.

Instead, I think that on dark nights, it is best to look at some of the better paths we took, and yes, some of the sorrier ones too and just accept that they made up a workable life. Regret will eat you alive but so will pride.

So many different people have bettered my life, even those who hurt me. My Da. My first teacher and greatest influence even though I wasn't even a decade old when he died. My mother, who kept me fed, dry and warm even though she also was the one who probably hurt me the most by not being able to love me unconditionally. My sisters, who disappointed me many times but who are also my first phone call after Bing and my best friend, Harriet. The high school teacher who handed back my English papers with big A's sprawled across them and who told my mother (when I was in ear shot) that she believed that I was the most gifted student she had ever taught.

The deep black eyes of a man I met at a stray Halloween party who refused to laugh when I told him that okay, maybe I wasn't old enough to be his mother, but certainly old enough to be his babysitter and why didn't he go flirt with that vacuous eyed blonde at the end of the sofa who kept flinging her hair around like a deranged kewpie doll? The man who said, "You are the most interesting woman in this room. I don't care how old you are and I don't care if we sleep together, I just want to talk about anything with you all night long." The man who fathered Liv.

My first teaching resident who told me that I worked way too hard to be clever and not nearly enough on being smart about patients. The one who sternly took me into the men's room on the ninth floor and stood me in front of the mirror and said, "You will NEVER be of use in a hospital when you come in every morning with bloodshot eyes and looking like you are jonesin' for Jack Daniels at nine a.m. God, get a CLUE!"

The face of my daughter the first time I looked at her. The way I felt like I had come home when she took my index finger in her fist and held on for life. The way she made me understand for the first time what it felt like to know that I would give up my life in a split second if it meant saving hers. And the astonishment that I actually had it in me to feel that way. The way I felt my Da's blood sliding around in her and shining out of her ancient Lakota eyes.

And always Bing, waiting in the wings ready to take me home when I'm done showing off on stage, an extra pair of mittens for my always cold hands and assurances that I am not always a likeable person, but a very lovable one still. I'm old enough now to finally know that love like this is a luxury, that not everyone gets a Bing. Not everyone gets a soft place to land at the day's end. And for all those times when I've railed against the bonds of commitment, I'm so sorry.

Places and things and saved me too.

The way that an area can reach out and hold you tenderly. When my family went on a trip to Louisiana to visit Bing's kin,I loved that place from day one. Just the feel of it, the way it rolled over me and let that old bourbon air feather on my skin. Lake Pontchartrain. Lake Borgne. The soft accents of everyone around me and the knowledge that lagniappe is available always. A fais do do always awaits for someone who can find it.

Books have always been a bridge that crossed me over. I've been closer to characters than to real people many, many times. Ellen Foster has never left my side. Francie Nolan. Holden Caulfield. Huckleberry Finn. Severus Snape. Katniss Everdeen. Jo March. Samwise. Lisbeth Salander. I don't get people who don't fall in love with characters in books.

Music. Ventura Highway. Don't Fear The Reaper. Layla. Jumpin'Jack Flash. Caledonia.'Til There Was You. The Man With The Child In His Eyes. I Drove All Night. That's The Way I've Always Heard It Should Be. And for just maybe twenty minutes in junior high: Crazy Horses by The Osmond Brothers. Yes. The Osmonds.

I'm a complicated person who has made incredibly sane choices and totally whacked out ones. But, they all led to here. And so I can't regret any of them. Or take too much pride in them either. So much was due to happenstance, just as much as the decisions that were carefully thought through and executed smartly.

If I take away one, I might as well take away all.

And therein lies the madness. And the bridges that carried me over. What bridges carried you?

"I fucked up, Mama!"

2012-01-14T19:15:00.001-06:00

It startled me. She's never even said the word damn in front of me.

Today, Liv's basketball team played their arch rivals. The St. John's Monarchs. They'd played them before and lost by 4 points. St. John's has a hot shot player, let's just call her number 54. She's a sneak and a bully. An elbower. A stealthy clawer. And she guards Liv.

She is about as big as two Liv's and a head taller. She's the type of player who steps hard on one's instep when she is attempting to steal a ball. And the team parents love her, shouting encouragement and ignoring the fact that she has a tendency to travel and rarely gets caught. In private, Bing and I call her moose.

Liv and her teammates played their hearts out, but lost by two points. Two points that were achieved in the last ten seconds of the game because Liv threw a pass to a team player and ~~moose~~ number 54 leaped for the ball and stole it away, running down the court and swishing that ball in for two points.

After the game, Liv was holding back tears although neither her coach nor her teammates seemed to hold anything against her. She endured a "good game" hand slap from ~~moose~~ number 54, who I swear to god was smirking.

We got into the car, just the two of us. Bing had come from working at her school all morning, so was driving her own car. I patted Liv's arm, turned the heat up high when I saw her shivering as her sweaty body met the cold winter air outside.

And then she looked at me glumly and said, "I fucked up, Mama! I threw a bad pass and it was intercepted. I'm an idiot."

I was quiet for a second and then told her that it was NOT her fault, that part of the game was to try to steal the ball and how could she have seen that ~~moose~~ number 54 was going to come flying through the air like ~~an airborne Dumbo~~ an um...very large bird. It was just part of the game.

She nodded, stricken, I think, at letting that word slip. We didn't say anything until we pulled up into McDonalds for her after game french fries (Shhh! Don't tell Bing!) Then I said as calmly as I could, "Liv, I don't want to hear you say that word again, deal?"

She nodded once, relieved that I wasn't going to make a federal case out of it.

"Sure, Mama. Sorry. Really sorry."

I made a mental note to myself to make sure that I keep that word out of my conversation as well. Role model and all that ~~fucking shit~~ stuff.

So, what do you think? Did I handle that parental fast ball okay? Any suggestions? What would you have done in my place?

Kelsey

2012-01-14T11:36:00.000-06:00

I don't often talk about my work here. For one, I have an obligation to my clients not to do that, but also because I just like to leave those packages at my blog door.

But Kelsey deserves a post. I met him two weeks ago. He was born to a crack addicted mother who had no idea who his father was. He was removed from her home at the age of two and lived with his grandmother in Washington for two years. She died and it was not discovered until he had been living in her home for several days alone with her dead body. Then social services stepped in and he was sent to live with his aunt. He was removed from her home when a caseworker noticed drug paraphernalia. His only living relatives remaining were his great uncle and aunt here on the prairie. His dead grandmother's brother and his wife.

This is where I come into the picture. His great uncle and aunt brought Kelsey to see me after they determined from his behavior that he was quite likely sexually abused. They also wondered if he could be autistic since his pediatrician felt that he displayed symptoms of this. (And my opinion of pediatricians who think they can diagnose autism will go unsaid. Let's just say that autism seems to be a great catchphrase for them when they are not sure what to do.)

I met privately with the uncle and aunt and was less than impressed. They seemed angry that they were "saddled" with this child but were not inclined to give him up to foster care as they believed it was their duty to care for him now. I did sympathize with them as they are in their fifties and their only child is grown. And to be honest, the foster care system is a crap shoot. Some foster parents are incredible, some do it for a living and some are just plain scary. The uncle and aunt shared that Kelsey inappropriately tried to touch them and asked them to touch him too. The aunt, in particular, seemed horrified by this and was inclined to shrink away from Kelsey if he was in the same room. The uncle showed more warmth, but it was clear that they expected me to fix this child and then give him back good as new. A spanking new child to replace the flawed one that they had received. They also were concerned because he had an imaginary playmate named Bosco who told him to do "naughty" things.

"How long will it take you to cure him?" they asked me.

I told them that we would speak again after I met Kelsey, that I would only be able to take him on if he was autistic, that they would need to take him to a child psychiatrist as well, who specialized in sexual abuse.

Kelsey is nearly five years old, an angelic looking child with long, thick black eyelashes and pale skin. A head of straight brown hair that was cut in a silly bowl cut. His eyes cut to me when they brought him into my office and then quickly sized me up, deemed me non threatening and then he quickly found the box of toys and books in the corner of my office. The aunt and uncle stayed for a few moments and then told him that they would be in the waiting room. He showed no attachment to them, shrugged and went on throwing bright colored bean bags up into the air, catching them perfectly.

I sat on a chair a few feet away from him. I introduced myself to him and he smiled. "I already know who you are," he said. "Bosco says that you're my new friend. Do you want to ask me what color these bags are?"

I said that would be fine. He deftly named all the colors, throwing each bag to me as he called out the color. Brown. Green. Red. Yellow. Blue. Pink. Black. White. He hesitated over the purple bag and then proudly remembered it, tossed it to me.

He moved on to the flash cards which showed children performing different activities. Washing dishes. Setting a table with plates. Brushing teeth. Laying in a bed, eyes closed. He easily named each activity, slightly bored, but showing off his knowledge.

Then he found the Clifford books and pounced on them.

"I know these!" he said, excitedly. "This is a big red dog and he is like...gigantic! As big as a house! I wish I were that big!"

He sidled up to me, leaning against my knee easily. We read the books, one by one. I asked him what he would do if he were as big as Clifford.

"I would stomp on bad people," he said, without hesitation. "Bosco says that it is all right to kill people if they do bad things."

Our time was up, so I didn't pursue it. I spoke to his Aunt and Uncle briefly and said that I would need to see Kelsey one more time to determine if he qualified for our program. They agreed.

The next week, Kelsey was not nearly as cheerful. He slumped in his chair, kicking at the toy box.

"Do you ever get new toys?" he asked. "I've already seen these."

I found a few new things for him to look at, a book about a train. And then we found several box cars that fit neatly together to make a train like the one in the book. We talked as we worked together.

I asked him how he was feeling today.

"I'm mad because aunt Ann didn't let me make snow angels when it snowed last week," he said. "We don't hardly ever get snow at my grandma's house. She said she had a headache. She's prolly going to die soon. And then I'll go back to grandma. She's nice. She taught me how to do this to feel better."

At this point, he cupped his genitals and rubbed himself briskly. I found the box of pop beads and held them out to him. Asked him if he wanted to make something with me. Maybe a big chain? He agreed and was diverted.

I watched him ponder which beads to use. The red ones first or the green? I thought about what his life had been up to this point. In a home with a drug addled mother and then moved to his grandmother's home where he was subjected to fondling lessons. And now, his uncle and aunt who didn't really want him. Even at his age, he had figured that much out.

I knew he didn't qualify for our program. He showed no autistic tendencies. Survival instincts, yes. Autism. No. My heart hurt just looking at him. Some of them you can't really save, you know? You just have to hope that his uncle and aunt would keep him warm and safe and get him the help that he needed.

Our time was nearly up. I told Kelsey that it was time to start putting the toys away. He held up a semi circle of bright pop beads.

"Look," he said. "I made a smile!"

I made one too and we both held up our pop bead smiles and faced each other. I told him that I really enjoyed playing with him. He dropped the beads on the floor and jumped into my lap.

"Do you think that I could go home and live with you?" he asked. "We could make snow angels."

No, I told him. He already had a home with his aunt and his uncle. He sighed and leaned down to pick up his pop bead smile and turned it upside down and pressed it against his lips, showing me a downturned smile, a sad face.

I felt my throat get tight. He wasn't even five yet and was already so smart, so aware of the true pain that life threw at us.

I stood up and held out my hand. He took it, dry eyed and uncomplaining. He was very, very good at not getting too attached.

I spoke with his aunt and uncle while one of the secretaries took him to go pick out a book to take home with him from our book box. I told them that he did not qualify for our program, was not autistic. I handed them several sheaves of paper with names of good child psychiatrists in the area. Ones who were specially trained to handle his sort of pain.

They took the referrals and called to Kelsey to come now like a good boy and then they said goodbye and went to the door. He left without looking back at me.

That night I would dream of a little boy standing by my bed. He said his name was Bosco and he was sick of hanging around with Kelsey, could he come live with me? In my dream, I saw Clifford the big red dog sitting calmly outside my window. When I turned back, Bosco was gone.

Breaking down on the drive home.

2012-01-11T19:39:00.003-06:00

Everything was fine. The day had started in a difficult way, had to go to the doctor to get blood tests. I have to do this every several months to make sure that I am in remission and that my liver and kidneys aren't being damaged by the medications I have to take. But, that went well. The nurse got me on the first stick, which is a feat since I not only have "tricky" veins but they also roll.

The rest of the day had went well too. No surprises, no cancellations, nothing very difficult. So, I was driving home and okay, it was spitting snow and I detest snow, but I was dealing, people.

I noticed a cd that Nirand had left for me before he and Tinton went back to Colorado after visiting us over Christmas and the New Year. He often does this, compiles songs that he thinks I would enjoy and he astonishes me by almost always choosing perfectly.

So, I was inching along in rush hour traffic, listening to Nirvana talk about smelling like teen spirit and Springsteen commenting about the screen door slamming ad Mary's dress waving. The Beatles reminded me that the love you take is equal to the love you make. Janis waxed on about freedom being just another word for nothing left to lose. CCR was no senator's son. And then I heard a quiet piano begin.

I was pulled in instantly by Adele. And then her voice sort of imploded inside of me. The pain in her voice swiveled around my heart, melting all around it. I felt a wave of emotion take over my soul and my throat was suddenly aching with heartache. Her heartache. Mine. Yours. All of ours. Because no one gets skipped, you know?

I pulled into a cemetery and just sat quietly, listening, tears gathering and falling. I put my head on the steering wheel and just let it all out.

And then I picked myself up and dusted myself off and headed back into traffic.

For Bing, because she asked so prettily....

2012-01-09T19:37:00.002-06:00

Question on meme that was never asked and she thought that sucked:

1) What kind of MUSIC do you both like?

I like almost anything that isn't jazz or polka.

Jazz rocks. So does reggae, classical, country or rock. God spare me from that bouncy pop shit, though.

Ok. Done. I do get the last word, though, because it is MY blog.

Jazz sounds like snapping rubber bands. So there.

Maria somehow talks Bing into joining her in a meme....

2012-01-08T16:38:00.003-06:00

I've seen several versions of this meme, the last one from one of my favorite bloggers: Earth Muffin..

Relationship blog (Maria is in soft, Bing in bold)

1) What are your middle names?

Marie and Ann.

Mutt and Jeff.

2) How long have you been together?

Ok, this is a tough one. We met during our freshman year in college and were dorm mates all through college. We didn't become lovers until Liv was about 6 months old and it was all a terrible mistake. So, let's see I was 18 when we met and 41 when we hooked up officially. Then....yes, I decided that I didn't want to be in the relationship after just 5 months. So, she moved back to New Orleans (with a crushed heart, she says..) and I went on to only date on rare occasions until Liv was in kindergarten. Then, Bing was offered a great job in my city and she moved back and stayed in my basement while she house hunted. After just a few weeks, I decided that I was really truly in love for good this time and we got back together, she with much trepidation and me with a hopeful heart. So, far...it has stuck. We have been together over seven years now. I think I finally grew up, plain and simple.

As far as I'm concerned we've been together since the day I fell in love with her: August 22, 1976. And yes, she not only broke my heart, she smashed it to smithereens. Under the bridge, though, under the bridge.

3) How long did you know each other before dating?

So, well...that would be um...22 years.

I count the first time she let me buy her dinner, which was probably in early September of 1976. After that, she "let" me buy her dinner many, many times.

4) Who asked who out?

Another hard one because I don't remember going on any dates, I just remember that one night we started kissing and she spent the night. So, yes...it was mutual. And yes, I am a floozy.

I always did all the asking ALL the time. But, I honestly don't remember the first time. I just know I had to ask her because she NEVER asked me.

5) Do you have children together?

I thought this meme looked simple, but now...not so much. I have a 12 year old daughter. Bing is her step parent.

We have a twelve year old daughter. Maria is the biological mother, I am second string, or as George Clooney put it in THE DESCENDANTS: the stand in parent.

6) What about pets?

If Bing had her druthers, we would not have any. When Liv was little, she had a pet goldfish that died a horrible accidental death in our garbage disposal. The only good part of that story is that I had been close to putting my HAND in there, but did not. (Liv was cleaning the fish bowl, the fish slipped down the garbage disposal. I asked Liv to turn on the overhead kitchen light so that I could see better to help her and she accidentally turned on the garbage disposal. I was seconds away from putting my HAND in there to try to get the goldfish out. It was a traumatic day in our house, let me tell you, boy howdy.) We bought a Scottish terrior when Liv was in kindergarten. His name is Socks and he is a huge part of our family. He blogs occasionally.

We have a dog named Socks who loves Liv first, then Maria, then me. So, third string dog parent. Is it just me or is Maria kind of wordy?

7) Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple?

Easy. Money. Money. Money. I always thought of myself as a saver. I've had investments, an IRA, and a savings account ever since I've made a decent wage. I always knew that Bing was frugal, but I had NO idea just how frugal she really was until we started sharing money. She can squeeze a LOT out of a dollar. And she is a rabid recycler as well. She makes me look like a spendthrift and truly, I'm not..

Truly, you are. Ferragamo. Chanel. Enough said.

8) Did you go to the same school?

Just for our first four years of college. Then she moved back to New Orleans to go to Tulane for her masters and I stayed on the prairie and went to med school.

I grew up near New Orleans, but received my teaching degree in Iowa. That is where we met and the only school we shared.

9) Are you from the same home town?

Nope. She is a true rebel from the south, born and raised in Louisiana. I was born in a tiny town in Iowa.

We were both raised in small towns, but I am southern and she is midwestern.

10) Who is smarter?

Well, I have a higher IQ...I know this because she INSISTED that we both take the test at the same time. She was THAT SURE that she would beat me. Nope. I beat her..well...ok...not by a landslide, but by a um....considerable margin. We don't speak of it now! But, the truth is that we are both smart in different ways. I am really good at literature and she excels in math. I am good at gardening, she is good at anything involving a computer. She has something called "fire walls" all over our computer and several analytics on my blog to let us know when my blog stalker rears her putrid head. Truthfully? I think we come out about even.

We're smart about different things. She can quote Shakespeare, I do the taxes. And that IQ test was faulty. I want a rematch.

11) Who is more sensitive?

I am. But, neither one of us are overly so. I tend to swallow my emotions and she is extremely logical and practical. We aren't big on PDAs or having knock-down-drag-out arguments. Neither one of us is mushy at all. But, I have forgotten BOTH of our birthdays more than once and our anniversary three times out of the seven years we have celebrated it. I tend to be very sensitive on the inside but seldom show it on the outside and while she is more demonstrative, she seldom holds grudges or stays angry for long. I can carry a grudge for MONTHS and it takes a lot to make me lose my temper, but once I do...I stay mad for hours and hours. Even if we make up (and thanks to her, we always do), I am a little cold for a few days until I warm up to her again. So, yes. Me.

Maria is, although she has a brilliant poker face.

12) Where do you eat out most as a couple?

We have a few favorite places. We like to go to a place called La Peep for pancakes. We like another place called Bohemian Cafe for schnitzel She ADORES sushi. I like fajitas. We eat out quite often at an all natural cafe called Blue Planet. The only places she flat out refuses to go to are fast food hamburger joints. When I crave a big Mac, I take Liv with me.

If Maria had her way, we would eat steak every night. Bloody rare. Excuse me, I'm gagging.

13) Where is the furthest you have traveled as a couple?

Hmmm. Really hard. I think probably Mexico.

Maria can't travel too far now with her RA. I wish we had gone on more adventures early on when we were together. I'd love to go to Paris with her. Or Rome. She wants to go to Ireland. No thanks. Not enough SUN and everyone from Scotland, Ireland and England are so white faced. They don't get enough SUN.

14) Who has the worst temper?

She will say me. I say her. She tends to have a very "flare uppy" temper. She has a short fuse, but then she gets it out and it is over. I, on the other hand, tend to nurse grievances until they come bursting out of me. She calls this "going off like a devil in a crowded church." When we argue, as I already said...it is over right away for her when she gets it out. I hold on to my anger for a long, long time. She almost ALWAYS is the first to want to make up. I am a baby and usually make her work to get back into my good graces.

She gets mad at me when I do something mean in her DREAMS at night. How fucking fair is THAT?

15) How old are each of you?

I'm 53.

She robbed the cradle. I'm 52.

16) Whose siblings do you see the most?

Mine. I have a sister who lives just a few miles away from us in the same city. I also have a niece in college here and all of my sister's children live here too. Bing has a few uncles, cousins who came here to work in the packing plants but we only see them occasionally. We see my sister often.

Hers. She and I have equally whacked out families, just in different directions. Her sisters and their children are all pretty much insanely Catholic and/or insanely Republican. We are talking not just the right, but the far right. My family? I don't even think they vote. There is a "crazy thread" in my family that's right out of a Flannery O'Connor novel. I'm used to it but Maria still has problems with it. My family will invite you in for pie and coffee and then steal your car while you are eating. They'll return it, but it may have some bumper damage...

17) Who does the cooking?

Mostly Bing. She is kind of a lazy vegetarian. She eats meat occasionally. Plus, she doesn't trust the food I cook. She says that over salt and over butter. I don't. My food just tastes more like food. To be honest, neither one of us are more than passable cooks.

I do most of the cooking. Maria is a meat eater. I've been trying to get her to eat a more vegetarian diet since we met. She's stubborn, though. I make a meat dinner about twice a week. If I don't, she rebels and refuses to eat my cooking. So, I make it so that she will eat five days of vegetarian. It's a trade off. I am insistent about no preservatives, though. She LOVES things like boxed au gratin potatoes and mashed potatoes. I tell her that fresh is best ALWAYS. It's a little more work, but worth it. She will thank me when she is in good health when she's 80 because I singlehandedly saved her arteries.

18) Who is more social?

Bing. She knows ALL of our neighbors in a two block radius. I like to be friendly acquaintances with them, not know their life stories. But, at parties, I do better. I'm better at banal social conversation with strangers. And at family gatherings, I'm the one sitting in the kitchen holding someone's new baby. She's the one holed up by herself in a room checking her e-mail.

I am. When I go away on trips, I have to remind Maria what our neighbor's names are because she tends to forget. And I have all of them on speed dial. I also like to stop and visit with neighbors when we take Socks on walks. Maria stands there with this frozen friendly look on her face and when we start walking again, she asks me why I have to stop and talk to EVERYONE. Because it is the RIGHT thing to do. Because these people borrow my lawn mower and I borrow theirs. It is good to know one's neighbors. She's right about parties, etc., though. The truth is that she is good at that kind of conversation and I'm not. Unless we have something in common or they are a good network connection, I don't really like talking much. And I have been warned many times that when family is at our home, I am NOT to wander off to the office to play video games. ESPECIALLY when it is MY family. This pisses her off royally.

19) Who is the neat freak?

Me. Although, I am not really a neat freak. But compared to Bing, I am. I like things nice and tidy. Bing feels that if she makes a space to walk through a room, that is good enough.

She is. BUT...she is not that great of a housekeeper either. I like to keep the house dusted and vacuumed, like the floors to be clean and when I dust, I really dust. I do baseboards and BEHIND the sofa and clean the ceiling fans/lights. She just gives things a swipe and a promise with the dust cloth. She hates it when I DO clean because I do a thorough job and it takes a long time. She says that I turn a little job into a big one, but if I'm going to clean, I CLEAN.

20) Who is more stubborn?

She is. If she really, really wants to see a movie, she can wear me down. She also only makes meat twice a week, so that is extremely stubborn....

She is. That gal can hold a grudge for DAYS. When she is very mad, she has this icy look that could freeze a bonfire in seconds. And I always end up apologizing first. Always. So, she is more stubborn.

21) Who hogs the bed?

Neither of us. We only have a full sized bed, so we have learned to sleep nicely together. She does have restless leg syndrome, though, so sometimes she kicks.

I probably do more than she does. I don't mind sleeping all over her and have been told several times that I am not her blanket. But, she appreciates my closeness in the winter.

22) Who wakes up earlier?

She does. She beats me by at least an hour on the weekends.

I do. I have never known anyone who loves sleeping as much as Maria does. She sleeps until at least 10 a.m. on weekends.

23) Where was your first date?

I honestly don't remember.

That's because we didn't really "date." We hung out a lot. The first time we really sort of hooked up was when I took her to a James Bond movie and kissed her in the car when she stopped at a drugstore to buy movie candy.

24) Who has the bigger family?

She does. She has this HUGE family network in Louisiana. And no matter where we go on business trips or vacation, she always has a third cousin or someone's brother in law that we can stay with. This annoys me because I DETEST staying at people's houses when I don't know them.

I do. And I don't get why she gets so irritated at staying at people's houses. It is no big deal! And we save hundreds of dollars PER NIGHT if we stay at someone's home. Plus, they usually insist on making us dinner and breakfast, so more money saved.

25) Do you get flowers often?

No. Neither one of us believe in buying flowers at a florist. I don't want to put flowers in a vase and then watch them die. I like planting them. She often buys me flowers to plant in the summer and I LOVE that.

Whew! Thank god she isn't into flowers or candy. She isn't all concerned with getting gifts either. Neither one of us are. If I see something that she'd like, I pick it up for her and vice versa. Much nicer than forced occasions.

26) How do you spend the holidays?

We have Thanksgiving at my sister's home every year. Christmas is fluid. We are expected to attend Christmas brunch at my sister's home as well, but there is no giving of gifts with them. We have an agreement in my family that we do not buy Christmas or birthday gifts. Our friends, Vince and Thuan usually spend a couple of weeks in late December and early January with us as does Liv's father and his assistant who is from India and has no family here in the states.

Her family. I wish we could skip Thanksgiving dinner at her sister's house, though. I swear the whole table is full of carbs. Her sister can't make a simple veggie dish, no. She puts everything in cream sauces. And her other sisters come for Thanksgiving too, so we end up with a houseful too. This would be fine except that her family has a few very verbal racists in it and they spoil it for the rest of us. I think that it might be a fun change of pace for us to travel every Christmas, go somewhere different. Somewhere WARM. But, Maria thinks it is important that Liv see her father and we'd rather have him come to us then send her there, so I'm good with it, I suppose. Maybe when Liv is older and on her own.....Just an idea, honey. Just something to chew on.

27) How long did it take to get serious?

Um. Okay. It took me about 28 years. I'm a slow bloomer and not naturally domesticated.

WAY too long. I was ready to hook up within minutes of meeting her. But, she had to sew some wild oats first, I suppose. As long as she's here now. That's what matters.

28) Who does the laundry?

Bing usually does. The washer/dryer are in the basement and stairs are really hard on my knees. But, I do it occasionally.

It is just best if I do it. Maria throws everything in together. She doesn't get that a red shirt can't be washed with white underpants. She also is way too heavy handed with the fabric softener. Towels DO NOT need fabric softener. PLEASE just stay away from the laundry. I am HAPPY to do it. This way, I don't have to go running with pale pink socks instead of white ones.

29) Who is better with the computer?

She is. Computers hate me. They like to fuck with my head.

I am. Computers are just logical. They make perfect sense. Maria astonishes me. She is so BAD with them. She has to ask me EVERY SINGLE TIME how to eject her ipod when she downloads songs. She doesn't call anything by it's correct name, refers to almost everything as "that thingee that blinks" or "that whatchamajigger." Liv has to put new phone numbers in her cell phone and she has no idea how to play a DVD. I can't figure out how someone as intelligent as she is gets so bewildered and angry at a simple computer.

30) Who drives when you go somewhere by car?

If it's my car, I drive. If it's her car, she does. Or if I don't know how to get somewhere....she drives.

Another thing I don't understand. She's lived in this city for decades and STILL gets lost easily. If it isn't somewhere she goes a lot (grocery store), it takes her FOREVER to figure out how to get there. And you can't say "east" or "west" with her, it has to be right or left. She also prefers landmark driving as in "go to the McDonald's on 84th ST and take a left and then you'll see that funny house with the ugly pink shutters. Turn right there..." It's maddening to drive with her. Plus, she drives under the speed limit. What's up with THAT? But ask her to recite every single sonnet that Shakespeare wrote and she does it verbatim.

31) Who is funnier?

She is. All of my friends and family say she is "just like" Ellen Degeneres. She is. But, funnier.

I'm funnier looking....

32) Who works hardest for the money?

She does. She's a high school teacher. Enough said.

She does. She works with mostly underprivileged children with autism. Or kids who have been traumatized. She has nightmares. I'm the one who holds her in the middle of the night when she wakes up crying. I try not to mind the time she spends on the blog because I think it saves her sanity on some days. Enough said.

33) Who laughs more?

We both laugh equally, I think. We joke around a lot.

Agreed. But, she has the most beautiful laugh in the world. I mean it. She could seduce anyone with that laugh.

34) Who is a better parent?

I am. She does plenty of parenting as a teacher. She doesn't want to come home and do it too.

She is. She is an incredible mother. Liv won't know this until she is a grown up, but she lucked out. She has the best mother on the planet. I never wanted kids. I spend my day with high school kids and when I get home, I am frankly just sick of them. Luckily, Liv is a very, very easy child. I don't know if this is a result of Maria's superb parenting or if she was just born practically perfect.

35) Who is a better flirt?

I am. Bing doesn't really flirt. I don't think I've ever seen her flirt.

She is. She is a HUGE flirt. Example: Our cable was out and the cable guy was an arrogant ass. I tried to help him out by telling him what I thought was the problem but he wouldn't listen to me. So, Maria comes in the living room and she smiles at him and starts asking him questions about what is his favorite brand of television, etc. and suddenly he is bending over backwards to please her. If she had asked him to please climb up on the roof to check and see if each cable wire was secure, he would have done it. The whole time, she keeps doing this amazing thing like ducking her head and looking up at him and then smiling. He was BESOTTED with her. When he left, Maria shut the door, shook her head and then rubbed her hands together like she was so glad he was gone. I said, "I thought you liked him!" and she laughed and said, "Him? God, no. He was an asshat. But, I really want to see that movie on HBO tonight..." She's a shameless flirt. I've also seen her get out of two speeding tickets. I'm not an idiot. I'm pretty sure she works me like a puppet and then sits around snorting with laughter about it with Harriet.

36) Who handles family members better?

I do. Bing is always honest. That doesn't work in diplomatic family matters.

She does. She will sit and listen to my Uncle LZ talk about this fish that he almost caught for an hour. I just can't do that. Life's too short.

37) Who is better at sports?

She is! I am a total dork.

I am. She IS kind of a dork.

38) Who is in better health?

She is. Healthy as a horse.

I am. But, I WORK at it. I eat well and exercise regularly. She does neither. But, she also has diabetes, RA, Meniere's Syndrome and migraines. So, she has lots of bad genes courtesy of her father. I come from Southern trash stock. I'm built to last.

39) Are you sexually compatible?

I have a pretty low libido. But, it has nothing to do with her. I've been like this all of my life. I can easily go without sex for months or even years (and have) and be just fine. But, once I'm turned on, I think I give just as good as I get.

Not sharing bed stories. We're just fine.

40) Better singer?

Her. I sing and dance like Elaine Benes.

I do. But, she has a lovely set of pipes. And she is a pretty good dancer. We aren't going to win any contests, but I love dancing with her. Slow dancing. Hey, is this thing almost done? JESUS, you said it was a "little ditty." This is like a book report.

41) Better dancer?

Nearing the finish line, honey. She is the better dancer.

I am. But, see above.

42) Last movie seen? What did you think?

Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol. I thought it was fun. But, I will see anything with Jeremy Renner in it. Anything.

I thought it was good. And I think Tom Cruise gets bashed a lot. The guy knows what he excels at: action movies. It's only when he tries to do artsy movies that he starts to limp. And thank you, sugar for not making me sit through "My Week With Marilyn."

43) Who handles thank you notes, etc.?

I do. And frankly, I resent it.

She does. And frankly, she resents it but I'm not good at that shit. She is. She is an amazing writer, even at thank you notes. Our families talk about how incredible her little thank you notes are. So, see? You need to be the designated note writer in this family.

44) Who kills the spiders?

She does.

I DO NOT KILL BUGS. I relocate them. I am more zen than she is. She just points and screams.

45) Who helps with homework more?

I help with everything except math. Bing does math.

I do math. She does the rest. And she is very patient. I tend to be impatient. I know this and end up apologizing to Liv. At the end of the day, I am so tired of being patient.

46)Who takes work home more often?

She does. She's a TEACHER. Enough said. It is a disgrace how hard teachers work for so little pay in this country.

I do. What she said.

47) Favorite television shows that you watch together?

We both like Fringe, True Blood and The Amazing Race.

We also watch Breaking Bad and Modern Family. But,she likes Survivor and I can't figure out what she sees in that show. ARE WE DONE YET!!!???

Yes, we are done. And don't let her fool you. We did this quiz over FIVE days. She did a few at a time and it was like pulling teeth. NEVER AGAIN. PROMISE!

Thank you. Because I swear my butt cheeks are numb.

Maria shakes her head. Rolls her eyes. When Bing leaves the room, she laughs.

I GOT HER TO DO IT. DIDN'T I????

Yeah, I'm the boss of you.....

So..how would you and/or your partner fare on this one? And why don't you try it? I think it says a lot in general. I mean, can't you pretty much picture our relationship now? I'm the conniving, manipulative flirt and she is um...the better dancer....

Thoughts while reading an insipid women's magazine in a Dr's waiting room.

2012-01-06T07:17:00.000-06:00

The title of the piece was A Year Of Living LARGE!!!!! 12 New Year's Eve Resolutions!!

1) Place celery and carrot chunks in brown paper cups in a Russell Stover's candy box. Refrigerate. Snacking will feel like cheating!!!!

Well, fuck me. You are such an asshat. Come here, wanna be-writer-of-this-slop. I would like to knock your teeth out. Because...are you THAT stupid? Do you REALLY think this would work. What sort of fantasy world do YOU live in, dumb ass?

2) On February 1st, have a florist send yourself one perfect rose with this message: "Thanks. It was wonderful!" Smile and shrug when your Beloved asks who sent it. Watch your Valentine's Day haul increase exponentially.

Wow. Getting attention through lying and manipulation. Who'da thunk it?

That's it. Not reading one more word of this drivel. But, I will copy down that recipe for tomato basil soup, thank you.

I paged through to the circulation information.

Fuck me twice.

Over 500,000 subscribers.

Huh????

And then there were three...

2012-01-03T19:36:00.000-06:00

Sorry to see my company go. Truly. But, yes...ready for our lives to go back to normal. I'm even ready to go back to work tomorrow. Ankle is doing better, still aches like a mother fucker, but at least I can bear weight on it.

We have so much food in the fridge. Nirand left chicken marsala and vegan chocolate peppermint mousse. Thuan, in a crazed American cooking spree, made enough ham and bean soup to feed us for a week. And these little caramels, rolled in confectioner's sugar. I saw a brown bag with the words Maria's lunch on it. Checked it out. A ham and cream cheese sandwich. Homemade potato chips. One perfect red delicious apple. A small chocolate cookie laced with almonds. And a thermos of green tea. Also, a small note with a heart on it saying, With love, Nirand, Thuan, Vince and Tinton.

Spoiled rotten.

Both Liv and Bing go back to school tomorrow and I will be off to work again. Poor Socks. He has been heartily loved up. Now it will be back to an empty house all day.

I always feel like crying when the Christmas tree comes down and the guests leave. As I pack away the ornaments, I look at each one and wonder what it will be like next year? What do I want to see happen?

I guess just more of the same. Good love from a sweet partner, a daughter who is so perfect that I have to pinch myself and good friends who swear that they love me, warts and all.

I DID make it up to midnight on New Year's Eve. We toasted 2012, went outside to watch the house a few doors down put on a fireworks display, and then came back in and went to bed, gratefully.

All of my clothes feel tight. I think I have eaten enough for four Marias. Make that five.

I have new books to read, many bottles of lotion, shower cream and bath oil and a handmade rosary from Liv, who sheepishly said that she knew that I wasn't really a Catholic anymore, but that she thought I might want to hang it up somewhere since she hand carved it for me in art class. Bing jokingly offered to go into business with her. She could carve the rosaries, Bing could sell them for a nifty price down in the 'hood where she teaches and wearing rosaries is all the rage now.

Liv also made me hand stitched napkins and a gorgeous new bird house for our back yard.

My days were spent lazing around like a lady of leisure and talking politics with a room full of Democrats as opposed to me usually being the only ~~orphan~~ Democrat at the table with my fiercely intense Republican family.

I imbibed a perfect buttery chardonnay (2005) from Mer Soleil Winery and thought that maybe I had died and gone to heaven.

Saw LOTS of films:

HUGO...Simply beautiful. We all sat silently at the end, willing it to go on and on.

We Bought A Zoo...Just as awful as I feared it would be. I figured that Matt Damon could make anything great, but even he couldn't save this truly awful film.

The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo ...I still think that Lisbeth is probably one of the most beautifully written characters in fiction and now...the most beautifully acted in a film.

The Descendants....God, brilliant. Sheer shine from start to finish. And watching George Clooney run like an aging man was icing. Alexander Payne just keeps hitting it on the head, over and over and over again.

We also watched Invictus on the television one night and I thought that Matt Damon saved a pretty weak movie. We saw The Town too, and I had to endure all the guys talking with bad Bostonian accents for days afterwards.

Each night, we spent one hour on what Bing called "musical entertainment." This meant that we ALL were expected to perform and participate. I am used to this, as this seems to happen EVERY time this group is together.

Liv sang me this song on Christmas Eve as her father accompanied her on the piano and made me cry:

And then Bing and I practiced for an afternoon and I brought my courage out and she and I sang this in FRONT OF EVERYONE and I only messed up slightly when I forgot a lyric and she had to sing it with me...what can I say, I am a soprano, but I am NOT Linda Ronstadt.

I was applauded for bravery, if not talent...

The guys, my four wild and crazy guys, sang this:

....and by the end, we were all crazily leaping around, even me with my big fat ankle. It felt wonderful to be able to be so free. Can I just say that my republican family gatherings would profit SO much if we all became as silly as we did during this song?

Even Socks joined the fun, allowing Liv to dance with him. He refused to wear the red Huskers poncho that Vince and Thuan brought for him, but that's okay. He has to have some semblance of dignity. God knows the rest of us seemed to have none.

We watched our Huskers lose their bowl game and no one said the obvious: that they just played badly. Instead, we all agreed that Rex Burkhead is one engaging male. Or as Vince put it: "I would love to slow dance with him to some Tony Bennett..." which made me laugh and choke on my cracker with cheese.

I ate three square meals a day and then some. LOTS of nibbling.

I napped each and every day.

And then the guys packed up and we drove them to the airport today. Vince and Thuan back to Chicago and Tinton and Nirand back to Denver.

The house seemed eerily quiet when we returned.

It still does. But, you know...it can't always be fun packed. And it will be kind of nice to not worry about making sure that I have my towel wrapped tightly around me as I go from my shower to the bedroom.

Not that they did. And one of them who shall remain nameless (name kind of rhymes with cinch) was very adept at smelling up the bathroom every single morning. There is regular and then there is WAY TOO regular....

So, now back to appointments for me and classes for Liv and Bing.

And an empty house for Socks.

We will miss you guys. Next year, fellas, next year.

So...how the hell have all of YOU been? Did I miss anything? What do you think of the Iowa caucus? Any blizzards in your neck of the woods? Any coal for Christmas?

Good to be back in the driver's seat again.

And guess what? Some truly long odious memes are coming your way........

see you on the flip side....

2011-12-28T17:55:00.000-06:00

I put my last full day of work in today for a while.

I'm off now until January 4th.

Which is good because my left ankle has decided to swell up like a grapefruit! Oh, well...LOTS of caretakers around here. And I can elevate it and ice it, sleep in...God...SLEEP IN. The JOY of not waking to an alarm clock for a week!

My company is here until January 3rd. One of my Christmas gifts was a whole house cleaning from a maid service who are coming TOMORROW, so not only will I get to lollygag, I will lollygag in a glistening clean house!

I'm going to take a blogging break as well so that I can only do minimal computer time for a week.

Instead, I think I'll watch my daughter go ice skating.

Watch the marathon of The Big Bang Theory on New Year's Eve. Maybe bang some pots and pans around if I make it 'til midnight.

Read. Read. Read.

Stay warm in my aqua blue bamboo sheets with the electric blanket kicked to high to keep my always cold feet warm.

Visit with Vince, Thuan, Tinton and Nirand.

Take a nap with Socks.

Take a nap with my daughter. Good hell, I will take a nap with any of the four guys mentioned as long as they throw in an ankle rub.

Watch Jeopardy! with my family and beat their pants off. Because I can. I am surprisingly good at knowing little known facts about Victorian religious beliefs, islands in the Pacific and words associated with knitting.

Eat all the Vietnamese and Indian food that Thuan and Nirand can make.

Supervise the taking down of the Christmas decorations. Right now, it is too early, I'm still in the Christmas glow. By January 2, I will be ready to stick a fork in Christmas until next year.

Speaking of January 2nd....I will watch the Cornhuskers win their bowl game.

Take long hot bubble baths. Rub my skin down with baby oil.

Hold my partner, kiss my partner, have carnal knowledge with my partner. Several times.

So, Happy New Year to you all and I'll see you next year!

Do you ever dream about famous people?

2011-12-27T07:20:00.002-06:00

I really wonder.

I sometimes dream about famous people. Do you? And what do you think it means?

A couple of nights ago, I dreamed that I was in a period play and had on this beautiful, long lavender Victorian gown. My sister texted me to tell me that Jon Hamm (gorgeous actor from Mad Men) was on his way to see me because he wanted to hear that "dirty joke" that I had told on Thanksgiving about a banana.

I had no recollection of telling a dirty joke and before I could contemplate it much, there he was, running down a hall towards me, laughing and yelling, "I can't wait to hear that joke!"

I decided to just make one up and said something about "why is a dick like a banana?"

I don't know how I pulled it off, but I made him laugh. And I was sitting there thinking how COOL it was to actually meet Jon Hamm. I suddenly remembered that I had a show to act in, so tried to leave, but he kept tickling me, asking for a "little smooch."

I started running for the stage and let me tell you, I was flying like the wind. I thought to myself how WONDERFUL it was to run like this, like when I was a kid. And there was Jon, right beside me, laughing.

We had to run through the audience to get to the stage and then we both started laughing backstage about how we had "fooled" the audience into thinking that this was all part of the play.

I woke up when Bing nudged me awake.

"You were laying there LAUGHING," she said. "It was sort of freaky. I was going to just let you sleep, but you were loud and I need to sleep, honey."

She fell back asleep almost immediately, so I didn't get a chance to tell her my dream until the next day when I talked about it at the dinner table with all of our guests, too.

For the record:

Liv has dreamed a few times about Lady Gaga, but no one else.
Vince often has vivid dreams about famous people, even dead ones. He had one particularly satisfying dream about Paul Newman...
Thuan, to his knowledge, has never dreamed about anyone famous, but he says that he practically never remembers his dreams.
Tinton dreams occasionally about them, but not enough that he recalls any past dreams.
Nirand says that he dreams about cartoon characters coming to life sometimes (Daria, Porky Pig, Family Guy) but he doesn't remember dreaming about any famous people.

Everyone thought my dream was pretty funny, but Thuan reminded me that we had eaten ham (Jon HAMM) that night and Nirand remembered that we had all watched the movie The Town that evening too and Jon Hamm is in that. So, maybe a combination of what I ate and a movie?

So, here is my question.

Do you ever dream about famous people? And if so, can you share one of your dreams?

Sleep tight....

Merry Christmas from Socks, the dog.

2011-12-25T17:08:00.001-06:00

Good lord the SMELLS!

I am in heaven, dudes! Heaven.

First of all, I DO not understand life, but I am a dog so I am not going to sit around staring out a window and thinking poor old me. I was kicked by a human who is my friend a couple of days ago.

All is forgiven. Just so he comes back with a bone. I don't understand humans, but I do understand unconditional love. As long as it never happens again.

And yes, it stinks that the dog always gets kicked, but better me than the kid.

The whole house was sad so I had to go around doing my dog duty. That comes with the territory of being a house dog. You are needed when there is sadness. And it's no fur off my nose, really. I just stand close and prepare to have my fur cried on and to be cuddled up. I also lick tears if they fall. Tears are tasty, salty.

They went and took me to the groomers. I know, I know, tough beans, doggie.

But I missed out on making them chase me around the house beforehand. Usually Alpha woman and the kid take me and I see it coming a mile away, so I don't respond to fakey invites to Come sit on my lap, Socks!". God, do I look like I am as stupid as a shitzhu?

Usually, alpha woman ends up holding bologna out to me. Bologna is strictly forbidden for dogs around here, so when I get a whiff of it and it is being held out to me, I lose all resistance and follow the bologna to the inside of the car and then I am trapped. I fall for it every stinkin' time, just like you humans fall for busty blondes.

Well, not this time. Beta woman just leaned down and scooped me up and carried me out to the car, no fuss, no muss. I didn't even get a chance to react, THAT is how fast it went. Beta and the kid got in the front seat and off we went.

I won't bore you with my groomer tale except to say that even though they put a green bandanna around my neck, they could not make me wear it. I had that monstrosity off in about ten minutes flat but unfortunately not before a squirrel saw it as I was being led into the house on my leash.

"Hey, mates! Come look at that dumb ass dog! He has a green scarf around his neck! Yoo hoo, Socksie! Want a kiss, fancy doggie? Here it is, yep, come kiss my furry red ass, Mr. Glamour Boy!"

I hate squirrels. They are boogers. Just furry red boogers.

So, I go in and alpha woman says I look soooo sweet and I smell soooo good! And then I go into the living room, lay down on the persian rug and wiggle and wiggle until that bandanna is history.

But, the SMELLS! It's enough to make a dog go mad.

First it is fudge. Then cookies. Then cinnamon rolls.

I sit quietly under the kid's chair and we do our scam game. She tears off a small piece of her roll and when she tells beta woman that "hey, is that a black squirrel in the yard?" it is my cue to open wide for that piece of cinnamon heaven. We are cagey. Haven't been caught yet. I think alpha woman knows what's up, though, because one of her eyebrows shoots up and she shakes her head at the kid. But, she's cool. She doesn't often feed me herself, but she doesn't rat the kid out.

We have visitors. We ALWAYS have visitors when that silver glittery thing called a Christmas Tree gets put up. I used to jump at the things that hang off it when I was a puppy, but now I know that the silver does not taste very good and if a hanging thing gets broken, I get put in dog jail to cool off my jets. There is also something called a color wheel and although it looks like it might be fun to jump at it, don't. Not worth jail time.

But, when the silver glittery things goes up, then our house guests arrive. I love all of them. They are all males. One is a guy with silver hair and a beard and his partner. They smell really, really good all the time. Alpha woman always hugs them and says, "I love your patchouli!" so I guess the smell is patchouli, but I just call it nice. Both of the men sleep in the same bed in the downstairs guest room and they shut the door at night, so I never get to sleep with them. But, they have been known to go grocery shopping and to bring me back a bone, so I love them. They also bring me new toys each year.

The other two guys are nice too. One is the kid's alpha man (she calls him Dad) and he smells good too but not as strong as the other two. He has no problem with rubbing my belly for long periods of time. He does play the piano sometimes, though, and I do not like that. It hurts my ears. It is too loud. I always go upstairs and sit on the kid's bed until he is done playing. There is another guy too. He cooks a lot and he has no problems letting me taste everything even when beta woman tells him that I only eat dog food. He just smiles and nods and ignores her. My kind of friend.

I usually sleep with the kid, but when we have company, I am the dog host, so I spread my nightly dog love around. I usually start out going up to the attic with the alpha man because the door is usually shut up there and I never get to smell around that room much. So, I go up and do some sniffing around. He shuts the big light off, turns the small one on, and I jump on the bed with him while he reads but when he turns out the lights, he turns on this cd with violin music on it and I like it unless it plays too many high notes and that bothers my ears. So, that is my cue to go down to the upstairs rooms and get in with the kid until we both warm up. Then, I head downstairs and check and see if the guest room door is open. It hardly ever is. This used to hurt my feelings and once I shit in front of the door just to show them that this is really bad manners to keep me out. Of course, then one of them stepped in it and that was so so funny but no one except the kid seemed to think so and they all looked at me like they just knew that it was me. I tried to look all innocent but alpha woman looked at me and said, "Shame on you, Socks. A big boy like you, POOPING in the house!"

Well, thanks for embarrassing me in front of everyone, alpha woman.

I don't shit in front of the door anymore, but I do always check because frankly, those two men smell so great ALL THE TIME. There is only a full sized bed in that room, though, and two people in one bed is usually not comfy for a dog, so I don't mind.

I usually end up going down to the TV room in the basement where the man who smells like spices sleeps. He never minds when I crawl on the pull out sofa and sometimes he and I watch shows about people fixing up their houses on the television. Then he falls asleep with the television on and I can't properly sleep that way, so I head back up to the kid's room and stay there until morning. I'm used to her smell and I can look out at the moon from her window. If alpha woman wakes up in the middle of the night, she will come in to check on the kid and she kisses me too and says, "I love you, Ernest Borgnine."

I believe that is what you call a "pet name" when you love someone.

Today was fun because everyone opened presents this morning and paper was flying around and I just like the merriment. I got two new squeak toys that I know beta woman will try to hide as soon as the guests leave. So, I carried them behind the sofa where she hardly ever looks. I am cagey, remember.

Well, it is almost time for the ham dinner, so I should wrap this up. I want to find out where the kid is sitting so I can sit under her chair and she'll give me ham scraps. All the men feed me too and beta woman frowns and says, "For godsakes, why don't you all stop being cowards and stop sneaking and just do it in front of me!??"

And then we all give her our innocent looks.

Because humans can be cagey too.

Merry Christmas, everyone. That is all I heard around here all day long, so I think it is proper human speak.

Time for HAM!!! So, I'm outta here......

Life is good

2011-12-24T10:20:00.000-06:00

Something to remember: LIFE IS GOOD.

So much to be thankful for. Good friends bearing way too many gifts (Vince and Thuan) and Tinton (Liv's father) spiriting her away for a father/daughter talk last night. She came back looking at peace and spent the hour before bed watching television with him, head on his shoulder, his arms holding her securely.

Thankful,too, for Nirand, for putting on some Yo-Yo Ma and dancing with me in front of the Christmas tree.

Thankful for Socks, who just keeps spreading the love.

Thankful that Joyce said yes to coming over for Christmas dinner tomorrow.

Thankful for Thuan, who is at this very moment sitting at the dining room table figuring out what to make for said Christmas dinner.

Thankful for a NO SNOW Christmas. Bah humbug indeed.

Thankful mostly for Bing, who makes my life sweet and is my soft place to land. Who decided that what Liv and I needed most was for us to take 500 out of savings and to go to a K-Mart in a really poor area of the city and use that money to pay off some layaways anonymously. It worked and it took us out of ourselves. And then stopping at McDonald's so that I could try their pumpkin latte and she and Liv could indulge in some decadent french fries. And then telling us a really funny story about one of her students and making us both laugh. She always knows EXACTLY what to do.

Thankful for the smell of minestrone soup simmering on the stove. It will be our Christmas Eve dinner tonight, along with Bing's homemade buttermilk biscuits slathered with Irish butter and honey.

Thankful for so many friends in Blogville. You all rock.

Happy holidays from a lucky woman....

Way Down In The Hole

2011-12-22T16:40:00.002-06:00

My first thought is that I wish she hadn't seen any of this. Why couldn't she have been at school, at a friends, ANYWHERE but here?

Our next door neighbor is Joyce. She and her son, Sven, were the first to welcome Liv and I to the neighborhood over a decade ago. Sven was 11 when he first stepped over the threshold of my house. He would log hundreds of hours in my home. I kept an eye on him when he finished school every day until his mother came home from her nursing job. He occasionally babysat Liv in the evenings for us when he was in high school. Liv, Bing and I went to every single one of his high school football games where he was the star quarterback. He and Liv shared a special friendship. Even when he was in high school and too cool to be spending time with a 6 year old girl, he often came over to swing Liv around by her armpits in the front yard, to sit up in her tree house with her and share a pbj sandwich and talk. He goodnaturedly sat at her tea parties. When he went to prom, to homecoming, we ran over to take photos of him with his girlfriend. He was Liv's mentor, her big brother, a good, cherished friend.

When he went off to a west coast college on a football scholarship, Liv was 8 years old and devastated that he was going so far away. On the day he left, Sven came over and when Liv refused to come down from her tree house, he went up to her, with a package of Oreos under his arm. She wept when he got into his mother's car to go to the airport and he couldn't stand it, got right back out of the car to sit with her in the grass and assure her that he'd be back for Christmas, promise. She pulled herself together with effort and he gave her one last swing by her armpits in the front yard. She spent the afternoon in her bedroom with the door shut.

She eventually came out with red rimmed eyes and a determined look on her face. She told me that she intended to write him once a week and could we bake cookies once in a while to send to him? White chocolate chip ones? I said of course.

And we did.

For three years.

Football did not turn out as well as Sven had hoped. He started at the bottom, working his way up to position himself as a starting running back when he was a junior. It was not to be. The son of a famous pro football player chose his school and, in return, was promised the running back position. The school got lots and lots of media attention. The son of the pro got Sven's position.

It nearly killed Sven emotionally. He had worked so hard for those previous two years. When he would come home at Christmas and for a short while in the summer, he had football on the brain, he had the goal of starting running back. He always made time for Liv, though. He would come over and throw a frisbee for Socks and give Liv an armpit swing in the yard in the summer and at Christmas, would come over to snarf down Christmas cookies and milk with her, with Socks curled up in his lap, begging for a belly rub.

His junior year, he didn't come home for Christmas. His mother, who had been a single parent and was now an empty nester, tried to act as if she didn't mind.

"Oh, that's what they do, those kids," she said with false gaiety. "They fly the coop, you know! I think he has a girl and he wanted to spend Christmas with her family. Next year. And of course, he'll come home this summer!"

He didn't.

His mother, always a very quiet person, very taciturn, showed up at our door in early summer to ask if we had heard from him. He wasn't answering her phone calls, her e-mails, her texts. We hadn't heard from him in months. But, Liv's letters and our care packages were still going through, and I told her that.

"Well, then," she said, brightly. "I guess he is just busy. I'm sure he'll call soon." She stepped off our back stairs, turned to go and then turned back.

"It's just not like him, you know?"

No, it wasn't like him. Sven and his mother were close. He wasn't great at sending letters, but he often sent Liv funny cards and always sent us thank you cards for the cookies/brownies/fudge.

All communication stopped.

And then Liv's letters started coming back. We stopped sending packages.

Sven's mother went to the west coast state to look for him. She found him and it rocked her. She said that he was living in a dirty "fleabag" apartment with two other "shady looking" guys. That he had dropped out of school and when she asked him what he was doing for rent money, he didn't answer. He did take the 300 dollars that she offered him, though.

That shocked me. The Sven I knew would have never taken money from his mother unless he had to. He knew how hard she worked just paying her mortgage and raising him up. His dad was a dead beat, he'd only seen him once when he showed up at one of his high school football games, drunk, and bragging to everyone in sight that the star quarterback was his son.

Months passed. Liv grieved but was still hopeful. Resolute, in fact. She kept her chin high when his name came up, sure that there would be an explanation, sure that he would eventually come home.

He didn't.

Several months ago, Joyce reluctantly asked me if I would consider going to see him, to try to talk to him. She had gone to see him again and he had not come to the door. One of his house mates told her that he was gone and he wasn't sure when he'd be back. But, she had been sure that she'd seen Sven peeking out of an upstairs curtain. She thought that I might have a better chance. She offered to pay for my airline ticket, hotel costs. I refused her money and went on my own dime.

I had no luck either. He didn't return calls and when I showed up at his grungy apartment, I was met by a flinty eyed, creepy looking man who gave me the once over as he denied knowing Sven's whereabouts.

I left with no information.

We've invited Joyce over many times for dinner. She rarely accepts. She is quiet, goes to her nursing job at the hospital during the day and seldom goes out in the evenings.

I sat down with Liv and tried to explain, but I was not even sure what to say. No matter. She is loyal to a fault and halfway through my faltering explanation, she shook her head no.

"Stop, Mama," she said. "I won't listen to this! He'll be back. I know it. I KNOW IT!"

Children never run out of hope.

So, this morning....

I was in the kitchen with Liv, lemon oiling the cabinets. Bing decided to take Socks for a nice, long, calming walk before we took him to the groomers. The wall phone rang about a half hour after she left.

I answered it, reminding Liv to put some elbow grease into her work as I reached for the phone.

It was Bing. Her voice was soft.

"Honey? I'm right outside with the dog and I noticed a cab in Joyce's driveway. So, I'm standing here waiting...and well, I..."

She stopped talking and I heard a sharp intake of breath. I frowned. And then I heard her say, "SVEN???!! Hey, wait up. C'mon..what..HEY!"

I walked quickly to the front door saying, "BING? IS it SVEN?? IS IT SVEN???" I felt a rush of air past me and it was Liv running to the door. I caught up with her and grabbed her around the waist as she opened it. She wrenched against me.

"LET ME GO! LET ME GO TO HIM!"

Before I could answer, Bing was pushing into the door and there was a screeching noise as a yellow cab went flying up the hill.

She came in the front door. I let Liv go and she ran outside to the driveway. Bing went after her and dragged her back in. Socks, his leash still attached, ran under the sofa, whimpering.

The three of us stood in the foyer. Liv and I pelted Bing with questions. She was white faced, but finally she spoke.

"It was Sven," she said, hushed. "I saw him come running down the front steps of his house and I tried to talk to him, but he brushed right by me. Socks was so excited to see him, he jumped up on him...and...and..."

She looked hopelessly at me and went on.

"Maria, he kicked Socks. And he didn't say a word to me, just got in and then he was talking to the cabbie and so I ran for the front door. Maria....he looked....different. Not like Sven, really. His eyes. It was like he didn't know me. Didn't see me. He looked...dangerous....and then, well...you saw...the cab took off like hellfire."

"SHUT UP, LIAR. LIAR HEAD! STOP LYING!"

It was Liv. She burst into tears and when I tried to pull her to me, she ran up the steps to her room. Socks ran after her, leash still trailing as he went up the steps.

Bing and I stood staring at each other. Finally, she took out her cell phone.

"What's Joyce's work number? Do we have it?"

We did. I found it in a drawer. Bing called Joyce who came home immediately. Bing insisted on going into her house with her. While they were gone, I went up to Liv's room. Socks was sitting forlornly by the door. The door was locked. I knocked.

"Please let me have some privacy! I'm sorry I called Bing a name. Please, mama. Just a few minutes, okay?"

I said okay, reluctantly and knelt down to check on Socks. I checked him for tender spots, talking softly to him. He seemed okay. Liv's door opened a few inches. I could see her red blotched face.

"Is Socks okay?" she asked. I said yes. "May I have him, please?" she asked.

I said yes, but could I come in too?

She said no, not yet and took Socks in her arms. The door shut firmly.

When I went downstairs, Bing was coming in the front door.

"Joyce's jewelry is gone and about 2000 dollars that she kept in her nylon drawer for emergencies. She said that Sven knew she kept it there. I told her that we should call the police, but she is refusing. God, Maria....she's...can you go talk to her? I don't know what to say.."

I told her to keep an eye on Liv and that Socks seemed fine.

I pulled on my coat and went next door.

I knocked softly on the door. "Joyce? Honey, it's Maria. Will you let me in? I just need to make sure that you're okay."

She opened the door silently and let me pass into her home. She offered me tea; I declined. We sat on the sofa. She didn't cry, just kept plucking the sofa next to her as if she were trying to clean it off.

She finally looked up. "I will not call the police on my son. Do you understand?"

I said I did. I almost reached for her hand and then caught the look on her face and restrained myself. She was barely holding it together. Her tears would come when she was alone. I'm much that way myself, so I didn't press.

I asked her if Bing had told her everything. She nodded yes. I sighed and then said this:

We love him too. Something is very wrong. But, Joyce...you need to protect yourself. I know that you don't think you do, but Sven is not...Sven. At least not for now. You need to change your locks. Okay?

She nodded. And then she looked up at me. "Maybe you should change your locks too. Just a sec."

She got up and opened a kitchen drawer, looked relieved and showed me the key.

"He didn't take your house key. I think you're safe."

And then she covered her eyes with her hand. "I can't believe I'm changing my locks so that my son can't get into our home. I just...can't...believe...this."

I made her tea. I sat with her until the locksmith came and then she asked me to leave, to give her some privacy. I left, hugging her, holding her for a long time before I walked away.

When I arrived home, Bing and Liv were finishing up the kitchen cupboards. Liv's face was puffy with dried tear streaks. She was silent. I went to where she was standing on a chair and put my arms around her long legs. She patted me and sat on the counter. Let me hold her.

"Honey," I started, "I think that Sven is fighting some really bad demons. I think that maybe he is taking drugs. I can't think of any other reason why he would take money, ignore us and kick Socks. I think we just need to try to hope that he finds a way to reach out, you know? But, you must PROMISE me that you will NEVER, EVER let him in our house unless Bing or I are here, okay?"

She nodded, head in my neck. I looked over at Bing, who was looking at us. She came over and put her arms around both of us.

"Time for a Liv sandwich," she said, an old joke going back to the days when Liv was little and we would hug her between us.

Liv didn't answer, just leaned into us both, breathing raggedly. Bing and I stood still as statues until her breathing slowed to normal. And then we drew back. Liv looked calmly at us.

"So, what do we need to clean next?" she asked, her voice carefully bland.

Bing and Liv just took Socks to the groomers. The house is almost clean. I keep stopping in my tracks to look out the window.

I see him laughing, swinging my daughter in a perfect circle, holding her under her armpits.

I see him picking up a dandelion and chucking it under her chin to see if she likes butter.

I see him in his football gear, ready to go to practice at the high school.

I see him on that last day when he was already in the car to go off to college and then jumped out at the last moment to comfort Liv one last time.

I see him tossing a frisbee to Socks, the dog's tail wagging mightily as he returns to him with it in his mouth.

I see Sven sitting at our kitchen table and rubbing his hands together as he looks down at the board game, asking who is ready to lose their battleships!

I see him on that first day when he walked into my home, balancing a paper plate of snicker doodles as he leaned down to peer at Liv through the bars of her play pen. Asking me if I had kids. When I pointed to Liv and said she was the only one, he put a finger through the bar. She grasped it. He said, "She'll do."

I taught him to slow dance for his first boy-girl dance when he was in eighth grade. Later I would learn that he had a crush on me and that the reason that he left the house so quickly was because he had a raging hard on and was mortified. How we laughed about that when he was 19 and home from college and we were alone outside drinking iced tea and waiting for Liv to come home from her friend's house.

I mostly see his blonde hair cut short in a crew cut because he said that his football helmet made his head unbearably hot.

I see him sharing a moonlight kiss with his first girlfriend under the weeping willow tree in his back yard when he had no idea that the lady next door was watching them from the dark of her kitchen window and smiling tenderly, remembering how sweet first kisses are.

I think of my daughter learning a really hard lesson today about drugs and how they kill people from the inside out.

I don't cry. Not yet. That will probably come later in the bathtub. For now, I think of this song and how it reminds me so much of our Sven.

Oh, honey...I hope you find a way back to us. Just reach out, sugar foot. One hand to me and I will come get you, help you. We all will. We love you.

We miss you, Sven. Come back. Please come back to us. Come back to Liv.

No happy tidings in Mariaville tonight.

2011-12-21T19:02:00.003-06:00

I got home pretty late from work. Both Bing and Liv are off until January 4th from their schools.

Tinton (Liv's father), Nirand (Tinton's business partner and best friend), Vince (old friend from med school), and Thuan (Vince's life partner) are ALL coming in on Friday afternoon from Colorado and Chicago.

I took tomorrow off for the sole purpose of getting this pig sty of a house in order.

So, I come home late after 1) getting my hair cut (and that is a whole other blog...let's just say my usual stylist was ill and I had her sub...who has no business cutting hair), 2) stopping at Target to pick up a new pair of slippers since my old ones are driving me crazy and according to their ad in the Sunday paper, Dunkin' Donut coffee was on sale for half price...and any coffee drinker knows that Dunkin' Donut coffee rocks big time...coffee was GONE, so had to get a rain check, but did get some pretty pink puffy slippers, and 3) stopping at the library to pick up four new books that are in for me.

I told Liv and Bing to eat without me since they were just warming up leftover chicken soup. Bing was playing on her i-pad. Liv was watching television. I noticed the dining room light on and there on my brand new BEAUTIFUL table are piles and piles of....OLD COINS.

Bing's mother died last year and left bags and bags of old coins and Bing said that she would go through them and see if any of them were worth anything. Now, the key words here are LAST YEAR. She died LAST YEAR and the coins have been gathering dust in the basement. So, of course, Bing picks the day before I need to clean the house to haul them up for perusal.

I also notice bread pans lining the kitchen counters and bags of white chocolate chips and sliced almonds.

I manage to say, "Hello, how was your day?" before I start in on her.

WHY is she bringing up COINS when I need the house to be CLEAN tomorrow? WHY is she baking? Is this tomorrow? When I planned to scrub the kitchen so that when Thuan and Nirand cook, it looks like pigs don't live here instead of people?

Bing is lackadaisical.

"Oh, yeah," she says. "I thought it might be interesting to look at some of those coins. Got through the quarters, still have the dimes and nickels left. And I was going to bake today, but I am short of eggs, so will pick them up tomorrow..."

DOES SHE NOT SEE THE HORRIFIED LOOK ON MY FACE?

"Bing! We are CLEANING tomorrow? And taking Socks to the groomer! And grocery shopping for Nirand and Thuan so that they can bake and cook! I took the day OFF tomorrow with that plan in mind and I told you ahead of time! You are NOT going to spend the day lollygagging over coins and baking! NO! Just no!"

She sighs. Puts on her long suffering face.

"Maria, you always get way too freaked about cleanliness. Our home is JUST FINE! Just needs a dusting and vacuuming and that will take up an hour. And I'll take Socks in, no worries. C'mon. Calm down. Chill."

She looks at my face (and Socks' face too...he understands perfectly what the word groomer means and he is plotting his escape, I can see his eyes getting that beady look) and tries for humor.

"Sweetie, you're harshing my mellow here, babe...."

I am ready to blow my top. I want to throw my library books at her.

Then, she suddenly notices my hair.

"Wow, you really got a LOT off, honey! I thought you were just going in for a trim?"

I want to sit down and cry and throw all the baking pans on the floor.

Instead, I keep my voice steady.

"We are cleaning tomorrow. The coins are going back into the basement until our guests go home. No baking. Did you put fresh bedding on the beds like I asked you to this morning?"

She gives me a blank look.

Huh?

I would like to say that I spoke calmly and with conviction. I did not. I went on a tirade.

I said that I was NOT the cleaning lady.

I said that she PROMISED to change the bedding.

I said that I was SICK and TIRED of her NOT HELPING. That she was a slob and a selfish pig who expected me to do all the cleaning. That I want my home to be clean and pretty for company.

And then I stuck my fist in the air like Scarlett O'Hara and said, "AS GOD AS MY WITNESS, YOU WILL HELP ME AND YOU WILL SMILE AND NOT COMPLAIN!"

It was too much for even me.

I shook my head, embarrassed and then stomped upstairs to change into my jeans and chucks.

When I came back down, Bing handed me a note and then she and Liv stood in front of the Christmas tree and sang that song from The Grinch.

The note said, "WE WILL HELP! WE WILL SMILE! COINS GONE! NO BAKING! WE LOVE YOU! CHILL! YOUR HAIR LOOKS CUTE!"

Temper tantrum put on hold......

"Would you date me?"

2011-12-20T07:26:00.003-06:00

Another of Bing's FAVORITE kinds of conversations....

We were watching CNN. Bing is very interested in what's happening in North Korea over Kim Jong II's death. I was reading my book. A question occurred to me. I asked it.

"If we had just met, would you date me?"

Sigh from Bing. She looked over reluctantly.

"Honey, you're my partner. I already date you pretty seriously."

"No!" I reiterated. "I mean, suppose you just met me now, like at a party or something, would you want to ask me out? When you first met me, I was 18 and much, much hotter..."

Bing senses a trick question. She takes the easy way out.

"You're still hot, sweetie...now can I please watch this?"

I refuse to drop it because it is one of my major flaws.

"C'mon, don't be a chicken butt....WOULD YOU WANT TO ASK ME OUT IF YOU JUST MET ME?"

Bing looks over at me.

"Well, yeah...I suppose so."

Okay, what I needed her to say was "OF COURSE! I WOULD HIGHTAIL IT TO YOUR SIDE THE SECOND I LAID EYES ON YOU!"

So, I sort of pouted. "You SUPPOSE so?"

Bing smiled. "Do you put out? Because, hey...I'm 52 and if I'm not with you, I haven't had really phenomenal sex for a while. I am probably really, really horny. So...let's see? Are you wearing something sexy? Do you look like you'll put out?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Of course not. I'm not loose that way. Well, not THAT loose. So, huh...no deal, huh? You'd ask that floozy in the low cut sweater out but not me, right?"

Bing's turn to roll her eyes.

"No, I'd ask you out because I know you will be a world of trouble. You'll interrupt my television programs to ask me asinine questions and then either get mad at me for not answering properly or too slowly. Maria. I love you. I'm with you now. Can't we just be done with this already?"

I nodded and went back to my book.

A few moments later, she came leaping into my lap and interrupted a really good part.

"I MUST HAVE YOU NOW!" she exclaimed. "YOU ARE JUST SITTING THERE LOOKING SO TASTY. MARIA, WILL YOU PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASSSSSEEEEEEE, DATE ME?"

I blinked.

"Honey, I'm trying to read here..."

And, then, of course....I laughed.

She's stuck with me. God help her.

Liv in love....

2011-12-18T16:17:00.000-06:00

It finally happened.

Today, we were all watching football on TV, me wrapped up in a blanket (thanks for sharing that cold, Livvy Pie!) glancing up now and then from my book. Socks laying sprawled across my feet, keeping them toasty.

Bing was in the recliner, Liv laying on the floor, math homework next to her to work on during commercials.

Liv came over and got under the covers with me for a while to warm up.

She whispered quietly in my ear.

"Mama, I need to tell you something..."

My eyebrow shot up, I looked at her, nodded. Told her to go on.

"I think I'm in love..."

Shit. Where the FUCK did this come from? I swallowed hard. Whispered back to go on.

She smiled beautifully at me.

"It's...it's....it's....TIM TEBOW!"

I sighed. Tickled her and she fell off the sofa.

"You are a little....brat," I said.

"Can't help it. I don't care if he will always love Jesus more than me," she went on. "I just think he is the perfect man."

I laughed and then it turned into a cough, which caused Bing to look over and ask me if I needed more tea. My wonderful caretaker partner.

Tim Tebow.

Well...it could be worse, she could have picked a bad boy like Ndamukong Suh...

Hey, guys...sorry to mess with ya.....couldn't resist. No, my baby isn't in love, she just has her first crush...on the quarterback for Jesus.

Smiling......

That post where Maria turns into her mother

2011-12-17T16:42:00.001-06:00

I didn't see it coming. I never do.

This morning, Liv had a basketball game. At 8:00 a.m. Yes. 8:00 a.m.

Her games are almost always in the afternoon or evening. Not this Saturday. When the alarm went off at 6:30, I almost cried.

The weekends are my only days to sleep in. And sleep in I do. I seldom slide out of bed until at least 10:00 a.m. Maybe later. Once I slept until noon.

This was something I used to dream about when Liv was an infant, a baby, a toddler. That day when I would not be responsible for diapering duty, warming bottles and then cutting bananas and blowing on oatmeal. Pouring apple juice into sippie cups. Somehow getting a brush through her hair. Tying shoes.

And now I had to get up at the butt crack of dawn to go to a basketball game that we would surely lose since we had to play St. Tim's and everyone knows that the coach thinks her team should be in the Olympics because she trains them with military precision. They aren't just good. They are SCARY good.

This only happens in parochial schools, I think. I mean, it is JUNIOR HIGH!

But, I dutifully went into Liv's room to wake her. She grimaced when I turned her bedside lamp on and leaned down to kiss her warm cheek and tell her to get up. At least I didn't say, "Time to getty uppy up!" This is what my mother used to say to me every school morning and I vowed that I would NEVER say that to my kid.

Actually, what I wanted to do was get in bed with Liv and go back to sleep. Instead, I reminded her that she had a game.

Liv has had a bad cold for the last week and a half. She missed two days of school and the only thing that coaxed her back into the classroom was the fact that one of her friends told her that they were now studying genetic markers in science. So, she went barreling back to school in spite of only being able to talk in a whisper and regaled us at the dinner table with talk of single nucleotide polymorphism, minisatellites, restriction fragment length polymorphism and it's friend, amplified fragment length polymorphism.

So, this morning, she tried to get out of going to basketball by saying that she still felt "iffy."

"You were well enough to go out for a hot fudge sundae with Kai's family last night," I told her. "I think you're good to go, Liv. C'mon. Get UP."

She closed her eyes and scowled. Tried again.

"Mama, I feel siiiiiiiccccckkkkk," she said feebly.

I felt her forehead. No heat. I felt her cheek. No heat. I looked at Socks who was siding with her, I could tell. I shook my head at him. DO NOT SAY A WORD. He sat back down and curled into a ball.

"I'm going to go take a shower," I told her. "If I have to come in here again to get you out of bed, I'll bring an ice cube with me and rub it on your stomach."

I caught her eye, held it to show that I meant business and stalked out of her bedroom.

As I walked past Bing, she grinned at me. "Now, don't get mad," she said. "But, you just sounded so much like your mother."

UGH. NO.

I made a face at her and went into the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror. I do look like my mother when I am angry. I get that same tight mouth, those cold eyes.

I got into the shower and washed that woman right out of my hair.

I wish it were that easy.

Afterward, I checked to make sure that Liv was up and getting dressed in her basketball uniform. She was, but she gave me a sulky look in the mirror as she pulled her hair back in a pony tail, pouting.

I walked in her room in my robe and my mother came out to play again.

"Liv, this is NOT MY GAME, it is YOUR game," I said. "I'm not the one with a pouty face and well, okay. If you are THAT sick, so stay home. But, DO NOT ask me to do ANYTHING. No going to the bookstore, no calling a friend, no hanging out with a friend. NOTHING. NADA. Are we clear? Because I would LOVE to go back to bed. As I said, it isn't MY GAME. IT IS YOURS!"

God, help me, I almost put a MISSY on the end of that sentence. Because that is exactly what SHE would have done.

Liv rolled her eyes.

And here comes my mother again, I morphed right into her.

"And DO NOT give me that look! ARE WE CLEAR?

Liv looked away. Nodded.

I huffily went into our bedroom and started yanking on my jeans, a sweatshirt and my Chucks. Bing came in and handed me a cup of coffee.

"Here, crabby ass," she said. "Start on this and I'll put more in a to-go mug for you."

She handed me a half of a bagel too, with cream cheese and apple jelly on it.

I took both, thanked her with a smacky kiss and went into the bathroom to see if I could get away with no makeup. I decided that I looked like one of the cast members of Twilight and needed some blush and lip gloss. Applied both. Took a bite. A sip. Felt better.

When I got downstairs, Liv was sitting at the table with Bing, eating her power bar and drinking her coffee. Yes, I let her drink coffee. DO NOT JUDGE ME. She likes it about half cream and the rest coffee and puts a tablespoon of sugar in it, so it isn't um...like REAL coffee.

Okay, it is.

BAD MOTHER.

I handed her the rest of my bagel. She smiled at me, took it.

"Sorry, Mama," she said. "I guess I'm like you in the morning, I hate getting up so I'm kind of crabby."

I nodded, hugged her. Laughed. Because, yes, I caught the jab and no I didn't lob it back at her.

"Mornings suck," I said. "So, you aren't REALLY sick, are you?"

She said no, smiled sheepishly.

Bing handed me my coffee to go and another half bagel.

"EAT," she said. "The last thing I want is you to get a sugar low at the game."

I ate.

We all put on our coats and went out into the frigid morning air to go to the school where the game was held.

St. Tim's beat the snot out of us, 33-17.

Liv played for almost half the game, which is good. She is getting better. She is starting to be a really good guard. The problem is that the St. Tim's girls were all like giantess girls. I kid you not, they were so TALL. And like I said, their coach was a screaming maniac.

There were 10 girls on the team. 3 sat on the bench the ENTIRE TIME. No game time. Just the giantess automatons.

Afterwards, we dished with the other parents for awhile, ("For the love of Mike, couldn't she have at least let ALL her players play? She acted like this was the Olympics or something!" "Hey, Kai was so good!" "Livvy was good too, is she feeling better? I heard she was sick. Tough time of year to be sick. Are you guys traveling for the holidays?")and then we went home.

I don't know where the hell my mother is but I am really, really hoping that she doesn't take over my body again for a while. Scares the hell out of me.

The ottoman and the mammogram, two funny tales.

2011-12-15T20:17:00.002-06:00

I love it when my bff, Harriet, and I meet for dinner. Tonight we went to a hamburger joint that serves liquor. She got the house sangria, I got a pear martini. Delicious.

But, as always, we both had a funny story to tell. Harriet started. She had her yearly mammogram last week. She says that she always gets it in December so if she has cancer, she will get really good Christmas presents. Thankfully, she has always been fine. But...she hates mammograms (as I do) because she is flat chested (as I am) and those things pinch.

In fact, I agree with Ellen Degeneres on this one. She says that if men had to stick their penis in a waffle iron and have it pressed flat to look for cancer, they would find another way. But, since it is only women who have to put their breast in one, it doesn't matter. Hey, women can handle pain. We give birth.

So, here is her story:

So, there I am at Dr. Julie's office, standing in the big scary mammogram room. Why the hell is it always like ice cold in there? You'd think they could at least make it toasty warm, so you wouldn't feel so bad about having to unwrap your titty and put it on a big cold silver tray and then have them work that thing like a waffle iron. And I have practically NO titty, so it HURTS. So, I am standing there with the attendant and we are making stupid small talk about movies when all of a sudden she says, "Oh, darn it all! I forgot my pen. Be back in a jiffy." and she leaves the room. So, I am standing there with my boob stuck in the machine and all of a sudden, I KID YOU NOT, A FIRE ALARM starts going off! And there I am, standing there ALONE in this room with my boob stuck in the waffle iron! It suddenly occurred to me that the attendant could be running for her life right now and maybe forgotten about that tall, flat chested woman who was in the mammogram room with her tit stuck! So, I sort of called out, said something like, "Um...yoo hoo! Anybody there? What's going on?" No answer. And then, I thought what if it is a fire and I am stuck? Will I be willing to like tear my own breast off to keep from burning to death like that hiker who cut off his hand when it got stuck when a boulder fell on it? And then, I started thinking...like...what if it wasn't a fire? What if there was a terrorist in the building? Is he going to open the door and see me standing there stuck like a pig? Should I just wave, try to be friendly like and hope that he won't kill me or what? Anyway, the alarm suddenly stops and the attendant comes back in and sort of laughs and says that some kid whose mother wasn't watching him set off the fire alarm! And she is laughing sort of ruefully and I almost started crying! I told her that I thought there was a fire and she forgot about me and she said, "Oh, honey, NO! I would NEVER forget a patient like that!" But...shit it SCARED me shitless!

Now, I thought that was pretty funny and after I made the proper wide eyed OH MY GOD! face, we were able to laugh about it and speculate about mammograms and other fun things like yeast infections, speculums, diaphragm insertions, pap smears and having babies without drugs.

And then I told her my ottoman story. Bing is the only other person who knows this story besides my sisters. Here is my story:

Ok. When I was about seventeen, my mother made some comment about me being the daughter who embarrassed her the most out of ALL of my sisters and when I asked what I had done to embarrass her, she told me something that made me see her in a whole new light. She told me that when I was about three years old, she and my Da noticed that I liked to um...lay face down on the ottoman in the living room and rub up and down on one of the corners with my legs spread. I would go faster and faster and then sort of shudder and sigh and then drop off to sleep. Well, my Da was clueless, but my mother figured out immediately what was going on. So..SHE TOLD MY DA THAT SHE THOUGHT I WAS HAVING ORGASMS on that ottoman. My Da was like "No way, she is THREE. Three year olds can't have orgasms!" I was horrified when my mother said this to me. I mean, what seventeen year old girl wants to hear the word "orgasm" come out of her own mother's mouth and to have it pertain to HER? Well, fuck. Anyway, my mother wasn't embarrassed at ALL telling me this and when I asked her what they did, she shocked me. I expected her to tell me that they re-directed my attention or gently lifted me up and told me to only do that in my bedroom or something...but NO. My mother TOOK ME TO MY PEDIATRICIAN and asked him what to do. And you would think a DOCTOR would at least be forward thinking enough to advise them well. And for Christ sakes, WHY did they take me to a doctor? We didn't go to the doctor in my house unless we were bleeding profusely or choking to death. She took me to THE DOCTOR because I was having ORGASMS on the OTTOMAN??

Ok...a break. Harriet was fighting mightily not to burst out laughing and she finally sputtered out that she had no idea that a three year old could have an orgasm and I told her that OF COURSE they could, they have a clitoris for Pete's sake. But, I mean...I would guess that it just doesn't come up for most kids. But, obviously,I was a very forward thinking little tot and well...

Harriet bit her lip and said, "Go on..." So I did.

"So, this DOCTOR told my mother that she and my Da were to come up and grab me off the ottoman when it happened and shout "BAD GIRL!" in my face and then to make me sit on the sofa (and hopefully not rub up against something)...and I guess it worked like a charm. My mother told me that it only took two times before I stopped for good. And then she said, "I still can't believe that you did something so shameful at such a young age, Maria."

Harriet wasn't laughing anymore, she was pissed off.

"I can't believe that she and your Da shamed you like that!" she said, angrily.

"You know what is amazing," I went on, "is that I am not like...totally messed up sexually, like I don't hear voices in my head screaming BAD GIRL! every time I have an orgasm! I don't remember it AT ALL. I just remember wiping dishes with my mother when she told me this and feeling like I wanted to fall through the floor and die. I mean, my mother did NOT talk about sex, she didn't even call a vagina a vagina and taught us to just call it down there. When I was thirty years old and had a yeast infection, I sat in my gyno's office and said that it sort of burned down there when I went to the bathroom! And so there I was standing in the kitchen on our farm and hearing my own mother say the word ORGASM and while I knew what it was by then, I didn't want my mother to say that word! And she gave me this look like I had done something filthy. I was THREE!"

Harriet shook her head. "Did you remind her of that?"

"I don't recall," I admitted. "I think I said something like 'Oh, Mother, I am so sorry about that.' or something stupid like that. I mean, I was embarrassed. And think about it. She probably figured that this made perfect sense when I came out to her when I was 24. She probably figured that well, Maria was a sex addict when she was three, it stands to reason that she would be a deviant by 24..."

Harriet looked at me and started giggling then and I had to join her. Because, honestly...isn't it kind of AMAZING that we all turned out okay when our parents screwed up SO BADLY? It makes me wonder what I've done that Liv will talk about with her friends when she is my age. Will she say, "God, Mama did this or said this and I can't believe that I turned out as well as I did!"

Harriet took a bite of her pie and then she just couldn't hold it in. She started laughing again.

"My GOD, Maria. It honestly is sort of AMAZING that you can have orgasms, you know? I mean, what if every time you had one, you felt shame? Did you ever? I mean, when you were younger?"

I shook my head and joined in her laughing.

"That's the thing. I have NEVER had trouble coming, you know? I mean, I don't have a great libido, but once I am invested in sex, I can come really, really fast!"

"Well, for fuck sakes, woman," Harriet commented. "I mean...you've been orgasming since you were three! You must be an olympic comer by now!"

We were both laughing hard now.

"And you know what?" I said. "I have never, ever felt like a BAD GIRL when I've had sex either, whether it be with a man or a woman. I was a late starter at sex, was the last of my friends to lose my virginity, but I never, ever felt like I was doing something wrong. Considering, I started my orgasming career by being yanked off an ottoman and having my parents scream BAD GIRL! at me, you'd think that I would have a really hard time getting to the finish line, but I usually beat Bing!"

Harriet and I finished our shared plate of apple pie ala mode and started to put our coats on.

"God, I love having dinner with you," she said. "It's always fun and so educational and enlightening..."

We got in her car and headed home, talking about the things that women talk about when they are together:

Our partners and their odd habits

Why we hate women who say things like, "I'm a soccer mom and proud!" or "I don't care what I get for Christmas as long as my family is happy and healthy!"

The way that pink never looks as good at home as it does in the store, so only teenaged girls should wear pink. Pale pink, ok. Other pinks, just no.

Why do mother in laws always think it is okay to invade your personal space?

And...

Is it normal to want to give your own child the finger sometimes or is that traipsing into bad mother territory?

Harriet pulled into my driveway and stopped. We kissed goodbye and agreed to go see The Descendants together next week when I have some days off and she can get a babysitter for her toddler.

I got out of the car and she called, "Hey, go have a nice night with your wife, bad girl!"

And I called back, "Don't get your boob stuck in the waffle iron now!"

We crack ourselves up. Truly.

Curling up with Stephen

2011-12-13T18:37:00.001-06:00

I saw an e-mail from the local library in my in-box this morning. I clicked on it.

YIPPEE! My new book was in. I've on a waiting list for it for over a month. I promised Bing years ago that I would start getting books from the library and reading them first. If I really, really like them, I buy them. But, I read most of my books from the library, unless someone gives me a gift certificate to a book store. Then, I am in heaven. I haven't received a gift certificate in a long time. So, I order my books at the library and then wait for them. I tell myself that it is a lesson in patience. I get so much whenever I want it, it's good to practice discipline from time to time.

But, it was in. HE was in.

I went to the library over my lunch. Ran my fingers over that big fat book. Hugged it. Just because. I don't think I could be that close to anyone who didn't love books. Because they are the best friends in the world. Quiet. Entertaining. Always easy to get along with.

I came home, we had dinner, talked about our days.

And then, when Bing had wandered off to work on an application to go to Cambodia this summer and Liv had left to do her homework....

I sat down on the sofa, tucked my feet up under me, took a sip of chai tea and read the first sentence.

"I have never been what you'd call a crying man."

I don't like horror, in general, but for him...I make the exception. Because it never feels like horror to me. It feels like magic. He can take something mundane and turn it sinister, take something sinister and make it mundane. He writes with such incredible finesse and sheer bite. I can't think of anyone who can pull me into a sofa and keep me there for hours on end besides this writer.

I love you, Stephen King.

True-honest-to-god-conversation in a Walgreens

2011-12-13T16:08:00.001-06:00

I took my prescription in to be filled. While it was being prepared, I wandered around picking up things that you always end up picking up in Walgreens:

Christmas paper plates and napkins (Yes, Bing, I know we use our real plates)
Plastic spoons for my work coffee (Yes, Bing, I know that I should bring a silver spoon to work and wash it daily instead of tossing plastic ones)
Halloween candy that is now dirt cheap (Candy lasts forever, doesn't it and they are the perfect size to put in Liv's lunch)
Antibacterial hand sanitizer (If you heard my secretary cough, you would too)
Computer screen wipes
Those Energel pens that I like (Made in JAPAN, Bing!)
Creamer for my coffee (It was peppermint mocha...)
Toothpaste (it was on the clearance rack...and ok...I usually refuse to buy Gleem on principle because I hate things that are spelled incorrectly, but it was a buck)
A new squeak toy for Socks (because...Bing...I KNOW you confiscated it because you complained about that weird sound it made...too bad for you...he is getting a new one...c'mon...he LOVED that toy)

An older woman came up to me and looked up at me intently.

First of all, I am barely five feet tall...it is rare when another adult looks UP at me.

Also, she was elderly and I thought she needed help. But, no. She was just chatty. She held up two Russell Stover Santa bars.

"Do you like these chocolate bars?" she asked me

She was looking at me as if the answer was very important.

I glanced at the candy bar.

Well, I told her, I DO like Russell Stover but it is a marshmallow one and I have to be in a certain mood for marshmallow filling...

She nodded sagely. "Well, I just wanted to tell you that there is a Russell Stover Outlet on 72nd Street that will sell you this for about half the cost."

I smiled and thanked her. Started to turn away.

No dice.

She grabbed my arm. Generally, I dislike being touched by anyone who isn't a friend or family member, but I make exceptions for old people and children.

"Don't give to the Salvation Army bucket outside the store," she whispered. "The guy dressed up like Santa in front of it? He smells like cigarettes and beer and I think that is a disgraceful thing for children to see. A SANTA that stinks of liquor and cigs. Shame."

She shook her head, mournfully.

I nodded, agreeing.

"You know what I think?" she asked me.

I shook my head. Smiled indulgently.

"I think you used to be a real looker. What are you, about 50 or 55?"

I told her 53.

She nodded, as if she had just performed a particularly good parlor trick.

"You have an Irish look about you, that really pretty skin," she said, smiling. "Yes, I think you were a really pretty young thing a few years ago."

I smiled, tiring of this. I think she needed to say that I was a really pretty old thing now.

She didn't.

"Are you a drinker? Because Irish people tend to be alkies," she said, her claw fingers still on my coat.

My smile faded. I said that no, I was not much of a drinker. Didn't bother to add any more.

I said I needed to get going.

"Did you used to be a floozy when you were younger?" she asked, those eyes intent on mine.

Enough already.

I told her that I was done talking to her. Goodbye now.

As I walked towards the prescription counter to see if my scrip was ready, she called after me,

"God, you are such an alky bitch. All that Irish in her. Just look!" She had found a new victim, an older gentleman in a long dark coat.

How do they always find me? Just tell me that. Please.

Well, I knew it was coming...

2011-12-12T19:04:00.002-06:00

...but still.

Harriet stopped by to visit briefly on her way out Christmas shopping. We were in the middle of eating dinner when she arrived, so made her sit down and eat with us. She confessed that she had just eaten a cheeseburger from BK, so we were content to have her nibble on some garlic bread.

The news was on and a story came on about my favorite Cornhusker, Rex Burkhead. Let's just call him the perfect man.

Harriet looked over at Bing and smirked. "Does she always salivate when she sees Rex?" she asked. Bing laughed and shook her head.

"Pretty much," she answered. "Pretty much. Even in front of me. The woman has no shame. But, what the hell? I mean, sometimes even I want to salivate over him too."

After Harriet left, Liv and I were doing dishes.

She looked over at me and I could see it coming. The question.

"Mama, have you always been bi-sexual?"

I thought for a moment. How far did I want this conversation to go? To be honest, Liv has never asked me any sexual questions. None. Nada. I decided to just be truthful, but not detailed.

"Yes," I said.

Deep, I know.

"How old were you when you first had sex?'

I swallowed.

"18," I said.

I know, such a jabbermouth.

Liv looked at me, questioning.

"With a woman or a man?" she asked.

"A woman," I answered.

"Was it Bing?"

"No."

How old were you when you had sex with a man?" she pressed.

Another swallow.

"18," I said.

She was quiet. Then she said, "It wasn't at the same time was it?"

"God, Livvy. NO!" I said, probably too forcefully. I sighed. Knew she needed just a little bit more but there was this line that I don't think parents need to cross. I want to be truthful. But my private sexual life is just that. Private. I expect her to respect that, just as I will respect hers.

When she is about 30 and has sex for the first time.....

I leaned against the counter. Dried a dish. Spoke.

"I started having sex with both men and women when I was 18," I told her. "But, I didn't sleep around that much. I was just...curious. One day, you will be too. Hopefully, you will also remember to keep yourself safe."

Liv wrinkled her nose. I don't think sex is even much on her radar. She has told me that she hasn't even really been attracted to a boy (or a girl) yet.

"So, did you have sex with both men and women to see which one you liked best?" she asked.

"No," I told her. "I knew that I liked them pretty much equally. I just..well...I had sex with people that I was attracted to and that was both sexes. Liv, are you concerned that you might be bi-sexual?" I asked.

She shook her head, thoughtfully. "No," she said. "When I get that swirly feeling in my stomach, it is always about a boy. Haven't felt that with a girl yet. I just wondered, because you comment on both cute men and women. Like, Rex Burkhead, for example..."

I nodded. "Liv, you DO know that this is just a silly crush thing, don't you? I will NEVER be with anyone but Bing."

"I KNOW!" she said, irritated. "I'm not stupid, Mama. I know you and Harriet just josh around with Bing. But, I just....wondered, you know?"

I knew. Tinton, her father, told me that when she visited him this summer, she asked him if he was bi-sexual and when he said no, that he just liked women, she asked him if it bothered him that I liked both men and women. He told her that no, it didn't bother him. That he thought lots of people in the world were bi-sexual, but just were predisposed to be one way. She hadn't pushed it.

"Liv?" I asked her, tentatively. "Do you need to know anything else or are we done here? I want to answer your questions, and I am happy to do that, but I am your parent and you are never going to know the specifics of my sexual experiences, okay? Because sex is a private issue. For all of us. But, on the other hand, I never want you to feel that you can't discuss things with me."

Liv shuddered. "GOD, NO! I do NOT want to know the details. I just...I think it is interesting. You comment on both men and women. I don't know whether you are unusual or not. I think Dad is right. I think maybe a lot of people could go either way, but are just more interested in one sex, don't you?"

Yes, I told her. I agreed.

I braced myself for more questions.

"So, can I have some ice cream?" she asked.

Whew.

Yes, I told her. Have some ice cream.

How will YOU answer those sex questions if they come?

Because, honestly, I would have rather died than talk to my mother about sex when I was Liv's age. I once heard my mother say the word orgasm when talking to one of my Aunts, her sister, and I blushed even though I was sitting in another ROOM.

So...tell. If your children are older, did you talk about sex?

If your children are younger, do you plan to have a sit down with them or just wait for the questions, if any?

And how was the topic of sex dealt with in your family?

Tell.

Would you rather.....?

2011-12-11T18:52:00.001-06:00

Would you rather live in the country or the city?

Absolutely a city mouse here. I grew up on a farm in a tiny town in Iowa. I know the joys of a country life and the hardships of it. I prefer the city. I like visiting the countryside, but I like to be close to a 7-11 too. I like going to the movies at all hours of the day. I don't mind the hustle and the bustle. Christmas in the city is a lot prettier to me than Christmas in the country.

Would you rather have a big noisy family or a small quiet one?

I grew up in a family with three sisters and two parents. Until my Da died and then there was just the five of us. But, there was always family around, so I suppose the truth is that I came more from a large noisy family. I much prefer a quiet one. I asked Liv if she ever wished that she had brothers or sisters and she said no, that she had friends and she kind of liked the way our home is our refuge, a quiet, happy place. I agree. I like peace and quiet.

Would you rather read a book or play a game?

Reading always wins. Always. But, I do enjoy a game of chess now and then. Liv has never beat me at it yet; Bing has beat me several times. I also like playing Monopoly about twice a year. But, that's it.

Would you rather eat a juicy steak or a well done one?

Juicy. Bloody. Rare. Mmmm.

Would you rather go to a chick flick or an action movie?

A chick flick. I don't care much for action movies. Unless Matt Damon is in them. This is a common tug of war with Bing and me. She likes action movies. I like, not necessarily CHICK flicks, but I like movies that make me think, feel and not feel like I am going to be sick. Often action movies are violent and I would much rather watch a cheese ass love scene than someone get water boarded.

Would you rather study alone or study in a group?

Absolutely, positively ALONE. I have always detested study groups. No one studies the same way and there is always someone in the group who brings everyone down. Bing argues that with a study group, you can divide up the work...have each person study one thing and then report on it to the rest. The trouble is that I am always suspicious, always sure that they did not study everything and that there will be a question on the test that wasn't covered by the person who was in charge of that section. Plus, everyone needs different things to study. I need absolute quiet. Bing likes music playing. Liv has NO problem studying in front of a television. We would make poor study partners.

Would you rather look at the stars or watch the sun rise?

Look at the stars. I am NOT a morning person, don't fully wake up until about 9 a.m. When that alarm goes off every morning at 6 a.m., I just want to cry. Even if I was in bed the night before at 8:00 and have had plenty of rest. There is something cruel about being all warm and relaxed in soft sheets and then wake up to a loud alarm. I don't care how beautiful a sunrise is, I would rather google it.

Would you rather be hot or cold?

It always stuns me when someone says that they'd rather be cold than hot. I don't get it. I can handle being hot. I can drink something icy cold and feel better, take a cold shower, etc. When I am cold, all I can do is huddle under a blanket and know that eventually I have to feel my toasty tootsies go icy again. I HATE being cold. I DETEST that first five minutes in the car when it is icy cold, my fingers are stiff and cold and my teeth are chattering. I am the person you see huddled at a stop light with my fingers splayed against the heating ducts with the big fur hat on.

Would you rather eat cake or pie?

Cake. Red velvet please. Or angel food with pink icing dripping down the sides.

Would you rather do the cooking or clean up the mess?

Neither. But, if I had to choose, I would choose to take turns. By this, I mean...that when it is my turn to cook, I also have to clean up the mess. This is because Bing is the sloppiest cook I have ever known. She has no understanding of the concept of CLEANING AS YOU GO. She makes huge messes. If she cooks, I do NOT want to clean up. I am a very neat cook, always have been. I was taught by a mother who insisted that every drip of gravy, grease...whatever...be cleaned up immediately with a paper towel. It is just a habit with me now.

Would you rather write a letter or talk in person when you have something important to say?

Write a letter. I am better on paper. Always have been. Ask Bing. Ask my family and friends. Ask my blog readers who have met me in person. I come across as much more savvy, funny and kind on paper than I am in real life. I am really, really good at expressing my feelings on paper. In person, I get very uncomfortable with lovey dovey sentiments. I can write Bing a scorching hot love note that I would NEVER say in person.

Would you rather listen to opera or rap?

Probably opera. Unless it is Eminem. I really, really like listening to him. He is poetic and I often am just amazed by his finesse with word usage. It is like listening to a really gifted poet.

Would you rather draw a picture or build something with legos?

Draw a picture. My daughter has been a legos freak since she was 3. Even now, her Christmas list asks for a lego rocket building set. She has always loved them. When she was about 5, she went through a phase where she would beg to buy those small legos kits in department stores. I kid you not, there was ALWAYS a missing piece. At least one. And I found that infuriating. I also had no talent with putting them together and would watch in amazement as my FIVE YEAR OLD child beat the snot out of me at building with legos. But, I am a pretty fair artist. Not a Picasso or anything, but I once drew a picture of Liv that was so good that someone thought I had paid to have someone do it. So...draw. I would rather draw.

Would you rather sing in public or dance in public?

Neither. Because, the honest truth is that I can do neither with any smidgeon of talent. But, if I HAD to choose, it would be sing. I can carry a half tune but I can't dance without looking like Elaine Benes.

Would you rather be a night owl or a morning glory?

Again. Neither. I LOVE to sleep. I am often tucked up in my bed by 8:30 at night during the week. I love laying in bed and feeling my eyes get heavy as I read. And on the weekends I am seldom out of bed before 10, no matter how early I went to bed the night before. I used to be able to stay awake until midnight easily. Now, both Bing and I have trouble staying up to watch SNL on Saturday nights. If I had to pick, though...I guess it would be a morning glory. At least if I am awake early, I can get some housework done. At night, I am just too lazy to do anything but watch stupid television shows.

Would you rather watch football or basketball?

FOOTBALL. I love football. And I know the rules, know exactly how the game works. With basketball, I sort of get the rules, but not much. Liv plays on a basketball team and I kept wondering why a girl on her team kept getting fouls. Bing told me that she had stayed for "more than three seconds in the key." I was absolutely bewildered. I also didn't get traveling. So...it helps if you know the rules to enjoy the game.

Would you rather die fairly young but painlessly or die of old age but have the last ten years of your life be pretty brutal, healthwise?

Duh. Early. What is the sense of living to old age if I can't enjoy it and am a burden on my family? No brainer.

Would you rather kiss someone with bad breath for five minutes or sit next to someone with horrible body odor for two hours?

Probably the kiss. Just to get the bad odor over with faster. Of course, when I was younger, I sucked face pretty easily with people that I barely knew. Now that I am older, I am much more discriminating. But, still...two hours is a long time to have to endure olfactory torture.

Would you rather pet a dog or a cat?

A dog. Especially our dog, Socks. I just like dogs better than cats. Cats have always troubled me. They seem so cunning. And I know that they are smarter than we are. Dogs just seem sort of blessedly loyal and clueless. Like, I heard once of a cat smothering a baby by sitting on it's face, but I could never picture a dog doing that. Cats always remind me of characters in Stephen King novels. Like they know something terrible and will show you when you are vulnerable, like when you just get out of the shower and don't have your glasses on. And they always seem like they laugh at you behind your back. Kind of like squirrels.

Would you rather walk in the rain or in steamy, hot weather?

Rain. Spend an August on the plains. You will know what it feels like to wear your air. Rain is kind of pleasurable. As long as you aren't wearing cashmere.

Would you rather see a ghost or witness a robbery?

See a ghost. I've already seen one. A little startling, but not jarring. A robbery would leave me sick. I should probably stress that the ghost be just a ghost and not a poltergeist. Two different animals.

Would you rather tell someone you like a lot that their partner is cheating or that they've lost their job?

That their partner is cheating. In this economy, it would be really, really hard to get a new job and it could easily dead end their life. A partner cheating is horrid, but it isn't as traumatic as losing a job. Maybe that is just my head talking instead of my heart and as Bing just told me when she walked by and read my answer, "That sounds sort of callous, honey!" But, to be honest, if I lost my job, I would be terrified of not being able to support my family. If I lost my partner, I would be mad as hell but I've lived on my own before and know that I am fully capable of doing that.

Would you rather mow the lawn yourself or pay someone 20 bucks to do it and have an hour of "me" time?

Pay the 20 bucks (and we have a huge back and front yard, so 20 bucks would be a steal.) I have not mowed a lawn since high school. And once when Bing hurt her back and she asked to please pull the cord and get the mower going for her...I COULD NOT DO IT. No upper body strength. Our neighbor, Tim, ended up doing it and now teases me every single time he sees me about being a "lightweight."

Would you rather climb a rock wall or swim a lap?

Neither. But, since I am not allowed to put my head under water (I have Meniere's syndrome), I would have to pick the rock climbing.

And just because all of you are so damn smart:

Anyone know how I can get some weight on my daughter? She is 5'4 and only 98 pounds. Her BMI is also low, so at her check up last week, her pediatrician told me that while she has always been on the low end of the scale, she is now considered to be underweight and could stand to put on about 5-10 pounds. The problem is that my hand to my heart, she eats a LOT. She must have a crazy metabolism because she eats plenty at the table. She has always been a very smart eater, rarely indulges in cookies, etc. She is one of those kids who would rather eat a pear than a bowl of ice cream. She doesn't even like potato chips or most junk foods. When she comes home from school, she grabs an apple or a slice of bread with peanut butter. She's never been much of a milk drinker, although she likes yogurt. She is also very, very active, is on her school's basketball team. In the summer, she swims daily and is a star on her swim team. She was never even a chubby baby, ever. When she was a newborn, she had these little frog legs that she kicked out exactly like a frog. I've always figured that as she neared adolescence, the weight would even out, but so far, it hasn't. She hasn't started her period yet, but I didn't start until I was almost 15, so that might just be in her genes.

I SWEAR she eats. She just doesn't pig out. Bing and I are discussing how to bulk her up a bit without turning this into an issue. We NEVER want her to feel that there is something wrong with her body. And I am a little nervous about even starting now. She isn't anemic, etc. Just very, very thin. She's always been my bony child. But even I can see that her hip bones jut out in her basketball shorts.

Any ideas on how to bulk her up without making an issue out of it?

Anyone for butterbeer?

2011-12-10T19:08:00.000-06:00

I don't mind baking. I'm not crazy about it, but I don't hate it. When Liv was small, we used to bake a lot together. I have lost track of all the birthday cakes that we made for her imaginary friend, Charley. We often baked blonde brownies and chocolate chip cookies. Liv also adored those peanut butter cookies with the Hershey's kiss in the center.

Now, that she is older, I admit that we seldom bake. It is no longer a mother/daughter activity to share during a long day together. Now, we are busy. She is busy staying on the honor roll at school and now has four good friends: Kai (probably her favorite, a child from Hawaii), Aaron (science buddy), Molly (basketball buddy) and Jacoby (extremely bright, but scrawny-therefore-picked-on boy). Kai lives with her Aunt and Uncle here on the prairie as her parents are with Doctors Without Borders. She and Liv are tentatively hanging with each other outside of school. They've gone sledding and ice skating, both new activities to the Hawaiian born and bred Kai. Kai's Aunt has also taken them both to the movies and then out for cocoa. So, Liv is a busy girl.

We seldom bake.

But, this morning, we sat together at the kitchen table and plotted our Christmas baking. We decided to forgo the decorated Christmas cookies for the neighbors and do pumpkin bread instead. Fudge too. And then we put our heads together to contemplate what to make for her father, his assistant, Nirand and Vince and Thuan. They are all coming to stay with us for Christmas this year. Tinton (her father) and Nirand from Colorado, where they are working and teaching and Vince and Thuan from Chicago where they have lived for decades.

I should probably explain our guests a little bit to those who are new to my blog. Tinton is a geologist and does mostly free lance with his assistant, Nirand, who is also a professional photojournalist. They often work together on projects and are pretty nomadic, although their home base is Colorado. This is where Tinton lives with his girlfriend of many years and where Nirand's parents live. They are currently working separately in Colorado. Nirand taught a few seminars at a university there and Tinton is working on some ore thing...he's told me about the project but the truth is that I don't remember the specifics. All I remember is that both he and Nirand are leaving in early January for Brazil. Where it is warm. Deliciously warm.

Vince and I went to med school together. He is now an oncologist in Chicago. His partner is Thuan. He owns a Vietnamese grocery with his sister. Thuan is an almost phenomenal cook. Each and every time he comes, he sends me a list and we go to the Vietnamese grocery and stock up. Bing adores his steamed eggs with shrimp. I like his chicken steamed with lemon. And Liv likes his soft tofu soup. But, he makes so many other delicacies.

Floating rice cakes
Vietnamese flan
Vietnamese bread rolls
Braised pork in coconut milk
Xoi Yo (sticky rice)
Fruit salad (this is what he calls it and I am not sure how he makes it, but he uses apples, kiwis, oranges and vanilla yogurt)

We eat like royalty when he is here.

And he, crazily, also ADORES Kentucky Fried Chicken and Pizza Hut pan pizza, so we also get some American favorites too.

So, our four friends are all arriving on December 23 and staying until January 3rd. We have plenty of room. Tinton sleeps up in our attic bedroom (used to be a maid's room back when this house was new...we have a buzzer on our bedroom wall that makes a long obnoxious buzzing noise in the attic room...Liv heartily enjoys hitting the buzzer in the morning when she thinks he is sleeping too late...), Nirand on the pull out sofabed in the basement, and Vince and Thuan get the guest room in between ours and Liv's bedrooms.

Life is sweet when they are here. Vince and Thuan are quite wealthy and they spoil us rotten with presents, Tinton takes Liv out almost every day on fun excursions to movies, ice skating, hiking, you name it, and Nirand? Nirand is just...one of my favorite people. Someone that knows a lot of my secrets. With the exception of Socks, the dog, he knows the most about me. And still loves me. I think his life is very hermit-like. He travels a lot with Tinton and is his best friend, but he is also a multi talented musician and takes such gorgeous photos of all of us. I have a photo of me standing in the kitchen in my zippy the monkey pajamas, with no makeup on and haggie maggie hair and he somehow caught me in a sliver of light coming in the window that makes me look like I should be in a Fellini movie.

Tinton and Nirand always bring their guitars and they end up jamming with Bing and Liv. They are really, really good. Well, okay. They shouldn't quit their day jobs, but for only sometime musicians, they are good. I often come home from work to find them jamming while Thuan is in the kitchen baking/cooking something delicious for dinner while Vince is doing something outrageous like painting on my tablecloth to make it more "festive." For just a while, our lives are almost like living in a very successful commune with really, really fascinating people. We are all Democrats, so we get along famously at politics. And everyone has fascinating stories to tell.

The only thing that I do with my regular family over the holidays is to have breakfast at my sister's home. She always invites us all, but only Bing, Liv and I attend. The one time that everyone went, Thuan and Nirand ended up being grilled by my sister's ignorant neighbors about "how you people live." I assume that because Thuan is Vietnamese and Nirand is Indian, that it was somehow thought that they lived in huts and spent their days cleaning rice. Thuan was asked how he felt about "the American God" as if he/she was exclusive to the American people.

Anyway, on the night when Tinton, Nirand, Vince and Thuan arrive, Liv and I always try to have an unusual treat. This time, we paged through magazines, trying to find something different, exotic.

Finally, Liv triumphantly held up a newspaper clipping.

"I have it!" she crowed, excitedly.

It was a recipe for the infamous Butterbeer from the Harry Potter books.

I glanced through the recipe and it looked pretty easy and very interesting. So tonight, we decided to make a trial run to see if it was company worthy.

It was FANTASTIC.

So, take notice readers, because this may be the one and only time I put a recipe on my blog. Try it, you'll LOVE it.

BUTTERBEER

1 cup brown sugar
6 tablespoons butter
1/2 teaspoon cider vinegar
1/2 teaspoon rum extract
Four 12 ounce bottles of cream soda
2 tablespoons water
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup heavy cream, divided

In a small sauce pan over medium heat, combine the brown sugar and water. Bring to a gentle boil and cook, stirring often until the mixture reads 240 on a candy thermometer. Stir in the butter, salt, vinegar and 1/4 of the heavy cream. Set aside to cool to room temperature. Once the mixture has cooled, stir in the rum extract. In a medium bowl, combine 2 tablespoons of the brown sugar mixture and the remaining 1/2 cup of heavy cream. Use an electric mixer to beat until just thickened, but not completely whipped, about 2-3 minutes. To serve, divide the brown sugar mixture among 4 tall glasses (about 1/2 cup to each glass.) Add 1/4 of the cream soda to each glass then stir to combine. Fill each glass nearly to the top with additional cream soda, then spoon the whipped topping over each.

It is SPECTACULAR and I truly understand why Harry, Hermione and Ron loved it so much.

So, we will make this for their first night. And we will have good dreams, I'm sure.

In fact, this might just be a tradition for us now. Every family needs one or two or ten.

Our traditions are pretty basic. We open gifts on Christmas Eve after a soup dinner of minestrone and crusty french bread.

Christmas morning is breakfast at my sisters.

Christmas dinner is always whatever Thuan cooks and he outdoes himself each year. Just imagine some of these foods for your Christmas dinner: (Hint, if you look carefully you will see Bing's favorite dish of eggs and shrimp.)

Nirand also makes his specialty from India:

Can you see why we hate to have them leave?

What is YOUR Christmas like? And seriously....TRY the butterbeer. It is rich, but very delicious!

Bon appetit!

Bah humbug, klepto.

2011-12-08T20:21:00.000-06:00

Christmas decorations are up. Presents purchased. Still need to do a holiday baking,but it will be a small one since Vince and Thuan are coming for Christmas and they are the bakers of our tribe.

I will make fudge for the office Christmas party and Liv and I will pump out the obligatory frosted and sprinkled sugar cookies for all the neighbors.

I should be pretty happy. Even my Christmas cards are done and mailed.

But, IT WON'T STOP SNOWING. The first time it was pretty, now I am done with it. No more. Maybe a little on Christmas Eve just for the fun of it.

BUT I AM SICK OF SNOW. And it has barely begun.

It took me an hour and twenty minutes to drive home from work today. In an icy mess.

My lips are chapped, my fingernails tender and my skin so dry and scaly that I feel like I want to just jump into a vat of Vaseline.

I know I am a wussy pants. But, I truly do not like Winter. At all. I HATE feeling cold. Hate that feeling when the alarm goes off and I know that I have to climb out of that nice warm bed and put my bare foot on the freezing cold floor.

Bing is out de-icing our driveway so that we can both go to work tomorrow and Liv to school.

I feel like an eskimo when I leave the house, all wrapped up in my long heavy coat, mittens, a scarf, and a hat that will leave my hair all flat and ugly.

I have zilch Christmas spirit.

I am faking it, because that is what you do when you have a child. You fake it a lot. Don't sit there and tell me that you NEVER fake it for your child/children. If you are a parent, you do.

I did the stupidest thing today. I was in the office bathroom and I noticed that the custodian had put a half full roll of toilet paper on top of the fresh one in the roller.

You will NEVER guess what I did.

Okay, you might. Because I am transparent even though I think I am cagey.

I STOLE THE TOILET PAPER. I HAD MY PURSE WITH ME BECAUSE I WAS HEADED UP TO THE CAFETERIA FOR LUNCH, SO I PUT IT IN MY PURSE.

I sat there at lunch, talking nonchalantly with my co-workers but secretly wondering if I was now a kleptomaniac. And that is probably not a trait that people want in their shrink.

I put the toilet paper back.

Sternly told myself that this is NOT college. I no longer live in an apartment with a hole in the floor that looks down into the apartment beneath me. I have heat that actually works and doesn't make such a loud banging noise that it wakes me from a sound sleep (and believe me, when you are in med school, you can fall deeply asleep in a matter of seconds.)

I no longer work in a cafeteria to make ends meet. I no longer serve scrambled eggs with a net on my head. I don't have to pilfer apples and oranges for lunch.

The truth? When I was making my way up my career and was very, very poor, I often stole toilet paper. I stole it from bathrooms everywhere.

It was a habit. If the toilet paper wasn't on the steel holder, I took it home with me. Back then I had a backpack.

So, I think it was just a stupid lapse.

Either that or it was just the little stuff for now and soon I will be stealing lipstick from Target and then moving on to table lamps and pricey watches.

I am watching myself carefully to see if I lapse.

I am feeling insecure. I need you to tell me some stupid thing that you did once like stealing a half roll of toilet paper. Something even more stupid would be so great. Because I am half amused at myself and half very, very disappointed.

I am a mother, a role model. (I almost wrote "roll model" and that made me snort.)

We don't steal toilet paper. We scorn people who do those kinds of things.

Tell me something right now, so that I can scorn you a little. Because you know you are scorning me too right now.

Tell me something you did that took yourself by surprise and not in a good way.

C'mon...it will make me laugh and stop being a scrooge. A stealing scrooge.

Please?

Dreaming on Main Street

2011-12-07T21:01:00.003-06:00

I heard a song while I was at Cold Stone picking up a surprise ice cream cake for a co-worker's first day back from sick leave. I hadn't heard it in years. IN YEARS. Maybe decades. It gave me pause and took me back as it always does.

To small town Iowa. High school days. A small town like a billion others with a Main Street. We would drive up and down the street, only a few blocks in length, waving at others out too. We called it cruisin' Main.

I remember that feeling. Being seventeen and this close to college, freedom. I was never one of those kids who wondered if I wanted to go to college or not. I was dying to get there. I was sure of the life that I wanted. I could see it in my head. Four years of college. I had scholarships to three colleges, so it was just a matter of picking one. It took me a while. I didn't want to go anywhere that my high school friends would be. I wanted to be fresh and new and clean and not encumbered with old friends.

I dated. Everyone dated. Well, most of us. Some of us didn't, I suppose. But, I always had a date for everything, usually with the same boy. I liked him fine, but I never understood it when my friends would go on and on about some guy who made them crazy. My blood never boiled for boys. Or girls, really. I wasn't stupid. I knew that I was different. Knew that I was attracted to both boys and girls and in my private mind, I felt that there was absolutely nothing wrong with that. I knew it was unusual. But, not wrong, I believed. I did know that it would be a very bad idea to tell anyone about this, though. I could mentally see the girls skittering carefully away from me, pretending to be worried that maybe I liked them that way. I also knew that those same girls would be offended if I didn't like them that way.

I loved my family. My Da had died long ago and my mother was adept at running the farm alone. I don't think that she was happy, but she was incredibly involved in our church...to the point of making me join a club called The Legion of Mary. I hated this club, but most of my female classmates were in it. Our mothers made us. Every other Saturday morning, we visited an older member's home and sat around tables as scripture was read. Then we all said a rosary. Some days this seemed to take hours and hours. I would wobble the beads, losing place, not caring. After the rosary, there was a light snack of apple slices or fig newtons. We'd all politely take one and begin edging towards the door. I was almost always one of the first out.

I yearned but I wasn't sure what I yearned for. I knew that I wanted to love and be loved, but I was years away from understanding just what that meant. I think, more than being loved, I hungered to be sexual. Feel what all the fuss was about. What that forbidden book, Peyton Place intimated at. I knew that I found most kissing slightly annoying. The boys involved seemed intent on swallowing me whole. Their hands became sinuous snakes, slithering around seemingly innocent and then suddenly taking a handful of my breast. His heavy breathing would start and the tongue invasion and I would concentrate on enduring. I was a "good girl" not because I had high morals, but because I could not imagine letting a boy touch me there. ICK. And yet, they seemed to practically live for that.

I never understood the loose girls, the ones who came to school giggling and wearing their white blouses with the collar up because they were hiding hickeys. The thought of letting a boy suck on my neck didn't appeal to me even slightly.

Yet, I keened for something. For a life other than this. But, I also sank into the comforts of my home, mostly my sisters. Patrice was eight years older than me, already the mother of three. Celia was four years older than me and also married, with a daughter. They had married right out of school instead of going on to college. Patrice would go to nursing school after her own children were in school. Celia never got past the twelve grade. Jessie was eight years younger than me, barely nine years old. I was the first to attend college and everyone pretty much agreed that it was best. I was certainly not going to get any offers of marriage since I didn't even bother to put makeup on when I had a date. My sisters loved me but didn't get me. Patrice once told me that the highlight of her life was taking her husband's name when they married. I burst out laughing, thinking she was kidding. I felt badly when I realized that she was serious. The thought of marriage and children was almost repellant to me.

I did care about someone in high school, but we never hooked up. It was one of those danger spots for me. He was not Catholic and I knew my mother would NEVER let me date a non Catholic boy. He was also from a poor family. Ditto. But, with him, I did feel my first stirrings of attraction. I also went out with a Catholic boy exclusively my senior year and I did like him a great deal. I just wasn't crazy for him.

I would sit outside on the rails around the horse pen, far away from my family on summer and spring nights and smoke cigarettes and feed apples to Cassidy and Mr. Spock, our horses. In the winter, I would sit with my tiny stolen ashtray from the parish hall and smoke my cigarettes next to my bedroom window, which would not stay open on it's own, so I would stick an eraser in it to prop it up.

I earned good grades. I went to games. I hung out with friends.

I yearned to get on with my life.

There was so much I didn't know,that I couldn't have known. So much would happen...

after...

I would go to school and become someone known as fearless. I smoke and drank and if a drug was offered to me, I tried it. I learned how to work a bong. I met a group of friends, some lesbians, some not. College was a revelation to me.

I read Kurt Vonnegut, Jack Kerouac, Lanford Wilson. Strayed from my own generational music and got lost in The Reaper, Layla, Light My Fire, and Jumpin' Jack Flash. (And oh, yes...it was such a gas, gas, gas....)

I discovered sex. Not love. Sex. I realized that, when it was done correctly, with the right person...it was incredible. I didn't care if it was a woman or a man. As long as it was interesting and engaging and there was lots of laughing following all that heat. I wasn't easy, but I wasn't hard either. I was discriminating. I drew the line. Would not have sex with anyone I thought was stupid. Or a Republican. (Because, yes, I also discovered politics and knew exactly where I stood, which was far, far to the left.) If a man or woman could make me laugh, make me think or better...both..I was happy to make love with them.

For the first time, I realized what it felt like to be comfortable in my own skin. This is not to say that I always made good choices. I decided that since I didn't want to settle down with anyone or have children, I should go into medicine instead of teaching English. I wanted to have the money to have a good lifestyle and if I was going to be on my own, well...I needed to support myself. I still wanted to do something that interested me, though. And psychology interested me. Better...I excelled at it and barely had to try. I discovered that I had an inward talent for reading people through body language and their vocal tones. Their faces. Psychology played right into that. And I knew that I wanted a career where no one would ever see me as an underachiever. I wanted to do something big. I chose medicine.

Okay, it was a wrong move. I know now that I should have stayed where my heart was, which was teaching English. But, it felt right at the time and it has served me well, so I can't complain now.

College was eye opening for me. I liked the person I was becoming. Unfortunately, my mother did not. No matter. I kept my back straight when I was with her, refusing to back down, refusing to give in. She told me on more than one occasion that I infuriated her and must I argue with Uncle Jimmy?

College started the ball rolling but, I kept in motion even after. Finding my way to me. Others were faster at finding themselves. I took my time. Got lost for a few years. Found my footing again.

I look back on that girl sitting up in her bedroom, smoking and dreaming of what the future held. It held so much.

A lot of surprises.

I think the young Maria would have been shocked to know that I would not find true love until the ripe old age of 45. That having a child at age 41 would change me in ways so incredible that it would be indescribable. That I would take to motherhood like a duckling to water.

That I would almost become an addict. Tiptoed close to the edge more than once. Tempted fate more than once. Indulged in dangerous behaviors (leaving a bar on the back of a motorcycle with no ~~hat~~ helmet with a man whose name I didn't even know for sure...and then not only sleeping with him but had unprotected sex...ai yi yi!)

Rose high in my career somehow in spite of the fact that I was getting drunk way too much.

That I would decide to go completely straight and narrow (not sexually, but I stopped drinking/drugs/recklessness) and try to get pregnant. At the age of 38.

Failing over and over again until I stopped all the shots, all the in vitro. Just stopped. Told myself to let that dream go.

And then having Liv. A result of a silly, totally random one night stand with a man almost half my age. Well. I was 40. He was 22.

Deciding to use up all of my savings to be a stay at home mother until Liv was old enough for school. This, as a result of trying to put her in my work's onsite daycare and not being able to concentrate because I wanted to be the one giving her her morning bottle.

Going through men and women like water before I had Liv and then going dry as a desert for almost five years after her birth.

I wonder what that Maria sitting on the rails would think about me now? She'd surely be surprised. Maybe a little proud. A little ashamed of some of the carelessness with which I broke some hearts that didn't deserve that.

Back then, all I knew was that I felt on the verge. Like I was on the precipice of something big. I just had to take those running steps...

AWAY.

I love this song because it says it all right. The yearning on Main Street. The aching to be out but the terror of the moving.

And always wanting that elusive...something.

Sister Marian, the librarian

2011-12-04T15:23:00.002-06:00

We are a library family. We all have library cards and we all use them regularly. We have an old wood bin from my Da's farm that Bing renovated and painted. It sits in my office and when we finish a library book, we put it back in there. At least once a week, we take books back and get more.

When I was a child, we were a library family as well. My mother was not a reader, but she was money conscious. If I read a library book, I wouldn't be asking to buy it. She much preferred that we check out books at the town library and took us often. My Da didn't go to the library much. He said that he couldn't bear to fall in love with a book and then have to take it back. He would save to buy a book every few months and then savor it, sitting in the rocking chair in the den, reading. Often one of us would sit in his lap. It is how I learned to read before I went to kindergarten. He would read out loud and use his finger to follow the words. It was probably an unconventional way to learn to read, but it worked for me. The first book that I ever received as a gift (and many, many birthdays there were only books on my wish list) was The Wind in the Willows.. I still have it. Read it to Liv when she was in kindergarten. Now, it sits in her bookshelf.

Of course, if I love a book enough, I buy it. My office has shelves on every wall that are crammed with books. If I read a library book and fall in love with it, I buy it. I prefer fiction and poetry. Bing likes non-fiction, has never to my knowledge read fiction. She reads books like the one she is reading now about the life of Bill Gates. Liv is a mix. She likes fiction, but also likes non fiction. One of her favorite books, as a child, was an explanation of photosynthesis.

But, we are readers in my family. All of us.

I started taking Liv to the library when she was about one or two years old. I would pull her in her wagon. The library is about six blocks away. We'd load up on books and come home and read. Many days, all of the books were read in one sitting. Sometimes when we'd go, I'd see a nun sitting in a room, having story time with toddlers. I checked at the desk and was told that once a child was three, they were eligible to attend story time with Sister Marian. The librarian was effusive.

"Sister Marian volunteers her time every Wednesday morning at ten. If a child can say their name and is three years old, they are welcome. Sister just LOVES children. It is one of our most popular programs!"

I liked Sister Marian's looks. She wore a soft looking gray wool dress with a white tunic over it, no matter the weather. Her hair was gray, too, and cut in a simple bob. She wore no makeup, but she had the softest looking skin I'd ever seen. You wanted to reach out and touch it, it looked THAT silky. I'd never really seen her up close, but I thought she must be very kind to volunteer her time this way.

Liv turned three. I had tried to put her into pre-school at a Montessori school and she had broken the schools record for crying. I thought I had amply prepared her for school, we had talked about it for weeks before the day, but when I tried to leave her with her teacher, she clung to me, sobbing, saying that Charley (her imaginary lion friend) wasn't here. She needed Charley and he was gone! I tried to explain this to her teacher and she was kind, but firm. She told me that it would be better for all if I simply left her. She would be fine after a few minutes.

I drove home with her wails in my head. I felt so miserable, as if I had failed as a parent. I had taken off time from work to raise her until she went to school, and perhaps I had spoiled her, as my sisters insinuated, bound her too tightly to me. When the school called me an hour later to say that I needed to come get her, that she was inconsolable without me, I rushed to get her. The head mistress kindly told me that some children aren't ready for pre-school just because they are three, to try again next year.

I decided that taking Liv to story time at the library might be just the ticket. She needed to be around other children, that was all! She was a smart and funny little girl, but also a lot like me: reticent and a little aloof, not really shy, just...careful, cautious. When we would go to a park, she didn't hunger to play with other children, she basically wanted to make the sand castles with me, go down the slide with me to catch her, to sit in my lap as we swung up into the air together. When she was with other children, she often seemed bewildered by them, by their temper tantrums over cookies, their tendency to throw sand. She always acted as if they were big strange dogs that she was interested in, but not really sure if she liked them.

Her first three years had been spent in a cocoon with me, for the most part. Our lives revolved around gardening in the spring and summer, playing outside in all weather, taking long walks, reading, playing with balls. Putting puzzles together. The only television watched was Sesame Street, Mr. Rogers and an outdated show about a gnome named David, who was very green minded and wanted to save the earth. She also liked a cartoon about a bald boy named Calliou who looked remarkably like a cancer patient to me, but she adored him. In the evenings after I put her to bed, I would read and slowly sip tea or wine. Sometimes a gin and tonic. We had scrambled eggs, pancakes or oatmeal for breakfast, a sandwich for lunch usually and I tried hard to make a good dinner each night. Sometimes we splurged and went to McDonald's to get a happy meal for her or a Burger King kid's meal and I would supersize something for myself. I rarely dated, rarely went out. My life was Liv and hers was me. We preferred it that way.

But, I realized that I had to prepare her for school now, for leaving me. My savings would run out when she was six. I would have to go back to work full time. I worked part time occasionally as a jury selector, but in general, I was just Mama. Bing lived in New Orleans then and called and visited frequently. Vince and Thuan lived in Chicago and came for holidays. Tinton, Liv's father had begun to tip toe back into our lives, but he worked as a free lance geologist and was often away. We had a very quiet life. I hadn't yet met Harriet, who would become my best friend.

It was time to help her stretch her wings. And the library seemed like the perfect place. With Sister Marian, the lovely nun with the skin like porcelain.

It was a cool morning in September when I dressed Liv in her blue jean overalls and the soft pink shirt with the white bunnies on them that she adored. I tied the laces on her pink sneakers and gently pulled her wispy golden blonde hair back into a single braid that would slip out within an hour.

"Ok," I told her. "Let's go to the library!"

She clapped with excitement. "Take the wagon?" she asked. "Can Charley come?"

I frowned. "Remember the last time we took Charley to the library and he misbehaved and didn't use his library voice? Maybe he should stay home this morning. We'll bake him a cake this afternoon and let him crack the eggs, okay?"

She thoughtfully agreed. Charley was a free spirit. He was also mischievous.

As I pulled her in the wagon, I talked to her about story time. Told her that she was finally such a big girl of three that now she could go to story time! Didn't that sound fun?

She was quiet for a moment.

"Will you stay with me?" she finally asked.

Yes, I told her. She would sit in the circle on the rug with Sister Marian, but I would be in the same room, sitting on the parent chairs against the wall. Was that okay?

She thought about that. Yes, she decided. As long as she could see me. I assured her that she would always be able to see me.

We arrived at the library. It was the kind of September day that makes you happy to live on the prairie, the wind was soft and gentle, the sky so gorgeously blue that even a robin's egg could not match it. We parked the wagon just inside the door and held hands and swung them as we walked into the library.

We were early. The first ones in the room. Sister Marian sat quietly by herself in a rocker, a stack of books on her lap, gazing out the floor to ceiling window. Sunlight spilled into the room like a picture in a storybook. The setting was perfect.

Liv had clamored to be held as we walked and now I put her down gently next to Sister Marian. She smiled shyly.

I cleared my throat and Sister Marian turned around.

"My name is Maria," I began. "This is my daughter, Liv. She just turned three in July and we would like to join your story time. She has been looking forward to this for a very long time."

I smiled, but suddenly felt acutely that something was just not right. Sister Marion might have had lovely skin and a soft visage, but her eyes were not particularly warm.

She looked down at Liv and said one sentence.

What.Is.Your.Name?

There was not a smidge of warmth in her voice. Liv faltered, her lip trembling. She opened her mouth, tried to talk, failed and shut it.

And burst into tears.

I was almost stunned. I immediately leaned down, picked Liv up and cuddled her against my chest. Sister Marion looked at me with icy blue eyes.

"If she can't say her name, she can't join story time," she said, coolly.

I sputtered a little.

"She knows her name," I finally said. "But, you've frightened her with your cold voice."

Sister Marion rolled her eyes. Liv pressed deeper into my neck. Sister Marion and I locked eyes. It would not be the first time I had locked eyes angrily with a nun.

"Shame on you," I finally said.

Before she could answer, the room suddenly became full of children. None seemed that excited to be there. They quietly sat down within the circle, some coaxed by their mothers. I realized that this was a scene that I had misinterpreted many times. From outside the room, Sister Marion and her group seemed like a happy enough group. Up close and personal, she just looked bored and a little annoyed. There was no love for children in her eyes.

I walked towards the door. Sister Marion ignored our departure and said to the children in a monotone, "Today we are going to read a book about a man named Mike and his big shovel..."

I whispered to Liv, asked if she wanted to stay and look at books? She kept her arms tight around my neck, shook her head no.

We left. I settled her into the wagon and then rolled it over to a bench so I could sit down and talk to her. I told her that I was so glad that she wasn't at story time. Who would want to be cooped up with a ~~bloodless soul sucking~~ gloomy person like Sister Marion? Nope. Story time wasn't for us. No way, ray.

Liv looked profoundly relieved. She finally said, "Why was she so mad at me? She looked like she wanted to...to...BITE MY NOSE!"

I laughed. Said I would NEVER let anyone bite my Livvie's nose. Ever. I told her that some people are just naturally mean and I think we had run into one of them.

"Why does she wear that same dress all the time?" Liv asked.

I decided not to go into Catholicism that day. I shrugged. Said that maybe she just really, really liked it the way that Liv liked her purple dress with the pink stripes. She nodded, popped her thumb in her mouth and then popped it again. She had promised to try not to suck her thumb unless it was time for a nap or bed.

We walked back home and I lifted her out of the wagon and then asked her if she wanted to go to the bookstore and buy a book today.

"I just feel like we need a new book to read that we can leave on the shelf," I told her. She was already an old hand at knowing that library books could not be kept, but purchased books were forever in on your shelf. Liv said yes, that sounded fun.

So, the day ended happily. We bought several books, including a book that would become the first of her very favorites: Curious George. Liv and I both grew to adore The Man in the Yellow Hat. And then we stopped at Pizza Hut and ordered our favorite pizza: black olive and sausage and took the leftovers home to have for supper that night.

We baked a cake for Charley that afternoon. The first of many, many cakes that we would bake for Charley. He was a cake fool, went nuts for them. His favorite was, remarkably, exactly the same as Liv's! He liked white cake with white frosting and pink letters spelling out his name.

We ate our pizza outside on the picnic table for dinner that night, one of the last of the year. It was getting chilly at night. We ate large slices of white cake with white icing. I carefully cut through the Happy Birthday, Charley! letters and made sure that his slice had a rosette on it. He, like Liv, loved those rosettes. Liv and I ate our cake slices with joy as we watched Charley cavorting over the lawn. Silly beast.

Later, after her bath and two stories, I tucked in with Liv until she fell asleep. This was frowned on by sisters. "How will she learn to comfort herself and put herself to sleep if you lay down with her?", they would ask me.

I stuck to my guns. Laying together until she slept? That was just as much for me as her. I needed that last sleepy connection to my baby. After she fell asleep, I would slip out, untangling her fingers from my hair gently. I can't tell you how many times I looked down on her for long moments or even sat quietly in the rocker next to her bed just soaking her aura up, feeling it curl around mine.

Later, I would write an angry letter to the head librarian, saying that I thought Sister Marian was a fraud. It was never answered. No matter. I had said what I felt she needed to hear: Shame on you!

Liv went on to pre-school, adjusting nicely when she was four. She met the child that would be her best friend for her entire elementary days: Constance. Now, in junior high, they have drifted apart. Constance hangs with the more popular girls, the ones with Justin Bieber purses, the ones who sneak gum into their mouths when they think no teachers can see. But, I will always be thankful for Constance, who came forward on that first day and took Liv by the hand and said simply, "Come play now, little girl!" And Liv went with her, happily.

Liv has since learned that lesson over and over again. That people are sometimes not who they seem. That those who should be the kindest often are not.

It's part of life, those lessons.

But, I'm still glad that I spoke my mind to Sister Marian. I have no idea why she thought she belonged with children. Maybe she had her own issues to iron out.

And Charley left long ago to find a new little girl to befriend, the way that imaginary friends do. Liv stopped talking about him little by little when she was in first grade and by the time she was seven, he had gone for good.

Liv still has a photo on her dresser of him, though. She stands with a layer cake in her chubby four year old hands, tipping it slightly to show the words on it:

Happy Birthday, Charley!

At her side, is an imaginary lion, smiling into the camera, his big long tongue lolling out. His eyes are kind and he knows that he is needed, so he stays as long as she calls for him. On the table, next to them, is the orange and green cover of a Curious George book.

Sister Marion? I hope that she found a way out of whatever compelled her to be cold spirited. No matter. There are no photos of her and she only served as a lesson to be learned. No more.

We gladly ate that pizza and cake without her.

Talk in church...

2011-12-03T19:59:00.002-06:00

I wish that I had a better pedigree to give Liv.

My Da was a sickly child and a sickly adult. He was just a toddler when he and his parents came over from County Killarney in Ireland. They settled in New York City where his mother worked as a waitress and his father as a carpenter, saving money to buy a farm on the prairie. When he was three, he became ill with pneumonia and his mother was told that he would probably die. In desperation, she took him to her priest and asked him to save him. The story goes that if God let her son live then she had to give one of her children to the church as either a priest or a nun in payment.

He lived. I'm fairly certain that it was not a spiritual intervention but the fact that a nearby unlicensed healer did some unusual surgery to save him. The woman knocked him out with ether and then cut into his side with the intention of letting his lungs drain. Somehow, it worked. But, he always had an ugly scar on his side, about 6 inches long.

When he was 7, he had to have half of his stomach removed because it was ulcerous. He began experiencing migraines by the time he was ten. This was a family ailment, as several of his aunts also had migraines.

At 22, he discovered that he had type 1 diabetes. This was hard for his family to accept as it was believed to be a totally genetic illness and no one in his family had ever had it. His mother, my grandmother always referred to it as having the sugars. Now, of course, I am sure that somewhere it existed in his family, but probably went undiagnosed and the person died. Da had a terrible time managing his diabetes. No matter what, even with insulin, he had problems stabilizing it. He was either running low or high in sugar. I remember that we always had a box of sugar cubes in the cabinet and we children were NEVER to eat them. They were for Da, when he went low. I have vivid memories of my Da laying on the floor, shivering as my mother put a sugar cube under his tongue and gently forced him to drink grape juice.

He had terrible teeth, had dentures by the time he was 30. He also had dizzy spells that went undiagnosed. I found out that I had Meniere's Syndrome when I was in my 30's and I suspect that he had it too.

So...not exactly a healthy guy. But, he had much good to add to the pot too.

When Da was 5, the family moved to Iowa to join a small Irish community there who were farmers. Both of his parents knew farming and Da was the oldest son, so he was expected to take over the farm when his father could no longer do it. Da quit school at the end of his freshman year in high school when his father's emphysema made it hard for him to work. He took over the farm. But, he refused to let his limited education stop him from learning. He read voraciously, on subjects from military history to astronomy to poetry. He also ran the farm. And did it well. Da loved the soil, loved and understood how the land worked, what it needed.

When he was 21, he was at a local dance and spotted Rosie O'Shea. She was two years older than he and not considered much of a catch. She had flaming red hair, sharp, small blue eyes and was freckled from head to toe. When I look at her high school photos, I am curious at what he saw in her because she was no beauty. She did have spirit, though. She was a hard worker and extremely pragmatic. She and her sisters worked part time to help their mother make ends meet since her father was a raving alcoholic. (She always just called him a drunk when she spoke of him, which was rarely.)

Now, the thing is...my Da could have chosen from many of the girls in his circle. He was extremely handsome in the way that some men are in sort of a fey way. Like Johnny Depp. Robert Pattinson. He had that sensitive look. He was what they called black Irish, with jet black hair, pale skin and light blue, sparkling eyes. And dimples. He had two deep dimples that made every girl around sigh a little when he smiled.

I don't really know how he ended up with my mother. I do know that she was crazy for Jack from the moment that they met. My Aunt Dottie, her sister told me once that "once Jack placed his eyes on her, she was a goner...she would have sold her soul to the devil just to see him smile." My Aunt Dottie called it the glamor. Whatever it was, he had it.

I look at their wedding photos and smile and shake my head. There they are, standing together. My Da is smiling hugely, his dimples deep and merry. He holds my mother's hand. The photo is black and white, but you can see the freckles popping on her face and cleavage. Her hair is shoulder length and she is wearing it in the fashion back then of Loretta Young, softly curled and held back with pins. She is thin, almost gaunt. He is small, he was always a small man. He was only a few inches taller than she. My mother is looking up at him with this awed look on her face, as if she can't believe that her life is this fairy tale.

Aunt Dottie says that they were the ultimate match up of opposites.

He needed someone to help him run the farm and your mother was a good choice for that. She was smart, especially in math, and could do figures in her head faster than he could write them. Your Da, he was a star gazer, always looking up, finding a falling star or a constellation. He read constantly and read to you and your sisters frequently. Your mother, she wasn't a reader. She liked to work with her hands, liked to snap beans, be useful. She was perfect as your Da's partner. He made the crops grow, he used to sing to the vegetable garden at night...outrageous!..and she was the one figuring how much they could get for the harvest, following the price of beans, corn and soybeans. She set up a chicken coop and used to sell eggs in town. Her eggs went like hotcakes, she had lots of double yokes in them, considered good luck. And she wasn't afraid to milk a cow or slop a pig. She didn't mind hard work. I think he knew that he lacked the business skill to be a success at farming and I think that she was always just a little fascinated by him. He could melt her with a look. They were opposites, but good for each other. She kept his feet on the ground when he needed them and he made her feel like there was such a thing as magic. When he died, she didn't smile much after that. But, you were there, you remember.

Yes, I do.

I remember a lot. I remember feeling like someone had taken a chunk of my heart, just ripped it. I had always known that he was sickly, but never really thought he would DIE. At least not until I was older.

He died when I was still a little girl. I had two older sisters and one younger. My grandmother always said that he died of pneumonia because he had refused to consider becoming a priest and none of his siblings joined the church either. She had gone back on her promise to God and he had punished her by taking her son when he was barely 41.

He DID die of pneumonia. But, I think he was just too sick to fight anything that big. He was hospitalized with pneumonia but died of heart failure when it just couldn't keep beating. He was worn down with rheumatoid arthritis, which had reared it's head when he was in his early 30's and sometimes crippled his hands for days. He had badly managed type 1 diabetes. And during his hospital stay, it was discovered that his white blood cells were extremely elevated, indicating that he might have also had chronic leukemia.

He was sick a lot. I remember that. But, I don't remember him calling our attention to it or acting "sick." He just rested more than most people.

Now, that I am older, I understand. Because I am truly my father's daughter. I have stomach ulcers (not bad enough to necessitate surgery), have had migraines since I was in high school, am a type 1 diabetic (but very well controlled), found out that I had Meniere's syndrome when I was in my late 30's and rheumatoid arthritis in my mid 40's. And I have EIGHT caps on my teeth. Eight. Because he had to give me ALL his weaknesses, so I didn't have dentures by the time I was 30, as he did. But, I do have yes...EIGHT caps on my teeth. And I am a champion flosser. Go figure. Genes at work.

I am a physical mix of my parents. I don't have my Da's pure black hair nor my mother's beautiful red hair, I have mousey brown ( or HAD brown, it is now going to salt and pepper)...I have my neither my mother's dark blue eyes nor my Da's light blue ones, they are hazel,like my maternal grandfathers. (The drunk.)

I have one of my Da's dimples and I know how to use it. Skillfully.

If I had both of them, I could have been a real contender. Dimples are incredibly lucky things to have.

I think I have both of my parent's temperament too. My mother always said that I was a dreamer, just like him, but I tend to be pragmatic and very logical too. I tend to think with my head rather than my heart and I am nowhere near the giver that my Da was. He was gentle and tender hearted. I am gentle and tender hearted SOMETIMES.

I really hope that I haven't handed down much of the physical problems to Liv. She isn't showing signs of stomach ulcers or migraines. No sign of diabetes and believe me, I have had her monitored closely. The only thing that runs strongly through her father's family is seasonal allergies and she gets a bit sneezey in the Spring, but she is outgrowing it, as he did. My hope is that all of my Da's faerie blood got into her, but none of his illnesses.

But, she does have a sickly mother,just as I had a sickly father. I am extremely careful not to involve her in my illnesses. And yes, I have been known to fake feeling fine when I don't feel that way. I just do not want her to ever feel as if she has to wait on me. Worry about me.

But, it is very hard to hide the RA. It makes my hands refuse to peel oranges, fasten buttons or even open yogurt containers on some mornings. The migraines? She knows that I get headaches, bad ones and need to be left alone and not bothered. I haven't hidden the fact that I am diabetic from her, but I have never given myself an insulin shot in front of her.

She knows enough.

But, I realized today that maybe she needs to see more, not feel so excluded.

This morning, Bing had a robotics class, so Liv and I put up the Christmas decorations. Bing is the family grinch. She claims to detest the marketing of Christmas,but really? I think she just detests hauling boxes from the basement. So, Liv and I do it. And it is fun. Well, kind of. I admit that if I didn't have a child, I would probably not make such a big decorating.

But, even with her help (which was great,she literally hauled ALL the boxes for me), I was exhausted afterwards. I sat gingerly on the sofa, new book in hand, sipping tea.

Liv came up and asked if I could drive her to a nearby Catholic Church. Actually, it is a Cathedral. It is huge. And gorgeous. I sighed. It was spitting snow and we were to get a half foot by dinner time. I didn't feel like driving. I was tired and sore. But, I also made a promise to myself that if Liv ever wanted to go to a church, be it a mass or whatever, I would be supportive. And now that she attends a parochial junior high, I had toyed with the idea that she might get interested in Catholicism.

I told her sure.

I took my book and we drove to the church. We walked in through the huge heavy front doors and I immediately felt my spine relax. I truly love old churches. I'm not really religious, was raised Catholic, but left the church when I was in my twenties. I just couldn't sit there and listen to the priest condemn other religions, homosexuality and abortion. So, I left. And I have never regretted it. But, I still love old churches. There is something in an old church that spikes my blood a bit, makes me want to sit quietly in a pew and just....think.

So, I went to the last pew. Sat down. Liv quietly said she would be back in a few moments, but didn't say where she was going. I waited ten minutes. Fifteen. And then, I got up to look for her. It is a huge church, but I found her.

In the room with a beautifully rendered statue. She was perched on the kneeler, head on her arms, shoulders softly shaking. Every single candle in the room was lit.

I went and carefully knelt next to her. She looked up, surprised, her face wet with tears.

"Honey?" I asked.

She quickly made the sign of the cross, which kind of startled me since I have never seen her do that. And then, she got up and asked if we could just sit together for a while. I agreed. We went to the second to the last row. Took our coats off and just sat together. Then, I put my arm around her and waited.

Finally, she said, "I just made a deal with God and it was probably stupid and not valid really, because I am not even sure I believe in God and the God that I could believe in would probably not be in a church like this. The Catholic God is so unforgiving and I hate it that he does things like tests parent's faith by telling them that they have to kill their own child and then stopping them and sort of saying that hey, I didn't really mean it! Jokes on you!"

I chuckled. Told her that I didn't much care for the Catholic god either.

"But, the religion teacher said that if we light enough candles, God hears us and so I thought, well, that I would just give it a try. So, I brought 20 dollars of my savings and I lit every single candle."

I asked her what she wanted so badly.

She looked at me for a long time and then she simply said, "For you. To make you well. I know that you've been really sick lately. And I know that you probably shouldn't even be out in this cold weather, but I didn't think Bing would take me if I told her I wanted to spend 20 bucks on lighting candles."

And then she hung her head and cried again.

This has been worrying her for a long, long time, I could see that. I just didn't catch it.

I make a lot of parenting mistakes, but I am not usually this slow on the uptake.

I pulled her to me, held her. Stroked her hair. When she had calmed down enough to hear me, we talked.

I told her that yes, I did have a lot of physical ailments.

She said, "Grandpa Jack died when he was just 41 and he had all the stuff that you have right now!"

Yes, I agreed. But there was a difference. This was decades later and modern medicine had new treatments. I had a lot more ammunition to fight with than he did.

"Liv, I know you like logic, I said, "So, let's go about this logically, yes?"

She nodded, still miserable.

"What is your biggest fear?"

It didn't take long.

Her voice was shaky. "My biggest fear is that you will die and then I won't have you anymore. I'll be alone."

"Okay," I said. "Let's begin with that. First off, I am not even close to dying. Second, if by some fluke, I died, you would go to live with your father. Remember a few years ago when I was really, really sick and we talked about if you would live with your father or Bing if something happened to me and you picked your Dad?"

"But, then you went into remission and are you still there?" she asked, eyes searching my face.

I said yes. Went on.

"Ok, on the off chance that I died, which is NOT going to happen soon, do you still want to live with your father or has that changed? Because you know, he has said that he wouldn't interfere if you picked Bing."

This really was a hard mess a few years ago. Liv's father gave up his custody rights when she was four months old. When she was three, he came back into our lives and begged to be able to be part of her life. I warily agreed and he is now a huge part of her life and a father in every sense of the word, but his custody rights have not changed. Legally, he has no say. Technically, he could challenge this if he wished after I died, but I don't think he would. If Liv wanted Bing, he wouldn't fight. I am almost positive about this. But, when I was sick and had to talk to Liv about this, she surprised the hell out of me and chose her father. Bing still can't talk about this easily and privately, I have always hoped that Liv would change her mind. But what she wants, what she needs, goes.

Liv said that yes, she still wanted to stay with her father if anything happened to me. But, he traveled a lot. How could they make that work?

Easy, I told her. He has a standing invitation to teach at that university in France where you visited him last year. He would stop being free lance and teach at the university until she left for college.

I hugged her tightly.

"But, Livvie...I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I promise that I won't die soon. I promise!"

Ok, stupid thing to promise because I could get hit by a bus tomorrow. But, she's 12! She needed to hear those words. And I was truthful. I am doing okay. Just a rough patch and I think it frightened her. She is uneasy about school and this just added to it.

We sat in the pew for a long, long time. We didn't talk. We just sat. It isn't often that Liv lets me hold her like this. I savored it.

And I think she savored being my little girl for a while, too.

I finally asked if she was ready to go. She said yes. We pulled on coats, mittens, hats. As we walked to the door, we peeked into the candle lighting room. Every candle shown brightly. I smiled, kissed her cheek.

"Did you really light every one for me?" I asked.

She nodded. "I really did."

We went to the big heavy front door and pulled hard on it.

And outside was a winter wonderland.

It was snowing in huge big flakes. Wet. Heavy. She took my arm automatically. We stopped before we got to the car and caught a few flakes on our tongues.

"I need to tell you something," she said, as we slid into the car and I started it and turned the heater to high.

I looked at her. Told her to go right ahead.

"When you came in and I was crying?" she said.

I nodded.

"Well, I was praying to Grandpa Jack. I told him that he should understand how hard it was for you when he died, that you told me that you felt like all the clocks should have stopped, you know?"

I nodded again. A lump forming in my throat.

"And then I begged him to help make you well, keep you in remission. I said that if you died it would be like in The Giver when you realize that no one knows that apples are red, you know? That if I lost you, I would lose all the colors in the world. And then I asked him for a sign that he got my message. Do you think that was silly?"

No, I told her. Not silly at all. BUT I WAS NOT LEAVING HER.

I sat back for awhile so that we could look at the snow which was coming down hard now.

I started reciting one of my favorite poems. By Robert Frost.

Whose woods these are I think I know
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

Liv sat listening. I got to the end of the poem.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

I reached over and took her hand.

"Honey, I have promises to keep and miles to go before I leave you. So, let this go, okay? I'm not feeling great, but I am not leaving you. Okay?

Her turn to nod silently.

We pulled up into the driveway.

It was almost dusky dark outside.

The light was on in the attic. It shown yellow out of the tiny window at the tip top of the house. I saw Bing's car in the driveway.

We went in. I told her that we had gone for a little drive. Asked her what she had been doing in the attic. Getting more Christmas decorations?

No, she said, she hadn't been up there.

"But, the light is on up there," I said.

We walked up to the attic together. The light was off.

"Hmm," Bing said. "That is kind of odd. Are you sure it was on?"

I shrugged.

But as I turned away, I smiled.

It was Grandpa Jack's message back to Liv.

Message received.

Crying over a book.....in traffic. And Da.

2011-11-30T07:36:00.003-06:00

What a day yesterday. I haven't felt well in the last few days, nothing major...just an upper respiratory thing and feeling really, really achy and weak. Being sick is hard for me. Due to a previous illness battle, I have a near non-working immune system. Also, I can't take much for sickness due to all the drugs I take for my rheumatoid arthritis.

Even a cold can bring me way down.

And then I got to work yesterday and realized that I had forgotten to take my insulin (type 1 diabetes)...

Not something I can take when I get home from work, so I bundled back up and wearily prepared to go back home, a half hour drive. An appointment had to be re-scheduled. A trudge back to my car.

I always listen to books on tape when I drive. Once in a while, Liv picks a book and we listen to it together. (Sometimes I listen without her and then have to back track for her when she and I are together again.) This time, she had picked the book, The Giver by Lois Lowry. I had read it to her when she was in 4th grade, but she is like me, she often returns to books that she loved to give them a second or even a third visit.

So, I turned on the book as I drove. I felt lousy, was angry at myself for doing something so incredibly stupid as to forget to take an important medicine. I also hated having to re-schedule someone who was already in the waiting area due to my memory lapse.

If you are familiar with this book, you know what a powerful message it holds. Liv and I are at the very end when Jonas is realizing that he can't live in his society as it is.

Also, the book narrator is incredible, a man (sorry I can't remember his name!) with the perfect voice for Jonas and the Giver.

I was sitting in traffic, listening. And suddenly I don't know what happened, the world was too much with me or maybe I was just so tired, but I began to weep. Not a few dainty tears, but a torrent of them. The kind of crying that sort of scares you because it is unbidden and startling in it's rawness.

I have no idea what made me cry. The book, yes. Also, just...the heaviness of life. The sheer tiredness. I suddenly missed my Da painfully, wished that I was little again and could just crawl up in his lap and feel his arms go around me automatically in the way of loving parents everywhere. Comfort.

I managed to drive and kept silently admonishing myself to stop this. I would have to pull over soon if I didn't stop and I was already pressed for time. I didn't want to re-schedule another appointment. It was already hard to breathe with being sick and crying like this was not helping. The makeup would have to be re-done.

I pulled myself together and drove up into our driveway. Slid out of the car seat and went inside. As I walked in, I noticed the kitchen light was on. Strange. I always shut it off automatically as Liv and I leave each morning. I shook my head, went for the insulin, shot myself up and went into the bathroom to assess damages to my makeup. It wasn't terrible, but mascara would need to be reapplied, blush and lipstick reinforced.

I felt like I just didn't have the energy to do it. So much looming in my day. All those appointments. And then Bing and I still need to do some Christmas shopping. The house needed a good cleaning since we are having company (Liv's father, his assistant, Nirand, our good friends from Chicago, Vince and Thuan) for the holidays. Socks was pleasantly surprised to see me and sat on one of my feet as I re-applied lipstick. His attempt to keep me home with him. More than anything, I just wanted to stay and cuddle up with him with a blanket and the television today.

I decided that I would just stop there. Lipstick was enough for today. The bathroom lights faltered. Once. Twice. I frowned and looked up. Great, I thought. Another household problem. Made a mental note to tell Bing tonight when we went Christmas shopping for our elderly couple we had chosen at the home for the aged.

I shut off the lights and headed down the hallway for my purse and coat.

And then all the hair on my head stood up. There was a feeling of hmmm...can't describe it.

Magic? Other worldliness?

I turned around. The light was on in the bathroom. I could have sworn that I shut it off. God, I am getting OLD, I thought.

I went and flicked the switch firmly to OFF.

I walked back down the hall. This time, before I felt that odd feeling again, Socks made a slight whimpering sound next to me.

The light was on again.

And then I felt him. Da.

It was Da.

I sat on the steps outside the door. Put my face in my hands. Socks bravely sat next to me, his hair was standing up, but he wasn't leaving my side. And then we both relaxed.

I could feel my Da's arms. Around me. Pulling me in.

Heard his voice in my head.

That beautiful Irish accent.

Ah, mavoureen. Cushla Macree. It'll be right soon. Life has a way of just a catchin' up to us, don't ya know it now? I'm here, sweet pothogen. Right here. Lean into me. Right here, me own sweet gal.

I cried again. Leaned. Felt better for it.

And then just as suddenly as it came, the feeling left.

Socks and I got up. Shook ourselves off. I hugged him. Thanked him for not running under my bed as he does when he sees a mouse.

My brave boy.

I fixed my lipstick, thought fuck it for my eye makeup, firmly turned all the lights off and got in the car and drove back to work.

You think my mind was playin' tricks, don't you now?

I don't think so.

Because it isn't the first time that I've seen those lights.

Anything like that ever happened to you?

Another weird dream

2011-11-29T07:10:00.000-06:00

I am with Liv and Sven (our old neighbor who we've lost touch with) in the upstairs of some place that I recognize but now, in retrospect, can't put my finger on.

Liv is about 4 and so is Sven. (This is odd because Sven is a decade older than Liv.)

I am trying to put them to bed in small child sized beds.

I look out the window and see Bing in Sven's front yard, chasing a large white dog. The dog is soaking wet. It somehow gets into the house I am in and Bing yells upstairs for me to shut the door so that dog won't get in. In the ways of crazy dreams, I can't seem to get to the door even though it is right next to me. It is bright yellow. The dog comes in and is jumping all over the children.

I am furious because I had almost gotten them to sleep and now I have to do it all over again AND deal with the dog.

The dog disappears (why does that happen in dreams, do you ever wonder?) and I am singing this incredibly durfy song, trying to get them to lay back down.

I see a huge SPIDER. It is as big as the bottom of a frying pan and on the end of each of it's eight legs, there are what look to be large round green peas. The peas make a tapping sound when it walks (even across a bed) and I am not just scared, but TERRIFIED.

I know I am the adult and have to kill the thing, but I am really worried that it will bite Liv, so I somehow grab one of it's legs and start swinging it above my head! (IDIOT!) It crawls down my arm and under my blouse and I am trying to get a hold of it through my blouse. I find one of the pea-like things and crush it. It breaks like a cocoa puff under my fingers. I know that I have disabled it, but I still can't find it.

I keep pretending that nothing is wrong and neither of the children seem upset or worried.

And then...yes...I woke up...with heart pounding, gasping for breath.

Any takers?

Is it just me?

2011-11-28T07:14:00.000-06:00

I feel as if I am being slapped around by some sort of household mischief maker.

First off, my house is my refuge. I NEED to come home and just be able to...sink.

Lately, though...I've been finding more peace at work. This is mostly because it seems as if one thing after another keeps breaking down. Nothing huge...yet. Just annoying, aggravating things.

Add Thanksgiving company to the mix and you have chaos. And having a spouse who believes in fixing everything herself, even if she doesn't quite have the skill set needed. When this happens, she googles directions and goes from there. The end is often...well....not pretty.

First my car door wouldn't shut. Sounds like a little thing, yes? No. Instead of fixing it right away, Bing showed me how I should carry a little screwdriver in my car and then sort of wiggle the thingamajig until it falls into place to get the door to shut. I can't believe that I did this for almost two weeks. Finally, even the screwdriver stopped working, so we had to get it fixed.

Then, when we got the door fixed, it was determined that I needed new tires. You'd think this would easy, yes? Go to a tire store and buy tires. No. Bing had to research this. Check Craig's list. She finally found a set of USED tires for me in the southern area of our city. I was furious. USED TIRES?

"But, Maria...the tread is barely worn. It is a great buy!"

Tires bought.

Then, Bing decided to mow the lawn for the last time this year and get up the last of the leaves. The mower broke. So...yes...this became her new research project. She hunted down a used one on...you guessed it...Craig's List. A used one, of course.

Bing almost NEVER buys anything new. If I lived alone, I can guarantee you, I would ALWAYS buy new. It just seems.....smarter. Especially since I have NO talent at being a fix up person. New things come with warranties. Let someone else fix it. At no cost.

Then, on Thanksgiving, we came home from my sister's house. I was relieved, glad to have it over. Needed some yogurt and bed.

I opened the fridge and my yogurt containers were sitting in about a half inch of water. WHAT? THE? FUCK?

I am annoyed. Bing is almost....glee-ful. I swear it is almost as if she LIKES this sort of shit to happen. She can use TOOLS now! YIPPEE! SHE CAN TAKE THINGS APART!!! SHE CAN MAKE A BIG FUCKING MESS!

I persuaded her to wait until our company left. We cleaned up the shelves and they seemed to be staying dry. We had shut off the ice maker, thinking that this might be the problem. I was so relieved. Problem solved.

Until last night. Then, my yogurt was sitting in a half inch of water again. So, leaking INSIDE the fridge?

Bing has decided that she needs to shut off the fridge, put ALL of it's contents outside on the back porch and then she will dismantle the ice maker and also blow out all the hoses to check for obstacles.

Tonight. She is going to do this tonight. After work.

God, can't we just call a technician?

This horrifies her. Absolutely not! She can fix this for free! It just will take a little elbow grease.

Tell you what I would do if I lived alone. I would call a technician and make him or her do the work. Fix it the first time. Right.

With Bing, there is always this element of unsureness. Like the time she was sure she could change the thermostat in our house by reading some directions on google. She messed up. Messed up again. Finally got a repair person who not only had to repair HER mess but fix the problem as well.

What I don't understand about Bing is this: why do all the magnets have to come off the fridge?

I guess it is just that I know her. She LOVES the taking apart part. The dismantling. The clean up? Not so much. That always ends up being my job. I'll be the one putting everything back in the fridge and all the magnets, etc.

GOD, CAN WE JUST CALL A REPAIR PERSON? JUST ONCE?

Here is my question to you? How do you like being a home owner? Who handles the fix it process? And how often does it happen?

Do you ever feel as if things break down in succession?

Do you ever feel as if you are being picked on by the household fairy?

If you have a partner, how do they handle fix ups?

If you aren't a home owner, are you now scared shitless to buy one?

Do share.

And do you ever feel as if things are just waiting to fail? (Example: my computer sometimes will just not turn on. Bing then unplugs it, replugs it into a different jack and says something vague about the battery going out. I did not know my computer had a battery. Is this stupid? I figured it was PLUGGED in, it didn't NEED a battery!)

Any thoughts?

For last night

2011-11-24T20:32:00.000-06:00

Bing,
Thank you for last night. For listening to me talk and talk and talk and then shutting me up with your kisses. For holding my hands over my head with yours and smiling down at me. For kissing me

right. there.

Thrice.

For taking all my fears and dissolving them in the space of you and me.

And then, afterward, for holding me tight and when I asked you how you manage to put up with holidays with my family every year, you sang out:

"One bourbon. One scotch. One beer"

....making me burst out laughing.

For getting serious then and telling me that hey...we're in this together, no matter what.

I lay there watching you after you fell asleep and then leaned over to turn out the quiet light next to the bed.

I'm thankful for a lot of things today, but mostly for...

you. Just you. Always you.

And to think I almost missed out on you. What a loss that would have been.

Because you are perfect for me and we are perfect for us.

We are that feather. Together.

No rant, just peace

2011-11-24T19:38:00.000-06:00

Home again.

He didn't say one off color word. Not one. No one said a word about Obama. Not one word.

A good time was had by all.

Life sometimes just...works..

When you least expect it to.

Now, I need your help. Every year we select a "Christmas angel" from a tree with names of needy children on it. This year, we decided to change it up and picked a senior citizen from a home for the aged.

His name is Joseph. He is 74 years old and likes "anything funny" and gloves.

Now the gloves, well....I can do that.

But, what should we get for the "anything funny" part? I'm thinking maybe a Bob Newhart cd. But...what else? Any bright ideas?

And hey, how did you spend Thanksgiving? Or, if you aren't American...what do you think of a day filled with turkey, stuffin', mashers and gravy, cranberry sauce, yams, and pumpkin pie? Sound good. Or....um...no thanks? And a whole day spent with your relatives, pigging out? Does this make you smile or grimace? Little of both?

A new tactic, may the force be with us

2011-11-24T11:01:00.001-06:00

Last night, I sat down with Liv as I do every night before Thanksgiving.

I wish it was to talk about how thankful we are. It was not. It was to talk to her about Thanksgiving at my sister's house. As usual, I reminded her that Uncle Bob was going to act like a jerk. That there might be words and opinions that are, well...okay...repulsive to us as a family. I went on to tell her that we can't change others, etc.

And then she put me in my place, albeit sweetly.

"I don't get it. You've taught me several things. I should speak my mind. I should not put up with what I know in my heart is wrong. I should keep my manners on when I am a guest in someone's home. But, all of these things get tangled up every year. We go to Uncle Bob and Aunt Patrice's house for Thanksgiving. Uncle Bob uses the word "nigger" and says words like RASTAS and JAMAR and DIEGO and PANCHO and every single year, he asks the teenage girl cousins if they want to go for a ride to the north or south areas of the city where all the JAMARS and PANCHOS are just aching to kiss a white girl. And they smile politely and say nothing but when we are alone they talk about what an ass he is. And now, his son and my cousin, Corbin is starting to do the same thing. And then the whole family starts attacking Obama. And then you sit next to me coiled like a snake and Bing keeps holding your hand on the other side and squeezing it. And then you can't stand it anymore and you start yelling back at Uncle Bob and saying that he is ignorant. And you start taking about this bill or that bill and how Obama is trying, but the house is stacked against him and you say every single year that children are at the table and enough is enough. And Uncle Bob is smiling big and acting like he is laughing at you while that yappy dog of his SITS INSIDE HIS SWEATER through the whole meal and he keeps feeding it food FROM HIS PLATE! And then one of the aunts gets up and asks if anyone wants pie and you all settle down. After dinner, I go play with the rest of the cousins and you and Aunt Jessie go off to talk and Bing watches football or reads the paper and keeps looking at her watch. And on the way home, you just stare out the window and look like you want to cry and when we get home, you either are very, very quiet or else you and Bing talk about how this is all insanity and WHY DO WE SUBJECT OURSELVES TO THIS EVERY YEAR? And you say because it is the only chance that you get to see Aunt Jessie and all of her daughters. My girl cousins say that every single time on the drive home, Aunt Jessie tells them that Uncle Bob is an idiot and unchristian and they should ignore him. But, you know what, Mama? NO ONE EVER REALLY DOES MUCH and it is the same every year."

She silenced me speechless.

And then I told her to give me a moment to think.

I went to Bing and we had a long talk about how we aren't really being proper role models for Liv or teaching her the right thing. I do stand up for what I believe, but it is their house and the truth is that I am a poor house guest. Yet, I can't just keep quiet.

"What if we just left every time that Bob went into his disgusting talk?" Bing said, softly.

I thought about this.

"I would miss talking to Jessie," I said.

Bing sighed. "Maria, the problem is that every year, you expect it to be different and it can't be. Maybe we should just politely thank Patrice for a good meal and get up and leave. It is a much better example for Liv than you sitting there yelling at Bob. And hey, you and Jessie can talk on the phone any time you wish. And maybe...just maybe...if we leave often enough, Patrice will get Bob to at least shut the fuck up when we are around."

I took a deep breath. Agreed with her.

So, we sat Liv down and I thanked her for her honesty. And then we told her what we planned on doing. She was disappointed. Some of her cousins she only gets to see once a year, at Thanksgiving. But, she agreed with us, in the end.

So...wish us luck.

And hey, Happy Thanksgiving to all of you. Cross your fingers for me, yes?

Why I still hate Walmart

2011-11-22T19:49:00.001-06:00

Ugh. Duct tape. Liv loves it. Likes to get quirky, unusual rolls of it. She makes book marks, purses, wallets, you name it.

And guess who has the best in stock?

You guessed it.

Walmart.

I DETEST Walmart. I would almost rather go to the dentist than go to Walmart. Plus, Bing and I made a vow several years ago to never go to Walmart if we could get the same thing somewhere else.

This makes it only necessary for me to set foot in there about once every two years.

So, I went in to buy duct tape for Liv's Christmas stocking. I went before December, hoping to avoid the Christmas rush. Silly me. Forgot that EVERY FUCKING DAY is crowded at Walmart.

And where do all these people come from?

I swear I seldom if ever see anyone normal there. There are carts. BIG carts. Because they want you to FILL THEM UP.

The aisles are narrow, so to squeeze more junk in there.

But, still. Someone told me that they once found the original Clairol Herbal Essence Shampoo there. You remember the kind. The green bottle with the lady with the long flowing hair on the front? Well, this person SWORE up and down and sideways that she bought it at a Walmart in Indiana.

I looked. Didn't see it. I did see some conditioner that smelled like acai berries. I admit here and now that I have a weakness for acai berries. I put the conditioner in the cart even though I was screaming to myself: DO NOT BUY ANYTHING EXCEPT DUCT TAPE!

I think they mind fuck you when you walk in the door. Like there is some chemical that invades your brain and makes your eyes start darting around and your hands seize up and start grabbing anything and everything.

I saw a man who looked EXACTLY like The Fonz with grey hair.

There were two grown up identical twins who were both hugely pregnant and even wore their hair exactly the same. I had this uneasy feeling that the father of their children was the same man. Don't ask me why.

I saw the obligatory ten teenage girls with babies on their hips. One was looking at lip gloss with her friends. She stopped in front of the sample lip gloss pots. Now, you couldn't pay me enough money to sample anything from Walmart, especially lip gloss. Even though there is a little tray of tiny plastic paddles to use, I KNOW they aren't used. This girl was talking to her friends, opening bottles of this and that perfume and smelling. The baby on her hip, about a 9 month old girl complete with pierced ears, moussed hair and a big Justin B clip in her hair was gaping towards the open lip gloss pot with her mouth wide open. She couldn't quite reach it though, but her drool did. Ugh.

Another teen mom was looking at purses and kept slamming her baby's head into other purses as she leaned over to check out this one and that one. He wasn't crying, though. He looked like this kind of shit happened a lot. Like he was used to it. I wondered if she used him for a door stop when he was an infant.

Still another teen parent was in a vicious argument with the baby daddy, or I guess it was. Couldn't stay for sure. I just know his name was Eddie because she kept whining out his name until I wanted him to push her face into a bunch of purses.

"Eddie! But you promised to come for turkey dinner! My mom is counting on us going there!" Eddie? What do you mean I can go by myself? No, man. I ain't a'gonna do that. Come ON, sugar. It won't kill ya. Eddie! Pulllleaaazzze. God, fine. Make me cry. You don't care. Too bad my name isn't Kelly. Then you'd care, huh?"

He only perked up when he heard the name Kelly come out of her mouth. So I'm guessing this relationship won't be lasting much longer.

The baby was cute, though. Even though she wasn't batting an eye as her mother stood screaming. She looked bored.

I saw a mom with about seven kids who looked like she wanted someone to just get a gun and shoot her right there in the bath towel aisle.

I know, I know...what was I doing in the bath towel aisle when I was supposed to be looking for duct tape?

I honestly have no idea. It's like the Walmart spell starts controlling your legs after awhile.

I did see a glassy eyed mom with her tween daughter who kept smiling and saying, "I LOVE THAT!" no matter what her daughter showed her. I didn't love any of it. And if Liv ever tries to put a tee shirt in our cart that says put on this earth to drive men crazy with lust, I will spank her. And I have never spanked her. Walmart makes you do things.

I finally found the duct tape and there it was: the perfect roll of tape. It had peace symbols all over it. I smiled. But there was an old lady in front of me looking at duct tape first. There was only one roll of the peace symbols. I wondered if it would be rude to just grab it and run. I mean, why not? I could probably out run her. She was old. Much older than I am.

See? This is what Walmart does. It turns you into the bad angel that sits on your shoulder.

Just go ahead and do it. Don't you think Liv would LOVE that tape? And what the hell does that old bat need with peace symbol duct tape? Hey, just hit her with your purse. Knock her down and grab the tape and run.

I tried to be patient but she was STANDING RIGHT IN FRONT of the duct tape. So, I glanced at the different kinds of string for a while. Waited for her to move.

She finally grabbed some duct tape with skeletons on it and left.

I tried hard not to think about what she was going to do with it. Maybe she had prisoners in her basement and she was getting really, really sick of gray duct tape.

I went to the check out lane. Of course, there were ten people in front of me.

The guy in front of me needed a shave. He didn't look all woodsy and hot with a five o'clock shadow. He looked like he shot squirrels with bb guns.

He turned around and smiled at me with bright yellow teeth. Held up a leather belt. Nodded at me like this meant something. What did he want me to say?

Gee, what a fine looking belt with such a big buckle! Wanna spank me? Because I'm a bad girl!"

I looked away but he held it up to my face. I took a step back, stepping on the person in back of me who said, "Watch it!"

The guy with the belt smiled. "I'm gonna go home and put up my feet and drink some vodka. Do you want to know why I drink vodka?"

No.

I sighed. Said, "Why do you drink vodka?"

"Because my old lady can't smell it on my breath. Guess where I keep it."

I guessed the basement.

He smiled broadly. I'm sure he was a tobacco chewer.

"Righto, you are one smart cookie!"

I broke eye contact and pretended to be fascinated by Chiclets and Big Red Gum.

Amazingly, he didn't continue.

I eventually got through the line with my duct tape and acai berry hair conditioner. I walked to my car and turned the key. And then I heard a loud cracking noise.

It was the guy from the store. He was standing by the car just to my left and had opened a beer. He took a long swallow and I watched him from the inside of my car. He drained that sucker and threw it across the parking lot.

I put the car in gear and drove home.

Liv better fucking LOVE that duct tape.

Actual conversation #98

2011-11-22T07:28:00.000-06:00

We are in the car, going to pick up chinese for dinner. Food that is. Liv was lamenting her sore limbs as she has been spending hours a day outside working on her basketball skills. Bing asked her why she was going at it so hard.

LIV: Well, first of all, I am the WORST player on the team at school. No lie. There is NO ONE worse than me.

MARIA: (Smiling because she is just saintly) Oh, honey, I'm sure that's not so.

LIV: Believe it. It's a fact. But, that will change.

BING: Honey, it's good that you are practicing but don't overdo, okay?

LIV: I'm not stopping until I am the best. I want to leave everyone else in the dust. Don't you see? I can't STAND not being if not the best, then the almost best.

BING: (Wryly, shaking her head) Well, now. That apple didn't fall far from the tree, did it?

MARIA: WHAT? I'm not competitive!

Bing and Liv both laugh.

MARIA: I'm NOT! I just like to be...okay. I like to be the best. Oh, goody gum drops. Here we are! Everyone out! I bet my fortune cookie will be the most interesting!

Bing and Liv share a look. Shake their heads. Laugh and hug before they go in.

WHAT????

Our Christmas Lists

2011-11-21T20:32:00.001-06:00

Every year, we all post our Christmas lists on the fridge. This is to prevent Bing from buying me things from Walgreens at the last minute. It also is good for us to know what Liv wants so that we can alert her father and our friends from Chicago who spoil her rotten every year.

Liv's list

1) model airplane kits (really hard ones please!)

2) model car kits (ditto!)

3) crazy kinds of duct tape (she made me a purse once from duct tape, no lie...she also makes us book marks from time to time)

4) Rocket Boys by Homer Hickam

5) Uncle Petros and Goldbach's Conjecture: A Novel of Mathematical Obsession by Apostolos Doxiadis.

6) New lense for my telescope

7) Anything Gaga

8) Sigh No More Deluxe cd and dvd (Mumford and Sons)

9) New Chucks (sneakers)

10) Let me get my ears pierced (Not until you are 13!)

11) A Kindle Fire

12) Zippy the monkey sheets (flannel please! Socks and I get cold!)

13) Gift certificate to True Religion (need new jeans!)

14) The Ihrin Shirtdress that I loved in the Anthropologie catalog that you said was kind of expensive. (already purchased....bwahhhahaahhhaa)

15) St. Kitts necklace and bracelet from Moonrise Jewelry (already purchased by her father)

Bing and I plan to get her the Ihrin dress, the books and the Zippy sheets.

The rest of the list has gone out to her father and Vince and Thuan. I know her father already bought the jewelry, but he also warned me to let him pick out the model airplane because he knows exactly what kind she likes. Vince and Thuan? I'm just hoping that they don't go overboard. This will not matter. When they come (We will have a houseful...Liv's father, his assistant, Nirand and both Vince and Thuan are coming December 23 and staying until January 3rd!), they will shower us all with gifts and then spend their time here with Thuan preparing incredible Vietnamese dishes and Vince insisting that Liv needs a child size fur coat (over my dead body) me, some delicate jewelry (I will try to be strong and say no...), and Bing, motorcycle accessories.

Life is good when Vince and Thuan are around.

Maria's Christmas List

1) Gift certificate to The Bookworm.

2) A small box of chocolate covered cherries.

3) Goat milk shampoo and body wash

4) A new cashmere scarf (I left my favorite red one in a movie theater!)

5) Maid service for a year (I can dream...)

6) NOTHING that is a tool of any kind.

7) A bottle of the original Clairol Herbal Essence Shampoo (the one with the long haired woman on the front in a green bottle....use your research skills...)

Bing's Christmas List

1) Gift Certificate to a hardware store

2) End Of Growth by Richard Heinberg

3) Gift certificate to Craftsman Tool catalog

4) Jazz: The Smithsonian Anthology (Will NOT be getting this from me...jazz makes my nerves itch)

5) Guitar strings (she always puts something relatively cheap up for Liv...so I will suggest that Liv buy her these)

6) A leather jacket (Maria, this does not mean you get to spend a fortune...)

7) Women's Brooks purecadence running shoes

Wow. Our personalities are shining right through, huh? And has anyone noticed who the lightweight is around here? Goat milk soap? Cashmere? I absolutely have the dumbed down list....next to my two Einsteins...

So, what is on your Christmas list?

Ugh...terrible feeling

2011-11-21T06:59:00.000-06:00

I woke up at 5:00 a.m.

Remembered that it was Sunday, so I could sleep in.

I snuggled back under the covers, sighing with pleasure, stretched out my toes and started to go back to sleep.

Heard the alarm go off. Felt Bing sit up sleepily, lean across me, kissing my cheek as she turned it off. Then she turned on the quiet light on her side of the bed.

I turned to lay on my back and groaned loudly.

Bing laughed softly. Leaned over to kiss me again. Said, "It's a short week, honey. But, yeah...then...we get your family for the weekend..."

I groaned again. Answered her. "I thought it was Sunday and I was just going back to sleep when the alarm went off!"

Silence. And then Bing got up, walking lazily naked to the bathroom.

She turned over her shoulder. "Ah, sorry...sweetheart. That is a sucky feeling."

Darn tootin'.

No sugar tonight

2011-11-20T21:49:00.001-06:00

We were in front of the television set, watching the American Music Awards...well, halfway.

I was actually reading and Bing is in charge of the turkey for her holiday class party, so she kept getting up to baste, etc.

Daughtry was on. Bing came in from basting. She watched for a while. I looked up. Looked back at my book. Turned the page.

Bing: Isn't this the guy who was on IDOL but didn't even make it to the top three?

I nodded yes. Went back to reading.

Pause.

Bing: Well, hey...he is really, really good. Not like Lee DeWyze, who is pretty much a non talent.

I looked up, smiled seductively. Slid down my nightgown to show her my breast.

She smiled back, headed towards me. Leaned down to cup my breast.

I whispered in her ear: No sugar tonight, kiddo. When you diss Lee, you piss me off. Live and learn, babycakes....

I removed her hand. Got up. Started walking out of the room. I turned back and stuck out my bottom lip. Sighed.

Said, "Too bad, because I was in such a mood for sugar tonight....."

I heard her groan and laughed, because I am just wicked like that.

You take on Lee, you take on me. And I can be ruthless.

Kiss goodnight tops.

But, bet your bottom dollar, she won't be dissing DeWyze again.....

Important question

2011-11-20T13:59:00.002-06:00

Vinita is having trouble linking to my blog. Any others? Anyone having trouble finding me?

Hmmm....you no like?

2011-11-19T18:21:00.003-06:00

What a day. Morning...shopping for Christmas stationery. For the obligatory letter in those Christmas cards. Which I have no idea why I do since I usually snort when I read other people's notes. You know the ones I mean. The ones who write, "Janelle is taking some time away from college to see the world this year!" when they really mean that Janelle has decided to follow her douche bag boyfriend around while he travels the country "finding himself" and spending the money that her grandmother left her in a small trust fund. Next year, when he ditches her for a girl with dough after hers runs out, the card will say, "Janelle is buckling down to college again and got a B in dramatic arts! Is she the next Julia Roberts????!!!"

But, yes...that was me buying Christmasy stationery at the art supply store this morning.

This afternoon, was a truly troubling show by my Cornhuskers who got whipped but good by Michigan. Ugh.

Late afternoon? Liv, Bing and I went to see Breaking Dawn, part 1. Don't ask me how I talked Bing into this. I could say that there was rigorous sex involved but that would be just silly. And a hint to those who haven't seen it yet, but plan to: the best part comes AFTER the credits. Any twi-hard knows that.

And now I am headed off to the Holland Center with my sister to see Lily Tomlin.

A full day.

And hey, literally NO ONE has commented on the photo I put up my blog. What? You no like? Hey, I used my very own cup and saucer and bought a cupcake at Le Quartiere just for the photo! A delicious lemon one that we split three ways as soon as we settled on the photo. And that is MY personal first edition copy of Poe, dudes.

I can take it. Tell me.

To Charlie, the bell ringer at Walgreens

2011-11-17T20:22:00.001-06:00

I had to stop at Walgreens to pick up a prescription on the way home from work. Ugh. I sighed as I put my keys in my purse, ready to get out into the cold air and do chore number one on my list of 8.

I heard the bell ringer. Sighed again. Reached into my change purse for some coins. I have been doing this with Liv since she could walk. We would always put change in the bucket. Liv wasn't here, but it's a habit now and a good one.

When I advanced closer to the door, I looked up and made small eye contact with the bell ringer. He was about my age, I surmised, give or take a year. He had no jacket on, just a sweat shirt. He looked cold, his nose was cherry red. He stopped ringing the bell and spoke to me.

"Is thhhhhaaat your ttttrrruck?" he asked.

I nodded. Smiled thinly. Didn't want to encourage too much talk. I was in a hurry.

He went on.

I used ttttttto haaave a tttttttrruck llllllike th-th-th-that. It rrrran rrrreal gggggggggggooood."

A stutterer. My heart hurt a bit for him. I smiled again, this time put some shine on it.

I told him that it was not working all that great. Really never had.

SSSSSSSo, you inttttteresssssted in ssssssselling?"

I smiled even more deeply, shook my head. Told him that I would never forgive myself if I sold such a poorly working vehicle to anyone. Laughed.

He smiled, then laughed. He had soft blue eyes, tender in a way that older men have sometimes. Usually older men who have been through some miles and pain.

He tried to say something more, but it was too much. He shook his head ruefully, looked away, embarrassed.

I reached out and touched his hand, just once. But gently.

"Take your time," I told him. "I'm in no hurry."

Well, that was a fib. I WAS in a hurry. But, he seemed hungry for conversation and astonished that I hadn't walked away. So..he tried again.

He told me that he worked at a grocery store a few blocks away. That he worked in the meat department and if I had a dog, to come visit sometime and he would save a bone for him.

You would not believe how long it took for him to get this out. And I am merely being honest, not mean.

Something about him held me in place. Mostly, he looked like he couldn't believe that someone was talking to him. Taking the time.

I told him that I did indeed have a dog, a dog who adored bones.

This made him smile.

I held out my hand. Said that my name was Maria.

"I'm CCCCCCCHHHHHH-CCCCHHHH-CCCCHHHHarlie," he said.

A snide voice behind me said, in sotto voice: CCCCCHHHHarlie.

I turned around swiftly in time to see a teenage boy saunter past us, chuckling to himself.

Rodent. Little rodent.

Charlie flushed. Looked away and then back at me.

I leaned towards him, conspiring. "He's not worth our time," I said.

Charlie nodded, but it was weary. This must happen to him all the time, I thought.
Suddenly, I just wanted to cry. And this was not the time and would absolutely not help anything. But, my throat felt tight anyway. I hated it that Charlie had to endure this. This was not his fault, I could see that this was so hard for him. He was obviously a gregarious man who had so much to say and yet his tool for talking was failing him.

I asked him why he was volunteering to be a bell ringer for the Salvation Army. He spoke up immediately, haltingly told me that it was the least he could do, that he had been helped so much by so many. That this was nothing.

But, it wasn't nothing, I told him. It was something. It was a big something.

I asked him if he liked the holidays.

He smiled incredulously at me as if this was absurd. OF COURSE, he liked the holidays, he told me. He loved how beautiful his church looked this time of year.

Of course, this came out something like: Offf CCCCCCCCCOURSE I lllllike the hhhhholidays. Mmmmmmmy ch-ch-ch-church is bbbbbbeautifffffffful."

I asked him if he had family to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with. He said yes, he had a brother. That his sister in law made the best turkey in the city.

I pointed to his sweat shirt.

"Where's your jacket, Charlie?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Nnnnnnnnextttt ppppppppay dddday," he answered.

I nodded. Said that I needed to get into Walgreens now. I looked down at my hand which was still holding my change.

"Whoops, almost forgot!" I said. "This goes in your bucket, Charlie."

Ggggggod Blllless you," he said.

I wanted to hug him. And believe me, I am SO not a hugger. But, something in him struck me. He was a good, decent man doing a good, decent thing. He didn't deserve the way that people must treat him.

I went inside and found the laundry detergent and went to go pick up my prescription at the pharmacy.

But, I found myself standing in the greeting card aisle. Tears suddenly brimming.

God, WHY do people treat people with impediments so badly? I thought of my mentally handicapped niece, Amelia. How one time I picked her up at work for dinner and she came lumbering out in that way that those who are mentally handicapped walk sometimes...a back and forth motion to her walk. I watched her, smiling, waving.

And then I noticed a young boy about ten behind her with a man who probably was his father. He was mimicking her walk and the grown up with him was laughing along with him. I felt rage take over. I wanted to spring out of the car and go up and slap both of them. But, I did nothing. Amelia hadn't noticed and would never notice unless I brought attention to this. So, I sat, seething.

When she got to the car, I unlocked the door and gave her an impromptu bear hug. She laughed and patted me.

Gosh, Aunt Maria, you just saw me YESTERDAY," she had said, laughing.

I had just seen her, but I needed to hug her.

That incident had infuriated me and stayed with me for a long while.

It was how I felt then, staring down at the rows of cards, trying not to cry.

Charlie was a good man. He deserved better from all of us.

I paid for my purchases at the pharmacy window and groaned a little, checking my watch. Really, really running late now.

And then I saw him. That teenage boy who had taunted Charlie. He was standing next to a teenage girl in a Walgreens smock top as she re-stocked the candy aisle. She was pretty. He was obviously trying to flirt with her and she was allowing it, albeit halfheartedly.

I walked up to them.

"Don't waste your time on this guy," I said to her, using my firmest voice possible.

The guy gaped at me, surprised. The girl looked up, startled.

"He just made fun of the bell ringer outside who has a stutter," I said. "Honey, you can do so much better than this jerk."

The girl looked up at the guy.

"My brother used to stutter when he was in junior high," she said.

The guy's face was bright red.

The girl picked up her box and walked to the swinging employee doors. She didn't look back.

Good.

The guy looked angrily at me.

"I can't believe you just did that," he said.

"Believe it," I told him. "It's called karma and it was going to bite your dumb ass sooner or later. I just made it come sooner."

I walked briskly away from him, feeling just a touch jubilant. I wasn't scared at all. Pip squeak.

I turned around and said in a loud voice, "That was for all the Amelias and Charlies out there."

I saw Charlie standing by the inside front door, rubbing his hands together to warm them.

I stopped in front of him. "I have an old jacket that belonged to my father," I said to him. "It's leather and very warm and I think it would fit you. It's not doing any good sitting in my front closet and I think my Da would like knowing that it was being worn by someone as nice as you. Can I run home and bring it back?"

Charlie said that he had to leave, and it looked like his ride was here, the minister from his church. But, he would be at this store again tomorrow, same time. Could I bring it then? That is, if there wasn't someone else who needed it more....

Of course, it took a LONG time to get this all out.

No, I told him. I knew my Da would absolutely want him to have it. I would bring the coat tomorrow.

I know you're thinking that the perfect end to this story would be that I hugged him. I didn't. I gotta be me and all that shit. We parted at the door. He walked swiftly to a big blue car and I went to my truck.

But, when I got home and pulled that coat out of the closet, I felt good about the decision. That coat will have a good home with Charlie. I had only kept it in my closet because it reminded me of Da. Time for it to go have some fun with Charlie.

I didn't pass this story along to show what a good person I am. Sometimes I am good, sometimes not. On many occasions, I would have not encouraged talk and slipped away as quickly as I could.

On many occasions, I am certain that I have missed good chances to make the world better, to be a kinder, gentler me.

Just not this time. This time, I stopped. It didn't kill me and it was a good conversation with an interesting man who probably doesn't get to let his words out enough. I think it would drive me nuts to not be able to communicate. I probably would not have a tenth of his good cheer. I most certainly would not be volunteering to be a bell ringer.

I don't understand those who feel the need to mock those with a disability. I just don't. And I do believe that while I may have given that dick head kid something to think about, I probably didn't change him. I probably just pissed him off and he'll pass that anger and disappointment on to someone else.

Most people don't learn well through humiliation, which is basically what I did to him. I humiliated him.

I suppose I should feel sad about that. But, I don't. I still feel this little rush of glee that I was able to slug one in for the Amelias and the Charlies.

I'm looking forward to seeing Charlie tomorrow and giving him Da's coat.

Da would have liked that, I think.

Life 101

2011-11-16T07:29:00.000-06:00

It's early, not even 9:30, but Bing and I are snuggled up together in bed, sleepy, hard day passed.

The electric mattress pad is on high, I can feel the heat soothing into my sore muscles. Bing leans over to kiss me goodnight and comments on my cold nose.

I tell her that my whole face is cold, but I hate putting my head under the covers, so will just cuddle up to her if that's okay.

That's very okay she says.

"How was your Drs. appt?" I ask her. I'm kind of embarrassed, forgot to ask her when I got home from work. She had made an appointment with an ortho, her back has been aching since she cleaned the gutters.

She says that she canceled it. She's feeling much better and why spend money when the pain is subsiding?

I'm warming up.

We share our days. I tell her that my sisters want to see a play when they come to town next weekend for Thanksgiving, does she want to go?

Absolutely not. Isn't it enough that some of them are staying with us and she will be spending an entire day with my family?

I don't say much. I get it. My family is great except for the racist brother in law, and the fact that we all hate it but no one ever says a word to him except me or Bing. My sisters say that they don't want to be rude, that it is his house, etc. I say that is called being a chicken shit.

No biggie, I tell Bing. I understand. And I do. I wonder if everyone else is like that too...half glad to see the family, half dreading the whole she-bang.

I ask her what the best part of her day was. She says washing my hair for me tonight.

I laugh. You're kidding me, right? Must have been a boring day, I tell her.

No, she says, not really. It was a busy one. Two of her students got suspended today because grass and pipes were found in their back packs. One of those students was in charge of planning their annual classroom Thanksgiving dinner. Now, she is hoping someone else will step up to the plate because she is NOT going to be the one in charge, this is their idea, they will implement it.

A parent sent her an e-mail saying that her daughter doesn't deserve the C she received, that she knows her daughter works hard and should have gotten an A.

Bing sighs.

The thing is....that girl is one of the most narcissistic kids I've met and believe me, kids are plenty narcissistic in high school. But, she just acts as if she is above working and should just be given everything on a silver plate. Plus, she is still nursing a lot of anger towards me for sending her home to change into a top that didn't show her nipples. She looked at me and asked me if I found it too TEMPTING. God, narcissistic much? And cheeky. And rude. That girl is spoiling for a fight and I don't want to be the one that gives her one. I can see in her eyes that she will play dirty.

So...she says that washing my hair was a lovely way to end the night.

"I enjoyed it," she went on. "It was like silky cashmere. And I like it that your neck is so ticklish."

I lean up, bite her lip gently.

I liked it too, I say.

We pause, thinking.

Do we feel like taking this farther?

No. Too tired. But, it's nice to feel that urge again. It was gone for months.

We settle for some long, lazy kisses. The kind of kisses that you can only have when you know each other really well.

So, she asks me...what was the best part of your day?

"Hmmm. Besides, the hot roast beef sandwich for lunch?"

I feel her smiling in the dark.

Yes, she smiles, besides FOOD.

"You washing my hair," I tell her. "And right now. Being all warm and sleepy with you."

Next week will be crazy ass. We both know this. But, right now. Right now, we get this little slice of life that will take us through the week of family and noise and eating too much and the hustle bustle.

Funny, I love Thanksgiving. But, I dread it too.

Do you ever feel that way?

Anyway, we fell asleep. She dreamed of being in Russia and going through a house with me with the intent to buy. I dreamed of touring a monastery. A monastery with Meryl Streep acting in a play there and Mel Gibson trying to sell me a little red car.

The calm before the chaos.

Proposition/decision

2011-11-15T07:16:00.000-06:00

Anyone heard of BlogHer?

I've been invited to join them.

I'm tempted. I checked out their site and was pleased with the caliber of bloggers who are on there. Lots of seriously good writers.

My readership would expand since they promote you. This may or may not be a good thing since I have never really been too concerned about that. I really like those that read me and enjoy reading them too. And some of the best blogs that I read, I discovered because they found me first and commented.

But, I truly like the pace of my blog. Like it that I only write when I feel like it. That wouldn't really change. According to their guidelines, I'd only have to update the blog once a week and I already write more than that.

I like the whole concept of BlogHer.

The only problem that I have is that I would have to have ads on my blog, something that I have shunned from day one. I've always found ads annoying on other blogs. The good news is that I can set ad guidelines (no dating ads, no Republican ads, etc.) But,frankly it is the only thing making me pause.

I like the simple look of my blog. I find it comforting to look at. Would ads spoil that?

Bing's fingers are all over my back on this one. She thinks I should absolutely join. That, hey, I would make MONEY from those ads and that it is a minor thing. She has always said that I should look into publication, which sort of surprises me since she really doesn't read my blog that much.

I just don't know. I'm human. I like the idea of reaching more people, maybe finding more interesting blogs to read. But, the other part of me is hesitating. I am already pushed for time a lot. I set aside one day a week to just read other blogs and I start at 7 and finish about 9. Do I really have enough time to take on more readers? But, the thing is....I LOVE my nights of reading other blogs. I am always so impressed with them.

Ugh. Back and forth. Back and forth.

What would you do if you were me?

Report from Socks, the dog

2011-11-13T15:00:00.002-06:00

It's been a while, I know. It's a dog life, what can I say?

Things are getting interesting outside. Alpha woman was all weepy when she put all the dead flowers in the big brown bag for the guys in the trucks to pick up. She likes summer best, I think. Or maybe Spring. She likes to be out in the garden in her big sun hat, refusing to wear gloves that Omega woman keeps trying to get her to put on.

Just between you and me and the garden fence, Omega woman is bossy. She thinks she knows everything. Like when Alpha woman wants to mix some leftover meatloaf in my dry dog food, Omega says, "Oh, no! It will give him diarrhea! Or at least make his stools too soft. And I am not picking up gooey stools when we walk him!" For Pete's sake, I can't figure out all this picking up of my shit anyway. I mean, it is there to give other dogs something interesting to sniff, why not just leave it? And once when Alpha woman brought me home a ham shank and was letting me eat it outside in the grass, Omega got all bent out of shape because she said that the leftover bones would get caught in the lawn mower. God help me. She isn't happy unless she is bossing everyone around. And then Alpha gets her lips all tight and sometimes that is a good thing, because sometimes she will walk over to the cookie jar and RIGHT IN FRONT OF OMEGA, will feed me a cookie and then her eyes just DARE Omega to say something. She usually doesn't. Alpha doesn't boss and she doesn't get mad often, but when she does, she WINS. Or she makes you wish you didn't.

This weekend was actually kind of fun because everyone did yard work. They raked leaves and the kid and I jumped in them. Then Omega ran around pointing her phone at us, taking pictures. Neither the kid or I like that. So I wiggle and try to run away and then the kid whispers, "Just let 'em take the picture, Socks. It's important to them." The thing is...I'm sort of scared of the phone. It is startling. It will be sitting quietly on a table and then the next thing you know, it starts making these odd noises. Omega's has this really jolting jumpy music. With Alpha, you never know, because Omega keeps changing the noise that comes out of it and sometimes it makes Alpha laugh, sometimes she just rolls her eyes and says, "Will you stop this already?" The kid's phone has music from someone named Lady Gaga and it is upsetting to me. So, I don't much like phones.

I saw something interesting yesterday. I saw a black squirrel. I had never seen one and I wanted to catch it SO BAD! It sat on the fence and leered at me and then when I ran at it, it would jump in the neighbor's yard where I couldn't see it. I knew it was there, though. I would wait for a few moments and then something else would take my attention, like blowing leaves or Alpha and the kid dancing around and inviting me to come dance too...and then just as soon as I would take my attention away, I'd look up and the black squirrel would be sitting there on his haunches mocking me.

"Hey, there, big butt," he would call, "Think you're cute shaking your butt around dancing with humans? Watch ME shake my butt, foolish hound."

And then he'd make his tail go up and down and all around and of course, I couldn't stand it, so I'd run at him and the chicken liver would go over the fence to the neighbor's house. I kept calling to Fifi who lives there with her human pets, but she just looked at me from out the kitchen window with big pink bows on her ears. This means that she doesn't get to come out and play because she came from the groomers and her humans want to look at her and simper about how cute she is for a while before they let her come out and try to roll the bows off in the grass.

One day, I will catch that black squirrel and make him say "I am a lowly rodent and you are king of the block, master."

One day.

But, while I'm thinking of it, WHY do humans take us to the groomers or insist on giving us baths? My humans only take me to the groomers when company is coming. And then they have to catch me first. This is kind of funny because I am fast. Alpha woman is not fast, but she is smart. She will let me smell a piece of lunch meat and then not let me eat it until I am in the car. The kid can usually catch me although I know she hates to do it. And I make her feel as bad as I can. When we are in the car going to the groomers, I will ignore her when she tries to cuddle up to me. I just sulk. And then the kid will try to carry me into the groomer when I lock my legs and refuse to leave the car unless they drag me. I don't bite because it is trained out of me, but I do make mean growly sounds.

And then they LEAVE me there. ALONE. DEFENSELESS.

There are two guys. One is nice, the other isn't bad, but he is no nonsense, kind of like Omega woman. The nice guy makes sure that the water is really warm before he makes me sit in the big silver bowl. The other guy just turns it on and heaves me up and puts me in even if the water is still tepid. And then they tie me to this post and turn on this wind. It feels good but it is TOO LOUD. It sounds worse than the vacuum cleaner. I hate loud noise.

Once I am dry, they keep me tied up and they start shaving on me and cutting me with scissors. Usually there are a few other dogs and we visit while they work on us. I like this because I am a sociable guy. We talk about our human pets.

One dog is trained to catch birds and bring them back in his teeth and he thinks his shit doesn't stink because of that. He says, "I'm a working dog. I'm not some priss ass poodle pup who sits around on a big yellow pillow all day. I work hard and play hard."

All the female dogs think that this is so special and they smile and make their eyes go all big. Like he is Rin Tin Tin or something or one of those movie dogs.

I like the other normal dogs like me best. The ones who just want to play with their humans, lick their balls in peace and maybe get to sleep on a bed instead of the floor. Eat some real people food instead of that dry food once in a while.

The truth is that I love my humans and most of the other dogs do too. It's not something we talk about much. I mean, who wants to look like some dork dog who simpers around saying that his humans are so special?

I love alpha woman. I like to follow her around and just sniff around her. I like her smell. I'm used to it. Her smell means love. Although I have to be careful not to like her smell too much. Once when I was a puppy, I found a pair of her underpants on the floor and okay, I got carried away. I ate the crotch out. I can't help it. I just love odors! Especially ones that I associate with sex. And well, underpants are sex smells. Alpha woman was not pleased but Omega laughed for once. She said, "I can understand getting carried away with the smell of your panties!"

I love Omega too, but not as much as I love Alpha and the kid. Omega is my work out buddy. We run in the mornings together. She has to do these weird stretching things with her legs first, though. And then she says, "Ok, Socks. You ready?" And I sit there thinking, "Hey, I was ready ten minutes ago, slow poke." I love our runs. We start out slowly and then pick up speed until we are almost flying. She tires out before I do and stands with her hands on her knees panting, one hand clutching my leash. I pant too, but not like she does. And then we walk home and she lets me stop and sniff things. She is good that way. Sometimes she talks to me, but it's never about important things. She'll just say, "Now, you know I love you but you need to stop jumping on people, Socks." I just nod like I'm listening. She likes to feel like she is my adviser, so I let her. The truth is that we both know that Alpha is in charge. Alpha is called Alpha for one reason only. She is our leader.

I love the kid the most, although I am getting a little tired of her going on these little trips. As soon as I see her red duffel bag on the floor, well...I know it means no kid for a while. When I was younger, I used to sit on her to try to make her stay. Now, I use guilt. I put my face away from hers when she tries to hug me. It makes her feel bad and it should. Because I would never go on a trip and not want her to come. She sometimes says that she wishes that I could come, but hey, she's obviously not wishing hard enough, is she?

I sleep with the kid. I am her best friend, her protector and I know this. No one will hurt her with me next to her. I will defend my humans to the death, but mostly for her. She shares all her secrets with me so I know that she is scared to grow up, is really worried about school, it's too big and some of the kids are mean to her. I try to let her know that dogs can be mean too, I get it. She used to want to be a mathematician, whatever that is, when she grows up (humans almost always have JOBS) but now she wants to be an environmental engineer who specializes in architecture. Not sure what that is either, but I think the kid is smart, so as long as she takes me with her, we're good.

Sometimes, we just lay together on her bed and rub noses. Or I let her rub my belly. She really likes that and it comforts her when she is anxious. She knows that I like my ears scratched gently and when Omega woman is gone, she sneaks me treats. She once let me share a popsicle with her. Oh, man. Good times.

And then Omega caught her and said, "You do realize that he licks his butt, don't you?" and then the kid let me eat the whole THING!

When I was a puppy, I did stupid things. Alpha woman likes to laugh about the time I allegedly ran into the fire place. I refuse to talk about that. For godsakes, I was a PUPPY. And then there was the time that I was running after a squirrel and I tripped over a stick and did a cartwheel.

Squirrels are mean because they never cut you a break. Every single time I see that squirrel, he reminds his friends that I did a cartwheel.

"You should have seen the big jack ass," he says. "He just went careening head over tail, like he was a circus dog!"

Squirrels are basically dicks.

Well, it smells like the pumpkin pie is almost done. And the corned beef in the crock pot smells really good. If I saunter into the kitchen and alpha woman is there, she might let me have a taste. No dice if Omega is around, but wait...I can see her pruning some bushes outside. So...now is the time to make my kitchen run.

Hey, stay cool, humans. And be nice to Alpha woman. I have her back and she has mine. Well, unless she's taking me to the vet and then...it is every dog for himself.

And just a hint for all of you human pets: Your dogs DO NOT like to wear bows or bandannas. That is mean. How would you like it if we made you roll in shit because we think it's fun? See?

Perspective, dudes. It's all about perspective.

My opinion

2011-11-10T19:20:00.001-06:00

First, to all those who e-mailed me with the wrong impression that I was somehow sticking up for Paterno.

READ THE BLOG.

I in no way stated that I thought Joe Paterno was in the right.

And yes, I am a parent. The first thing I thought was that if that had been my daughter, I would be one seriously revengeful mother.

I gave options on the blog. Wondered what you thought and I didn't want to put my opinion out there for fear that those who disagreed with me would feel as if they needed to just shut up. I wanted to read what you thought.

Still, I felt that I gave myself away.

Apparently not.

I not only think that Joe Paterno should have been fired, I think the grad student who witnessed Sandusky violating a child should be fired. I think that every single person who knew what was going on and didn't act should be fired.

And I am repulsed by the Penn State students who threw fits when Joe was fired.

I thought about those kids. Those boys. A lot. I thought about how excited they must have been to be taken on a tour, whatever, of the Penn State sports complex. I know that most boys (and more than a few girls) in my neck of the woods would pretty much die of joy to be taken on a tour of the Husker locker rooms. See where our boys in red make their magic.

I thought of their faces as they walked through those halls being led by an actual sidelines coach. How exciting.

And then...well...how unbearably terrible.

Just thinking of it makes me ill.

But what is worse is thinking about no one, NO ONE stepping forward to be the voice for a little boy who was probably scared out of his mind.

Joe could have been that voice. He SHOULD have been that voice.

Those who have much, have much responsibility.

He OWED it to that boy, those boys, to do the right thing.

We'll never know the whole story. But, you know, we don't need to know it. We just need that one detail: a child was being hurt and no one stopped it.

There is a lot of talk in Huskerville about what sort of reception we are going to get when we go to play there this weekend. Some think we should not even go there. Forfeit.

It will be newsworthy, win or lose, of this I am sure.

It all comes down to one thing. One child's face representing many. And how brave they are to step forward. How awful that they will now be made to re-live what was most likely the worst moment of their lives.

It sickens me.

Joe sickens me.

What baffles me, though, is his face. He looks genuinely bewildered, as if he can't quite figure out what the fuss is all about. This confuses me. Does he REALLY see himself as blameless?

This is just the beginning of a world of pain for a lot of people.

But, mostly for those kids.

Mostly for those kids.

Mostly for those kids.

What's your opinion about Joe Paterno?

2011-11-10T07:21:00.000-06:00

Nebraska plays Penn State in an away game on Saturday....so we will watch it on television.Probably for the best, though. Happy Valley is going to be unhappy.

So, what do you think about Joe being fired? I'd really be interested to read what you think. And let's keep it civil, please. We all get to have our own opinions.

So, do you think:

1) It was right to fire him. He KNEW. He KNEW Sandusky was assaulting children and all he did was tell the athletic director?! That is so fucking lame!

2) I don't think it was right to fire him. He did what he was supposed to do. He notified his athletic director. For god sakes, he's been there for over half a decade! He is a legend, raised millions of dollars for that school. And HE didn't molest anyone!

Or? Other opinions? Sitting on the fence? This is a hard one for me, mostly because we don't know that many details. Yes, we know that he knew that Sandusky was molesting children. Yes, he notified his athletic director the moment he found this out.

Were he and Sandusky friends? And if so, did that come into play? And maybe he decided to get him off the team in a quieter way?

This poses all sorts of questions.

I mean, I like to think that if I was in his position, that I would have absolutely went to the police myself if my athletic director was of the mind that we should just throw this under the rug.

It smacks of the big wigs in the Catholic Church deciding to just transfer a priest who is molesting children instead of dealing with his sorry ass.

But, it gets hard when you put a face on it. I try to imagine something unimaginable to me. I try to imagine walking into the bathroom at work and seeing my favorite co-worker, Julie, molesting a child.

And you know what? I think my loyalties would go right out the window. I think knowing that she was hurting a child would take precedence.

I wish that Joe had felt that way too. But, then? His job is played out on a much more visible field. Perhaps, he felt that he had done all he could do.

We'll never know. So...I'll let you know my opinion after I hear yours.

What do you think about this? Was it right to fire Joe Paterno?

"Mama, I need to tell you something from Grandpa Jack."

2011-11-09T18:37:00.002-06:00

Liv is a sleepwalker. She started this about a year ago. I didn't get all worried about it, because her father is a sleepwalker as well and I know that it can be genetic.

But, it IS disquieting to be snoozing away and then slowly come awake to see your child standing silently (or not) by your bed and staring at you.

Liv rarely goes downstairs. And if she does, Socks alerts me. He literally jumps on our bed (and he is a short dog, this means he has to take quite a flying leap or he just keeps running at the bed until I wake up...)and pushes at me with his nose to get me up.

I usually find her riffling through our linen closet or sitting on the guest room bed. Once, she was sitting on the guest room bed and watching television with glassy, unseeing eyes. She sometimes speaks, but not often.

I just gently guide her back to bed. Tuck her in, kiss her forehead. She almost always says goodnight to me.

She NEVER has recall of any of it in the morning. Ever.

Once, I found her in the bathroom, looking sightlessly at herself in the mirror and seemingly talking to someone. She said mostly nonsense but what I could make out of it was something about "god is in the details."

She never nudges Bing awake. It is always me. And she doesn't often nudge, she usually just stands staring down at me.

And you're right if you think that is sort of freaky. It still jolts me every time it happens. And every single time, I say, "Honey? What's up? You okay?" and she doesn't answer.

She's never sleepwalked when she spent the night at a friend's house. I think she doesn't go into a deep enough sleep. Sleepwalkers are usually in a deep, deep sleep.

Once she was methodically picking up her hairbrush, brushing her bangs. Another time she was brushing the side of the sink with MY toothbrush, as if she were diligently working on a stain.

As I said, she rarely speaks.

But, a few nights ago, she did.

I woke up with a start to find her pushing at me with her hand. She kept saying my name in this monotonic voice. I had been deeply asleep myself, dreaming about being angry at Bing for not going to some football game with me and when I came awake, I was groggy.

"What's up, honey? Are you sick?"

No answer.

I sighed. Realized that she was sleepwalking again. Carefully got up and started to guide her back to bed. And then she said the weirdest thing.

"Mama, I need to tell you something from Grandpa Jack."

My Da. She has heard plenty of stories about her Grandpa Jack.

Very carefully, I said to go on.

Silence.

Ugh.

I tried again. "Honey, what about Grandpa Jack?"

Nothing.

I sighed and guided her back to bed, Socks protectively at our feet. I tucked her in, kissed her cheek.

"Honey, do you remember what you wanted to tell me from Grandpa Jack?"

"G'night."

That was it. All she said. All she wrote.

I went back to bed frustrated, wishing that I knew a way to get in there and dig around in her head, find THAT conversation.

But, maybe...I thought...in retrospect....maybe it was just meant for her. Maybe he came to say hello.

I love the thought of her getting to experience the joy of knowing my Da in any way, shape or form.

And I will probably never know what he wanted to tell me.

And of course, at breakfast, she had no recollection of saying that at all.

So, I've been experimenting. Every night before sleep, I ask Da to come to me for a little visit.

Maybe he's come, maybe not. I haven't been remembering my dreams and the ones I do are all work related.

It comforts me to think of him coming to her in deep sleep, being the grandfather that she has not had the pleasure of meeting.

Any one you know sleep walk?

Ode on a prairie urn

2011-11-08T07:31:00.000-06:00

It kills me to see them die.

If you read my blog, you know that my whole family loves our garden. We have lots and lots of flowers that were planted by the previous owner, also a garden lover. So we have bells of Ireland, poppies, bachelor's buttons, bleeding hearts, roses, moss roses, violets, lilies of the valley and lilacs. They bloom every year.

We add our own flowers, herbs and vegetables each year. We plant in mid Spring and at first, the garden is so pristine, so sweet. The flowers are like babies, all innocent and fragile, trying hard to stick those necks up to the sun, drinking in that rain.

Summer is riotous. The babies have grown up into teenagers and they keep the joint jumpin'. They are gangly and loud, full of sudden bursts of laughter and just plain bad behavior. They party hearty while we sleep, drinking too much sprinkler water and when the morning comes, their petals are wet with dew, heads hanging a bit. But, like the teenagers that they are, they are good to go by noon. Ready for another hot day. Showing off their bikini colors, flirting with bees. Driving them mad with their honey pots. The vegetables and herbs are a more sedate lot, but they are wild in their own way, pushing and shoving each other trying to outdo.

Yes, my tomatoes are round and red and full, everyone. Nope. I was just born that way. No Miracle Gro for me. I'm just naturally bodacious.

The rosemary runs riot over the sage and lemon verbena, has to be cut back, pulled in like a girl who parties too much. The chives are dominant. They spill their scent everywhere, like boys overflowing with testosterone. If they could, they would toss a basketball back and forth. Nervous, edgy with the desire to move, to grow, to leave their family.

The summer seems never ending. The good times roll. I go to the garden and the flowers bend to me under my gentle touch. I stroke the rose petals, intoxicated by their scent. I tenderly prune, cut them just so. They enjoy my pruning like I am a really good hairdresser. I walk through the lilacs and lilies and bend to put my nose in their scent, they preen for me, basking in my adoration.

I love my garden in summer. Love the bounty the vegetables bring, they are the givers of the yard, the ones who shine with their generosity. The flowers? Well, they are like southern girls in yellow, red, and pink sundresses. Their cheeks are flushed, they have a heady laugh, their hair spills over their shoulders in careless disarray. The roses are more sedate, fragile, but demanding. Rich girls who couldn't fry a chicken up if their lives depended on it. But, they know their worth. Know the power of their silkiness. But, then...yes...they do have thorns. They aren't helpless, mind you. Just...quietly beautiful. And probably out of your league, so leave them be to their beauty. Use them for a wedding, not a dining room table. They deserve it and they know this.

The herbs are givers too, but in smaller capacity. They spice things up. Add a gingery scent to the air. They don't mind being pinched, tasted.

And then Autumn comes. The air gets chilly. Then cold.

The perennials go first. They know that they need to rest up for next year. Their goodbyes are quick and without emotion. The annuals let go more slowly. They panic when it grows cool, drink as much water as they can hold, hold on to life for every second that they can and then, at last, let go.

The roses wish that they could just disappear. Their beauty fades into brownish tinge and it embarrasses them. They beg for a shot of Miracle Gro, the botox of the garden, but since we don't use chemicals, I must deny them. They leave resentfully, giving me baleful looks.

The vegetables are like sturdy farm women. They know when their time had past. They give their last bounty and then bow to the garden shovels that turn them over into the ground. They die fulfilled, knowing that their lives were well spent.

The herbs urge me to hurry, to pick their leaves quickly. They have a strong afterlife, a heaven. They know that they will be chopped and put into stews, soups, over chicken breasts in a hot steamy oven on a cold January night. They will continue on, just in a new way.

Some flowers are just plain hardy. The first snow doesn't faze them. They stand quietly with a dusting of snow on them. Their leaves barely bow. These are the ones that break my heart. My marigolds, my gerber daisies.

They smile as I tend them in late October, they drink less, like little old ladies who are just happy to have me caress their heads one more time. I tenderly stroke them with my finger, so gently.

"Just let go, it will be okay," I tell them sweetly. I smile with great tenderness and they smile back, tremulously but bravely.

I look outside when the temperature dips to 30 then 25. They stand shivering in the cold. Strong to the last.

I can't stand it. I go out and kiss their petals, telling them that I love them. Thanking them for making my life so happy all summer. Tell them that just seeing them every day this summer was a perfect blessing. They pat my hand in their own way.

I tell them that I hate leaving them but I must go. The neighbors already think I am a little eccentric, now that I am out kissing my daisies, well...that must just close the deal.

They laugh softly and wave goodbye as I go with heavy feet to the back door.

They will be gone by morning. A hard freeze is coming tonight.

The next day, they are finally dead. Their heads bowed, succumbed to the clean sharp knife of coldness.

I sigh. Put my coat on. Tell Liv not to forget her lunch. Time for school.

Meme # 8517

2011-11-07T19:25:00.001-06:00

This one I like because it is random and I don't really feel like sharing about myself (and really...wasn't the previous blog post ENOUGH?) and it looks kind of fun.

Take out your ipod. Put on random selection.

FIRST song that appears answers the question. At the end, I will have a very special task for you.

1) Describe your childhood
The Late September Dogs by Melissa Etheridge

Um...WHAT THE FUCK? We had a dog. His name was Rags. Then he died and we had Sam. And then came Penny. What September has to do with this baffles me.

2) What was your first crush like?

Not the only one by Bonnie Raitt

No. He was there too.

3) What was high school like for you?

The Safety Dance by Men Without Hats

No, that was more like college....

4) What was college like for you?

Nothing Compares 2 U by Sinead O'Connor

Well, okay...that is pretty much what I thought too. Narcissist much?

5) Describe your first paying job.

It Might As Well Be Spring by Karrin Allyson

Since I was a roller skating car hop...yeah...Spring was good.

6) Describe your current job.

Eight Days a Week by The Beatles

Yes, some weeks feel like that.

7) Describe your boss or closest co-worker.

It's Beginning To Get To Me by Snow Patrol

Yeah, we are all a bit loopy. Overworked. Overstressed. Crazy Ass lunacy.

8) What do your siblings think about you?

Born Free by Andy Williams

I thought for sure it would be "Wild Thing" or Rebel Yell". "Born Free is pretty tame...

9) What do your friends think of you?

Watching The River Run by Loggins and Messina

Yup. That's us. Swirling and dancing around. Good times.

10) What do you think of your friends?

Thank U by Alanis Morissette

Absolutely. So much.

11) Describe your first kiss.

Mrs. Robinson by Simon and Garfunkel

I can't believe she told....bitch.

12)Describe your first sexual experience

True Colors by Cyndi Lauper

Yup. It all comes to the surface when you are all laid out

13) Describe your first date

Still by Matt Nathanson

I do remember. Still. And we weren't. Still. We were moving and leaping and having a good ole time.

14) What did you think the first time you met your current love?

Frankenstein by Edgar Winter

Sorry, Bing. But you DID have that mullet....

15) What did your partner think the first time he/she saw you?

Aubrey by Bread

Way to go. Forget my name. It is M A R I A. Who the FUCK is Aubrey?

16) What do you think of your current love now?

Killin'Time by Cat Stevens

No, that was last week. We are on the mend....

17) What does your current partner think of you now?

Try A Little Tenderness by the Commitments

Yes, do. Please.

18) What describes your love life now?

Keep It Simple by Chuck Pyle

Yes, I am elderly. No toys. No gymnastics.

19) What do you look like in the morning?

They Call Her The Cat by Sir Elton John

Well, I do have puffy eyes, but no fur face.

20) How do you see your life right now?

A Big Hunk O' Love by Elvis Presley

That is Bing you hear laughing.....

Ok...your turn. Turn those ipods to shuffle...

Describe yourself.

What did you get?

P.S. I got "Sacrifice" by Sir Elton John.

Just call me Mother ~~Theresa~~ Maria.