Redhead Editor

When I fall in love...

2011-12-01T19:02:00.003-06:00

... It will be forever
Or I'll never fall in love

In a restless world like this is
Love is ended before it's begun.
And too many moonlight kisses
Seem to cool in the warmth of the sun.

When I give my heart,
It will be completely
Or I'll never give my heart.

And the moment I can feel that
You feel that way, too
Is when I fall in love with you.

The line I want you to concentrate on, dear reader, is "or I'll never give my heart." My question recently is ... are we (as the general human population) allowed just one love, and if it doesn't work out, you have shot your proverbial wad? Some people are lucky enough to fall in love with someone who loves them equally, and they spend the rest of their lives together. Some people, me, for instance, fall in love once, and it doesn't work out. And I just started wondering if I am incapable of ever loving again since I now know what love, truly mad, passionate love, feels like, and I won't settle for anything less. Was Sailor Boy my one and only? Will my heart ever find love again?

Don't get me wrong, I am over him. I do not pine for him. I know for a fact that our love was vibrant, life-altering, and, perhaps, a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Am I melo-dramatic? Perhaps, but I feel blessed to have felt that kind of love once in my life. I do not, for one minute, believe our being together forever would have been a good thing. Nor do I hope we will ever be a couple in the future. We had to go our separate ways. I do not fool myself into believing love can or will ever happen again. But Blues Man is back in my life, and he professes his love and would do anything for me, but I cannot return the feelings. For now, he says he is perfectly fine with that. Before this summer, he would never say "I love you" because he knew it pissed me off and that I could and would never say it back. The feeling was not mutual. But after our recent "reunion," he started saying it and adding, "And I don't care that you can't say it. I'm not hiding how I feel any more." What do I do with that?

Briefly, let me explain how and why Blues Man came back. I have not talked to him all summer. He pulled some shitty things on me, and it was quite easy to kick him to the curb, so I never answered his e-mails of apology, never answered his few phone calls when he tried to beg for forgiveness. I was just damn glad he never stalked me or dropped by unannounced. And I sat in my dark bedroom all summer only appearing outside to go exercise. I was a mess over my firing, and he knew it, but he never overstepped his bounds (except for staying in touch to let me know he was there for me). So 4 weeks ago I answered an e-mail to say I couldn't figure out how to open the furnace and replace the filter so he dropped by with his tools, got down on one knee and begged for forgiveness with tears streaming down his face, and changed my furnace filter. I told him to stop being so hard on himself. That evening he e-mailed me and said that as long as we were friends, he had to be honest and tell me my place was a wreck. In 5 months not one person had come into my condo (except my one daughter who's my roommate), not even my sisters or other daughter. Not one friend was allowed in. I was truly a mess. I had let the place go to hell, and he knew it was a reflection of my depression, and he wasn't going to stay quiet. I didn't even see how bad it was. We were, after all, friends. So he laid it on the line and told me the truth. Depression manifests itself in many ways, but in my case, I had not come out of my room in months and had stopped fighting my roommate who was (and still is) a slob. So in telling me like it was, he offered to help me clean up. and so the next day he came over and together, we spent 5 hours cleaning my kitchen alone. It looked amazing. And was long overdo. We scrubbed and rearranged and threw out and dusted and scrubbed some more. I was so moved by his honesty, kindess, generosity, and willingness to be a friend. The next week he returned to help clean the livingroom. Both times he left after saying "I love you" and added, "It's ok if you can't say it."

We have since spent some time together on the weekends. And yes, the sex is terrific just like when we broke up earlier in the summer. I even asked him to spend Thanksgiving with me and the family. I did so because (1) the ex wasn't coming this year (yeah!), (b) daughter Dorothy was bringing a "friend," (tres) both and he and the daughter had to return that evening to work on Black Friday, and (IV) he would not interpret the invitation as a reason to move in together or a sign that I loved him. I e-mailed the daughters and told them what was happening and told them I expected them to be on their best behavior and respectful. So he managed to pick himself off the floor (from the impromptu invitation), dress appropriately, and show up on time for the drive to St. Louis. He helped my sister with household chores while we got Thanksgiving dinner ready. (Her husband is not handy, and she just broke her wrist the week before.) He stayed out of the way when necessary, helped out when called upon, stayed quiet during the fracas, and was thrilled to be included. I don't believe anyone should be alone on Thanksgiving.

But now it's every weekend, and I don't want to hurt his feelings, but I will never be in love with him. However, I think we can be good friends, honest and helpful, kind and laughing. Should I resign myself to being with a man I am not in love with because he's great in the sack and kind to me? Will I ever be able to find another love if I continue with Blues Man? What happens if I do fall in love with someone else, do I dump Blues Man? Do I resigned myself to knowing if I stay with him, I will never have the love I once had with Sailor Boy? Are we allowed more than one "love of a lifetime"?

Feel free to talk amongst yourselves.

Sox

2011-11-04T19:54:00.002-05:00

Arrrghh! Damn him, my mean bloggy friend has assigned me to write about socks (sox) this week. WTF? He is about as random as it gets. I think he is power hungry. He knows I will write on whatever topic he gives me because I am so compliant and willing to please.

The big surprise is I'm going to take an odd turn on the subject. You'd think I'd write about the warm apparel for you feet. I do love socks, and I have discovered that when you lead a nomadic life as I have the last 5 years, you collect socks. They don't take up much space, and they're easy gifts and souvenirs for people who want to give you something but know you don't have a lot of room for big things. There are some socks I am emotionally connected to and cannot throw away. Like my socks that say "40." Wow, they're 14 years old!

But when I heard the assignment, the first thing I thought of was a young man from college nicknamed "Sox." I didn't name him that. He got that in college before I showed up, but we barely knew his real name. He loved socks and always wore wild and crazy socks so the nickname stuck. To this day, I don't know if Sox ever graduated. He was, what I would call, an "Idea Man," always on the go, always coming up with some type of scheme, always planning something, leading something, sometimes for good, sometimes for evil. He was sorta cute, but he was so dynamic and charismatic, that we loved his stories and schemes. For instance, he hooked up everyone on my dorm wing with phones. Doesn't sound like a big deal? But this was 1976 when the phone company owned consumers' phones and the contract was between the phone company and the university so the fact that Sox somehow procured about 20-25 "extra" phones was quite the coup. I didn't know if he was a Business major or an Engineer major because he not only "found" the phones but also hooked them all up. Who did that back in he 70s? I never knew if I would place this skill under "doing good or evil" since it was, after all, illegal. There were enough phones in his dorm room that he never had to move, wherever he was, to answer a phone. That's a lot of phones!

Anyway, I look back and shake my head at our thinking back in the 70s. Sox and I went out once. Whether it was called a "date" or not, I'll never know, but I remember making out with him behind the dorms one night and was accused of being a "prick tease." Of course, I was a "prick tease," but that didn't give him the right to (a) call me that or (b) take advantage of that. He eventually stopped short of date rape, but I just marvel at how far we have come where "NO" actually means "NO" nowadays, but it didn't back in the 70s. I always saw Sox differently after that experience my freshman year. What an ass! I no longer saw him as the charismatic "Idea Man" that he billed himself to be. I just saw him as the egotistical prick he was. But whenever I hear the word "sox," I do think of Sox and the phones.

By the way, one of our favorite memories from college was the day Sox got arrested for the phone escapade. They even stationed cops below his dorm room in the event he would try to throw the multiple phones out the window, which he was starting to do before he was caught. He eventually had to open the door to the arresting officer. He was hauled off in handcuffs that day. What a doofus. Hard to imagine those days when guys still called girls "prick teases" and didn't know the meaning of the word "no." And hard to imagine getting arrested for hooking up phones on your own.

Wonder whatever happened to Sox. Last I heard, he was a "pre-owned" car salesman. You decide if that's using his power for good or evil???

Random babble

2011-10-27T22:09:00.005-05:00

So apparently, the St. Louis Cardinals won game 6 last night of the World Series. It was all over facebook! Ha! Somehow I truly believe that if I didn't watch it, we had a better chance of winning. And I heard it was a big deal. Something about extra innings. Everyone is seeing red, Cardinal red. I am a fair-weather fan, for sure. But it is good to be on the winning side. And when you're from Missouri, that has happened 10 times... going on 11.

Which brings us to autumn. I love autumn the best. Some people think autumn is the end, the end of summer, the end of warmth. But I see the leaves turning colors is the beginning of God's palette of colors. Sure, there will be dreary days ahead with grays and browns, but it is the red maple leaf that brings me hope that life continues. For without the dreary days of winter, we would not have the beauty of spring, summer, and autumn. I am reminded that it takes the previous seasons' rain, snow, and drought to make the glorious autumn. Sort of like not having the rainbow without the rain. You can explain all about green and oxygen and chlorophyll and rain, but I will always see God with a set of outrageous water colors enjoying this time of year more than we can imagine. Purple, yellow, orange, green, gold, brown, resplendent in hope and joy.

When I was teaching (30 years ago!), I was the yearbook sponsor. No, I did not have a journalism degree but having been on the award-winning newspaper staff in highs school, I knew a good student publication when I saw it. The students and I grew together and learned the ropes step by step. To earn extra money, we sold Boosters for 50 cents a line. I told the kids that if some kid wanted to buy a questionable booster, we took the money and ran. Only when they would come back after the book was produced and questioned our judgment would we reveal that we had edited big time... in order to save my job, of course. There was the occasional "Football players do it in 4 quarters" and "Let's eat tacos in the 'Y'" that did not make it into the booster section. But to appease the kids, I allowed "Ms. B soaks her head in tomato juice." I figured if that was the meanest thing they could say about me, then I would share the laugh.

For all intents and purposes, I should be dead. Just stupid things from childhood. Like doing donuts in a Honda in the back of the capitol building during an ice storm to see how close we could get to the building without hitting it. WTF? Until I was 7, my mother worked nights and my sisters, ages 5, 10, & 11, watched over me. By today's standards, that's child endangerment. But back in the 50s, I was blessed to have such wonderful angels in my life. I didn't see them wearing white robes and gossamer wings with golden halos. They were just beautiful angels with light brown, dark brown, and blond hair. Eyes of blue, hazel, and green, skin so soft. Love so abundant. They loved me unconditionally, changed my diapers, fed me, dressed me, carried me around when I cried, sang to me, rocked me, and protected me. I grew up with these angels and more, a kind neighbor who was like a grandmother, the attendance secretary who knew my sisters had to take off school when one of us was sick, a teacher who always watched over me even when I wasn't in her class, a priest who would miss me if I wasn't at church on Sunday morning, random people who looked out for me even when I didn't know they were out there. Watching over this little kid whose head was obviously soaked in tomato juice... until she could fend for herself.

I still feel those angels around me, checking in with me when I'm down, holding me up when I can't stand, loving me when I don't feel lovable, cheering me on when I can't be my own cheerleader, hugging me when I am low. None of them wear wings, but they all have halos! At least they do in my eyes.

Motherhood

2011-10-27T14:52:00.004-05:00

While IMing with my "mean" bloggy friend about my current state of depression, he gave me another assignment. And it has a deadline so I must get this out without much thinking. I mentioned something about the fact that sometimes I think I shouldn't have had kids. My older sister had 3 at a very young age, and it was 16 years before I, the "baby" of the family, had children. I don't know what possessed me to do such a thing. It's not as if I longed for children all my life or grew up thinking about being a mother. Like the other parts of my life, it just came along as the next step (college, marriage, children etc). My assignment said I couldn't write the 2 lists below side-by-side but one after the other so they weren't parallel. Here goes:

Why I shouldn't have become a mother:

Couldn't afford them (WHAT was I thinking?)
Not a good cook or, worse yet, good planner of meals.
Not spontaneous (no lemonade stands for my kids)
Love to sleep (late and often) yet lived on very little
Not adventurous enough (no skateboards or roller skates or hand gliding)
Our house was never big enough to accommodate more than the 4 us, and sometimes even then, it was too crowded.
Not the volunteer kind of mom (no PTO or room mother here)
Didn't love my husband enough to pass that along to my kids.
My housecleaning skills were questionable (although we didn't live in a pig sty)
Too loud, emotional, depressed to to have children in the mix.

Why I'm a great mother:

Great sense of humor (passed that down to my daughters)
High pain threshold (2 natural births and no tears over skinned knees)
When my older daughter turned 2, I learned how to French braid hair.
Saw the wonder in a rainbow every time.
Strong morals & values (education, commitment, volunteerism, doing the right thing)
Could proofread their papers (only thing my degree/expertise was good for)
Practical (don't cry over spilled milk)
Creative (made all their Halloween costumes)
Tried not to worry too much and passed that along to my kids
I write thank you notes, send birthday cards, and was nice to old people at church

I Should Have Been More Specific

2011-10-18T23:42:00.008-05:00

I received a comment on my previous entry from a stranger. That was kinda weird, thinking someone I don't even know was reading my internet journal. Sure, I know anyone can read this, but who would want to? But seeing my blog reminded me that I have not written in over 3 months. Could be because nothing (I mean practically nothing) has happened in 3 months. But in the last 4 weeks, I have had 3 interviews, bam, bam, bam. The first was with my "dream" job for the 2nd time. That went well, but I did not get it. The 2nd was as a project manager for a publishing company. And the 3rd was for an administrative assistant for the county government. Well, a few days before the 3rd interview, I got an e-mail from the 2nd interview that they wanted to hire me, 4 days after the interview. Part of me was in shock and disbelief because I didn't think anyone offered jobs over e-mail, and the e-mail started out like the standards "thanks but no thanks letter." I couldn't believe I was reading what I was reading. I had to read it twice, even 3 times to make sure I was being offered the job and not just being given the kiss-off. I would receive an offer letter along with the document explaining benefits the next day.

That's when the other shoe dropped. I should have known when I walked into a room for a group interview, and everyone in the interview was the entire team, unlike the other 2 interviews where several interviewed me, but I knew there were a lot more employees elsewhere in the building. All women. For a brief moment, I let myself get excited and planned a mini-vacation since my start date wasn't until November 1. I called to have #1 on the benefits list explained because I couldn't believe what I was reading. No health benefits. Nothing. Sure, they appeared to be a fine group of women and there were sick days and vacation days and comp time, but no health insurance. I was in shock. Incredulous. Angry. Worried. Pissed. Frustrated. I just knew it was because all the other women were married and had their husbands' health benefits. I called an independent insurance agent to find out how much it would cost to get health insurance. Suffice it to say, it would be like making a monthly car payment for a VERY NICE car, but I never get to drive the car... ever. Never. They gave me till Monday to decide.* I sent e-mails to several friends, called sisters, talked to people, and we all came up with one, and only one, conclusion. I had to take the job. In this economy, you just turn down work. I don't have insurance now and no paycheck. At least I will have a paycheck. Many have said to take it and then take the first job with benefits that comes along. But I don't want to work at a job while always looking for another. Yes, I am loyal to a fault, but I don't think it's fair to am employer. Some have told me it's not fair that some companies don't provide benefits. But I canceled plans to visit my friend in Vermont. Looks like I won't be making plans to do anything fun for a very long time. Or, at least, that's the way I feel.

Then it hit me. I should have been more specific. When praying for a job, I should have prayed for one with benefits. Remind me, when I'm praying for a man to pray for one who can still get it up. Make my needs known. Be specific. Next time I pray for a man, I will be praying for one... with benefits!

One sweet friend (from my old job that fired me) said maybe this is God's plan. If so, God has a sick sense of humor. But maybe this is the plan I need to accept. Instead of looking back and thinking, "Mmmm, perhaps that was God's plan," I need to look towards the future and think, "Maybe this is the plan." I don't know. While the job is a good fit, I just can't help but think I will have this black cloud hanging over me. Who knew that the whole time I was looking for a job, I should have been looking for a husband instead.

*The reason they gave me till Monday to decide is a very dear friend from back home died rather suddenly. She was about my age. We went to church together, raised our daughters together. She had chest pains one Tuesday, and her husband took her to the ER. She walked in. They even had to hook her up to machines to determine she was having a heart attack. They did some tests and found out that her blood sugar was sky high. Apparently, she was diabetic but had never gone to the doctor and, therefore, never got it diagnosed or treated. Within 2 days she was transferred to the big university hospital and put on the heart transplant list. WTF? She died the same day as Steve Jobs, the same age, 2 weeks after those first chest pains. My daughters drove back with me to St. Louis for her memorial service. Although they have been to their share of memorial services and funerals, this was the first time they went for the living. That is a big step in maturity, and I was so proud of them. One even brought tissues for me. We since discovered she hated doctors so so never went. And I know she had health insurance. It put things into perspective but, in many ways, made me wonder if I will go to the doctor for yearly physicals and such if I don't have insurance. Still, I wondered why someone with insurance wouldn't take better care of herself. And I worried that, without health benefits, will I take good care of myself? Seems I will have to take better care of myself because I sure as hell can't afford to get sick!

Suck it up and move on

2011-07-08T18:34:00.006-05:00

My "demanding" meanie of a blog friend has not surfaced for a week while he is on vacation, but I am going to blog without prodding. I know he is having a wonderful time with his family and only wish I could be there with them. Having been unemployed for 2 summers, I have not enjoyed myself during those summers, thinking I am undeserving of such frivolity. Even if someone handed me a vacation for free, I would probably deny myself, feeling unworthy.

I have not had many nibbles of jobs to apply for recently which is one of the big problems when the largest employer in town bans you from applying. For those curious, I was tenacious in contacting the lawyer, having e-mailed him once and calling twice before I simply walked into his office today in my sweaty walking clothes. He made me wait but gladly met with me to hear my situation. It didn't take him long to conclude that he can be of no help to me. He said it was obvious that my supervisors wanted to get rid of me and used the HIPAA violation as a reason. And since I had not worked there long, there was nothing much we could fight. Suck it up and move on was basically his message. I would have had to file a grievance within 10 days of being fired, and I was still curled up in a ball by then so it's not as if I missed the cut-off by a day or so. Funny, I wasn't that upset by his conclusion. I assumed that's what it would be. I would have been surprised if it had been different. On the good side, he said that people rarely win grievances against the university. I am to contact him if I am denied unemployment in order to file an appeal. I told the lawyer that I had written my side of the story to put in my file, and he encouraged me to send that to my supervisors with a copy to HR which I did at 3:55 in hopes it got to them before the weekend. That felt good to do, and I guess I just need to move on. I found this quote in a book a friend sent me this week:

You have to accept whatever comes and the only important thing is
that you meet it with courage and with the best you have to give.

Eleanor Roosevelt

As before, waking up early and moving is the key as much as I hate it. I woke up early today for a dentist appointment and did not go back to sleep when I got home from my walk. I felt good walking into the lawyer's office without an appointment, determined. I felt good sending that attachment to my file to my former supervisors. I felt good today. I continue to watch "The Waltons" in the afternoons and wondered why. Such a simple life. Listening to each other's stories as entertainment, hard work, writing in long hand, terrific parenting, home cooking, helping others, appreciating every little thing. And if you notice, people during this time worked so hard that they rarely had time to be depressed. And ironically, they were living during the Depression! I think that, alone, sends us a valuable message. May I channel that spirit and hope. I continue to type my friend's family history and marvel at the hardships people from the past had to endure and how easy our lives are now and how whiny we all are, especially me. I think both of these experiences are helping me appreciate my days.

I continue to take deep breaths, try to exercise, stay in touch with friends, appreciate the friends who keep me in their prayers, and thank God for my good health.

Jewel, Lover, Prayer

2011-07-03T00:29:00.005-05:00

I've been a very bad blogger. Let the finger wagging begin. I had 3 assignments for the weekend while my "shadow" was away from cyberspace. He's going to reappear tomorrow and find out that I didn't complete my assignments, and, boy, will I be in trouble. When I asked him why he is making me write, he said, "If you were a potter, I would encourage you to make pottery. If you were a painter, I would make you paint. You are a writer. Write." And so I write.

Yesterday's topic was my cat Jewel. I have already written a whole missive about my lovely kitty Jewel, so sweet I named her after my favorite high school teacher. Jewel was a teenage unwed mother, a whore on the street, when my daughter found her. She had nursed her kitties and lived on the street when a neighbor took her to be spayed. If you remember, I assured my daughter that no outdoor cat could willingly become an indoor cat. And yet, from the minute she brought me Clio (her street name), she walked out of her crate, curled up in my lap, and never looked back. The door has accidentally been left opened twice, and she has stayed far away and said, "I don't think so. I did that once. I'm staying in here." She purrs, kisses me, never jumps on things, never misses her litter box, doesn't shed much, and loves her belly to be rubbed. Purr delight.

And then in came McMurphy. A friend of mine just earned her PhD and does not know where the wind will take her. She longs to live in DC where apartments are costly and even more so if you own a pet. So I said I would take her very large black cat named Mr. McMurphy. She is Irish so I assume he is, too. Black Irish. Tee hee! He is beautiful, moves like a gazelle as he jumps on top of the refrigerator and perches on top of the cabinets for a better view. Or to get away from that evil mean bitch Jewel. I had never heard a hiss out of my sweet Jewel until I introduced the interloper. Man, is she pissed. Why would I do this to her? She hisses and bats at him, and he stands there, all 20 lbs of him (you read that right) and says, "What? What did I do?" But I have watched him wait for her around the corner and jump out at her so she will chase at him and hiss and bat her claws at his face like a pugilistic fur toy. He is clawless. And clueless.

She must eat first and get the first lap of fresh water. When she walks through the room, he jumps to different levels of height to stay out of her way. 6 weeks later and they both sleep on the bed with me, but he is relegated to the bottom by a stare while she sleeps next to me. I have watched them eat together now but can hear her low growling the whole time. She does not understand why I had to bring him in to her life. I see other cats get along and dream of the day they will wrap up in each others' fur and give each other kitty baths. I screwed up by not putting one behind a closed door for a week until curiosity overtook one of them. And now I am regretting the way they were introduced to each other. All of sudden, without gradually introducing one another. The basket a friend made Jewel never got the time of day until McMurphy came along, and now she curls up in her kitty basket as if to say, "Mine, mine mine." I'm hoping when the weather gets colder, they will need each other for warmth and be sweet sister and brother to each other. Until then, there's a whole lot of hissing going on.

My next assignment was to describe or explain my first lover. Wow, that is harder than one might think. So we're just going to leave that one alone for now.

My 3rd assignment, not even required in blog form, was to write a prayer. Wow, that is an overwhelming assignment. Profound, powerful. I could just whisper it in my head as I do every night before I got to bed. But I think its important to write the words. But before I do this, let me tell you about my day. I woke up early to wake up my daughter Dorothy for work since she overslept yesterday after only 4 hrs of sleep after working all night. I felt bad since she is working 2 jobs, 40-50 hrs a week while I'm doing jack shit. So after greeting her already awake butt, I promptly went back to bed. Who wakes up at 6:30 on a Saturday morning?? I had a breakfast date at 9:30 and my alarm went off at its usual time which is 7. I stayed in bed and dosed off and on till 8:30 when I got out of bed for a shower. He called and said he would be late so I checked my e-mail and read an e-mail inviting me over to a friend's house for BLTs and ice cream on a hot steamy day. My friend and I showed up at Panera's at the same time for pastries and Diet Coke (Ok, he had coffee, ewww!). I have known this friend since we turned 16 that summer of '73 and now live in the same time. He had called out of the blue the other day and I told him my news which is what prompted breakfast. After small talk, he asked how I really was doing, and I told him. I was hopeful when I told him I was thinking about filing a grievance and getting this off my record. He held my hand and said, "You absolutely have to do this. And if you need the money for a lawyer, do not hesitate to ask." Can you say overwhelmed with gratitude? It wasn't the money; it was the gesture. If any stranger had seen us at the place with my hands in his and tears in my eyes and that sweet look on his face, they might have thought we were having an affair. But we have been the dearest of brother/sister friends for so long that that is almost laughable, and we knew exactly what was going on. And then he said, "What else do I need to do? Kick your butt? Call you once a week? Get you out of the house?" Yes, Yes, Yes, and Yes. We left with a hug while he reminded me to ask if I needed a check. Afterwards, I went to the friends' house for BLT's and ice cream for the rest of the afternoon. I don't think I had been out of the house and away from the tv and my computer for this long in, well, a month. Next up, I went to a friend's new house and helped him straighten him up his living quarters. Then went to Wal-Mart for power strips and to a sports bar for dinner. All total, I was away from the house for 12 hours without a panic attack, without my stomach flip flopping, without shaking with fear at large spaces and loud noises. I tell myself every day but do not remember it well, that once I am out of bed and out in the world, I am much better. Please help remind me.

So my prayer is this, as it is every night:

Dear God, Father, Mother, Creator,
Thank you for my continued good health.
I never want to take that for granted. For that, I am grateful.
Thank you, especially, for those people in my life who love, comfort, and support me.
I could not go through this difficult time without that support. I am blessed.
I don't know what I did to deserve such joyful loving family and friends.
May I never take them for granted.
Watch over x, y, and z (those people I won't mention by name)
who need You to wrap Your loving arms around them.
Lord, give me strength to go on another day.
Grant me courage to do what I need to do.

Where I "Want" to be in a year?

2011-06-30T00:58:00.001-05:00

Today's assignment is "Where I want to be in a year." He said, "Not where you see yourself or not where you feel you'll be, but where you want to be." All I thought was "Oh shit."

First, let me explain that one of the symptoms of depression is seeing no future, no hope so how am I supposed to know where the fuck I want to be in a year. Okay, I want to be employed. I want to be happy. I want to be happily employed. But I don't see that possible with my past following me, my past employment history. Ever since I was laid off at the big publishing company and then blackballed from ever working there again, I have not been happily employed (except for that time at Planned Parenthood that I loved more than anything). People should not take liking their jobs for granted.

I want to wake up in the morning and be glad to be alive, not dread another day. I want to wake up and hit the ground running and feel as if I am helping people and doing some good in this world. I want to pay my bills and not worry. I want to go out with friends every once in a while and laugh. Oh God, I want to laugh. I can't even remember what that feels like. I want the weight in my chest to go away. I want my heart to stop beating out of my chest. I want to stop sleeping to avoid life. I want to be powerful and in control. I want my kids to see me the way they saw me when they were growing up, not as this weak, whimpering, depressed shell of a human. I want someone in my life who makes my heart skip a beat when I hear/feel my phone go off or when I see him on-line so we can chat or when I see him in person. I want to feel love again. I want to be loved again. And did I already say, I want to laugh again?

While we're on the subject, I found this yesterday on a website (as I have signed up to received depression news, literally, news about depression, not depressing news). It's as if someone interviewed me and took notes.

Writing in a journal is another technique to get in tune with your moods and feelings, and it "can be very helpful for some people," Viguera adds. When charting or journaling, note any common symptoms or signs of depression and how severe they are, such as:
A feeling of sadness that persists
Difficulty sleeping or sleeping more than usual
Changes in appetite (eating more or less than usual)
Withdrawing from social interaction
Losing interest in hobbies or pleasurable activities
Lack of energy
Problems concentrating and remembering
Feeling hopeless, helpless, or negative

So, I guess I will be "journaling" more "to get in tune with my moods and feelings." How 'bout I don't want to get in tune with my moods and feelings? They are all too damn depressing.

Writing Assignment

2011-06-29T21:53:00.005-05:00

He said I had to write in my blog. He said I needed to get it out on "paper." And because I so want to please him and because he never lies (and tells me this will help), I am compliant.

Since my last entry in March, things went from a little better to absolutely horrible. And I thought I was depressed before. Ha ha ha ha! Once I went to my doctor and doubled my dose of anti-depressants with the occasional lorazepam included, life at that crappy job got a little better. I stopped being so nervous that my horrible supervisors who wanted to see me fired were looking over my shoulder every day and started not caring if no one at work talked to me. I even interviewed for a dream job, and although I didn't get it, I felt uplifted that there might be a future.

And then June 2nd happened. I got fired. I have never been fired from a job in my life. The actual date of events happened June 1st, but my supervisors fired me the next day, 4 weeks ago tomorrow. They said I violated a HIPAA code. As most doctors, nurses, and lawyers will tell you, they hate HIPAA. A concerned professor called The Counseling Center for a 2nd time concerned about a student. He said he had been concerned for 3 semesters, and because the student was an international student (foreign), the professor did not feel the student grasped the seriousness of this behavior. At that point, I reiterated our procedure that involved having the student call and have his name put on a referral list. The referral counselor would return the student's call and take 1 of 3 courses of actions: 1) refer the student to an outside counselor (for the summer); 2) put his name down on a waiting list to be called for a future appointment; or 3) encourage the student to come in as a walk-in (crisis). I could not tell the professor if the student had called us or not or which course of action had been taken, and the professor understood but was still concerned. The professor had told me his name at the beginning of the phone call which I wrote down as a habit.

A few hours later the counselor in charge of referrals came down with the waiting list of student for us to call for appointments. I glanced at the list and noticed no foreign name on it and wondered what happened to this young man. Did he fall through the cracks? She said she had made calls, and these were the students she got ahold of or who called her back when she left a message to do so. When I saw that this student's name was not on the list, in my mind he was not a client of our Center, and, therefore, I could alert the professor that the student was not getting help. Since I had written down the professor's name at the beginning of the earlier conversation, I decided to drop him an e-mail to that effect. Ironically, I couldn't remember the student's name nor can I now so I didn't even use his name in the e-mail (which would have violated FERPA). To make a long story short (Oh my God, I'm making this long story excruciatingly longer.), my supervisors got wind of the e-mail. The next day they called me into their office as I was getting ready to leave and read me my termination letter. They didn't ask for my motivation (which was to help the student) or my intention (which was to help the student) or my side of the story (which was to help the student). I started to cry and said, "All I was thinking was getting that student some help." I went to my office, and they followed as I packed a box of my things and sobbed the whole time. Damn, how I wish I had the guts to have said, dry-eyed, "I'd rather be fired for helping a student than keep my job while doing nothing." They needed to hear that. Can I have a do-over?

To say I am devastated is an understatement. I am a single woman barely making ends meet from paycheck to paycheck who needs benefits and has nothing right now. Nothing except my health. Each day and each night, I thank God for my health. I have been thinking that I need to make a grateful list every day so I can snap out of this depression. All I have been thinking lately is what a failure I am. The word keeps resonating in my brain every day. Failure failure failure. I majored in English which was stupid. I married the wrong man. I failed at teaching (or at least quit before I could make it a career). I failed at publishing when I couldn't stay on with the publishing company after being laid off. I failed at finding a job after my lay-off. I failed at falling in love when I managed to fall in love with a drunk. I failed at my first job on campus. Fail fail fail is all I could hear in my head. And now I have failed at helping some student and lost my job over trying. As much as I don't want to wake up some mornings, I know not to try anything permanent because I would probably fail at that, too. Will anything ever go right for me? When will this cycle of failure end? When will this dark cloud leave me?

I would not be coping today if it weren't for my friends who check in on me almost daily. My dearest bloggy friend who "demanded" I write in my blog, who called me during a panic attack last week and talked me back down to earth while hugging me through the airwaves, who texts me that I matter, who wags his finger at me lovingly for not calling when I need him. Where would I be without him? My friend who is moving and "demanded" I come help her pack and forced me out of my dark room and made me feel better by getting out of the house. What a better day I had because of her. My bloggy "sister" who sent me her family tree to retype to keep my hands (and mind) busy. I'm actually enjoying learning about her Irish family. She calls from time to time to make sure I'm okay. She's been where I am. My one friend at work who calls every once in a while to make sure I am okay and offers prayers for me and is convincing me I need to file a grievance against these incompetent supervisors. She makes me feel stronger than I think I am. My old high school buddy, who I barely knew in high school but have become reacquainted with on facebook, and his girlfriend send me messages of love from Florida. What did I do to deserve this kindness? My best friend who I've known since 1st grade calls to check in on me and has me come to her house for comfort and lets me hold her grandson to remind me what a future would be like with a grandbaby in my arms. I love her like a sister. And my sisters who call or e-mail to check up on me.

The high school friend's girlfriend reminded me today from Al-Anon, "When I got busy, I got better." Today was an example of that. Helping someone pack. Tomorrow I am going for a walk with a choir friend. And I am going to grow a set of balls and follow through on filing a grievance against the university for not putting me on administrative leave first while reviewing the situation. I have to get mad. No one asked me my side or care what m intentions were and that is reprehensible in my opinion. And the question remains whether I violated a HIPAA code to begin with since it's fraught with gray areas. On good days I remember the friends who care so deeply for me. Not everyone is so blessed to be surrounded by so many angels.

So is my assignment done, dear friend? I think I feel better just getting this down on "paper." Keep after me. I love you for loving me.

No Joy in Mudville

2011-03-06T19:27:00.003-06:00

It's true. I have hit the bottom of my depression and I am living a joyless life. I am so miserable right now that waking up and going to work takes every bit of my effort. I've just spent most of the weekend in bed in a dark room watching television and napping. For the first time in my life I truly understand not wanting to live. I am not living a happy life, a fulfilled life, a life worth living, and sometimes I wish I would just not wake up. There's a thin line between wanting to kill yourself and wanting not to wake up. I am walking that fine line.

My new job is not working out. I have been brought in and given a warning that there needs to be immediate improvement. Or what? I don't know. They would have terminated me earlier, but they found a problem in the system that they didn't do it soon enough and now must wait. So I am just waiting for the other shoe to drop. (It's too complicated to explain.) I have done everything I have been asked and quickly, but I think I am the rebound "boyfriend" from the previous person they really liked. I think I've been set up from the beginning and destined to fail. There is someone at the front desk who won't talk to me... oh, except to correct me. That's how she is showing me the ropes. I just started crying the other day when she told me one more thing that I screwed up. She has never said "hello" or asked me how I am since I started in November. I have done everything I can can to be friendly and helpful. When anyone needs me to check in students at the front desk, I am ready, willing, and able, but that doesn't seem to count. I took an 8-hr statistics calls the other Saturday and didn't understand a thing, but that doesn't count. I walk around at lunch in tears wondering what I have done wrong. I leave every day dejected and in tears. I have no friends there and am terribly lonely and frustrated.

It all goes back to 2003 when I was laid off from my job of 18 yrs at a major publishing company. If I had not lost my job as an editor, I would still be there, still be living in St. Louis, and probably still married. Amazing what you can put up with when one thing in your life is going ok. Or even 2. I had a great job I loved and great kids who filled up my life. When I lost my job, my kids were on the way out the door and my ex was not very supportive so my world fell apart. That's when I moved to be closer to my daughters. Ok, so I did it all wrong. I poured myself into my children's lives, and now that they are grown, I am nothing. I feel like nothing. But going back to 2003, I spent 3 yrs in St. Louis looking for work with this stupid English degree. I never did find something except temp work here or there, administrative assistant work that paid 1/2 what I was making. My life has not been complete since then. Oh, did I mention that I tried to find work back at the publishing company but was blackballed by one of the higher-ups who didn't like me for some unknown reason. It took my friends (which included my former boss) and me a year of interviews to find this out. To this day, I don't know what I did to piss her off since I never worked for her or with her.

So I packed my things up, left my husband, and moved 2 hrs away to be closer to my kids and find work in a college town. My first job was as a sexual health educator for Planned Parenthood. For 18 months, I had the best job in the world and was the happiest I have ever been. (It helped that I had met the love of my life at the same time.) I was no longer living with a man who took me for granted and never wanted to have sex with me. But that job soon evaporated with the budget crunch, and I was back on the job market. I soon found a job as an admin asst at the university and enjoyed my work. That is, with the exception of working next to the most unprofessional, inappropriate, disrespectful man I have ever had to horror to meet. He came and went as he pleased while I answered his phone and took his messages. He, of course, is still working there while I got laid off due to budget cuts at the university. After 4 months of unemployment, I landed this next job which is not working out and making my life miserable.

This is not how I thought my life would turn out. I am trying to spend less time on facebook because, frankly, I can't stand reading how happy and successful all these "friends" are. Vacations, grandchildren, shopping sprees, happy happy people who have wonderful lives. I am barely hanging on. I am so fucking tired of saying "At least I have my health." I realize I am blessed to have 2 healthy children. I am tired of this lonely feeling in the pit of my stomach. I am tired of feeling worthless and useless. My sisters want to take me on a vacation, and I can't even think that far away. I can barely think about tomorrow because it's just one more day of misery, one more day of loneliness and worthlessness. I just wish I didn't wake up some morning. Then I wouldn't hurt so much.

Part III or How Good It Is to Have Insurance Benefits

2011-01-18T17:24:00.006-06:00

Now do you know why I split this up into 3 parts? Too much for one entry, but I am writing this down for me since I doubt that anyone reads my blog any more. It's best this way.

The entire summer I did not go to the dentist like I needed. My annual physical and mammogram were due, but I knew I couldn’t get it. I called 2 insurance companies that offered free mammograms out of a boobie van, but neither called me back for an appointment. Being the sister of a breast cancer survivor, all I could think about was how this would impact me if I missed my yearly mammogram.

Luckily for me, my 3-month supply of drugs came the week I was laid off and now they were running out just as I was hired. What a wonderful coincidence!! Something was finally going right. So I finally got a job and was rehired back at the university the first of November. A week after I started back to work my next 3-month supply of drugs came to my door. Hallelujah. I am a lucky woman despite all the shit I have had to endure.

UNTIL THREE WEEKS into my new job. I went to apply for benefits before the deadline and couldn’t get into the application site so I called the benefits office. The reason I couldn’t apply for benefits??? That’s because I not only STILL HAD THEM, but I had them the whole time I was laid off. Yes, you read that right. Apparently, my July paycheck paid for August's bennies, and my September paycheck (the one that was late because of that signature) paid for October's. And oh, by the way, the benefits' rep said, "You OWE us for November. How would you like to pay for that?" Are you kidding me? I could have done medical things this whole time? And now I had to pay my insurance retroactively for a month when I didn’t work so I don’t go without for a month (on paper) and have to start up again. Did you get that? In my favor, the benefits lady called me the next week and said they would “help” me out by taking it out of my next 3 paycheck in equal amounts so I was not shocked by the deduction in one paycheck.

How stupid could I be? When I told the benefits lady what happened, she said, “Well, it was explained in that packet that they gave you the day you were laid off.” (I guess it’s a standard packet for lay-offs.) Ultimately, this is clearly all my fault. Depression can do that to a person. I don’t even remember weeks 11 and 12 as I never got out of my dark room, not once. But can I just say, when you lay off someone after their kid’s wedding and when they are in a state of shock, you might want to point out two things: one, sign that piece of paper getting the paperwork processed before you leave the building, and two, don’t lose sleep over your benefits. They call what happened to me as “temporary work stoppage” and I was covered with benefits as long as I got a paycheck because they always take the deductions out a month ahead, not behind. Instead, they clearly did not have their shit together, and with my shit not together, it was a clusterfuck.

Now I need to call for my annual physical, my pap smear, my dental check-up, my prescription renewal, and my cat’s vet appointment. Okay, I don’t think my benefits cover that last one, but I sure didn’t think I was covered the entire time I was laid off either so I might be in for another surprise. I was glad when 2010 was over and we can move forward to 2011. Seems odd years are better for me as 2007 and 2009 were good years and 2006, 2008, and 2010 were sucky.

But speaking of sucky and depressing, I have come to the conclusion that now that I am in my 50s, life is like "Ole Man River." It just keeps gong along. I am in a job where I have no friends and have to be quiet most of the time. I sit by myself, do my various jobs, eat by myself at my desk, walk around campus by myself, and am never allowed to be myself. I guess teaching in my early years and teaching sex ed were my happiest times for being myself. There is very little interaction between or among people at work because it is a counseling center where we all must be vewwy vewwy quiet. And don't give me any shit about not being able to be quiet. I can. But today, I got frantic because I was on a phone that was unfamiliar to me and lost a call. It was a parent, and I was trying to transfer her call. When it didn't work out, I called over to the young man whose phone it is for help. Well, apparently, I was too frantic in front of a client, and the very calm, very quiet woman who works there "told" on me. Our boss came into my office later in the afternoon and wanted my side of the story, but I thought, "You have got to be kidding me??" I didn't even remember a client at the desk when the phone was fucking up. That very quiet, very calm, very austere woman has never said an encouraging word or a kind word or a helpful word to me since I have started. She is not mean or unkind. It's just her personality and her culture (African). I was assured that the young man at the front desk would have to start dressing more appropriately since we're, well, at the front desk, and in the 3 months I've been there all I have seen him wear is ratty nasty jeans and wrinkled tops (tee or shirts). But I would never think to run to the boss to complain.

So all afternoon I have been thinking about happiness and whether I will ever be happy at work and will I ever feel like I belong and will I ever enjoy my life ever again? Mind you, not having a relationship with anyone at work is far better than my last job where I worked with that totally unprofessional and inappropriate asshole. I really liked my publishing job and feel that once I was laid off in '03, my life has never and will never be the same. I made good money, was good at what I did, traveled, had wonderful friends at work, and felt a sense of accomplishment with each project. I floated around from job to job for years after that, eventually moving to leave my husband (because I couldn't find a decent job and be single in that town). My favorite job in all my life was teaching sex ed for Planned Parenthood, and my favorite year was 2007 when I was in love. I am convinced I will never have a more wonderful job or a more wonderful love or a more wonderful life. And that's ok. I'm not putting myself out there because there is no "out there" to put myself in. That single tenured, soon-to-be-retired professor with a working prostate who loves to go to the theater and travel simply doesn't exist. That wonderful job where I can be myself (outgoing, fun-loving, inventive, motivated) and have friends to go to lunch with and enjoy in and out of work simply doesn't exist. Not in my current life. Not in my field... which is nothingness. I don't have a field.

Add to it a daughter who lives with me and has no goals to move on. I have told her to have something in mind by June 1 or she's out. She does not clean her room, she does not clean up after herself, she drops by to take a shower and then goes back over to her boyfriend's to spend the night. I am embarrassed and frustrated by her actions and lack of actions. She has so many options, and I understand that she might have "option shock," but how many college grads get the opportunity to veg out, work, save money, and decide what she wants to be "when she grows up." I am grateful that she is healthy, not knocked-up, drug-addicted, or unemployed. She is just fucking irresponsible for the most part. I never got that perk in life. I graduated in Dec at the age of 21 and moved to the big city to teach and be on my own. (And in daughter's defense, I would have killed my mother if I had moved in with her after college graduation. Dorothy's moving in with me must speak well to our relationship.)

And then I have to be there when my other daughter calls to complain about her year and her classes and her students. That's what moms are for. But it's only at her convenience. She is rarely, if ever, there for me and hasn't been there since the divorce. Our relationship is completely different since then, and while I don't want to "blame" the divorce, it just seems like a huge coincidence.

Guess I better figure out that odd phone at work so no one "tattles" on me for getting frantic when I lose someone while trying to transfer a call. I guess I would just give my life a B- or C+ right now. Just blah. Not depressing, but certainly not all that happy.

Part II cont... How depression can really fuck up your life

2010-12-15T09:43:00.002-06:00

Let’s fast forward now to July 20^th when I returned from my daughter’s wedding, wishing I had taken more time off. The dean’s assistant called me into his office before I even had a chance to sit down and change my shoes. We had a new dean start June 1, and he had not given me the time of day in 7 weeks. Now I know why. You don’t get to know someone you’re about to axe. Before I sat down (with my notepad and paper to take notes…Ha!), he said, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news…” After that I didn’t hear much. His assistant was there to serve as a witness in case I went postal, I guess. I heard him say, “I assure you that this is a budget cut, not a performance issue.” He let me know that I could be COBRA’d into benefits, but I almost laughed at that because if you’ve ever dealt with COBRA, you know you can’t afford this option when you’ve just lost your job. I remember he said I would get paid for 2 more weeks. That was my severance, and I assumed the last of my benefits, too. I was handed a packet of papers and told I could come back later to clean off my desk if it was too hard now with people in the office. WHAT PEOPLE? The asshole hadn’t shown up yet that morning, and the woman I had driven back and forth to work who was walking in the summer months hadn’t shown up to work. Overslept as usual while I held down the fort. I suspect they both knew what was coming and were too chicken to show up.

So I did what I knew how to do on Tuesday: send out thank you letters… because who else would do that? Halfway through, my printing privileges were cut off. I fought back the tears because I knew if I started, there was no stopping. Every few minutes the dean’s assistant came back to me to rip another epaulet off my coat like they do in the French Foreign Legion. “Can I have your ID badge?” “We need your keys.” “I have to get your procard.” Why didn’t she have a check list of things she needed and come to me ONCE, not several times. I texted 2 friends and my sister and kept a stiff upper lip while I cleaned things off while waiting for my printing rights to be restored so I could finish the 60 letters to donors. Eventually, I got the cart so I could take my things out. (Amazing what we amass in such a short time.) I filled out the paperwork that included my passwords and contact information and left it with the dean’s assistant. As I started down the hall, a good friend (who had joined choir with me) saw me and asked if I needed help. I did not want any, but she insisted. She ran down a floor while I took the elevator and waited with my things while I went to get my car. I didn’t dare start to cry, and I did not want to hug this friend good bye for fear I would, but again she insisted. I jumped in my car and sobbed all the way home, scared out of my gourd, dejected, humiliated, depressed, angry, frightened, mortified. The pieces were not coming together yet, but they would little by little.

But first I dropped a note off in the mailbox of my former boss who had decimated my character. I thanked her (in my sarcastic way) for making the last 3 weeks of my time there the most unbearable, humiliating time of my life. I assumed that everyone knew about my review when, in fact, they probably were privy to my lay-off and felt uncomfortable around me. But why the silent treatment? But more importantly, I taped her house key to the note and said, “Do not fear I will come to your house any more with your key. And you might have to get someone else to scoop your cats’ poop when you’re out of town.” Yep, that’s right. I watched her cats when she was out of town.

I took to my room in the dark and crashed. I gave myself that day to feel sorry for myself, no, that week before I would pull myself up and start looking for work. After all, I had 2 weeks’ pay! The guy I am/was seeing at the time came by after work so worried and upset for me. When he wanted to take me to the local bar, I suggested that I have a glass of wine and he be the designated driver. He looked at me like I was explaining quantum equations. Nope, he started ordering drinks for himself because, like I said, he was so worried and upset. I shook my head, knowing I had better find me another man. One who doesn’t drink this time.

I sat in that dark bedroom with Dr. Oz, The Ghost Whisperer, Oprah, and Dr. Phil for the rest of the week. (The shows, not the actual people) I did sign up for unemployment but thought they would deny me until my 2 weeks 'pay was over. Oh well. I got a letter from The Division of Employment Security the next week to call because of a glitch. I assumed it was the 2-weeks’ pay when, in fact, they wanted to know whether I was faculty. If I were faculty at the university, my July lay-off might become an August rehire so they wouldn’t pay out. But since I was staff, that wasn’t going to happen. I remember saying, “Is there anything else I need to do to get benefits started?” and the woman saying, “No, you are good to go.” Stupid, stupid, stupid. It never dawned on me that she meant…”in regards to this query” because I interpreted it to mean that I didn’t need to do anything in order to get unemployment benefits. That stupid decision made in the height of depression cost me over thousands of dollars.

A few weeks later I got an e-mail through facebook from the dean’s assistant. Do you remember I said I left my contact information with the office before I left? Do you realize that having worked there for 2 years, everyone had my personal e-mail and cell #? This woman and I weren’t even facebook friends and this is how she contacted me??? I know tons of people who choose not to get messages through facebook so would have never received this very important e-mail. She mentioned that payroll had not received my signed whatever form from that packet I was given on my last day. I never even looked at that packet that I thought merely explained my stupid COBRA benefits that I would never be able to afford. So I e-mailed payroll and explained the problem and assured them I would get this signed piece of paper to them ASAP. Apparently, it was something about not suing them for being laid off and they couldn’t give me that 2 weeks of pay without it. Stupid stupid stupid. Again, when she was coming to me constantly that day to ask for things to be returned, why didn’t she point out that I had to sign something before I left rather than wait 3 weeks now for the signature to get paid? With that done, I would get that 2-weeks of pay but “we” had missed the cut-off date for it to be done expeditiously. Another fuck up, but I move on. I cannot sleep and often stay up till 5 every morning. I wake up every day around noon or 1 even though everyone assures me I should go exercise and get out in the sub every day. Waking up to watch Dr. Oz, which is on at 1 here, was my goal every day. I would apply for jobs which is done entirely on-line these days, never forcing anyone to get out into the sunshine or mingle with people. I always got dressed and always made my bed, but short of that, I often found myself in a darken room day after day, too depressed to get out of my bedroom. It wasn’t the lay-off. It was that damn review that did me in.

I did not get a call for an interview until week #8. And remember, I have never once gotten onto the unemployment website to report my time. Luckily, I was smart enough to keep accurate records of who I contacted, for what position, when, and their response. However, that meant nothing in the end. Sometime in September I noticed that money had reached my bank account. I stupidly thought that it was unemployment when it turned out to be that 2 weeks’ pay that was late in coming because of that signature I owed them. This is important information. Halfway through October, I realize something is up and call The Office of Employment Security. That woman says my account had been closed because they hadn’t heard from me 28 days past my registering. WTF?? What have I done now?? I forgot or, in my depressed stupor, never updated my status weekly. (I had some savings that was I was using to pay my bills.) The woman and I were in shock and she scrambled to try to save me by offering for me to request my unemployment benefits retroactively. She sent me the forms dating back to July 20^th in hopes I could log all my contacts and would get paid. And remember that log I kept? Thank God, because I now had weeks and weeks of paperwork to fill out to get paid retroactively. I did so gladly in hopes it would work. Long story, short. It did not. I was denied. Stupid stupid stupid. I can repeal, but I haven’t figured that out.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Part I

2010-12-01T21:46:00.005-06:00

I wrote and wrote and wrote today and after 5 pages realized no one would read it. So I am parceling out the next bits of information in installments. And I didn't write this for anyone but myself. I just needed to get it out. (My HR friend in Boston is going to have a field day with this one.)

Ok, how’s this for feeling stupid stupid stupid?? Or otherwise titled: How depression can fuck you over big time. And I mean BIG TIME. But that may take till Parts 2 and 3 to explan to bear with me. Details. Okay, so I lost my job in July. I was devastated to say the least, but I have been through a job loss before. That’s not what really knocked me off my feet. I hate to divulge these not-so-pretty details, but they play a big part in my crash of the Summer of 2010.

My boss, who I really really liked and admired, was retiring July 2^nd. Two days before she retired, she reviewed me. Now, get this? I had not been reviewed since I had started 2 years earlier! I had assumed it was because we got no raises at the university so why bother with a review. I take that back. She tried to review me at 6 months, but because the asshole I worked with who had my job before me wouldn’t release information about my job, I was in no way, shape, or form ready to take over from him at 6 months. So she said she would review me later when I had a better grasp of my job. Make it clear that the young man whose position I took over (and was now the event planner for the college) was the most unprofessional, inappropriate, juvenile asshole I have ever had the pleasure of working with. We do not have flex time at the university, but he came and went as he pleased. As the events coordinator, it is understandable that he would take some flex time right after he coordinated an event and worked overtime. No grudges there. But he did it ALL THE TIME. Came in around 10, left at 10:30 for a soda at McDonalds, came back at 11, went to lunch at 11:30 for 2 hrs, and this went on day after day after day. In the 22 months I worked there, he was at work ON TIME fewer than 5 times. But of course, I had to answer his phone (which I am always happy to do), but he would never say where he was so I looked like an idiot on a daily basis. And then because of control issues, he would leak out information about my job a little at a time, watching me fall on my face over and over. He loved watching this, and yet I handled it my way. He loved taking advantage of me. I tried my best to make the situation lighthearted. I joked when he joked, answered his phone, took his messages, tried to get along, tried to do things on my own when I could, and did anything he asked of me (in the area of planning events). I can’t tell you the number of times he planned something and then didn’t show up and I was left coordinating the event.

So back to my review. TWO days before my boss retired, she gave me a review that knocked me off my feet. I have never in all my years of working read such a horrible piece of criticism. She blamed me for everything wrong that ever happened over the 2 years I had worked there. Said I was negative, not a team player, inappropriate, and had asked to be treated so poorly by this co-worker. I sat there in her office incredulous. I was in shock. Never once had she given me any direction or goals, said she did not like my work, felt I was inadequate. I did everything she ever asked of me, made her travel arrangements, paid her bills for reimbursement, ordered her supplies, redid every file n that office, made sure her office ran smoothly during 3 her surgeries. (Since she was retiring and knew it, she got some maintenance work done.) She indicated I was not happy there and needed to look elsewhere to find fulfillment in life. I kid you not. (Mind you, I had just orchestrated a retirement party for her the week before.) So I took this review rather hard. I sat there devastated and couldn’t speak while trying not to cry. When I took a breath, I said, “I can’t respond right now.” And I got on my tennis shoes while she said, “Go get some fresh air.” I walked out of the building and started sobbing uncontrollably. Deep, gasping sobs. I had no idea the implications, but I was devastated that (a) someone thought of me like this and (b) I had been given no indications this was coming. While walking to get some air, my daughter (the bride) called. There was no way I could hide my heaving sobs as she asked, “What’s wrong, Mom?” For the first time in a long time, she was so supportive of me. She was so angry with my boss. She knew I thought do highly of her, and she had hated the little pipsqueak I worked with for the entire time because of the way he treated her when she called or dropped by my office. She had no tolerance for his juvenile and inappropriate behavior even when I defended him and said he was good at what he did. She was livid. So she suggested we blow that “banana stand” and go shopping for her bridesmaids' gifts. Luckily, I had my tennis shoes on, my phone and debit card with me. So I texted my boss and said I was taking a sick day. No joke. Left my desk as is, light on, computer on, shoes, purse, backpack still sitting there at my cube. As she was taking the office out for her retirement lunch that day, I told her to go without me. She texted back that lunch would not be the same without me and she would reschedule for the next day when I returned. So off to the outlet mall we went.

When I returned the next day (all my things still at my desk), not one person said a word to me from that day forward. I kid you not. No one asked where I had gone. No one wondered why I left my light on. We all went to lunch and I was reserved, and the mood was definitely somber, but no one engaged a conversation with me. The next day, my boss’s last day, I left a long letter on her desk telling her how devastated I was by her review and that I felt I needed to write a rebuttal for my file. I told her that everyone must know what happened because no one would talk to me, and I was humiliated beyond belief. I got a lot out of my system but knew this format was not professional. Besides, she had not given me a copy of my review for me to approach point by point. (Remember, I had walked out.) I had decided I would take the afternoon off so I did not have to say good bye to her. She asked me to come in around 11 and talk because she didn’t want to leave “that way.” So I listened to her defend her piece of garbage while I sat there stone-faced. When I got up, she asked for a hug. You read that right. She said how much she enjoyed working with me and she hoped this didn’t put a wedge between us. I kid you not. I had to bite my lip from crying all over again. So there you have it. No way to repair the damage. No way to redeem myself. No way to make any goals because, guess what, Folks, she didn’t give me any. So off I went for my July 4^th weekend to keep a stiff upper lip at my daughter’s bridal shower while my world was crashing all around me.

For the next 2 weeks I worked in silence, writing my rebuttal, doing last-minute projects while waiting for them to hire her replacement. The co-worker continued to come and go as he pleased, never talking to me, eventually going on vacation. The woman in the next office I had befriended and driven back and forth to work for 2 years because she didn’t have a car never said another word to me. And so I sent my rebuttal to the appropriate people, going over everything she claimed point by point. I was humiliated at the number of people who would see my review, at having to work with those people and face them again. I was devastated that my reputation was ruined because of this idiot I worked with. I mentioned in my rebuttal letter that he had spent a week sexually harassing me till I put a stop to it. I had tried every way I could eventually yelling, "STOP. DON'T EVER SAY THAT TO ME AGAIN." My boss had told me to handle it on my own, and after I handled it on my own and reported the situation to his supervisor, her response was, “I better have a talk with him. He did that to the other woman who worked here before you.” WTF???

At one point, my boss called me and suggested I started looking for a job elsewhere on campus, and I said, "Who would hire me with your review in my file? You have made it impossible for me to make my next move." She said, "Oh, no one reads those things." Seriously??? If she was unhappy with my work and really cared about my future, could she have not written me a glowing review and told me verbally that I stunk. Oh, let's back up the train. If she was really competent, could she not have reviewed me at 6 months and again at a year??? Now she was retired and her life was a bed of roses.

Part II: Was it all a plot?

Unemployment math

2010-11-17T21:46:00.005-06:00

The university at which I work has been and continues to be under a budget crunch. It started when I started 2 years ago with no raises and continues. But, as you can imagine, we were/are so grateful for our jobs that no one complains. I get that. An article in this weekend's paper continues to explain the growth of the campus despite the lack of pay raises. Here's the paragraph of interest to me:

MU payroll grows despite salary freeze
Also adding to some of the payroll increase is the fact MU hired two new deans this yearand both are paid more than their predecessors. Xxxxx Xxxx dean of the College of X, is making $191,000. In the Trulaske School of Business, new Dean Xxxx Xxxxx is making $295,000 — $50,000 more than predecessor Xxxxx Xxxxxx. The business school dean swap also isn’t a wash because Xxxxxx remains on the faculty, now earning $222,624.

Of interest because they are paying the new dean of the place I worked the old dean's salary PLUS mine. Now, don't get me wrong. I wouldn't want that man's job even if I were qualified (which I'm not). He has a horrible mess to deal with as my former college's budget is even worse than MU overall. But I wonder how that conversation went down. "So, here's our salary offer, but if you lay off so 'n so, we can pay you even more." Oh well, it's in the past. But did you see the salaries of the School of Business dean and professor? That's almost 10 times my salary. Jeeeeeesus Cheeeerist! Wonder what School of Law dean makes. (All of this is public record, by the way.) What's the moral of that story??? Major in business. But for a campus in financial straits, how can they be paying people these salaries and then scream budget cuts??? Well, I obviously don't know what the eff I'm talking about since I didn't major in business. Again, majored in the wrong thing.

Well, today was week 2 of work. I've managed to wake up every morning and get to work on time which is great since I open up the place. I finally have access to most things at work and just need to fill out my benefits paperwork. And don't even get me started about savings etc because that makes me a nervous wreck. My brain is about to explode most days. I am too old to learn so much new shit. And I feel terribly inadequate most days and forgetful and would like to win the Lottery any given day and sleep late, not wear shoes, and watch Oprah. But that's in no way complaining. It is what it is. Life.

I take my lunch and walk every day around campus. I gained 5 lbs my first 2 weeks back at work, and I have no idea how that is happening. Work is bad for your health, perhaps??I am sleeping MUCH better because I am exhausted. All good. And I'm blogging, Sailor Dave, so you can't yell at me (or wag your finger). But I do love holding your hand when we walk.

T minus 12 hours

2010-11-02T18:29:00.004-05:00

In 12 hours I will wake up for my new job. Mind you, I have not woken up BEFORE noon in 16 weeks. Seriously. There have been a few days when I had something going on around 9 or 10 and had to drag myself out of bed, but for 95% of those days, I slept till noon. Sometimes 1. Now, if I had to do this over (OH GOD, SHOOT ME NOW), I would take my friends' advice: wake up on a regular schedule and exercise or volunteer. In short, WEAR SHOES. Not only have I not woken up before noon in 16 weeks, I have not worn shoes in that time. Ok, the occasional tennis shoes when I got into the routine of taking walks. I am going to die tomorrow. Do you think my new boss would agree to a 10-2 work day so I can get home to take a nap and watch "Oprah"? And go barefooted? Pleeeeease!!

If you haven't figured out, I finally got a job... after 16 weeks of gut-wrenching depression. I spent the first week curled up in my bed in a dark room fading in and out between sleep and tears. I promised myself I would only do that for a week and then I would get going. Well, that never happened. Some weeks were worse than other. I didn't get an interview until Week #8. I found no reason to wake up. I didn't want to volunteer. It's not as if I had retired and were enjoying my life of leisure and wanted to help others. And I know now that it would have been helpful to help those less fortunate, but I was so embroiled in my depression and grief and pain, that I could not see outside my hole. There were over 200 applicants for this position, and they narrowed it down to 5 interviewees. I was one of 2 finalists and was flabbergasted that I got the job since I have been very pessimistic lately.

I'm back at the university. I was so willing to give up that part of my life since they're the ones who screwed me over. Well, to be honest, they didn't screw me over. My former boss, who is happily retired now and oblivious to what he did to me, is who screwed me over, but that's a story for another day. It's very difficult to live in a college town, the same college you attended and pretend you don't care and wanted nothing to do with "Bully for ole' Mizzou, rah, rah rah, Mizzou, RAH!" You can understand. I had one interview with a company just up the street, and I was thrilled with the idea that I could walk to work and never go back to campus.

But since I live in a college town and the university is the largest employer in town, I'm sort of stuck with it. And this will be a good fit. Everyone is so thrilled for me. I am feeling much better these days. And I couldn't have gotten here without my wonderful friends and family. Supportive and comforting friends who have gotten me through this very very rough 4 months of hell. Much of it I brought on myself by not following the "rules." (See above in regards to alarm clocks and shoes) I think I would have slapped me a long time ago, and yet my friends (and you know who you are) have loved me through this whole wretched period of my life.

I may try to keep going on the blog while I work through some of this. I don't have many followers, but for the first time, maybe this whole thing is for me.

Life Doesn't Necessarily Get Better

2010-10-15T16:51:00.004-05:00

I dropped my phone and started sobbing.

My daughter (Dorothy) ran in and started to console me, patting my arms as my tears fell on her arms that wrapped around me. I had been on hold with the Unemployment Office for 15 minutes and a human had just picked up. As I bent over to look for a piece of paper on the floor, my cell phone fell and I lost the call. It was the lowest of the low. I couldn't stop sobbing while my daughter said, "You are the strongest woman I know." Ironic, huh? All I could say is "I'm a horrible roommate and role model." Dorothy just said, "No you're not. I'm just lazy." Made me laugh on the inside cuz on the outside I was still crying.

Stupidly, I discovered today that I should have been checking into the Unemployment Office (on-line) once a week in order to receive benefits. When I noticed on my bank account that there had been no deposits since my lay-off, I got into the claims website today, and my file was inactive. (I had noticed this before, but I thought it took a few weeks to kick in.) Well, duh! It was inactive because I had never checked in, that thing I'm supposed to do once a week. In my defense I got a letter 2 weeks after I filed that asked me to call in. The woman on the other end just wanted to check that I wasn't a faculty member laid off from the university in the summer and rehired come the school year. I am not. My lay-off is permanent. She ended the call with "Everything is in order. You should start receiving your unemployment checks." She never said, "... after you file every Sunday." So since everything goes through direct deposit, I just thought everything was going along fine until today when I noticed that my deposit column on my internet banking site is long empty. This whole time I thought I was getting unemployment, silently.

I am such an idiot. Of course, you have to check in once a week. I have the form in front of me where you keep track of the jobs you apply for. (Luckily, I have been keeping good notes on my application status.) Why would I think that the unemployment office was telepathic???? Once Dorothy fixed my phone (now it wouldn't even let me dial), I recalled the Unemployment Office, put it on speaker phone and prepared for another 15 minutes. This time the wait was shorter and Priscilla answered. She was wonderful and thoughtful. She will make my file active (it went inactive since there had been no action in 28 days... DUH!) and then I can start making claims this Sunday. But in the meantime she will send me forms from the prior weeks to see if I can make past claims from July. If not, I can file an appeal. I tried not to cry during our call, but I felt like such an idiot trying to explain why someone (who normally has her wits about her) was so stupid not to know that you have to file a claim once a week.

As I was on the phone, daughter Dorothy was packing up to go back to St. Louis for the weekend. She threw a stack of Werther's Originals at me and made the sign for "I love you" as she left for the weekend. She promised she would vacuum when she gets back on Sunday. I am not holding my breath. I cleaned her bathroom for her this morning after begging her to clean it for a month.

I am walking that fine line between being her mother and her roommate. She has never had good roommates who lay down the law for shared chores. I am not at the top of my game. I am neither a decent mother nor a good roommate. I am not good for anyone right now, not even myself. I got out twice this week for a walk. Walked to the mall and all over but was so depressed on my walk home because I may need to work retail if I don't find a job soon. I'm not cutting down retail. I was just depressed because I realized that in my life I have never worked a cash register, never been a waitress, and have no marketable skills like fast food or store clerk. I don't even make coffee. No one wants to train a 50something-yr-old lady to work a cash register at Macy's or Wal-Mart. I guess I could be the greeter. That takes no skills. So I won't be walking to the mall again. Too depressing.

I love all the videos out there, spurred on by Dan Savage, that tells young gays that "It Gets Better." What an uplifting message for young people who have been bullied or teased for being gay. And while I was teased for other things (since I am straight) such as being a redhead or coming from a divorced mother), no one wants to see my video because it would be entitled, "It Doesn't Necessarily Get Better, no matter how hard you've worked." I thought life was supposed to get better. Mine continues to get worse year after year.

Fuck my life. FML

10 months of exercising...

2010-10-11T01:27:00.003-05:00

For the 2nd time, I have discovered through the internet that a job I interviewed for has been filled. Both positions were on the university website, and I feel strongly that they should have something in place to notify applicants (at least the ones interviewed) that the position has been filled before posting it on their application status. I was not devastated the first time. I am devastated this time because I really like this job. For the first time in a long time, I was interviewed for a job that was not an administrative assistant position, was not filling out someone else's expense report, was not typing correspondence for someone else, was not about ordering supplies for a department. It was for a position that I could be proud of being creative and learning.

In the first situation, I waited 2 weeks before taking steps. And when I did, I sent an e-mail to the effect of "I saw by my status that the position for xyz was filled. Congratulations in finding the right person for the position." And I meant it. I wanted them to know that they did not have to bother notifying me. I already knew. The woman in charge called the next day, leaving a message on my phone, stumbling all over herself apologizing that I found out this way. She said, "I was so afraid this would happen since I was out on business." I call bull shit since the university would never authorize two weeks of business traveling. She wanted me to return her call so she could explain why I didn't make the 2nd round of interviews. I really don't care. I don't plan to return the call.

In this most recent case, I was going to make my follow-up call tomorrow (since they had not told me when they would make the decision) but looked up my status tonight before calling in the morning. I was devastated to say the least. The made the decision so quickly (one week) when they had told me they had just started interviewing with me. And obviously they made the decision a few days before that since HR imputed the info into the status. I probably will not e-mail the same message, but it will be interesting if I ever hear from them that I didn't make it the cut. When did they possibly have time to do 2nd interview before making that decision? It is obvious they had someone in mind and just went through the steps. This job involved creativity, something I haven't used i a long time. It involved learning some new material, definitely something I don't think I am capable of but was looking forward to the opportunity. This job was not working for someone as much as it was working with others.

I still have one interview out there dangling me along. I have written my follow-up thank you notes and called twice. I don't want to be a nuisance, but I have nothing else out there. It's been a month since that first interview. although people mean well, I am really tired of hearing people say, "I just know something is coming your way. Something better. Something more suited to your talents." I want to say, "How in the fuck do you know? You don't know. You're just saying that." This weekend I went to a 50th birthday party. I had to force myself to drive into St. Louis to attend since my first reaction to anything is to hide in my condo, in my bedroom. (Act well your part; there all the honor lies.) This dear friend was making small talk in her kitchen and cited a study that exercising for 10 months has a better outcome on depression than anti-depressants. Apparently, earlier studies said that exercising and anti-depressants had the same affect, but they stopped earlier than 10 months. She mentioned that if you could get the participants to continue exercising, it will eventually work, and work better than medication. And I added, "But how to you convince those people to get out of their rooms and exercise?"

Every night when I am thinking about my next day I think, "Tomorrow will be the day I wake up at a decent time. Tomorrow will be the day I will go for a walk no matter what. Tomorrow will be the day I return to the gym." And then I can't fall asleep. I toss and turn while conversations and scenarios of my wretched failed life go tumbling in my head. And I wake past noon, having overslept the alarm I keep setting to keep myself in the habit of waking in the morning. And I can feel the tears that have leaked down my face in the night. And I drag myself out of bed to put in my contacts and brush my teeth, and I pat myself on the back for making the bed and putting on clothes. Those are my 2 achievements. But exercise? Walking? Treadmill? You have got to be kidding me? How do I get out of the house? I continue to be immobilized day in and day out. 10 months? I can't imagine tomorrow, let alone what I will be doing in 10 months.

Tomorrow will mark 12 weeks of unemployment.

Tylenol PM

2010-09-27T14:06:00.005-05:00

There's a reason I take Tylenol PM every night, sometimes 1, sometimes 2, depending on the way things are going. It's not to get to sleep. It's to stay asleep. During these times of unemployment, when I don't take the TPM, I get startled awake around 5 or 6 in the morning, my heart is pounding, my stomach starts churning, my brain starts swirling. What if...? When will I...? Why did I...? If I were working, I would think , "Oh shit, I have to wake up in an hour or 2 and go to work." But without the Tylenol PM, my brain thinks horrible thoughts and prays for sleep to come back to me. Sleep becomes my refuge, my safety raft to run away from reality. I often find myself still in bed at noon when unemployed, too depressed to pull myself out into reality.

Today I told myself "You have to get out and walk." Autumn has hit Missouri, and it's truly beautiful outside. In the 60s and 70s and perfect for a walk. I have been promising my dear blog friend that I would get out every day for a walk. Some weeks I have made it 3 times. It really helps when I have something to mail because I miss my apartment's pick-up at 11 (see above) and must force myself to the mailbox in the strip mall a mile away. That makes for a 2-mile walk. I often text my friend and let him know I am out and about, and he always texts back that he will walk with me hand in hand from a thousand miles away. I was hungry today and had 3 pieces of mail to go out. Noon became 1 and 1 became 2. I eventually got some turkey and cheese to stave off my hunger. By 2 I decided to take a shower and wash my hair. That is my cue the walk notion is over because I don't want to get sweaty with clean hair. The things I need to mail have no deadline like a birthday. And I was no longer hungry. I let my friend down, and I let myself down. But I can't seem to get out of my house.

I drove back to St. Louis last Wednesday for the funeral of a dear 95-yr-old priest who had lived a wonderfully full life and only stopped going to church 2 weeks before he fell ill and passed away. You can't ask for much more than that. He was the priest at my church long before I got there and had retired by 1978. He then took over as the priest at the Episcopal Church for the Deaf which worshiped at our church as he knew sign language having been raised by deaf parents. I can't tell you what it's like to go "home" and be greeted by people who know and love me. As many of you know, it was harder to leave my beloved church friends than my husband 4 years ago. It was a joyous service. But driving back meant that I had 4 hrs (2 there and 2 back) to think. And thinking isn't good. So often, especially nowadays, I feel totally worthless. As if my life is worth less now than ever. My kids don't need me any more. I am not a wife (and, therefore, helping my ex with this or that). I am not a home owner so there are no projects to get done so the house won't fall apart. And now without a job, I am totally worth less. I am left with this hollow feeling inside. Back to "What if...? When will I...? Why did I...?"

I would never ever ever ever ever consider suicide. So don't worry. But there are times I feel that no one would notice if I were not here. Life would be easier and better without me in it. Only those who suffer depression can truly understand that notion. I talked with a dear friend last night, the one who drove me to Montana 4 years ago, and we both understood this feeling. N either one of us would ever consider suicide, but we knew the feeling of no one missing us if we weren't here. She, too, has been unemployed this entire summer and just recently ran out of her St. John's Wart and could not afford to buy more. Even though this is OTC, I did not want for her to be without so I purchased several bottles and mailed them to her last week. It forced me out of the house and on a walk. It gave me a purpose, a reason to get up and go for a walk. She said she cried when she got them in the mail. It made her feel as if someone cared. A simple gesture. I think it made me feel even better that I could do something for someone. It's not as simple as volunteering at a nursery and holding a baby or building a house for the homeless or cleaning up the highway in an orange vest. All those gestures would take a lot of effort and organization and planning. Going for a walk and mailing something so needed to a friend was easier and made me feel special. It probably did more for me than it did for her. It made me feel worth something... for a brief moment.

Have You Tried Some Chamomile Tea?

2010-09-08T00:14:00.005-05:00

I ran across this list and thought it was worth sharing. It is spot on. Don't "yell" at me, S, for not blogging something original. I thought of you while reading this list because it's as if you wrote it for me. It's as if you took a class. It's as if you walked through this valley before.

How to show you care

What do you say to someone who’s depressed? All too often, it’s the wrong thing. People still have such a cloudy idea of what mental illness is.

Sometimes people will say, ‘Oh, you’re depressed? Yeah, I’ve been depressed,’ and you realize just the way they say it that, nooo, it’s not quite the same thing. It’s not just that I’m feeling sad or blue. Below is a list of helpful things to tell someone battling depression, followed by what not to say, courtesy of the Depression Alliance.

1) I’m here for you
What to say: You’re not alone in this.
What NOT to say: There’s always someone worse off than you are.

2) You matter
What to say: You are important to me.
What NOT to say: No one ever said that life was fair.

3) Let me help
What to say: Do you want a hug?
What NOT to say: Stop feeling sorry for yourself.

4) Depression is real
What to say: You are not going crazy.
What NOT to say: So you’re depressed. Aren’t you always?

5) There is hope
What to say: We are not on this earth to see through one another, but to see one another through.
What NOT to say: Try not to be so depressed.

6) You can survive this
What to say: When all this is over, I’ll still be here and so will you.
What NOT to say: It’s your own fault.

7) I’ll do my best to understand
What to say: I can’t really understand what you are feeling, but I can offer my compassion.
What NOT to say: Believe me, I know how you feel. I was depressed once for several days.

8) You won’t drive me away
What to say: I’m not going to leave you or abandon you.
What NOT to say: I think your depression is a way of punishing us.

9) I care about you
What to say: I love you. (Say this only if you mean it.)
What NOT to say: Haven’t you grown tired of all this “me, me, me” stuff yet?

10) We’ll get through this together
What to say: I’m sorry that you’re in so much pain. I am not going to leave you. I am going to take care of myself, so you don’t need to worry that your pain might hurt me.
What NOT to say: Have you tried chamomile tea?

I love the last one: Have you tried chamomile tea? I think I have heard all the "What not to say" lines by well-meaning people. I might have even said a few of them from time to time. But I hope I have said the "What to say" statements more often.

Every night (when I feel better) I say to myself, "Tomorrow you are getting up at an appropriate time and walking. You have got to get to the gym. You have got to stop sitting around here in this dark apartment watching television. You can do it. What's so damn hard about getting out there and walking? It's beautiful outside. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself. Have some chamomile tea." And every morning turns into noon and I am still in bed, and I drag myself out of bed and turn on the tv and look for a job on the internet and sit here with my heart pounding in my chest. Having something to do helps, a lunch date, an errand, choir rehearsal, anything to get me out of the house. Otherwise, I have no motivation. No plans. No interest.

I am a horrible role model to my daughter.

Maybe I need to reread the list and start saying some of "What to say" things to myself.

Against My Will

2010-09-05T15:29:00.003-05:00

With the madness that is Facebook, it seems I have given up on blogging, but my friend won't let me. I am at my lowest point in years, and he suggested (with a wagging finger from 1200 miles away) that I should start blogging again. Perhaps to get out the poison. I don't know what good it will do. I doubt that anyone is left out there to read my blog. But this is for me, I guess. To purge. To get my thoughts out on "paper." To develop a game plan. And my friend will be checking up on me so I'd better do what he says. I'm nothing if not obedient.

Four years ago this weekend, I told my husband I was leaving him. We walked around the house like zombies for the next 4 weeks. I was moving to a city 2 hours away to be with my daughters, packing up and moving without him. (I loved them more than I ever loved him.) I had 25 years of being ignored, being unloved being lonely, and I couldn't take it any more. 3 years ago last weekend my divorce was final, and on Labor Day of 2007, a month after I turned 50, I sailed off with Sailor Boy, the love of my life, for a fabulous weekend on the Chesapeake Bay. Life was good. I had the job of my dreams. I never dreamed life could be so good. 2 years ago this weekend I moved back to Columbia after a 3-month hiatus to heal my broken heart. I started a new job with the university, moved into my own place after 2 years of living in people's homes or basements. Life was exciting, scary, lonely but empowering. Last Labor Day weekend I broke it off with the new man in my life who adored me but drank way too much. The feeling was not mutual, but the sex was incredible. How was I attracting these practicing alcoholics? But still, life was good. A job I really liked. A place of my own.

So now 4 years later here I sit: unemployed and alone. You see, I came back from my daughter's wedding in July and got laid off. 7 weeks ago. And while I have applied for tons of jobs, I have not even gotten a phone call. Not one call. Not one nibble. I am 53 with an English degree in a college town where college degrees are a dime a dozen. The lay-off came out of nowhere and has knocked me off my feet. Budget cuts. I cannot catch my breath. I am alone by choice as I have spent the better part of the last year going back and forth with Blues Man until I kicked him to the curb again last weekend. My kids have their own lives.

So I am sitting here inside on a beautiful Labor Sunday. Well, not entirely alone. The Black Monster follows me. I have struggled with The Black Thing for years to the surprise of many. But those of us who live with depression are not surprised. I put on a good front, and usually it is under control. But I am miserable most days. And yes I am medicated, but without a job and without some spark of happiness in my life, I sit here alone watching television or checking facebook. It would be far worse without anti-depressants. Been there, never wanna do that again. I should go out for a walk in this beautiful weather that has come to Missouri over Labor day Weekend, but I don't have the energy to get up and out. Everyone tells me to go exercise.

So, with instructions from my finger-wagging, hugging from a distance friend I will try to blog more often and catch you (and me) up on the last 8 months since I blogged last. I will try to be back on a regular basis. He's watching. And I'm nothing if not obedient.

A New Decade

2010-01-04T08:14:00.008-06:00

It has been so long since I have posted a blog entry that I forgot my password. Hey Silly, it's the same password as your e-mail. DUH! I will confess. I have become a facebook junkie, and most of the friends I have met through this blog follow facebook. And let's face it, life is boring and I didn't think anyone was too interested anymore. But I am home sick today and it's a new year so I am tying up some lose ends. Ok, I'm not so sick that I couldn't go to work, but I have a killer sinus headache from this weather, and I work at a major university during winter break where there are no students or professors so it's really boring. Also, I started working out with my daughter, and my quads are killing me. So I thought, ahhh, take another day off past the New Year's 3-day weekend and soak in a hot tub, fill up on Advil, drink hot tea and curl up in bed. And if you check out weather chick over there (look to right column), it's 3 degrees with a wind chill of NINETEEN BELOW ZERO. Come on, folks, stay home with me.

I just finished getting rid of Guy #2 post divorce (Blues Man) and it, too, was because of alcohol. Why do 50something men think it's attractive to consume large amounts of alcohol? It's so unattractive. Hey, I'm at the age of live and let live. I'm not here to change people, especially those of us with decades' old habits. But drinking is not a habit. It's an addiction. But first it's a problem, and if you can't admit that, then go find another partner who drinks. I'm just tired of it. So after 14 months of the most ecstatic love affair and 13 months of the best sex I've ever had (Sorry if that embarrasses some of my readers), I am solo again. It's a good thing.

Last Memorial Day Weekend (it's been THAT long since last we met) Daughter #1 (Mabel) got engaged. So we are planning a wedding for next summer. And yes, we have already had some fights. She is quite the princess sometimes, and when I tell her what is etiquette, she thinks I am telling her what to do. I'm not. She can invite who she wants (After all, she is paying for it.), but I am offering up the notion that she can't omit the spouse of friends just because she doesn't know him. She would like to tack on friends' names to their parents even when they don't live at home. Again, she can do what she wants, but I was just offering etiquette, something many kids don't know. But I digress. We have found her wedding dress, and it is a knock out. No lace, no rhinestones, no pearls. Simple eloquence. They have a place for the ceremony, a place for the reception, a great deal on hotel rooms for out-of-towners, a DJ, bridesmaids' dresses, orange ties for the men, an old gay guy to do the flowers (nothing like an old queen florist), a bakery for the cake, a color scheme, invitations, an address list, a priest (Episcopalian, of course), and enough ideas to run a thousand proms from now till the next decade. The wedding industry is mind-boggling, but they are trying to keep it within limits. She is pissed off that her sister chose THIS semester to study abroad when she needs her to do maid of honor things (whatever the hell those are). She is pissed off that stamps are so expensive and would like to do everything on e-mail. And in general she is pissed that she has to work and not plan her wedding full time. Luckily, she only goes into freak out mode when she's not teaching (summer, T'giving, winter break) so it's kept to a minimum. Pray for me.

Now all I have to do is lose 30 lbs. I did inform the bride-to-be that the second most important person at a wedding is... well, mother of the bride (herein referred to as MOB). She said, "Not even the groom?" I said, "Sorry, he's 3rd." I have managed to gain back 30 of the 60 lbs I lost when I shed the ex-husband. That's what happens when you get too comfortable in your skin. Well, that and not working out and eating crap. So I joined a gym for New Year's. I also started taking yoga after having a horrible hitch in my get-along (intense neck pain with subsequent visits all summer with the bone cruncher). I still fear the fart factor, but I have made it this far without breaking wind in class. I mean, come on folks, can you trust poses called the Half-wind and full-wind?? They're not called that for nuttin'. Much of the time I stare at the teacher and say, "Seriously." Some poses I know I can get into, but I don't think I could ever get out of. At my age, you need an escape route.

I did take a fun trip with my sister to Vermont in October to visit a blog friend. You remember, the one who took me to Montana 3 yrs ago. She wasn't a serial killer then and she still isn't. Always good to know. It was a beautiful autumn in New England. I felt very colonial and revolutionary. Did you know to reach Vermont, one can fly into Hartford, Connn and drive through the entire state of Massachusetts. I even sat in a restaurant in Brattleboro and overlooked New Hampshire. Who knew? I was surprised by all the waterfalls (left) in Vermont. Pam and her lovely husband Bill showed my sister and me southern Vermont, even slowing down to show me a typical Vermonter selling maple syrup by the roadside (right). They took us to the Yankee Candle Factory where I shit out a 700 lbs pumpkin (left). The autumn leaves were beautiful (although I do think Missouri had a beautiful fall this year). It was freezing in Vermont already as we took a hike one morning to see the sunrise. We ate apples off the ground because it was organic and not sprayed with pesticides. We toured the Nufane Country Store and traveled to Massachusetts to see the flower-covered bridge. We found a drugstore in downtown Brattleboro with our last name (see above). This is a hippie town that, until recently, allowed people to stroll naked down the street. Well, not me and not in October. It was a glorious time, and I am thinking I will make it an annual pilgrimage. Pam and Bill (formerly of Colorado) are the best hosts ever and love company so go visit them. One of the highlights was having another blog friend (from New York of all places) make the 3-hr trip to Vermont to meet me for dinner. That was a glorious unexpected surprise.

The holidays with family were good. Still had Thanksgiving with the ex in attendance, but he decided not to join us for Christmas. His loss. We had a great time. Daughter #2 (Dorothy) is heading to England for a semester abroad (a source of contention for the bride). We are so excited for her as she studies theater in Manchester. Mabel and I will go visit over spring break. Working out now will help me be a better traveler as we walk all over the place. I plan to visit a dear friend in Wales, and we'll pop over to Ireland where I will blend in with all the other redheads. I plan on meeting 2 other blog friends in London. While I don't blog a lot any more, I have met some wonderful friends from all over. And meeting them is so much fun.

So see? I'm still here. I'm just on the facebook train more often. Life is simple. I still have the most wonderful, sweetest cat in the world. Everyone is healthy. I refuse to get the flu shot (including H1N1) because the thought of being at home in bed for a week just doesn't sound like a bad thing. Of course, that's because I don't have children or parents to care for. The job is going well, although no raises for the 2nd straight year in a row due to budget crunch. We all work for the bennies anyway.

Maybe you're still out there, maybe you're not. But I'm still here.

Button, button, who's got the...

2009-05-01T17:49:00.006-05:00

I cannot believe it has been 3 months since I last posted. Blame it on facebook. I have been sucked in . I do not, for one moment, believe I have any followers left but will use this space for journaling. And just in case some of you are not on Facebook.

So what have I been up to? Nuttin' much. It's been cold in Missouri. Wore the winter coat up through last week, had one week of spring, and now it's cold and rainy again. My craft for this past winter/spring was in the form of buttons. When Sailor Boy's mother died last year, he and his sister gave me her entire button collection. Now, if you know me, you know I love love love buttons, and I was so humbled by the gesture. But as you can imagine, they were the last (or one of the last) thing I was holding onto. I couldn't exactly just send them back since both he and his sister wanted me to have them, but I couldn't exactly keep them.

So I came up with this plan. Fashioned after a wreath made my of my mother's terribly ugly jewelry that my sister made me for Christmas, I came up with the wreath idea. How do you like it? I am so in love with the final outcome.
In the second picture notice the "L" made of shell buttons since his mother's name begins with an "L." (Figure it out yourself.) I had enough buttons to make his sister a wreath and him a smaller version and have some set aside for my collection. It took hours just to wash the buttons from decades of dirt. And soon I will mail the wreaths to Florida and DC so they can have these mementos of their mother. I know, I am crazy for giving them away, but I just couldn't keep them. And I did put some back for my own personal collection.

Valentine's Day was lovely. Went to KC to go dancing. Stayed in a lovely hotel that made Las Vegas look like a joke. Got some fancy unmentionables from Vicky Secrets. March found me in Springfield at another blues concert. April saw the Mizzou Tigers getting into the Elite Eight NCAA basketball tournament beating Cornell, Marq uette, and Memphis before losing to UConn. Columbia was pretty damn excited. And our coach is sticking around till 2016. It's been fun. Now it's baseball season. Help me!

Tried Soft Paws on the kitty. She does not like them. I glue them on. She chews them off. I glue them on. She glues them off. Well, you get the picture. I thought since she is the sweetest cat in the world that she would tolerate them, but I was wrong. Lovely Shephard suggested I tried a sizzle rope scratching post, but she is ignoring it. As for scratching my brand new couch, let's just say she'd better get a lawyer. I don't want to declaw the little kitty, but I might have to. I have heard they do it by laser now so it's not as cruel. What do you think?

April was still chilly, but I got to KC again and saw my old sex ed buddies on the Plaza before spending the evening dancing. I'm a wild woman. Ha! I am being treated beautifully by a wonderful gentleman we'll call Blues Man. Great cook, makes me breakfast in bed, takes me dancing, loves my cat, and puts down the toilet seat.

Saw the last episode of ER which I have not missed in all 15 years. And am mourning the loss of Bea Arthur. As you may remember, I spend the summer on the couch sobbing over every Lifetime movie and laughing over hours of Golden Girls. I knew I had hit rock bottom when I watched a 4-hr marathon in memory of Estelle Getty. But damn it, those ladies kept me going this summer and now I mourn the loss of Dorothy Zbornak. I would do well to model my life after these 4 wonderful women.

Our choir's Broadway production in March was a big hit. Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man, Oklahoma, Climb Every Mountain. Every cheesy Broadway number out there. With choreography. YIKES! Old people singing AND dancing. And now, we are is putting on the finishing touches for our concert of Mozart's Requiem next week. One daughter, 2 sisters, and Blue Man are coming (along with 4 other friends). I have a posse!

Going to Bonnie Raitt next week for Blues Man's birthday. Life is good.

Happy Groundhog Day

2009-02-01T18:48:00.004-06:00

Rise and shine, Campers. And don't forget your booties cuz it's cold out there.

I have been very negligent of ye ole' blog. Went an entire month without nary a "howdy do" on this thing, and I apologize to the 2 or 3 fan club members who still read my blog. I am well. If it makes you feel any better, I have yet to send out my Christmas cards with my annual letter. I just don't know how to sum up my year. Perhaps I will date it Groundhog Day. Or perhaps it will be a Lenten missive?

The man I have been keeping company with knew how hard New Year's Eve would be for me so we had a quiet evening at home for dinner and then he took me to KC for a night of music and dancing later that weekend. Being with someone right now scares me for I fear my heart is either frozen or encased in plexi-glass, but I have been lucky to find this fine man who is kind and giving and loving beyond my wildest imagination. We do not share the same taste in music, but I am trying to expand my tastes. The choir I am in will be doing a Night on Broadway in March and Mozart's Requiem in May, and I guess he will be expanding his tastes as well.

Mabel (Daughter #1) fainted off the treadmill a couple of weekends ago and hit her head. Needed some staples in the back of her head, and we had to talk her into taking the day off work. Telling her she needed to rest from a concussion didn't convince her. Telling her needed the time to grade papers that she lost while being in the ER all Saturday didn't convince her. But reminding her that she couldn't wash her hair for 48 hrs and would have to teach with dirty hair made her realize that she couldn't teach that way. In the end, she took the Monday afterwards off, called in "ugly," and I came over to wash her hair carefully and not touch the staples. If you know my daughter, she never handled Q-tips in her ear well so nurse after nurse in the ER reminded her that she would need an epidural if she ever gave birth! He b/f got a kick out of that and documented the day with photos on her iPhone. It was determined that she has low blood pressure and she is fine with another war story for the year.

Barack on! Was the inauguration a thing of beauty?? I was so moved and so lucky to be able to watch as much of it as I did during the day. Working at a university in the College of Education, I was able to watch much of it on the internet and then the swearing in on tv in the dean's office. What a momentous occasion. I sure wish my mother had lived long enough to see this day. I have added The Rev. Gene Robinson's prayer that did not get much, if any, air time. Poetry.

"O God of our many understandings, we pray that you will bless us with tears - tears for a world in which over a billion people exist on less than a dollar a day, where young women in many lands are beaten and raped for wanting an education, and thousands die daily from malnutrition, malaria, and AIDS.

Bless this nation with anger - anger at discrimination, at home and abroad, against refugees and immigrants, women, people of color, gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people.

Bless us with discomfort at the easy, simplistic answers we've preferred to hear from our politicians, instead of the truth about ourselves and our world, which we need to face if we are going to rise to the challenges of the future.

Bless us with patience and the knowledge that none of what ails us will be fixed anytime soon, and the understanding that our new president is a human being, not a messiah.

Bless us with humility, open to understanding that our own needs as a nation must always be balanced with those of the world.

Bless us with freedom from mere tolerance, replacing it with a genuine respect and warm embrace of our differences.

Bless us with compassion and generosity, remembering that every religion's God judges us by the way we care for the most vulnerable.

And God, we give you thanks for your child, Barack, as he assumes the office of President of the United States.

Give him wisdom beyond his years, inspire him with President Lincoln's reconciling leadership style, President Kennedy's ability to enlist our best efforts, and Dr. King's dream of a nation for all people. Give him a quiet heart, for our ship of state needs a steady, calm
captain.

Give him stirring words; We will need to be inspired and motivated to make the personal and common sacrifices necessary to facing the challenges ahead.

Make him color-blind, reminding him of his own words that under his leadership, there will be neither red nor blue states, but the United States.

Help him remember his own oppression as a minority, drawing on that experience of discrimination, that he might seek to change the lives of those who are still its victims.

Give him strength to find family time and privacy, and help him remember that even though he is president, a father only gets one shot at his daughters' childhoods.

And please, God, keep him safe. We know we ask too much of our presidents, and we're asking far too much of this one. We implore you, O good and great God, to keep him safe. Hold him in the palm of your hand, that he might do the work we have called him to do, that he might find
joy in this impossible calling, and that in the end, he might lead us as a nation to a place of integrity, prosperity, and peace. Amen."

It has been cold in Missouri and even colder when I went to Chicago last weekend to visit my friend Bruce and run around in 4-degree temps. I even got to meet a blog friend for breakfast. which was so much fun. Those who do not blog cannot understand how wonderful it is to meet people from all over the world through this and then get to meet them personally. What a joy!

We didn't get the snow St. Louis got last week so life is cold but tolerable in mid-Missouri.

Happy Blogiversary

2008-12-29T23:36:00.003-06:00

Barely getting there under the wire, but I was a bit busy tonight trapped ... I mean, enjoying The Alamo Bowl that Mizzou finally won in overtime. I know I'm not good at math, but how can 4 15-minute quarters turn into FOUR AND A HALF HOURS.

Anyway, today is my 4th blogiversary. And if you've been a follower from the beginning (Howdy Leesa and Pam), you know that I started my blog on my 25th wedding anniversary. The evening of. Now fast forward 4 years, and it should come as no shock that I am no longer married. Within 18 months of starting this blog and meeting two bloggers, I drove off from Colorado and visited Leesa in Montana. All my non-blog friends were afraid I was going to be bludgeoned to death, but it didn't happened. I think I have lifelong friends.

Since then, I have gone through a lot in my "old" age. Job change after job change (after a major lay-off in '03), a kid's high school graduation, a kid's college graduation, an empty nest, separation and divorce, a major move 2 hours away, taught sex ed to teens, lost 60lbs, the love of a lifetime, turned 50, learned to swim, went sailing on the Chesapeake, sold a house in what we thought was the worst housing market until recently, the loss of that aforementioned love, quitting my job, moving back to St. Louis, a breakdown, a move back, a new job, a new place, joined a choir, got a cat, and enjoyed a new life. and you've been there through it all or at least most of it or just some of it if you're a new reader.

I have met 4 bloggers personally, talked to several, met bloggers on both sides of the US and in the UK, been grateful at every step of the way for your friendship. I even have secret blog readers who never reveal themselves, but that's ok. I never figured out how to tell who was reading my blog, but I know it's available to all. I try not to censor too much, but I don't reveal everything either. If we talk or IM, you know far more about me. I don't blog often these days, but I am still here erratically. I still love reading your blogs and IMing with you. And I have to say I have met some of the most wonderful people through this blog.

Happy 4th blogiversary to me. Love you all.

Gobble, gobble

2008-11-25T22:34:00.006-06:00

Before I begin my rant, let me wish you a Happy Turkey Day. For my foreign readers, look up the origin here.

Last week was my daughter's play where she was the stage manager. It was excellent, and I was so proud of her (especially when the director passed me during the intermission and whispered as she pointed to my daughter, "She has been so wonderful, as usual").

But here are my rants: If you're going to pull out in front of me as I'm trying to go the theater, do not drive 20 mph down the street and 10 mph through campus. And if you sit next to me, stop fidgeting and cracking your knuckles even if your girlfriend did drag you to the theater. Guess I have to thank you for not texting throughout the production. I wanted to attend the Sunday matinee, but my ex didn't want to be in the same zip code with me so I was forced to go to the Saturday evening production. I'm glad I forced myself to go out at night. If you ever get a chance to go see "The Pillowman," go. Fabulous play!

I am at my sister's for Thanksgiving and it's difficult for 2 reasons. One, this is where I came when I crashed this summer so it's sort of like returning to the insane asylum. I mean, my sister is wonderful, but it's just friggin' weird to be back here. I don't remember much (like where I drove or where she keeps things) so I was obviously on survival mode. Much like my high school years when I realized I couldn't remember anyone at my 10-yr reunion. And the second reason it's difficult is Sailor Boy was in town last Thanksgiving and we spent all Wednesday before T'giving with my sister and daughter, and then when they left us alone, we spent a romantic evening together in front of the fire. It was a lovely day together. I just gotta get through the holidays. And to that... I have a new rule: Your first Christmas after having your heart broken by a sailor, you shouldn't have to sing "I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In" for a holiday concert! Oh well, I will be fine, but of all the songs to pick.... grrrrrr!

Now you have a wonderful Turkey Day!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I know just how this turkey feels!!!

May your stuffing be tasty
May your turkey plump,
May your potatoes and gravy
Have never a lump.
May your yams be delicious
And your pies take the prize,
And may your Thanksgiving dinner stay off your thighs!

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

Meet Jewel...

2008-10-28T20:11:00.014-05:00

I'm not as bad as Leesa and Amy. I just got one cat. One 1-yr-old cat. She was a stray who had kittens in my daughter's house this summer, and the neighbor started feeding her but kept her outside. And had her fixed and got her shots and taken care of for fleas. So she really was a free cat. Isn't she beautiful?

Within minutes of coming into my house (after weeks of deciding if I could make an outdoor cat stay indoors), she was in my lap purring loudly, on her back, belly up, taking a nap. Never saw a cat do that. So well adapted to her surroundings so quickly. She is the sweetest cat I have ever met. Her purr is very loud, and yet her purr is demure. She even slept with me from the first night at the bottom of the bed on the sheet I provided. I have become one of those cat ladies who talks to her cat. I promise to keep the posts about her to a minimum. Oh, who am I kidding???

Yes, I am allergic, but I know how to manage things as an adult. (Don't put my face in their fur would be the first step.) She snuzzles and follows me around the house in the morning when I get ready for work. She has no ambition to run away which I feared she would since she has never lived indoors. I really believe she is relieved not to have to fight the street traffic any more.

And she used the kitty litter box immediately.

And because she is the sweetest cat I have ever met, I have named her after my favorite teacher who was the sweetest person I ever knew. Mrs. Helen Jewel Brakke. So I have named my new kitty Jewel. Not like the gem stone Jewel, but after Mrs. Brakke.

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
'O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are, you are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!'

Edward Lear
(1812-1888)

Could this be considered an anniversary?

2008-10-14T21:01:00.005-05:00

2 years ago today I packed up my things, or what could fit in my car and my sister's car, and left. I had told my husband the month before that it was over. After 26 years of marriage, it was over. And as he sat in shock (although I reminded him that he couldn't possibly be shocked, really), I went about packing up and moving on. If you've been a "fan," you know I took a road trip to Montana for a week with a blogger friend watching the house and pets of another blogger friend. Somehow they knew back in June that I needed something to cling to, something to put some umph in my life. Little did they know and little did I know that it was more than just a road trip to Montana.

Last month my dear Pam who, by marriage, has the same last name as I do so we consider ourselves sisters not only by name but by a common bond that you gain from reading blogs and then driving 15 hrs one way and spending a week in the mountains of Montana. She and her lovely husband, 4 dogs, and 3 cats moved across the country to Vermont and took the time to stop in Missouri to see me. I sure hope you notice that together we have lost enough weight to make another adult, and damn, we look good. A lot has happened in 2 years, but we promise not to let so much time pass before we see each other again. That means I will be visiting Vermont one day since she has already seen Missouri. Now say a special prayer for her Gracie since she (and Hank) got hit by a car the other day. One broken leg and one amputated leg later and Gracie is home to recuperate but could use the good positive thoughts.

So how do I feel 2 years after walking out? I am in my own place with my own couch and my own mattress (since my ex never returned my mattress as deigned by the divorce decree) and a sea 'o boxes. There I go with the water images! As of last weekend, I started unpacking some of those boxes. I have been living as a nomad for 2 years now and finally came to grips with questions such as "Do I belong here?" "Will I be staying?" "Where is my home?" "Do I deserve to be happy?" I am learning to live in my own skin and call this place home. I think I've come a long way, esp since this summer when you saw me at my very worst.

I am very fortunate to have a job at the university, and while it may not be challenging per se, I am having to learn a lot of new things which does challenge me. I have come to the conclusion that while I hate numbers and accounting, I am so regretful that I didn't or, rather, couldn't have majored in something more profitable. I resent that the numbers people in the world make all the money while those of us who know the placement of a comma and an apostrophe are swept by the wayside. But as much training as I have undergone in that area, I have discovered that not only do I not have the brains for accounting (vouchers, POs, MoCodes), I also DON'T CARE. I hear Charlie Brown's teacher every time they open their mouths to explain another procedure. God, accountants are boring. (Sorry if I have offended anyone out there.) I love my new place and am so grateful for those friends who have helped me move and set up the place, but I can barely afford it along with my car payment and sit still so nothing major happens. (I haven't decided whether to buy or rent in the future with my share of the equity.) But it's a start. My new cell phone has a pedometer, and I am fascinated by how many steps I can take on purpose and accidentally. I am trying to get 2 to 3 miles in a day walking around campus. After all, I work on one of most beautiful campuses anywhere. I have joined a choir with one performance already done and another coming up next month. This was something I had promised myself last year when I moved here but never did it because I never wanted to put roots down here if I was going to move soon.

Well, we all know that didn't happen and isn't going to happen. And I am fine with that. Matter of fact, I am glad I am here. I have volunteered for Planned Parenthood (my old employer). I am making new friends. I am enjoying being single. It's been 2 long years or I can't believe it's gone so quickly. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

One to Two Degrees of Separation

2008-09-30T18:44:00.003-05:00

I have been in town 5 weeks and at my new job for 4, and I promise to update you on the progress. I will even tell you about the incredible luck I experienced on moving day. And I promise, Sister, to post about “where were you 2 years ago?” But for today, I would like to add another entry to 6 degrees of separation.

when I saw her I have had a many instances of 6 degrees of separation, but lately it’s been eerie. When I gave my new landlady my rent deposit, we started up a conversation about Greek life at Mizzou when I saw her Tri Delt certificate on the wall. I told her I was not Greek but that my daughter was a Chi O. I said, “I am sure your parents felt you were safer by being in a sorority” when I guessed she was older than I was. She said, “When my parents dropped me off at college from Hannibal…” and I said, as I catch myself saying a lot, “I only know one person from Hannibal…” When I mentioned the name of my godmother, she said, “Not only did we go to the same high school, we graduated the same year and will have our 50th high school reunion next month.” I had no idea my godmother was 68. Later, I was telling my sister and her best friend this story, and the friend said, “I only know one person…” and we found out that she taught with the woman whose basement I lived in last year…forty years ago. (She taught with her forty years ago. I did not live in this woman's basement forty years ago.)

The other day at work I started small talk with a student and couldn’t ask her “So what high school did you go to?” when I found out she was from my hometown. (It’s a St. Louis thing.) I asked her her last name, and it did not ring a bell so I asked for her mother’s maiden name which did ring a bell. I said, “Your mother wouldn’t happen to have a brother named Alan, would she?” She said, “Yes, that’s my uncle.” I said, “Well, your uncle was my mother’s landlord.” When I told her to tell her uncle that she met this woman’s daughter, she said, “I met her when I was a little girl.” (You can’t forget my mother nor her name.) Today I was chit-chatting with a co-worker and asked “So where did you go to high school?” (She was from St. Louis.) When she said, “Hazelwood East,” we discovered I knew her yearbook teacher from my days as a yearbook advisor from the early 80s.

But this last one today almost made me giggle out loud. I walk at lunch to keep the fat monster away. Today there was a vendor fair at the Union so I hiked over there knowing there would be freebies. I’m all about the freebie, so as I walked around the vendor tables, I recognized the Office Max rep. I caught his eye and started smiling at him, and he finally said, “Are you trying to make me crack up?” So I walked around until he was finished with his sales pitch before coming back and having a wonderful conversation. Not only did I know the Office Max sales rep. *I slept with the Office Max sales rep. Is that ONE degree of separation?

*Oh, don’t get your panties in a twist. This was many many many many years ago.

Six Degrees

2008-09-26T18:01:00.003-05:00

I know... I "owe" my loyal fans an update, and I promise I will get there. I have been in town a month and at my job that long and things are going well. I am doing much better, but I will update later. But today it's time for a story.

My sister is an English teacher in a school district just outside St. Louis. She did her typical first day introductions, and a student came up the next day and said, "I told my mom all about you, and she said you reminded her of an English teacher she had who influenced her life." The mom asked her daughter her teacher's name, and she said, "Miss B." And the mom said, "Well, that's too much of a coincidence. MY English teacher's name was Miss B and she sounds just like your English teacher. Does she have red hair?" And her daughter said, "No, she has gray hair, but I'll ask if they're related."

The mother went to another room and pulled out a folded paper with a poem written by her English teacher and given to her 27 years ago when she was freshman . The poetic note applauded her on her writing talent and praised her singing talent, too. She said, "Take this to your English teacher and ask her if she is related to MY Miss B." The next day the student came up to my sister and said, "Here is a poem my mom's English teacher wrote to her when she was in 9th grade. Do you think you could be related to this Miss B?" My sister took one look at the worn handwritten piece of paper and said, "I definitely am related to THIS poet." And the student said, "How do you know?" And my sister said, "Because I recognize my sister's handwriting."

I couldn’t believe this woman had kept something I wrote all these year. Ya just never know. When my sister eventually found out the mother's name (damn lost identity due to name change at marriage), I barely recognized the name. I had over 140 freshmen a year and some stood out for good and bad reasons. I remember she had black hair and a beautiful voice (which was part of the subject of the poem from what my sister told me). But I made an indelible impression on her. And we should remember that.

Six degrees of separation. Does that give you goosebumps? Well, it gave me goosebumps and tears. That story made me feel that I, indeed, made a difference in someone's life. I needed that at this point in my life and thought I would share that with you. And it’s not really about me. I just find the world, and all of its smallness, remarkable.

I bet all of us have a "six degrees of separation" story that brings us goosebumps. I have several, but this may be one my favorites.

Back later with a real update.

It was a million dollar experience...

2008-08-21T21:44:00.010-05:00

I wouldn't give a nickel for.*

A recovering alcoholic (RA) friend of mine told me earlier this summer, “Alcohol may be Sailor Boy’s drug, but he is your drug.” Ouch! If that’s not co-dependency, I don’t know what is. When I would call this RA friend as opposed to calling “my drug” on road trips, he would remark that I hadn’t hit bottom if I still craved talking to Sailor Boy. “You haven’t been hurt enough,” he would say. He has been tough on me ever since I broke it off with Sailor Boy, ever since I learned he battled alcoholism, ever since I continue to need Sailor Boy. And while he apologizes for being an asshole (his word), he does not mince words, does not hold back, does not take my shit, does not pity me or coddle me. He walks the walk and talks the talk, but he doesn’t preach. When I told him once that I hadn’t talked to SB since June 28 or Skyped since his birthday (TWO weeks), I asked if he was proud of me. He said, “Hell no,” and I felt liked the little girl who’d been admonished for trying hard but not hard enough. Or the Olympic sand volleyballer for not winning with a higher score. Hadn’t I done my best? Wasn’t I trying my hardest?” Wasn’t I succeeding in making baby steps? NO, NO, and NO. I was hurt. He said, “That’s like my not drinking for 3 weeks and then having a beer over the weekend. Would you be proud of me?” Ouch! It hurt, but I got the point. All or nothing. Black or white. Band-aid completely ripped off and quickly. When I would express my burning desire to talk to Sailor Boy (esp while on the road), my friend would say, ‘You haven’t hurt enough.” (The classic “You haven’t hit the bottom.”)

So for this reason, I did not tell my friend that I went to see Sailor Boy over the weekend. I didn’t lie to him (even though I knew of my travel plans the last time we talked as I zoomed down the highway), but I also was not honest with him. I felt he would end the conversation with, “Then I can’t help you” or “This conversation is over if you’re not getting the message.” And while he agrees that I’ve had to do this “my way,” he is very quick to tell me it’s the wrong way. When I told him I took off the necklace Sailor Boy gave me, he’d ask, “And have you thrown it away?” And when I’d say, “I took Sailor Boy out of speed dial,” he’d say “And have you deleted his number altogether?” Damn, he keeps asking the hard questions. And I would always fear he would stop being my friend and “go to” guy if I didn’t play this AA game with the right rules. In our last conversation, he even admitted that giving up a toxic co-dependent relationship is probably harder than giving up alcohol, drugs, or cigarettes. The co-dependent relationship, when not toxic, feels so good and those are the memories that surface when you’re missing the “drug.”

But I think my friend resigned himself in knowing I had to do this “my way,” which, in his experience, is the wrong way. He knows of what he speaks. I have had several friends tell me that I needed to cut off all contact completely in order to let the wounds start to heal, but that’s not the way I operate. So maybe for all the wrong reasons, I flew out to see SB. To say good-bye to my “drug,” to be embraced by “my drug” one last time. Little could I imagine that in saying “good-bye,” I also let go. I hope my RA friend is proud of me now. I will always be forever grateful for his brutal honesty and his willingness to take my calls and IMs when I have needed him most. He's my Roc!

I kept thinking he would reimburse me when I would show up for our weekends together. I paid for all but 1 trip (and he makes considerably more than I do), but I guess that’s at the heart of co-dependency and neediness, huh? With each trip loving friends would say, “And I sure hope he’s paying for your tickets,” knowing my lifestyle, and I would lie or fudge, “Of course he is” or “We’re taking turns.” But my sister, when she found out the truth, said, “I will support you in any decision you make, but I will never again take you to the airport to see SB if you’ve paid for the ticket.” Not as tough as my RA friend who told me I should break all ties, but I got the message. I never had the guts last year to say, “If you want me on your boat by your side bad enough, you will buy me a ticket.” But the ticket came with some caveats. And I quote: Are you keeping hope alive? I’m confused over your expectations. I am mentally too worn out to do a deep confrontation weekend of any kind. So I don’t want to go there. Can we get together as ‘friends in transition?’ Is there going to be tons of weeping? (The last one was my favorite.) So I responded that I had no plans to confront him. I had no hope in our getting back together or having a future together. My expectations included having a nice relaxed vacation, sailing, seeing sunsets and sunrises on the Chesapeake. And did “friends in transition” mean separate sleeping quarters? Finally, I added, “And I can’t guarantee there won’t be any weeping any more than you can guarantee that you won’t drink and be verbally abusive.” (Hey I got points for that last one.) He said we would not need to sleep in separate quarters because he was not afraid me (whatever the hell that meant) and that he would try not to drink too much and be mean.

Plans were made. Excitement, fear, anxiety, sunscreen, looking for sailing paraphernalia from last year (hat, bikini, sarong). In the meantime I drove back to Columbia to met my landlady, had an on-line lunch date (disaster), helped my friends in their office, help my daughter move to her first apartment, interviewed for a job with the university and get offered the job. Bought a couch/love seat combo and a mattress, turned 51, went to see Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 with my daughters, set up cable/internet, got my utilities switched over to my name, and secured moving details. Not bad for a woman who does not know what the fuck she is doing, has changed meds for depression, has bouts of anxiety/panic attacks, wonders why she couldn’t have stayed in a boring, loveless marriage for another 27 years, and feels like a failure most days. Oh, and is trying to shake off this co-dependency “drug” problem while grieving through a broken heart she has never experienced before in her life.

Where to begin without boring you? My plane was 3 hrs late in leaving because of bad weather in Maryland, but he picked me up in his little red sportscar, greeted me with a big hug and kiss. Twice on the drive home, he said, “Kiss me.” Boy, where is this going? We got to his new house, and he showed me around. It was just as dusty and cluttered as his old house I visited in March. Some things never change. And no, he had not bought a mattress. We would be sleeping on an airbed (Do not confuse this with an Sleep Number bed). We’re talking Coleman camping airbed that he sleeps on. An airbed with a leak. We cuddled, we kissed, we did not sleep in separate quarters per his e-mail, but he made it obvious that we would sleep. I envisioned a lot of events this weekend as “last times.” I wept as we held each other. And that’s all. Ok, I thought. First night jitters.

The next day we walked around Annapolis before heading to a friend’s in Baltimore. As we walked through a set of souvenir shops in this quaint town, he said, “Oh, I didn’t get you a birthday present. Look around. What would you like?” And I thought, “I’d like a man who knows what I want for my birthday,” but I didn’t say it. I sure as hell didn’t want a chip and dip tray in the shape of a lobster. I was not about to pick out something from a stupid souvenir shop. We get to the friends’ house, and they greet us with rum and cokes. The men went out for more beer and wine and champagne and ice. Another couple arrived and we make dinner. Admiral Nelson also attends the party. And because Sailor Boy never brought any food, I am intent on bussing dishes, filling the dishwasher, cleaning the kitchen. I watch as the 5 of them get very drunk. Champagne comes out and I have a half a glass. (There was enough for each of us to have a bottle). Say what?

We sleep on another airbed, but this one doesn’t have leaks. Just cuddling. Breakfast and beer the next morning and we’re off on a boat ride to meet up with more friends. Sailor Boy barely talks to me, but I am ok with this because I am enjoying the ride. There are a lot of people on the water, friends in this particular group. Sunscreen applied. Hats tied on. Sailor Boy gets in the water to greet others and ignores me. I see several people I had met last summer and meet some for the first time, but Sailor Boy never introduces me. It is obvious I am on my own. That’s ok. This is my vacation. We end up on someone else’s boat where someone I know from last summer greets me with a hug and a kiss and, when looking across from me, says, “Whoa, what is going on? I am getting this incredibly strong sad vibe from you.” I said, “I’ll tell you later.” On the ride home, Sailor Boy stays on this boat while I tread the water back to the other boat. Several others are following us back to the house.

More booze, more food. I continue to bus plates and clean dishes in my attempt to contribute. I am so glad I will not spend a lifetime with this cheap man who does not contribute. He figures since he is a single man, his friends will feed him, and they do. But he is a mooch in every sense of the word, and it’s embarrassing. I had a mojito, half a mojito because the mint keeps getting stuck in my teeth. One sweet woman sits next to me and drunkenly asks me if I’m going to bring my kids out here to get on his boat. I said no. She kept badgering me in her drunken state, and I keep trying to brush it off with, “No, I don’t think so.” She keeps at it till I finally say, “It’s complicated.” She won’t let up, and I finally have to say that Sailor Boy and I have broken up and this is our good-bye weekend, and I assure her my kids will never be out to go sailing.” I start to cry and she holds me and tries to assure me it’s not necessarily over, and I assure her it is so over. Soon Sailor Boy sits next to me and says, “I just got a lecture from Melissa.” And I assure him I had nothing to do with that and never asked her to say a word. He is not angry but asks how it came about, and I told him that she simply asked when my kids were coming out and I told her they weren’t. I had no idea then what she said to him. I later found out that she got in his face and said she adored me and I was wonderful and what was he thinking. She gave him a real talking to.

The neighbor across the canal has a hot tub that we spy and yell over asking to use it. There is an incident where Sailor Boy takes it upon himself to go to the hot tub without permission while the rest of us are trying to schmooze with the owner before invading his hot tub. When he returns, SB is pissed that I didn’t follow him and he promptly goes to sleep (passes out?) on the couch in the middle of the party. I have never seen this much drinking (and I went to Mizzou in the 70s) especially among adults. Weren’t we too old for this shit? Eventually, a group of us end up in the hot tub for a while whereupon Sailor Boy informs me that he has no intention of making love to me the entire weekend. End of discussion. We return back to the house while the drunken host jumps into the canal to swim home and Sailor Boy has to run along the perimeter to help him out of the water so he doesn’t drown. I set up on the couch because it is obvious that I am not wanted in “that” way, and it is too painful to sleep with Sailor Boy one more night. From the living room, I overhear a horrible drunken incident between our hosts. It was horrifying, and while everyone else was drunk, too, they are trying to keep a horrible situation into becoming violent. I was sickened by what was happening and so glad it was not going to be part of my life. I drift off with the cat a few minutes here or there. I crawl into the airbed around 6 to talk to Sailor Boy. More tears. I realize I am going to be saying good bye to these friends that morning and it will be tough, and he is very kind about how we will handle this. I start sobbing and have a panic attack where I can’t breath and ask SB to go get me some water. I take my medication and sleep a little longer. Breakfast. Sailor Boy gets out his camera while we say good bye so he can take pictures of me with some of these sweet people I have met and will never see again. No tears.

On the drive home, we have a serious discussion about how mean he was to me in his drunken state and I get a lot out about his alcoholism. I get the chance to say “The first step is not in accepting you’re an alcoholic. The first step is admitting it’s a problem.” He gets it. He has heard this before somewhere, I suspect. He said he really needs to take this seriously and cut down. His sister has told him so. He knows his family history. We get to the grocery store to pick up supplies for our sailing trip that night, and I stop him in the produce section to say my final statement. “In the end of my mother’s life, she lived every hour for another cigarette. If given a choice between another cigarette or a visit from her daughters or granddaughters, she would have taken the cigarette. I love you. I will always love you, and I don’t want to see your life reduced to wanting another drink more than you want to be with your children and future grandchildren. You will die alone.” Whoa. He said, “Ouch.” But he meant it. He held me tight and thanked me for my brutal honesty. I think I struck a nerve.

Ok, this is longer than you have time to read, but I have to get it out. We drive to the boat. Unforgettable. The boat he named after me. I have been assured it would be bad luck to rename the boat so he is “stuck” with the name. He has already admitted he has started dating. Can’t wait till he has to explain the name to the next women in his life. The sunset is beautiful, as always. I click away. Tears roll down my cheek. This is my last time on the Chesapeake. His idea of “slowing down” consists of 4 beers and 2 rum and cokes. He does all the work. He makes me dinner, cleans up, and I do not lift a finger. I am a guest. No longer first mate in training. I have no choice but to sleep with him as the other bunks are cluttered with crap. I take 2 sleeping pills. I woke up around 6 desperate not to miss the sunrise. My last sunrise on the Chesapeake. I am in a sarong and freezing (?) as I snap away. The moon is still out and the sun rises in brilliant golds and purples. I am shivering and Sailor Boy brings me his robe. Tears pouring down my face, and I finally say, “I know what I want for my birthday. I want a collage of sunrise and sunset pictures you have taken. Framed.” I can’t stop weeping at the beauty, the finality. He agrees to my request (yah, I ain’t holding my breath). He makes breakfast. We eat in silence and I take something for the anxiety and slip back into bed. He motors back to the slip, and I am totally unaware that the boat has even moved. I hated that I had missed the sail back, but it wasn’t really a sail since there was no wind and he had motored back, but it was eerie to wake up to a dead still boat and no Sailor Boy. I get dressed and go running outside to look for Sailor Boy and find him just walking around. We drive back to the house and have a sandwich (and wine) and make plans for a movie and dinner. Even though I have already seen it, I decide that Mama Mia! is the perfect movie since it’s fun and includes water and sailing and no violence. We pass by a camera shop and I point out multiple-holed mats that would be perfect for my birthday present request. We go to dinner afterwards and head back to the house where we walk around his neighborhood (see photo to the right). We sit down to watch the Olympics.

As we sat there, tears start to roll down my face because I realize that the decision not to make love one last time was made for me. My opinion, my input was not even considered. I am angry. I am hurt. I resent this. These would be my last tears. Sailor Boy falls asleep, and I know we won’t be talking that night. At 10 he says he is crashing (is?) and needs to go to bed, and I said, “Well, I still want to talk, but we can wait till the morning.” He says he appreciates that and heads to bed, airbed with leak. I stay out in the living room. I have no intention of sleeping next to him. If he doesn't want my body, he can't have my warmth. I put a pillow over my shoulder for warmth. Around 3:30, he wakes up and stands in the livingroom. I look up and tell him I am awake, and he asks why I am sleeping out there, and I say, “I want you so badly and I can’t sleep next to you if you don’t want me.” He said, “Well, the least I can do is get you a blanket,” and before I know it, this horrible, rough, sandpaper excuse for a blanket gets dropped on my delicate shoulders. A horse would have balked at this blanket that must be a leftover from some Boy Scout marshmallow roast from 1904. I think I could file my fingernails with it. I shake it off and replace it with the pillow.

Around 4 I get up to pee and see the office and computer light on and walk in to see what he is doing. He said he had some work e-mails he was answering, and I mention that I thought he was too tired to talk (from the night before) so it’s odd to see him awake. He said he would only be a few minutes, and I go back to the couch. I roll over at 5, and the lights are still on. Now I would like his robe to warm up with and go back to the office where he is still on the computer. I say, “Funny, you couldn’t stay awake to talk, but you can stay awake to do work on the computer.” He said, “Fine, let’s go talk.” And we go to the leaky airbed. I gather up my courage to say, “I had all sorts of scenarios in my mind for this weekend. I imagined being on the boat. I imagined strolling through Annapolis. I was hankering for a Maryland crab cake. I wondered whether we would see your friends so I could say good bye. I imagined sunsets and sunrises. I hoped we could go for a walk. But never in my wildest imagination did I ever think we would not make love one last time. Never. And I resent that I was not included in on that decision.” He rankled and sat up and said, “I told you not to have any expectations.” I said, “It wasn’t an expectation. It was a hope, a desire, a vision.” He said, “There is no compromise in this decision. I didn’t think it required a discussion.” I said, “I understand that there is no compromise between 0 and 1, but I sure would have liked to have been included in on the discussion. I would have liked to have thought my opinion mattered.” He was clearly getting agitated and said, “I am not a fucking machine.” OK, excuse me? I almost busted out laughing. I wanted to say, “Hey, Buddy, when we were having sex, you were no fucking machine.” But something happened at that point. I felt myself whoosh up, sort of like on Ghost, lift off the bed. Let go. I had nothing to say. I had nothing left to say. He fell asleep and I watched him sleep till he startled awake at 6:30 and asked for another hour like he needed my permission. He woke at 7:30, and I was still watching him (and still not sleeping). He got out of “the passion pit,” as he called it, the gaping crevice in the middle caused when the airbed leaks, and I had to laugh at the thought that he called it that. Irony. He blows it back up while I’m still in the bed. A fun ride in bed (finally). And I fall asleep till 10:30.

Breakfast. Friendly chit chat about the Olympics. Packing. Checking time to leave. He puts the top down on the convertible and off we go. Hair in the wind. In the past I usually wept on the way to the airport because I knew we would be saying good bye and didn’t know when we would be seeing each other, panicking over the landscape, trying to learn street names, wondering where I would bank or work or walk, trying to memorize directions (which is laughable). Instead, I looked at the beauty in the Maryland landscape, the trees, the wildflowers, my hair in the wind. We got to the airport and I got my stuff on the curb. He walked over and put his arms around me. He said, “You are a wonderful woman and don’t ever forget that.” Pause. "You are the sweetest, most giving woman I have ever known." Pause. “I am so glad I e-mailed you last year.” Pause. “And you were and always will be unforgettable.” At each pause, I am sure he expected a response, and at each pause, I had nothing to say. Nothing left to say. At each pause, he kissed me. And at each pause, I had nothing left to say. I turned around and wheeled my suitcase into the airport and didn’t look back. In my silence, I had said good bye. In my silence, I had let go. In my silence, I am ready to move on.

* If you care to comment, I do not need to hear/read that Sailor Boy is a cheap, selfish SOB. I already know that. I loved this man more than any man I have ever loved before, and he has/had a lot of wonderful qualities, but he loved alcohol more. I don't need to be reminded of what I already know. Loving him was the highest high I have ever been on and losing him was the lowest low I have ever experienced. I have greatly appreciated you all for your love and support, but please don't be mean in your comments.

Moving to Columbia

2008-08-13T14:00:00.004-05:00

Guess it is good luck to interview on your birthday. I got offered the job at the university. So now I'm employed. Which is better than not being employed. Not my dream job, but it's a start... with benefits. Have to PAY for parking and there's no guarantee the garage they pick for you is anywhere close to your building so a lot of walking (which is good... I am not complaining.). I just can't believe they make employees pay for parking. That's bull shit.

The question of the week is... how to keep a straight face while you're buying Astroglide and Preparation H at the same time. It's an age thing. You youngins' will understand later. People my age reading this will laugh so hard you might dribble a little!

Leaving on a small vacation out east before I start packing in panic mode. Denial is a valuable thing. If I don't pack, it's not really happening. But the Ticker above will keep ticking away whether I pack or not so I had better get cracking.

P.S. The "paws" in the Ticker are supposed to represent Tiger paws, not bear paws. They were they closest I could come to represent the MU Tigers. And the sailboat... well, you get it.

Happy Fifty-One

2008-08-05T14:26:00.006-05:00

August 6th
Happy 51st Birthday to me. I have always loved my birthday. I do not feel like celebrating this year. It has nothing to do with my age. It has everything to do with what's going on in my life right now. I am heading down the road to interview ON my birthday. Is that good luck or should there be a law against interviewing ON your birthday? Let's hope it's a good omen. I think I will feel much better when I get a job. Can you believe it? Another call. I have TWO interviews today.

Then afterwards it's lunch with the daughters and then after my second interview we'll go see Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2. A chick flick with my favorites chicks. My sisters and their husband/friend will take me to dinner on Friday and then it's home to see the Olympic Opening Ceremonies. Maybe once I celebrate with the my daughters and I do well on the interviews (And one of them offers me a job) and I celebrate with the sisters and see the opening ceremonies, I will feel better about my birthday.

And then I have to start packing. Now I want to vomit.

Two years from when???

2008-07-11T21:13:00.008-05:00

A recently divorced friend of mine (who read all the books) told me recently that "they" say you shouldn't get into another relationship for two years afterwards. I said, "After what? After you tell your husband you're leaving? After you run away from home? After you file for divorce? Or after the divorce is final?" Two years from when??? (Not that I am looking for anything or anyone at this stage.) I just don't think "they" are clear.

On another note, some have wondered about the path of the flood in Missouri which has since subsided, but I wanted to assure you I am high, dry, and safe. Ok, maybe it's a little wet around here, but I am safe. And remember... all is well. I can swim.

I am including images of the water lapping up on the side of the highway. One exit away from me has been closed for 2 weeks, not just because of the water (which is very close) but because of the deer leaping over the road because they have been displaced by the water. The signs on the highway do warn about the deer leaping over cars which is a strange sign to see. Just had a huge storm tonight, but we are all safe where I am staying for the summer.

Still looking for a job but have decided that I need to go back to the college town from which I moved. I cannot find a job here, and even if I could, I cannot afford to live in the "big city." So I will be moving back to College Town USA in a month or two. Wish me luck. I am pretty tired of being unrooted (not uprooted), uncertain, and on shaky ground. It will feel good to be settled although I doubt I will ever feel settled ever again. (Friends assure me I will one day. "When?" I ask. Perhaps in two years.) Ok, there goes the melo-drama again. My sister has been so wonderful to me for letting me stay here while I am regrouping and recouping, but I have to find a job. Pray for me to find a job. (I have already found a condo to rent and will be moving again in August.)

This is not the way I thought things would turn out, but I continue to be thankful for good health and wonderful supportive friends and family.

Shit happens... bird shit, that is!

2008-06-25T15:40:00.006-05:00

You would think watching baby birds was a beautiful thing. And for the most part, you would be right. For 3 weeks now I have sat in my sister's livingroom (while surfing the internet for jobs), watching a nest of barn swallows grow from featherless, peeping almost invisible blobs while their parents flitted back and forth to feed their squawking brood. Back and forth. Back and forth. and I thought I was exhausted as a new mother. Sometimes they fly for insects while other times they are trying to get your attention so you don't notice their babies are in the corner.

Last week, we noticed there were not three but FOUR babies. One was smaller than his bubbas and was hidden off to the side. Now we see 4 little bobbing feathery heads peeping their constant hunger. Back and forth. Walking on the porch is like taking your life in your hands as Mom & Pop zig and zag to get past you to feed their starving babies. There are just 2 problems. First, my sister lives across the street from THREE barns. These idiotic birds do not know their own name as they have chosen to take up residence on a porch. So we are renaming them Front Porch Swallows.

Second, they shit like you would not believe. All down the column. For a while, it was just Mom & Pop excrement. But once the babies grew up into 4 visible squawking starving progeny, they, too, have learned to turn their butts around and poop over the nest and down the column. So much for nature. It's nasty. Who knew that birds knew how to keep their nests clean by balancing their poopy butts over the edge and blasting down the sides of the column?

I have done research on Wikipedia and the baby birds stick around another week after they have learned to fly as Mom & Pop continue to feed them. So much for kicking them completely out of the nest. To take these photos, I was actually dive bombed by the babies as they perfect their flying technique. Not so much dive bomb as flying low cuz they can't get fly as high or fast as their parents and aunts and uncles. My sister says, "One week... and that nest is out of here." We will soon relocate their home to the other side of the street where there are actually barns. So much for nature. (Leesa, by now, would have taken up residence on the porch for the last 4 weeks and taken daily, if not hourly, time lapsed photos of the birds. I'm not into nature or photography as much as she is so you'll have to live with what I offer. My apologies to Leesa.)

How am I doing, you ask? Making decisions. (No details yet) Watching too much cable. Excited about Obama. IMing with friends. Looking for a job. Trying not to rely too much on medication. Taking walks. Trying not to be in too much contact with Sailor Boy. Put my clothes in a dresser. I've even been sleeping under the covers... long story. Feeling so unsure of myself and so scared at times. Who knew someone of my age could be so uncertain about tomorrow? So grateful for my sister and all of you out there who are holding me in your thoughts and prayers.

The necklace

2008-06-07T14:18:00.004-05:00

I finally took the necklace off. 16 months I have worn the jade heart that Sailor Boy gave me for our first Valentine's Day. Never took it off. The chain broke in Vegas, and I got a replacement one right away so people wouldn't notice and ask questions. It was too painful, too raw. But in unpacking some more shit today, I found my cross necklace from years ago. Simple, silver, and meaningful.

It's a big step.

My life in quotes

2008-05-28T23:37:00.016-05:00

Pain is always equal to the force of our denial and effort we spend to hang onto that which is bad for us.

A very wise and dear friend said that to me the other night. Pretty effing profound, wouldn't you say? He knows of what he speaks.

So my life is reduced to quotes. Live with it.

The babbling brook would lose its song
if you removed the rocks.

Don't cry because it's over.
Smile because it happened.

Pain and Suffering are inevitable,
but Misery is optional

Another dear friend sent me an e-card with this message:

To believe is to know in your heart that life is happening
exactly as it is meant to.
To believe is to look for hidden gifts in every new day.
To believe is to trust everything is going to be all right.

I went back to the middle of the state this week to help a friend in her husband's doctor's office. Lots of filing and faxing. But it taught me a valuable lesson... Just when you think your life sucks (jobless, homeless, loveless), I highly recommend you check out other people's lives and be very thankful for your health. I was amazed and blown away by the people my age who are on multiple meds for multiple maladies. I really have nothing to complain about. The one that brought me to tears was the woman with MS already in a wheelchair... at 28. She found out her diagnosis her senior year in college. Her mother also has it. Quitcher bitchin'.

We went shopping one day and everywhere I turned, sailboats, seascapes, beaches, bubble bath named Sea Island Cotton and Dancing Waters, summer themes. My sister said the same thing happened to her after she was diagnosed with breast cancer and had a mastectomy. She said she saw boobs everywhere. So now when I see things that remind me of Sailor Boy, I say, "Boobs. Everywhere, boobs." It makes me giggle. And it makes people wonder.

Went to dinner with my former priest from back home. A wonderful and wise man who has known me since I was 12. Baptized my daughter. Memorialized my mother. He is retired now, and we still stay in touch. At first we skirted around the many issues in my life because I was on the verge of tears at every question. We met on the day the house closed, and I was very emotional. Once we started to talk about my life in transition, he said, "Men and women see love and passion differently. Maybe you weren't madly and passionately in love at all." (I thought it curious that he used the cliche that I had used all year.) He said, "Maybe... maybe... you were just horny." And instead of tears, I burst out laughing in the restaurant. He turned a mild shade of pink, having forgotten who he was or who I was to him, and we laughed out loud together. It felt good to laugh.

I pre-signed last week without the ex, and it was traumatic. The woman at the title company was, perhaps, the rudest, most unprofessional person I have ever done business with. The ex would not allow me to get in one last time to say "good bye." (I know, I can be maudlin, can't I?) But eventually the real estate agent reminded him that it was my right and she had a key. I am glad I got to see it so I would not romanticize what it once meant to me. It was filthy (again), dog fur and dust everywhere, and the smell of dog urine throughout the basement (again). The place was no longer my home. The whole weekend was very emotional, but especially Tuesday at 10:30 when I knew it was over. Yes, I am glad to be out from under the mortgage, but it truly was the last piece of the puzzle. It is the only house I have known as an adult, and the only house in which we raised the girls. I highly recommend you change houses every so many years so you don't pack all your memories into one location. And I am reminded, especially when others tell of how quickly their house sold, that it took 15 months for this house to sell, and it did so on the weekend I broke up with Sailor Boy. It was what was keeping me here and not moving to be with him. Or was it? Was God my real estate agent? That's another blog post.

Went to see Sex and the City (the movie) with the girls. I thought it was a great movie, but don't ask me for an honest review. I was very vulnerable and cried through much of it. (Caution: Spoilers coming.) No, I was not left at the altar. No, my husband did not have an affair. No, I wasn't tempted by a gorgeous hunk in LA. No, I didn't give birth. But there were many other emotions that I could relate to throughout the movie. The 2 1/2 hrs went by fast. I was never bored. The costuming was incredible and fun. And, damn, there were some fine butts shown on the silver screen.

They'll be good times again for me and you,
But we just can't stay together,
don't you feel it too.
Still I'm glad for what we had
and how I once loved you.
It's too late, Baby, now it's too late.
Though we really did try to make it.

Something inside has died and I can't hide it,
I just can't fake it.

It's too late, now Darling.
It's too late.

I may vomit

2008-05-17T19:00:00.003-05:00

Wow! A little melodramatic, are we?

Seriously, why is it that our kids can zero into our vulnerabilities without even trying. I mean, she does not mean to be making me sick to my stomach with worry. Daughter #2 has waited to the last minute to figure out housing not only for the coming school year but this summer. Officially, she is homeless as of right now. Both her car and my car are packed with all her worldy goods. I can't even pack my stuff in my car to leave town on Friday because I have all of her stuff in there with no place to put it.

Some things were out of Dorothy's control. Trouble with roommates. And by trouble, I mean one girl decided not to come back to school and another has a cat. So at her b'day celebration last night (She turned 20 yesterday, the last day of finals!), she talked to a couple of other students who need housing (Is procrastination contagious?) or who need a roommate or who waited till the last minute. We have a few plans in the works, but for right now, both of us are close to vomiting at any point.

And this is just feeding into my inadequacies as a mother. If I had a place in town for her to stay while she got her act together? If I had a place back in St. Louis for her to stay till summer school started and she found a place to live. If I had my friggin' act together. If, If, If... for a moment last week I even questioned why I left her father for a new life. Ok, that was a brief moment, but it was a moment of panic and worry. I'm past it.

I leave town in 5 days. No job. I'm lucky to have my sister to live with while looking for work. I know that. I am not homeless, but I sure feel terribly disheveled, uprooted, uncertain. The broken heart, you ask? Still breaking into a million pieces. Some days bad, some better, some days tearful, some heartsick, some angry. That can't be helping any. My head does know it's the best thing, but letting go is so damn hard. I feel vulnerable and alone.

I can't sleep and I'm starting to have panic attacks. Don't know if it's from the broken heart, the fear of the future and the unknown, saying good-bye to this town and the few people I have gotten so close to in the past 18 months, or a kid who has no place to live. I know a friend whose son has a brain tumor. I know a family who lost their son last month in a car accident. I know people with much bigger problems. But this is what I am dealing with right now.

I've always had a strong stomach, but I feel like I could vomit at any moment.

Wanted: One single man with benefits

2008-05-08T19:49:00.003-05:00

And not those kinds of benefits. Not friends with benefits. Nope, not those. I mean health care benefits.

First, I interviewed with my current organization on the affiliate in St. Louis. There is an educator position available, but they are turning it into 2 part time positions. You wonder why? Wonder no more. You don't have to pay part time people benefits. When I raised the concern yesterday (as in , don't bother interviewing me if you can't offer me benefits) the HR person said we could discuss more during the phone interview. What she meant was "Are you willing to help us out PRN until you get full time work?" Bull shit.

So I drove off to St. Louis, had lunch with 2 former work friends from my publishing days and got 2 books I worked on for my interview. Hated driving in the big city again after 18 months of small college town driving. Found the place for the interview. I was great. She loved me. I was about to meet the CEO when she said, "Oh, by the way, we offer a retirement plan but no healthcare benefits. Is that a deal breaker?" WHAT??? Are you kidding me??? I said, "Yes, it's a deal breaker." She said, "Well, I heard you say 'divorce' and thought it might be," and I wanted to say, "Did you think my ex had benefits when we were married??? Because he never had a job with bennies. It was all me!" I gathered my things, and she apologized for having me drive in all this way for the interview. She did ask if I had looked into obtaining health care benefits on my own, and I told her that was a bust when I was unemployed (and freelancing) years ago because I have pre-existing conditions. I mentioned high cholesterol but did not mention depression so she wouldn't think I would come back and go "postal" on her. "Maybe," she said, "I should have mentioned this earlier?" Do ya think???? I was furious. One vacation day and 2 tanks of gas later and this is the sign of the times. I am still fuming. I know it's the beginning of my job search and that the job sounded boring, but damn it, what do they expect in this day and age???

So if you know of any single men out there with great benefits, let me know. Will marry for insurance.

Rising From the Ashes...

2008-04-25T12:34:00.001-05:00

This is not original but has been circulating on e-mail, and it spoke to me today. I have been up and down so much this week that I swear I'm on a roller coaster ride from hell. And by "up," I don't mean "high." I mean not as low as some days. And by "down" I don't mean suicidal. I mean not as high as I've been this last year. According to my dear blogger friend in New York, I should be going through this cycle several times in the next few weeks, but I just want to let you all know, I'm hanging in there. Up, down, high, low, but I'm still kicking. Hugs to all of you who have been there for me now and in the future. I could not get through this without you. You're the best.

Old Age, I decided, is a gift..........

I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometime despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt. And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror (who looks like my mother!), but I don't agonize over those things for long.

I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I've aged, I've become more kind to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend. I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie or for not making my bed or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need but looks so avante garde on my patio.

I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant. I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.

Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60&70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love, I will. I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set . They, too, will get old.

I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things.

Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one or when a child suffers or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.

I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.

As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong. So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day. (If I feel like it)

The Fairy Tale Is Fading Away

2008-04-21T08:22:00.004-05:00

I think I was in love with the fairy tale. That's why I put up with being treated with 50% of the effort while I was giving 200%. Once old friends, lonely boy seeks out lonely girl on the internet after 20 years apart. And for the past year, this love has been like none other. I have never felt this way about another man in my life. At the ripe age of 50, I felt a love that truly made me walk on air. If you had seen me through my divorce and the subsequent months, you would think I had swallowed Tinker Bell. I was downright giddy. For God's sake, I learned how to swim for this man. And now the fairy tale is slowly, painfully sliding into the sunset. I deserve to be treated better. I was willing to put up with so much because I have never felt a love this strong, this powerful. But Vegas brought out a lot of realities that were too painful to ignore. And while my heart is hurting now, the pain excrutiating, I am coming out into the light. I remember thinking last year that if I had been my friend, I would slap me and say "Snap out of it." I was that freakishly happy. Well, now if I were my friend, I would say, "It takes one hell of a man to be better than no man at all." It's time I listened to this friend.

Walking back into my apartment, reminders of Sailor Boy are everywhere. Photos of us, lotion he gave me, a photo of me in the Bay, a pirate action figure, tee-shirts, a pitcher from the Valentine's flowers. This morning I looked up on my dresser to see my Beanie Baby Crab and Lion (Zodiac signs). Maybe I should have known when the chain from my heart necklace broke when I was in Vegas. So utterly cliche. And now my own heart is breaking.

I did not even feel this kind of pain when my 27-year marriage ended. Because that had ended years before and I had work to do. This pain is almost unbearable and gut-wrenching... another thing I thought I was too old to experience. I was wrong.

We are in the negotiation stage. You will not see "busy skyping" on my IM messages. After 14 months of 2 hours almost every night on Skype, we are taking a break and reflecting. Maybe I'll be his once-in-a-while sailing girlfriend for long weekends. I don't know. We're not talking much about details. The pain is too deep.

Oh, and by the way, I am quitting my job, moving back to St. Louis, and the house has a contract on it. I won't believe it until the keys are actually turned over. There are too many changes for me to catch my breath. Please hold me in your thoughts and prayers.

My colon passed with flying colors

2008-04-07T09:10:00.003-05:00

A colonoscopy is a piece of cake. Mmmmmm, piece of cake. I'm hungry. Just kidding. I would have never jeopardized my colonoscopy by introducing solids during the Day of Evacuation. But trust me, I wanted to. Every dream, and I had many, involved accidentally eating something I shouldn't which meant ANYTHING. I didn't sleep well the night before my procedure (hereby deemed The Super Dooper Pooper Snooper) out of nervousness or trips to the bathroom. But when I did sleep, it always involved food. Food accidentally being eaten out of habit, out of forgetfulness, out of boredom. I think at one point I actually dreamed of eating birthday cake, and we all know it's no where near my birthday.

But seriously, folks, I worried for nothing. The day before the test you drink nothing but liquids so there really is nothing in you... but liquid. Drinking the mixture, I will admit, isn't the tastiest of potions. Phospho-soda does taste, to quote Dave Barry, like "a mixture of goat spit and urinal cleanser with just a hint of lemon." So you chug it in a 1/2 glass of water. Then they tell you to chase it with 3 glasses of water. NO SHIT SHERLOCK. It didn't take reading medical instructions to figure that one out. You willingly pour anything down your gullet to get rid of that taste, but it goes away. It does not linger. (Dave Barry took Movi-Prep which I cannot attest to, but I assume it tastes as bad as Phospho-soda.)

I wished my appointment had been in the morning (a) to get it over with (b) so I could come back home and sleep the rest of the day or (c) so I could start eating sooner, but alas, it was in the afternoon. The biggest factor of not eating is boredom. Really. You don't realize how much or how often we stick something in our mouth our of boredom. But once I was taken to the Endoscopy Center, the nurses, anesthetists, and even the person who makes a living sticking tubing up people's butts were wonderful. Before putting the IV in, the nurse brought me warm blankets. They explained everything. My blood pressure was fine. And away we went. You even get chauffeured down the hall in one of those beds with wheels. The one I thought I would get when I had kids, but they made me "jump on down" into a wheelchair after delivering an 8 pound bowling ball. I finally got the escorted bed.

The nurse anesthetist administering the "milk of amnesia" said to think of a nice dream, and before I could think about being in Vegas with Sailor Boy, I was already back in my recovery room with those heated blanket on my legs. I am thinking about getting the "milk of amnesia" for my next tooth cleaning.

Hell, I should have had some for the last 10 years of my marriage.

Blue Bamboo Diffuser

2008-03-30T21:50:00.008-05:00

I meant to share with you the sentiment on one of the cards my sister gave our niece upon the occasion of her 40th birthday.

How could you know...

when you were 20 and imposisbly sexy and unable to imagine yourself otherwise,

that time would teach you something.

That age is not a loss but an exhange of wisdom for youth,

grace for foolishness, love for lust.

And it is an exchange that will seem a very unfair trade,

not for the woman, but for the girl.

I forgot to tell you the funny thing that happened to me NOT on the way to the forum but in the bathroom of The London Tea Room at my niece's birthday celebration. If you recall, she turned 40 2 weeks ago, and my sisters and I took her to high tea at a lovely tea room. We were dressed as if we had all gone to church. It was still chilly (since it's March) so I wore this very nice layered gored lavender skirt with a white top, and a
very colorful sweater.

After we ordered our tea, I had to use the bathroom. Nice little room as far as loo's go. A one-holer. Well, as I explained, I had on layers. So as not to drop my very long skirt made up of copious amounts of material into the commode, I gathered it in front of me and flipped it over my shoulder. Perfect plan so the skirt would be spared the icy plunge.

However, I did not take into account the diffuser of Blue Bamboo oil on the back of the toilet tank. Are you seeing where this is going? I heard the glass diffuser topple, and before I could say "Queen Elizabeth II," oily diffuser liquid was oozing down the sides and front of the toilet tank and onto the tile floor around my feet. The 6 "pick-up" sticks were rolling in the oil on the slippery porcelain.

Now I won't go into detail about what happened when one is peeing and one must jump up quickly from the toilet seat. I don't even want to think about it, but it does take a lot of brain cells for your synapses to scream, "Jump, squeeze, jump hold, GET OUT OF THE WAY OF THE OIL BUT STOP PEEING." I managed. And I managed not to get the oily diffuser all over the back of my sweater by sitting forward when necessary. Pretty fit manuevering for an old gal.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry as I sat there with my lavender skirt lopped over my shoulder and urine-colored oil seeping down the toilet tank onto the floor like lava from Mt. Vesuvius. Do you know how many paper towels it takes to clean up diffuser oil? You know, the cheap butcher-paper kid of hand towels. Let's just say LOTS.

To my credit, I DID clean up the toilet and the surrounding floor tile (with my skirt still lopped over my shoulder). Hell, from a distance, this goop looked like pee, and I didn't want anyone to think I had peed oil. I kid you not... when I returned to the table, my niece said, "My, you smell nice. What are you wearing?" After our tea, we went shopping in the nearby British goods store. At the last display was the table of Blue Bamboo Diffusers and candles. I took a whiff and knew I had smelled that somewhere before. Not a bad smell, not too overpowering. I inquired about the Blue Bamboo line of products and the proprietor said, "We use that in the bathrooms here, and everyone loves the smell so much that we sell a lot of these." I wasn't interested in purchasing any that day. It was a smell, subtle as it was, I could do without. And besides, it was following me home... for free.

I did not tell my family members so as not to detract from the festivities of the afternoon. But on the way home, I did tell my sister the funny story of spilling the oil all over the bathroom. My funny sister called me while I was driving out of town and said, "My car smells lovely. Thanks for the air freshener." Funny!

Going for my Oh-My-God-I-Must-Be-50 routine colonoscopy this Friday. And if you don't think I'm not going to be posting about that in detail, well, you're just full of ... you get the idea!

A Poodle? Are you nuts?

2008-03-28T08:44:00.001-05:00

Cheez doodles and ice cream

2008-03-14T22:06:00.004-05:00

Lately, I have taken to eating cheez (with a "z") puffs and ice cream (Moose Tracks). Both on sale and soon gone so this divergence is short-lived. Try as I might, I cannot find the nutritional components except, perhaps, dairy in the ice cream. Can you say "depressed"?

Work is crap. Because they do not trust our boss and want him to quit, they are making his life miserable and, subsequently, the people under him. We have to account for every minute of every day on our Outlook calendar. I can understand presentations. I log those in anyway. But now we are to log in "reading a journal article on sex," "checking out videos on this website," "planning for a presentation." How much longer before we have to record "taking a dump" or "looking for a new job?" We are 5 adults who manage our time. We do not need to record our every waking moment and be babysat.

Taking more swimming lessons. Even went on my own the other day to practice putting my head under water. I didn't like it, but I did it. And finally scheduled my colonoscopy because of this hysterical article. Good for 50-yr-old me. (Of course, I haven't gotten there, but I need all the accolades I can get beforehand.)

Going back to St. Louis for my niece's 40th b'day this weekend.

Of Kirkwood and Art Linkletter

2008-02-28T22:38:00.003-06:00

Today my profile says I come from the Middle of the State, but it once read that I was located in Kirkwood, Missouri. Yep, that Kirkwood. The Kirkwood that was in the paper 3 weeks ago tonight, splashed across the world as the City Council shootings unfolded. I was horrified along about this tragedy with the rest of my little suburb and the rest of the country and even the world. Here are some articles to read to catch up on the happenings in case you were living in a cave. It has been in every paper, on every news station, and on the minds of everyone back home. I knew 3 of those murdered, 2 of them well, and even drove back for the funeral of the councilwoman who was to be running for mayor in April. And she would have won. I lived in Kirkwood for 20 years, and no matter where I move to in the future, it will always be home to me. One of the starkest images was driving back home for Connie's funeral and seeing not one Kirkwood police on the streets. The community was being protected by Missouri Highway Patrol and other municipalities. I heard the procession for the younger of the two cops rode through 7 miles of town and took 2 hours to complete in temperatures that never got over the teens. The black bunting still drapes City Hall. We (and I still consider myself a part of that little berg) will never be the same. You can say it was about black vs. white, right vs. wrong, the big guy vs. the little guy, growth vs. slums, stagnation vs. blighting, but in the end, it was one man who snapped over what he thought was injustices and went far far, too far the wrong way. He volunteered at my daughters' elementary school and could only be described by those of us who barely knew him in town as a "teddy bear." Now his family must live in the same town where he took 5 vital members of the community. Those who died that night will forever be known as The Kirkwood Six because he was one of them, too, shot and killed in the end. My heart continues to weigh heavy with sadness over this horrifying tragedy.

Ok, it took me 3 weeks to get those words out. My heart still hurts.

So I was thinking about my niece's upcoming 40th birthday and recalled what I was doing 40 years ago today. (I have older nephews, having become an aunt at 7.) 2 weeks prior to today 40 years ago I got my first pair of glasses. Imagine red hair, freckles, divorced mother, no car, and now put glasses on my face. Oh, I was a looker. 40 years ago today on a Tuesday morning I was hit by a car. The hip smacked into the grill, my chin collided with the hood ornament, and I was thrown to the asphalt, skidding about 20 feet (although it could have been 10 feet or 50 since I had spacial problems back then, too). I had borrowed my sister's blouse that morning, a blue-green blouse with a huge circle collar that laid outside my black jumper, both sewn by our mother. I was 10 to her 15 and had no business borrowing her clothes. I was soon to be found out. My glasses that, as you recall, I had just gotten 2 weeks earlier, flew off my face, did a half gainer, and landed, temples pointing down, in the rain grate, found later unscratched. The beautiful circular collar of watercolor was now soaked in blood, and I recall someone saying, "We have to call the police," and my remarking (while still on my knees in the middle of the street), "Don't call the police. I didn't do anything wrong." Hey, I was a kid with a single mother who knew the word truant.

I remember the neighbor boy (who would later give me several of his private collection of MAD magazines) running to get my big sister, whose blouse I had borrowed, and I remember looking up at my house and seeing her take the 11 porch steps in ONE LEAP. I knew she was going to bean me for borrowing her now blood-soaked blouse. I knew fear. The two of us sat up front in the ambulance while whizzing through town with the siren blaring, going 70 miles an hour without seat belts. Gotta love the 60s. The same ambulance driver would eventually drop my big sister off at high school where a teacher had to tell her that there was blood all over her outfit.

I remember my mother showing up after her cab ride (remember we didn't have a car) and saying, "Ok, so what have you done now? How does the car look?" as if I had been in a schoolyard scuffle. It was her feeble, inappropriate attempt at relieving the tension that she must have felt. As a mother, I cannot imagine my supervisor at work tapping me on the shoulder and saying, "Can you come with me" as they gave her the news her little girl was hit by a car. And finally, I remember the doctor telling me I had "contusions, abrasions, and lacerations." I knew I was dying. Sadly, I was wheeled into a room to wait for the x-ray results as my mother was sitting next to a stranger. My mother had no friends, let alone male friends, and I remember thinking it was weird when she asked, "Do you know who this is?" Of course not, Lady. I was hit by a car. I don't have amnesia. Turns out it was the man who hit me. He worked at the Federal Pen up the street and had driven to work the same way for 25 years until that morning. He decided to shake it up a bit. In the end, he drove us home and even carried me into the house as I no longer could walk because of the aforementioned contusions. As an adult now, I cannot imagine the anguish he went through after hitting a little kid with his car. My mother took the rest of the day off while I watched Art Linkletter. Another big sister took off from college and stayed with me the rest of the week until I recuperated and returned to school the next week. I can't imagine not having sick days to take care of my kid(s) or having to ask my college-kid to take off from school to watch my kid. Looking back, my pain was minimal over that of the adults involved.

Two weeks later I became an aunt for the 3rd time. I so was the most popular kid in 5th grade for those couple of weeks.

Holy crap, Art Linkletter is still alive.

Counting M&Ms and Findings Buttons

2008-02-07T08:41:00.000-06:00

Funny title... I know. But you'll get it soon enough.

The answer growing was was never "go outside and play." My mother worked nights until I was 7 and worked days after that so was never home during the long summer days when you might hear a mother answer "go play outside" when a kid was bored. It was never the answer. Outdoors was not a reward for us small city kids. It was where we went when there was a slight breeze that made it cooler than the stifling heat of the un-air conditioned apartment we lived in. Cooling off involved sitting in metal tubs that only accommodated a body when scrunched up with knees to chin filled with cold water. To date, I have never climbed a tree.

Adventure took on a whole new meaning in my house. My sister roller skated up and down the High Street sidewalk crashing and colliding way too often for me to take skate key in hand. (You young readers are wondering "what the hell is a skate key?" Google it.) Adventure to me was locating 5 matching buttons from the button box when my mother was sewing something. Hey, that could take all afternoon for a bored kid. While my sisters were voracious readers, adventure to me was setting M&Ms out in a row in front of the tv (that I sat 2 feet in front of on the floor),ordering them by color, eating them in conscious fashion of comparative numbers, no color having more than the other while watching Gilligan's Island or Brady Bunch. Adventure was filling up jugs of water when the Water Company called to tell us that they were turning off the water for failure to pay the bill. What an adventure. Adventure was crossing the main street in town to catch the city bus for school each morning. This Feb 28th will mark the 40th anniversary of the day I got hit by a car on that adventure. See, I wasn't too good at some of those adventures.

But going outside was never the solution to being bored for a kid like me. Going outside meant more allergies, more asthma, more sunburns. You young readers can't imagine life before air conditioning or antihistamines, but I was a miserable walking snot ball as a child because of the grasses, weeds, and trees. You never closed the windows in the summer because there was no air conditioning so I suffered greatly as a child. Plus, living downtown we had few neighbor kids to start of a game of softball or basketball or stickball. And if you recall, that street was far too busy to play in. My sisters and I did not take up the cause of Title IX which guaranteed girls' participation in sports. My big protest was staging a sit-in to allow girls to wear slacks to school when I was in 8th grade. I got sent home but felt victorious in my rebellion, and I'd like to consider it an adventure, but we all know it didn't call for athletic prowess. Oh, gym class. Don't even get me started. Gym in grade school meant tetherball, which I was pretty good at (You basically stand still for this "sport.") And do you remember that torturous goddamn rope bolted to the ceiling of the gymnasium? Who invented that torture device.

So what's my point? I am not an athlete, never was and never aspired to be. (I was the kid in grade school who promised to do your homework if you would bat for me.) Didn't join sports teams, growing up with sisters in a city environment. Never played outside as an answer to "What can I do today, Mom?" So I find myself in love with a man whose middle name is "outdoors," who lives for adventure, who wants to spend the rest of his life moving, going, doing and wants a partner to do those things with. Half the things he mentions, like hiking, swimming, sailing, I have never tried or desired to try. The other half, like skiing, skating, horseback riding, I have tried with disastrous results. Horrible experiences. And now he ponders ... is love enough? Will I ever be good enough? Will I be nothing more than a disappointed left behind? I contend I am willing to try, but at 50, is that a pipe dream? Or a hip waiting to break?

Manual labor

2008-01-12T21:25:00.001-06:00

Which do you think is sexier? On a real body? A real 50-yr-old body?

My daughter said something to me that cut through me like ice and I had to blink away the tears. Some might say I am too sensitive, but I say I did an amazing job not letting on how hurt I was. Some might ask why I didn't let on how hurt I was, but I say it wasn't the right time, and it was my problem for being so sensitive. Mabel was coming up with all sorts of ideas that might get the house sold (She is an HGTV addict.) As she rambled on and on about this paint and that fixture and that hardware on kitchen cabinets, I said I was more than happy to go back home any weekend and help out with cleaning and fixing things up before we put the house back on the market. Then I added (and this is where things may have gone wrong), "I have always been willing and able to do my part when it comes to cleaning the house and doing my share in fixing it up for sale." (Remember my b'day weekend last summer???) And that's when she said it. "Face it, Mom, you've never been that good at manual labor." SAY WHAT? Sure, the girls' father was the one who mowed the lawn, shoveled the driveway, cleaned up the dog dirt, taking out the trash, and raking the leaves. But I wanted to ask, "Who supported the family with the better-paying job? Who always had the medical benefits? Who paid for your father's MBA? Who often worked all day and freelanced at night to pay for summer camps? Who attended every parent conference and Open House for both girls? Who planned every birthday party and bought every Christmas gift?" And if her father and I had still been married, I could have asked all those questions, and she would have said something like, "You're right, Mom. You were a great pair who, together, did a great job." But because we're divorced, I couldn't say anything because it would look like a competition. And it would look like I was being way too sensitive. I didn't begin to forgive my mother for 10 years after her death, and I didn't realize until this last year during my divorce how strong and incredible she was to go through what I was going through only alone. So given that math and thinking I will live until I am 90 (2047), I guess I shouldn't expect my daughter to figure things out until 2057... unless, of course, she is much smarter and quicker than I was. I need to stop being so sensitive when she says these sorts of things, don't I? (Please be kind when you answer that.)

On another subject, would you consider Mango Sorbet a fruit?? (Warning: Base your answer on the fact that I am on my period.)

Yogurt and Cheerios and some ranting

2008-01-10T23:45:00.000-06:00

I don't know about you, but I had THE MOST FABULOUS 6 days with Sailor Boy which included meeting another sister and the other daughter as well as attending a dinner party for a handful of friends "back home." We got to bring in the new year together, the first of many ("many," as in the rest of our lives), which was absolutely fabulous. Am I gushing? Oh come on, I have tried to be so good on this thing and not say too much, but now that I'm divorced, the floodgates are about to open. I'll try not to embarrass us all.

While my "guest" was in my presence, we had the chance to share breakfast many a morning. With the exception of the morning I actually COOKED HIM AN OMELET (which was deeeelish, thank you very much), we had Yogurt with Cheerios. Or was that Cheerios with Yogurt? During my year of The Divorce Diet, I have been taking a container of yogurt to work for breakfast. Since about halfway through I start to realize I am eating "sour" milk, I like to add cereal to it for the crunchy effect. Mabel (daughter #1) hooked me on Yogurt Blast Cheerios so I always have a box at work to combined with my sour milk... I mean, yogurt. I sprinkle a few in the container of yogurt and pull out a spoonful of delight. Sprinkle, sprinkle, eat crunchy yogurt spoonfuls. So my "visitor" asks what's for breakfast (and since I rarely, if ever, cook in my humble abode), I say, "Yogurt and cereal," and I let him pick out his own flavor of yogurt. (After all, he is a big boy.) But instead of taking a tiny (since the opening is so small) handful of Cheerios and placing them on the top of the yogurt, he pours a bowl of Cheerios and delightfully, if not gleefully, dumps the entire container of yogurt into the bowl, sort of like it's milk. So I figure, why not try it his way. Which I do. It's efficient. He does not have to stop and sprinkle, picking up the errant Cheerios that fall out of the container. (You should see the floor under my desk at work.) I cannot believe I never thought of that. It's brilliant and so efficient. And even delicious... if I can stop thinking it's "thick" milk on my cereal I'm eating. And I have to wonder, "Can a relationship of two diametrically opposed notions of breakfast last? Do we have a future?" Of course, in my defense, I never thought of this because I don't have a bowl at work. But now I eat yogurt with my Cheerios instead of the other way around and read my e-mail in the morning while at home. Thanks, Sweetie, for the brilliant idea.

My landpeople had their cat put to sleep today. Clinger (no, not misspelled and not named after the cross-dressing character on M*A*S*H) was 20 in August (Yes, like yours truly, he was a Leo. Kinda fits, doesn't it?) and up until recently was still functioning quite remarkably for an ancient feline. The first time I watched Clinger for them I had to ask what to do with "the body" just in case. I mean, the thing couldn't live forever. This isn't a chapter in Tuck Everlasting. He was still performing the two top functions of old cats: eating/drinking and pooping/peeing. But they went out of town this week and I dutifully fed Old Clinger who would not eat a thing. I even held the spoonful of pulverized tuna that they had blended into a mousse before leaving. But he still drank water. I can't guarantee he did the other thing as I never had to clean out the cat box. They did not want to take him into the vet as the only time Clinger ever saw the inside of the cat carrier was to go to the much-dreaded vet. They figured the poor thing would have a heart attack if they tried to put it in the carrier before they could even get it to the vet to be put to sleep. (Don't say it. I know what you're thinking.) So they found a vet willing to come to the house. I came into the house tonight after my workout (swimming suit season is 5 months away... YIKES) and Clinger was walking painfully, awkwardly around his owner's legs as she told me the vet would be there soon. I leaned down and held my hand out so Clinger could sniff me, the woman who fed and watered him upon occasion who had talked to him every night I came through the livingroom as he has spent the last few months sleeping copious amounts. He couldn't have weighed more than 4 lbs now and was as mangy as any animal with, let's say, the mange since he could no longer bend the way cats must bend to lick themselves clean. (If I know cats, he was probably mortified of this last indignity.) I saw the tears in my friend's eyes as this has been her beloved companion since their daughter was in 4th grade. The daughter who is now almost 30 and the mother of 2.5 children. I gave my friend a hug as I walked to my apt in the basement. The family needed their time alone before they said good bye. We think Clinger had kitty Alzheimer's and would get lost in corners or forget why he had come downstairs in the first place which resulted in a cry, a meow so piercing that it could peel paint off the walls. I will miss that old feller.

And while I'm rambling here, I screwed up today both professionally and personally. While I won't go into detail with either, suffice it to say I found myself presenting a discussion in a location I am not allowed to enter. It happened so quickly that I didn't even think about it till I got there and then I couldn't back out. And I figured, "I wasn't exactly in the classroom but rather the cafeteria and she isn't exactly a teacher but rather a sponsor of this after-school group." Please bake me a cake with a file if I end up in jail. On my personal screw up, I blathered on too much about my ex to a friend in an e-mail. (We had been exchanging music YouTubes recently which is what started up the correspondence over the holidays.) I have tried to be good about not going off too much on that subject in this blog so I must have had some pent-up matters. She took me to task for "putting her in the middle," something she had asked me specifically not to do when we separated 18 months ago. I screwed up. (Should I add that she is my ex's high school girlfriend who I embraced at our first meeting and we have been friends, albeit long distance ever since? My ex was obviously attracted to the same kind of woman.) I said things like, "We celebrated Christmas together since that was a promise I made him when I left even though he didn't keep any of his promises." Subtle but still rude on my part. She admonished me, and I probably deserved it. She is a long distance friend I have not seen in years, perhaps a decade, and will probably never see again. I guess I could have replied with "I'm sorry," and then explained that I didn't mean to break my promise not to put her in the middle, but that seems lame. I really wasn't thinking that my comments about celebrating Christmas with him present ("It really wasn't that hard since he doesn't drink or make a scene.") were putting her in the middle since I wasn't telling her my side and asking her to take my side, something I would never, ever e-mail to my ex's high school girlfriend. We probably have only e-mailed 2 or 3 times since I left so I just can't see going on and on with my apology. It seems so futile now. But I was rude and thoughtless and for that I am sorry. But I just deleted the finger-wagging e-mail from her (esp since she admonished me and in the same breath said she would always be there to listen... say what?) and will probably write off that "friendship." Besides, in the scheme of things, he really should get custody of the ex-girlfriend.

I just reread that last paragraph and can't believe I actually said, "While I won't go into detail..." Who was I fooling? You didn't really believe me when I wrote that, did you?

And while I'm ranting about the ex, it is driving him nuts that I won't give him my current address. I have moved 3 times since I moved to town, and it just seemed simpler to keep my original address so I wasn't constantly informing the post office of my new location. But when he ranted "Why are you keeping your current address from me?" and went on and on about it, I figured (a) I no longer have to tell him my current address and (b) I'll tell him my address when he tells me where he's working. He doesn't owe me that information (and probably doesn't want me to know that he lost or quit his job from last spring and has another one). But it hit me the other day, "I wonder if he thinks I'm keeping my current address from him because I'm living with someone." That put a big smile on my face. If he only knew...

Oh well, may your morning bring you yogurt and Cheerios or the other way around.

Happy Blogiversary

2007-12-28T23:44:00.000-06:00

Can you believe it's been 3 years since I started this blog? December 29th, 2004 was my 25th wedding anniversary, and I celebrated by starting a blog. Can you say, "Writing on the wall." Yes, I have gone back and reread a few entries from the beginning, but it is a weird "out of body" experience where I cannot believe what has transpired over the last 3 years.

First and most startling, I am NOT celebrating my 28th wedding anniversary. My divorce was final in August. Did I see this coming? Not sure I thought 3 years ago that I had what it takes to leave this marriage. But I did. I moved to another city, got a new job, and lived alone, really alone, for the past 15 months.

Second, I went to Montana with a blog friend and visited the home of a blog friend in Montana and met another Montana blog friend. You know who you are. I would have never dreamed that could happen. I have forged friendships with people I didn't know 3 years ago as a result of this blog. I IM them and e-mail with them and learned from them, laugh with them, blush with them. (You know who you are.) I would love to meet some of you all this year.

And finally, I will be spending this New Year's Eve with the love of my life. I spent far too many Dec 29th's alone, lonely. Too many New Year's Eve not celebrating. And now I am head over heels in love and spending it with this wonderful man. How did I get so lucky? 2008 is going to be a wonderful year, and I am so excited to get it started. A toast to love. Join me in the happy dance.

Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. Thanks for coming along for the ride. It's been great meeting you and getting to know you.

'Tis the Season...

2007-12-25T19:05:00.001-06:00

Glitter Christmas Graphics

A Letter from Jesus

2007-12-09T10:37:00.001-06:00

Or.... Oh my God, she did not just say that. Yes, it's true. I read e-mail and sometimes delete it and sometimes really ponder it. I rarely pass on things, other than a few good jokes, or endorse things or make you fill out meme's. That's not what this is. A dear friend sent this to me and it struck a chord with me in the holiday season. So, without preaching or ignoring the fact that we are pretending Jesus has a computer (I envision a really kickass system, don't you???), I am sharing this in my blog as an alternative to all the "Jesus Is the Reason" and holiday (rather than Christmas) concert crap. I think it's an interesting balance that's worth a read. Please don't comment if it pisses you off. It's just a different perspective from the guy with the kickass computer. RHE
**************************************************************************

Dear Children,

It has come to my attention that many of you are upset that folks are taking My name out of the season. Maybe you've forgotten that I wasn't actually born during this time of the year and that it was some of your predecessors who decided to celebrate My birthday on what was actually a time of pagan festival. Although I do appreciate being remembered anytime.

How I personally feel about this celebration can probably be most easily understood by those of you who have been blessed with children of your own.

I don't care what you call the day. If you want to celebrate My birth, just GET ALONG AND LOVE ONE ANOTHER.

Now, having said that let Me go on. If it bothers you that the town in which you live doesn't allow a scene depicting My birth, then just get rid of a couple of Santa's and snowmen and put in a small Nativity scene on your own front lawn. If all My followers did that there wouldn't be any need for such a scene on the town square because there would be many of them all around town.

Stop worrying about the fact that people are calling the tree a holiday tree, instead of a Christmas tree. It was I who made all trees. You can remember Me anytime you see any tree. Decorate a grape vine if you wish: I actually spoke of that one in a teaching, explaining who I am in relation to you and what each of our tasks were. If you have forgotten that one, look up John 15: 1 - 8.

If you want to give Me a present in remembrance of My birth here is my wish list. Choose something from it:

1. Instead of writing protest letters objecting to the way My birthday is being celebrated, write letters of love and hope to soldiers away from home. They are terribly afraid and lonely this time of year. I know, they tell Me all the time.

2. Visit someone in a nursing home. You don't have to know them personally. They just need to know that someone cares about them.

3. Instead of writing George complaining about the wording on the cards his staff sent out this year, why don't you write and tell him that you'll be praying for him and his family this year. Then follow up. It will be nice hearing from you again.

4. Instead of giving your children a lot of gifts you can't afford and they don't need, spend time with them. Tell them the story of My birth, and why I came to live with you down here. Hold them in your arms and remind them that I love them.

5. Pick someone that has hurt you in the past and forgive him or her.

6. Did you know that someone in your town will attempt to take their own life this season because they feel so alone and hopeless? Since you don't know who that person is, try giving everyone you meet a warm smile; it could make the difference.

7. Instead of nit picking about what the retailer in your town calls the holiday, be patient with the people who work there. Give them a warm smile and a kind word. Even if they aren't allowed to wish you a "Merry Christmas" that doesn't keep you from wishing them one. Then stop shopping there on Sunday. If the store didn't make so much money on that day they'd close and let their employees spend the day at home with their families.

8. If you really want to make a difference, support a missionary - especially one who takes My love and Good News to those who have never heard My name.

9. Here's a good one. There are individuals and whole families in your town who not only will have no "Christmas" tree, but neither will they have any presents to give or receive. If you don't know them, buy some food and a few gifts and give them to the Salvation Army or some other charity which believes in Me and they will make the delivery for you.

10. Finally, if you want to make a statement about your belief in and loyalty to Me, then behave like a Christian. Don't do things in secret that you wouldn't do in My presence. Let people know by your actions that you are one of mine.

Don't forget; I am God and can take care of Myself. Just love Me and do what I have told you to do. I'll take care of all the rest.

Check out the list above and get to work; time is short. I'll help you, but the ball is now in your court. And do have a most blessed Christmas with all those whom you love and remember: I LOVE YOU, JESUS

~Earthly Author Unknown~

M-I-Z

2007-11-25T21:45:00.000-06:00

Z-O-U!!!!!
Can you believe it??? The University of Missouri (Columbia) is #1 in 4 polls (whatever that means). And Os had the balls to ask, "What's a Mizzou???" What's a Mizzou??? It's a large Midwest public landgrant university that's known for it's Journalism School and party reputation. But after having a slow start, the football team just beat KU for the #1 slot in the nation and will soon win (Lord willing and the creek don't rise) The Big 12 championship. I never did understand how a team with an almost perfect record still had to play for the championship, but if that's how they have to win, do be it. Next week it's the game against Oklahoma in San Antonio. Everyone better learn how to yell Z-O-U when the cheerleaders yell M-I-Z. Got it, Gary?? Some friends back home feel I am the major reason the football team is doing so well because it didn't happen until I moved here. Ok, I'll take the power!

So how was your Thanksgiving?? Mine was utterly wonderful, fantastic, spectacular. After some confusion as to who would be at the table, dinner went off without a hitch. And yes, the ex was there. My sisters are wonderful like that. Lots of laughs and good food. But more importantly, I got to spend some quality time with a very special person which gave me much to be thankful for. It was simply glorious. Couldn't have gone better.

Must go back to the gym. Feeling very fat. But my big work's fundraiser is this week. I will be temporarily insane this week. (No comment!) And I ran into the foot of the couch and probably broke a bone in my 2nd toe. Black and blue. It will be interesting looking for a pair of shoes to wear this week.

GO TIGERS!!!!!

I Sing a Song of the Saints of God

2007-11-04T12:26:00.001-06:00

Any Episcopalians out there? I don't know if this hymn is in other church hymnals, but it's in the Episcopal hymnal, and we sang it today to celebrate All Saints' Day. Yah, Yah, I know, All Saints' Day is the day after Halloween, but that was Thursday and today is Sunday. I managed to make it to church this morning cuz of a little thing called Daylight Saving Times so I woke up in time. After nearly 50 years of going to church at 10 o'clock, I am in a town where the Episcopal service starts at 9, and for some piss poor reason, I just can't seem to get my act together for that time slot. But today I did, and I'm glad I did.

I grew up a poor black child in Mississippi... oh sorry. Seriously, I grew up a poor redheaded child in a small town in mid-Missouri with a 3 big sisters and a single (albeit exhausted, overworked, lonely, chemically dependent, neglectful) mother. School and church were our refuge. I never missed a day of either in 18 years. Seriously. Although they provided me time away from my home (and my crazy catatonic mother), soon both became my solace, my peace, my joy. I was a member of the junior choir, and I have many wonderful memories singing at the top of my lungs every Thursday and the occasional Sunday. (High school choir took over where church choir ended and filled my heart with even greater joy because of the wonderful Carl Burkel.) But I digress. Whenever I hear a hymn from my childhood (and the hymnbook changed in 1979 so they aren't always readily sung as much as they once were), I am filled with wonderful memories, smiles and joy that fill my heart. Today was such a day as we sang "I Sing a Song of the Saints of God." This song will mean nothing to you if you didn't grow up with it, but it means so much to me now (as it did then). It conveys the message that you don't have to die to be a saint. You don't have to be a hero. You don't even have to sacrifice to be a saint. You can be a saint of God in your lifetime. We know many, don't we, who fill this role.

        I sing a song of the saints of God,
 patient and brave and true,
 who toiled and fought and lived and died
 for the Lord they loved and knew.
 And one was a doctor, and one was a queen,
 and one was a shepherdess on the green;
 they were all of them saints of God, and I mean,
 God helping, to be one too.

 They loved their Lord so dear, so dear,
 and his love made them strong;
 and they followed the right for Jesus' sake
 the whole of their good lives long.
 And one was a soldier, and one was a priest,
 and one was slain by a fierce wild beast;
 and there's not any reason, no, not the least,
 why I shouldn't be one too.

 They lived not only in ages past;
 there are hundreds of thousands still.
 The world is bright with the joyous saints
 who love to do Jesus' will.
 You can meet them in school, on the street, in the store,
 in church, by the sea, in the house next door;
 they are saints of God, whether rich or poor,
 and I mean to be one too.

Some of the lines made me giggle as a kid, like "slain by a fierce wild beast," which gave me the vision of King Arthur. And I truly never met a "shepherdess on the green." But the song, to this day, makes me happy.

And I thought I would share it with you. I hope this All Saints' Day, you are thinking of those people in your life who have gone before you, who live in the woodwork of your church or your school or your home. Who reside in your heart. Who made you who you are today.

The difference a year makes

2007-10-08T08:27:00.001-05:00

This is me a year ago driving back from Montana with Pam. Those aren't cows in the background. Those are buffalo. Work with me. I had just spent a week in the mountains of Montana at Leesa's and communing with nature. Ahhh, hell, I sat in a hot tub and drank wine for a week. Same diff. It snowed on that Monday as we drove through Vail and Aspen. I came back to St. Louis, bought this laptop and packed up to leave my husband.

Fast forward 365 days and it was 90 degrees in Missouri this weekend. Here I am at my 50th birthday celebration. More importantly, I am single and 60 lbs lighter and a whole lot happier. Well, that could be because I'm in love, but it could be a myriad of things that contribute to that sheer happiness. I have a dream job but no permanent place to live because my house still hasn't sold. But what is permanent? I keep reminding myself, through the financial burden and worry of the house, how happy I am. Check out that party photo. For those of you in bloggy world who couldn't stop by, I managed to set that feather boa on fire and expose my left breast, both accidentally and neither alcohol induced. Yes, that is a glass of champagne in my hand but that was all I had the entire evening. Which is scary when you think about it. I can start a fire and flash my boob without alcohol? God only knows what could happen if I were drinking.

I adore you all for being along for the ride, being there with me during this year. I sure won't forget it... well, at 50, I may forget it. But always know it was life altering.

Great Expectations

2007-09-16T20:42:00.000-05:00

Expectations.... they're like assholes. We all have them and they stink. No, that's opinions. Sorry. Wrong metaphor.

Anyway, I've been thinking about expectations. I lived with a man for 27 years (known him for 32) who had low to no expectations. For me, for the world, for himself. Well, at least none that he voiced (which was always the problem). So does that mean you are never disappointed when you have no expectations?

Kids and children. Parents have expectations of their kids. We expected our children to do well in school. No discussion. And we were rarely, if ever disappointed. (When Dorothy, Daughter #2) made a B+ in Language Arts as a 6th grader, I said, "How did that happen?" And she replied, "Because the teacher bores the crap outta me." I'd met the teacher at Open House. She was boring.) So the older is out of college and the younger is s sophomore, and we have expectations that they did and will do well. We also have expectations that they are caring, giving, kind humans, and for the most part (unless you are related), we have no been disappointed. But I have recently been faced with expectations that my children will do or say what is expected after I have spent a lifetime of fulfilling their expectations.

A very wise man once told me "Your kids will never love you the way you love them." I think the same is true of expectations. Our kid expect us to love them unconditionally and be at their beck and call. And for the most part, we are. Admit it. They fall down, we are there. They need help with homework, we are there. The need a ride to this or that, we have the car in the driveway ready to back out. They need clothes (shoes, sports equipment, food), we fulfill their expectations. They are rarely, if ever, disappointed.

But when we turn to them with some needs and expectations, they are not always there because it's not their job to fulfill our expectations, now is it? I moved a year ago to a "new" city, not exactly new since it was their college town, but new to me. In many respects, the kids have been helpful with moves (3 so far), but if I ever had any expectations that they would help me the same way I have helped them over the years, I had better get over it. I moved to this third location all by myself. They did not lift a finger. As I left Mabel's (Daughter #1) apartment with my arms full, I had to ask her to open the door. And trust me, she begrudgingly got off her fat ass while watching tv to do so. I had expectations that she would be kind and helpful and was disappointed. Right now, I would like to get my tv retrieved from my first location but each daughter continues to be busy.

So a another wise friend (I have many) asked me, "So are you expecting the job to get done or are you expecting to be loved?" By not pressing them into service, am I afraid they won't love me if I demand some help. Or do I set out with expectations of getting my tv moves regardless of how they feel about me afterwards?

So why did the ex have no expectations of me or himself? Was he hoping never to be disappointed? But he also risked never being fulfilled. He didn't expect me to be skinny, but he didn't expect me to be healthy. A two-edged sword. He didn't expect to have a lifetime partner with rousing conversation, but he also wasn't disappointed when he wasn't the man I wanted to communicate with. So do we go through like with low to no expectations so our hearts don't break or do we raise the bar so that we get the job done?

There are no answers to these questions. I guess now that the divorce is over, it doesn't resolve everything. I still have a hundred questions swirling daily. Where to live? How is the job working? Where do I fit into my children's lives? What do I expect in life? And will I be disappointed when I don't get what I expect? Or will I be giddy when life exceeds my expectations?

Right now, I was expecting to watch the Emmy's. I am disappointed in the weekend.

Truly Unforgettable

2007-09-04T21:46:00.000-05:00

What a weekend! Look back in the archives, and you will see that a year ago this weekend, I told my husband I was leaving him. What a year. Last Wednesday, the divorce was final. He is no longer the STBX. He is now the X. Yes, I feel ambivalent. I am neither happy nor sad. I am more in shock because of the way it happened... so slow and yet so sudden that it was almost anti-climactic. Hint: when expediting a divorce, make sure one of the lawyer's offices is within walking distance of the courthouse and then make sure one of the lawyers is a notary! That's how this got done so quickly after more than 2 hours of mediation that morning. Bent over and grabbed my ankles. Maiden name restored... yah, like I was ever a maiden!I won some things, lost some things, but most importantly, it's over.

And then I went off for the most wonderful weekend. It answered the question, "Have you ever met someone during your life who, no matter how many years or how many miles, was truly unforgettable?" The answer is.... yes. 'nuf said.

If you're in St. Louis this weekend, drop in on by my birthday party. I will officially stop celebrating #50 this weekend. I promise. (I normally celebrate until Labor Day Weekend but had to extend my birthday festivities because of this party. Not my fault.)

With everything going on, I a feeling very unbalanced, disheveled, uncertain, unrooted, uncertain. When will those feelings go away?

Has a month really gone by?

2007-08-26T22:50:00.000-05:00

Snow Wonders reminded me last night that I had not posted in a while. Is August almost over and, subsequently, my month-long celebration of ME??? Hell no. My big party isn't until Sept 8 (drop by if you're in town... I'm just not telling you which town.) so the celebrating continues. I can't believe I have adoring fans who check in every once in a while to see if I am still alive, but it appears I do... and I have let them down. Hope this wrap up of August thrills you silly. Sorry it is a long post, but a lot has happened since the old broad turned 50.

The week after my birthday brought my girls home. Of course, the apartment was way too small for us physically and emotionally so the girls fled to far corners, but not before we lost electricity that first night. (And if it had been St. Louis, we would not have gotten power back for 4 more days, but it came back on within 2 hours.) So what do you do in the dark? Well, first we lit candles and then we counted tampons (making sure not to get the candles too close to the tampons). Yep, you read that right. See, my daughters work at a rich girls' camp in Maine during the summer with hundreds of little Paris Hilton's, Britney Spears, and Lindsey Lohan's So it only makes sense that they come back with bootie (as in treasures, not big butts). One year is was Juicy Coutre pants, another summer it was a lifetime supply of Victoria Secret bras, and this year is was the largest Ziplock bag of tampons. See, these girls can't be bothered with packing up....uhhmmm, camp supplies and clothing and so they throw it away. Counselors, often poor college students, rummage through the "trash" before it goes to Goodwill and abscond with the ill-gotten bootie. This summer...enough tampons to drain a pool. And of course, my daughter, the math teacher, was dying of curiosity as to the number in the 2.5 gallon baggie. So we lit candles and counted. We estimated and then sorted them into piles of slim, sports, scented, non-scented. It was a festival of cotton. If you're just as curious, the final count was 232. Thank God the plane didn't crash in the Mississippi River or there would be no water left for the fishies and the boats.

I forgot to tell you that my former roommate (F.R.) is fostering 5 kittens and their Kitty Momma. They were born on July 27th in her backyard, but the momma was trying to move them back to the home where her owners had abandoned her so they were left to fry on the concrete... until my friend rescued them so do not fear. The Humane Society asked her to foster them (because they had 130 kittens) until they were ready for adoption in 8 weeks (end of September). My F.R. has the biggest heart and could not even consider anything but taking them in to her home despite 2 dogs and a diva cat (who does not like other cats). A kajillion dollars in vet bills to get rid of the ear mites and fleas for all 6, I have for you a pile of the cutest kitties. We watched their little ears pop up and then their eyes open. Please, folks, remember to spay and neuter your pets. Leesa... HELP! Want some more kittens??? I'll pay for shipping and handling! You need a kitty, don't you, Greekchickie?

Some sad news. My F.R. had to have her wonderful 13-yr-old old golden put down last week when it was discovered she had melanoma of the throat. It was, perhaps, one of the saddest experences I have ever been a part of, but I could not let her go through it alone. Daisy would not get into the car without her friend Roxie so I had to go along to hold Roxie in the waiting room while Nancy held Daisy in her arms. (Thanks to the woman in the waiting room who handed me her handkerchief as there was not a dry eye in the place. Daisy was rescued by the F.R. when she (Daisy, not my roommate) was abandoned by her former owner after years of letting the neighbor children ride her. Yes, you read that right. So while Nancy only had her for 2 years, they were wonderful years with lots of love. Daisy always required a lot of attention because, like the Redheadeditor, she had abandonment issues. But unlike the Redheadeditor, she barked when you drove into the driveway or knocked on the door, so we always pretended to be scared, but only for a moment because then she just wanted lots and lots of petting, and she always pawed at you for more. She always brought you toys but couldn't quite part with them. As the F.R. would say, Daisy was a heart of gold wrapped in fur and bad breath. Roxie is a little bsad right now without her companion, but we have given her extra attention and taken her on longer walks that we could not do because of Daisy's arthritis. (And please, no comments about Daisy's size. She was sensitive about how her "golden" years had added a few pounds.) Tonight in the full moon, we scattered her ashes in the rose bushes. She is in doggie heaven where there is no arthritis or cancer, chasing very slow squirrels (but never catching them or hurting them), and there is snow everywhere to play in. She loved snow.

Ok, finally, last night was a balloon race in town, and there were some neat balloons at the "glow." One of my favorites was a Mizzou balloon and the other was brought in to represent the rainforest. And it was so big and cumbersome that it was not part of the race, but it was pretty neat-o, keen-o. What do you think? Finally, the horrible hot weather from the last two weeks broke, and it was a beautiful night. It has been in the high 90s, and low 100s with a heat index of 110 many days. How did we live all those years without air conditioning and knowing the heat index??? Why do we even need to know the heat index??? Hot is hot. Think of my poor kid who teaches in an UN air conditioned school with adolescents. Yuk!

I moved to my 3rd place since I have moved to this town. A one-room (not one-bedroom) basement apartment. It's what I can afford while still paying the mortgage. I continue to practice my swimming strokes. Arms, legs, breathing, face in the water... ugggH! Who can remember everything?? But the end of the month will find me... ooops, can't tell you. Just know, I am leaving town for the weekend and doing the happy dance. The house hasn't sold (On your knees NOW. everybody start praying.). But the divorce is getting closer and closer. Soon, I have been told. A year ago this week I was driving home in tears, gripping the wheel and trying to figure out how to tell my husband of 27 years that I was leaving him. And look at me now. Swimming, counting tampons, working a dream job, watching kitties grow, traveling out of town for a fabulous weekend. Whoda thunk??

Let the Games Begin or Is it a coincidence that two wonderful funny redheads were born on the same day???

2007-08-06T00:10:00.000-05:00

As of 10:23 tonight, I am officially 50 years old. Same day as Lucille Ball's birthday (and Alfred Lord Tennyson and Punky Brewster). Unlike some other people I am thrilled to be 50. Since I am the youngest of 4 sisters, I have always felt young. That happens when 2 of my sisters are in their 60s! (Don't tell them I said that.) So this weekend was a mix of wonderfulness and horribleness. On the bad side, I had to go back home and clean my house that was a total disaster. No wonder it's not selling. But on the wonderful side, I spent it with friends and family and was showered with wonderful food and gifts. (Well, showered with gifts. I ate the food.)

I got an Ariel doll (since I'm a redheaded swimming fool) and a beautiful sarong (for the boat), bunny slippers with foot lotion, and a "menopause" pin from my former co-workers. My sisters got me a book, a ruler with the 1957 Cardinals' schedule, a Heinz 57 cookbook, a recipe collection from 1957, a pair of 50s socks, and a funny hat that says "Look who's 50." Plus, a beautiful green Austrian crystal necklace. My favorite gift (had a little "O") was a photo box filled with 50 all-occasion cards. If you know me even just a little bit, you will know how excited I was to get this present and go through each and every card.

It took me 30 minutes to free Ariel from her plastic prison, but I did it. I was never allowed to have Barbie dolls as a child so this is my first such "toy." Do not give me any crap for this. I was fine with the edict from my mother and didn't let my daughters have that insipid skinny bitch for a toy either. But this came with a kick ass hair brush, so I put her hair up immediately cuz it's like 100 degrees in Missouri in August. To think, trapping her in the plastic must have allowed 10 Taiwanese women more work at 50 cents an hour. Here she is in the shower (where she lives since she is, after all, a mermaid). Where is Leesa when I need her? It's not easy taking a picture of an inanimate object in the bathroom. But I am thrilled to have a redheaded role model that I never had as a child. Thanks Sandy!

My favorite card so far is from one of my sisters. The man in the cartoon says, "What do you want for your birthday present?" and the woman answers, "A divorce." And he says, "I wasn't thinking of spending that much!" Too funny. Also if you know me, you know I celebrate the entire month of August so no one is ever late with greetings. This year, my big party is the week after Labor Day so I am celebrating up through and including Sept 8th.

Let the games begin.

Perfect Example of Irony

2007-07-29T21:47:00.000-05:00

As an English teacher, I was always looking for good examples of different literary terms: foreshadowing, flashback, irony. I often went blank when trying to coming up with a good example of of irony and tried like the dickens (get it, Charles Dickens?) to make sure the kids could figure out the difference between irony and coincidence. Finally, I have the perfect example so I'm sharing.

Lit a candle in the bathroom yesterday morning to...uhhmm... how do you say, mask the smell. I went about drying my hair and had to bend over to get something between the counter and the toilet bowl and completely forgot I had lit the aforementioned candle. Do you see where I'm going? My head upside down while being dried, my bending over, the candle lit. Sure enough, as I lifted my head, I saw floating droplets of fire on the counter and kept wondering, "What the hell is that?

Sure enough, I had lit my hair on fire. Now, if you know me, you know I have a lot of hair... thank God. Because now I have torched part of it. Thankfully, I caught on to what was happening and started slapping the fire out of my hair. (I think I hurt my widdle head.) Black ashes everywhere. And the ends of a wad of hair fried. And the smell. Damn, it's true what they say about the smell of burnt hair. I Febreezed the hell outta the apartment, spray air freshener, nothing would eliminate the smell. I left on my errands hoping time would evaporate the horrid smell. I could smell it in the car and realized it was coming with me wherever I sent.

Upon my return that evening, the apartment just reeked of burnt hair. My burnt hair. So it was a good friend of mine who remarked, "Isn't it ironic that you lit a candle to mask the smell in the bathroom and caused a smell far worse throughout the entire apartment?" Thanks for bringing that to my attention. Very perceptive of him.

Ahhh, the perfect example of irony.

It's just a zit for God's sake

2007-07-12T09:46:00.000-05:00

Have you ever had a zit with a heart beat? Bigger than Cincinnati? Well, at ALMOST 50, this shit shouldn't happen any more. I just got back from a 9-day vacation where I had not one, but two zits... a double header, if you will. Get this... right between my eyes so I could see it when I crossed my eyes. Sure, it started out the week I was getting ready for the big vacay, and I did everything they tell you to do. I didn't touch it (and I'm a picker). I did the hot compresses, cold compresses. Finally, got some Cliniqe zit cream. But it kept growing, bigger, brighter, and I swear it had a heart beat.

Adolescence is hard enough, but try being peri-menopausal with the same damn symptoms. Was my body rejecting something? Had I eaten chocolate (which they have discovered does not cause bad skin)? What had I done to deserve this? And right there so visible? Sure, sunglasses could hide it, but what about wearing them at night? A little obvious, huh? So off I went on my vacation. I had zit cream and eraser make-up. My sister said you really couldn't see it. She has lied to me before so why would I believe her now. (Boys date the skinny girls, but they marry the chubby ones.) I could feel the throbbing. I felt it getting worse as the plane took off. The altitude would not be good for the beast.

So do you mention it when he picks you up from the airport? Or do you pretend that it isn't the "third person" in the room? Well, I had mentioned it in an e-mail ("My zit and I are packing.") I had even told him I had jokingly considered cancelling my trip because of the zit. But now we rode in silence as I'm sure he wonder "What the fuck?" I should have started control measures earlier in the week. I should have known it wasn't the kind that would go away on its own. It was dark. Maybe he didn't notice.

So there I was stuck in a place with no space and bad lighting and little water. Do I push on it and hope something comes out and then put my sunglasses on for the rest of the daylight and then insist on no lights at night? That was basically my plan for the entire week. By mid-week the crisis was slightly averted... when the second one appeared, right next to the original heartbeat. Why does God hate me?

I was meeting cousins I hadn't seen in decades. What would they think of me as I sported this enormous dermatologic erosion? I was meeting his friends who would surely think horribly of the girl from the Midwest. (Don't they have things to take care of that where she's from?) I carried lip gloss, suncreen, zit cream, and eraser make-up with me wherever we went as the mountains eroded to new heights each day. Now I could see both of them when I crossed my eyes. Why why why in the middle of my face right between my eyes? Why not on my cheek or chin? I tried to think "Hey, you just lost 50 lbs, you are looking great, feeling great, having a ball. What's a little zit?" There are worse things, yah? Yah, I could have been stuck with diarrhea while on the boat. (Oh, pooping on a boat is a whole other story.) I could have been allergic to the sun and broken out in hives. I could have a broken bone. I could still be married to you-know-who. I could be unemployed. I could have a life-threatening illness. There are worse things than 2 zits the size of a small city.

But for the life of me... this seemed to be my obsession for a week. Have you ever had a zit that took over your life, made you miserable, ruined an otherwise joyous occasion? Did you ever think God hated you because of a zit with a heart beat?

P.S. And no... for all you sick and twisted people... there are no pictures for this blog post.

Sold… and staying calm

2007-06-17T19:34:00.000-05:00

I am trying to stay calm. Deep breaths.

After much soul searching I decided to sell my piano. I didn’t shed a tear making the decision although I would have loved it (a) if either daughter could play the piano or (b) either daughter wanted the piano. But that was not to be, and I couldn’t see traipsing the piano around with me over the next few years. It was not a sentimental piece of furniture as if would be if it had belonged to my mother or grandmother, both of whom played the piano beautifully (from what I understood). I did shed a few tears the other night now that it has become a final deal. It has found a wonderful new “home” at the local middle school in the hands of Dorothy’s orchestra teacher. I couldn’t be happier. And although there was no profit (I don’t think you make money on a deal like this), we got the asking price. I say “we” because the STBX did all the work to get it sold (since he still lives in the house and was trying to sell it locally). But after the tears, I was fine. It’s where it should be. In its new home.

Ever since 6th grade when I learned to play the piano, I had wanted one of my own. A friend of the family had loaned us one all the years I took lessons, but it had to go back. So once I became an adult with a few years under my belt, one of the first things I bought myself was this piano. At the time, we did not have a joint checking/savings account. Everything was separate. We did not do that until ’86 when we bought the house. My money was mine; his was his. I know that may not have been the best way to be married, but it’s what we did. I remember clearly it was the summer of ’82 as we had gone to The World’s Fair in Knoxville and this Yamaha (not the motorcycle) was the “official” piano of The World’s Fair. WTF? It cracked me up to have a piano that bore a medallion inside that stated such a moniker. I bought it with an overdraft check (which results in a loan) and paid it off for a year. It traveled with us to our first home and our second (and last) home. It filled the house when I had time to play, most specifically during the holidays.

So is it my piano or is it marital property? I guess legally everything is marital property just because it was in the marital house. But I am trying to present this fairly and must ask again, do you consider this piece marital property? So once the deal was brokered, I thanked the STBX profusely and said to send me the check. I was even considering sending him a percentage for brokering the deal. Instead he hit me with an e-mail that he was surprised I would ask the check be sent to me since he considered it marital property and wanted HALF. Deep breaths. Ok, if he had said he wanted a percentage of the “profit” because he brokered the deal, I would have taken it under advisement. But HALF because he considered it marital property??? I don’t think so, Mister.

Ok, I don’t think I have presented the story without bias. I may have slanted it my way. So to sum up… piece of property belongs to Party A (loved and paid for). It resides in the home of Party A & B. Party A & B are divorcing. Party B worked to sell piece of property (since he still lived in the vicinity of said property) and considers profit to be marital property. Party A is grateful for the hard work of Party B and was considering giving him a percentage of the profits but not half. Party B wants half the money. Party A says no fucking way.

So what’s your take?

Bet you didn't know this...

2007-06-10T19:30:00.000-05:00

Did you know that a lot of our common (albeit antiquated) terms have origins in nautical history. I love words. I found this interesting and thought I would use this time to teach. It's what I do...

Above board – On or above the deck, in plain view, not hiding anything.
Bear down – Turn away from the wind, often with reference to a transit. (I thought this was a labor & delivery term!)
Between the Devil and the deep blue sea – See Devil seam. (Devil seam – The curved seam in the deck planking closest to the side of the ship, next to the scuppers. A sailor slipping on the deck would be "between the Devil and the deep blue sea".)
Bitter end – The anchor cable is tied to the bitts, when the cable is fully paid out, the bitter end has been reached. The last part of a rope or cable.
By and Large – By means into the wind, while large means with the wind. By and large is used to indicate all possible situations "the ship handles well both by and large".
Cut and run – When wanting to make a quick escape, a ship might cut lashings to sails or cables for anchors, causing damage to the rigging, or losing an anchor, but shortening the time needed to make ready by bypassing the proper procedures.
Footloose – If the foot of a sail is not secured properly, it is footloose, blowing around in the wind.
Hand over fist – To climb steadily upwards, from the motion of a sailor climbing shrouds on a sailing ship (originally "hand over hand").
Know the ropes – A sailor who 'knows the ropes' is familiar with the miles of cordage and ropes involved in running a ship.
Let the cat out of the bag – To break bad news (the "cat o' nine tails" being taken out of the bag by the bosun was bad news, announcing a flogging).
No room to swing a cat – The entire ship's company was expected to witness floggings, assembled on deck. If it was very crowded, the bosun might not have room to swing the 'cat o' nine tails' (the whip).
Poop deck – A high deck on the aft superstructure of a ship.
Scuttlebutt – A barrel with a hole in used to hold water that sailors would drink from. Also: gossip.
Slush fund – The money obtained by the cook selling slush ashore. Used for the benefit of the crew (or the cook). (Slush is the greasy substance obtained by boiling or scraping the fat from empty salted meat storage barrels, or the floating fat residue after boiling the crew's meal.)
Son of a gun – The space between the guns was used as a semi-private place for trysts with prostitutes and wives, which sometimes led to birth of children with disputed parentage. Another claim is that the origin the term resulted from firing a ship's guns to hasten a difficult birth.
Square meal – A sufficient quantity of food. Meals on board ship were served to the crew on a square wooden plate in harbor or at sea in good weather. Food in the Royal Navy was invariably better or at least in greater quantity than that available to the average landsman.
Squared away – Yards held rigidly perpendicular to their masts and parallel to the deck. This was rarely the best trim of the yards for efficiency but made a pretty sight for inspections and in harbor. The term is applied to situations and to people figuratively to mean that all difficulties have been resolved or that the person is performing well and is mentally and physically prepared.
Stem – the extension of keel at the forward of a ship.
Stern – The rear part of a ship, technically defined as the area built up over the sternpost, extending upwards from the counter to the taffrail.
Taken aback – An inattentive helmsmen might allow the dangerous situation to arise where the wind is blowing into the sails 'backwards', causing a sudden (and possibly dangerous) shift in the position of the sails.
Taking the wind out of his sails – To sail in a way that steals the wind from another ship. cf. overbear.
Three sheets to the wind – On a three-masted ship, having the sheets of the three lower courses loose will result in the ship meandering aimlessly downwind. Also, a sailor who has drunk strong spirits beyond his capacity.
Touch and go – The bottom of the ship touching the bottom, but not grounding.
Under the weather – Serving a watch on the weather side of the ship, exposed to wind and spray.
Wide berth – To leave room between two ships moored (berthed) to allow space for maneuver.

My Visual DNA

2007-06-09T20:00:00.001-05:00

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

The Black Panther

2007-06-01T20:10:00.000-05:00

Do you know the amazing Shephard of Shephard's Alley? I merely asked him what the Medicine Cards might say for my future. Check his Monday blog posts as he plays with Medicine Cards that I do not quite understand. I am still paying for my STBX to live in our house while it is on the market. While I am trying not to be angry and bitter, it is wearing thin as he has lived there for free since October. He finally got a job in April, but since it's commission, he cannot (or will not) help pay for the mortgage. We need to sell this damn house and soon so we can move on which is why I asked Shephard for some guidance. After grounding himself, he asked, "What is it that Redhead Educator needs to focus on most right now so that the details of her life will fall into place." This will freak your freak. Here is what he drew (with a few editorial comments from Shephard):

Black Panther: Embracing the Unknown.

Facing fears, exploring the inner self that makes you tick.

The card signifies that now is the perfect time in your life to delve into the places within yourself that need healing. Black Panther specifically says not to worry about the future. Trust that you are not supposed to mentally figure it out. These obstacles are merely symptoms. They are not the cause of fears or blockages. Solutions do not come from seeing things as black and white, good and bad. Solutions will come from understanding the choices you made, and the beliefs you have invested in that created those choices. Let go of negative people, limiting thoughts and fear of being alone. Embrace being alone. Because it is temporary. You are your best parent. You have to take charge of your fears as if they were the children you love dearly and tell them to pipe down, quit panicking and sit still. When the fog of fear and worry clears, your head will find clarity, and the decisions you need to make will become obvious as they appear in front of you. But all the what-if's and fears are distractions, and they make it hard to see clearly. You have to see with different eyes than that. Be your own best parent and start taking care of yourself by letting go of those mental limitations. The card says the next step may be leaping empty-handed into the void with implicit trust. That's not an easy thing to do, esp. if life is filled with the new and unfamiliar.

To quiet each fear, follow each one to its worst-case scenario and plan how you would crush this fear. Have a plan for each fear, and you will begin to see the power and control you've always had. Use this time to ferret out the beliefs and choices you've made in life that have not worked out for you as you would want them to. Because as The Oracle in "Matrix: Reloaded" said: "You can never see past choices you don't understand."

This card indicates that now is a time to clean house, mentally and emotionally, and to make sure your head and mind are clear and not being strangled by "what-if's" and fears and resentments. That's your job right now. The card indicates that things do fall into place, and our job is to be ready for it. You'll know when it's time to act. Being ready for it is much easier than trying to force it. "Seems easier to push than to let go and trust." (Indigo Girls).

Can we all have a collective sigh?

One more new thing...

2007-05-20T16:19:00.000-05:00

Today I took my first swimming lesson. I am almost 50 and have made it this far without knowing how to swim. Not my fault. Poor kid. No car. Lived too far away from the only pool in town. Never learned. Made sure the kids did, but I never did learn. But no more. I will not turn 50 and not know how to swim.

A week from now I will be on a boat in the middle of water. There will be no swimming because it's too cold, but you never know if I have to save my life one day so I am learning how to swim. I am nothing if not responsible.

Divorce hearing on Tuesday. Just the beginning, not the ending. It will end when I lose 1/2 of everything and he gains 1/2 of my 401K and pension. I have to accept that as the outcome. So much for staying together "for the kids."

Both girls are leaving for Maine this summer. So much for moving to be close to the girls. I am moving (again) in a week, to my daughter's apartment, living alone while I anxiously await the sale of our house so I can buy/rent something on my own. Until then, I remain a gypsy. I think if I add one more new thing to my life this week, my head will surely explode.

I'm still learning at my job and not feeling real competent there either. This turning 50 is not for wimps. Part of me wishes my vacation this weekend was reading a book in bed, curled up in a ball, watching tv when I tire of reading. Part of me is so excited for this new experience on the horizon. The other part of me wants to puke. Ok, so that's 3 halves. I never claimed to be good at math.

Wish me luck.

Playing With Scissors

2007-05-10T22:31:00.000-05:00

Don't wanna get "dooced," but since the following story happened to me and not someone else, I decided I can tell it for the laughs. Wait till you read what happened to me yesterday during my presentation at the middle school with my boss observing me. Before I forget, without coming right out and telling everyone before, I do teach sex education.

This was at an alternative school but still in pubic school that is an abstinence ONLY based sex ed district. Don't even get me started on this way of thinking. Save that for another post. At the end of my presentation, the teacher (who is pretty gutsy to have me there in the first place) said, "Can you demonstrate how to put on a condom?" Now I don't normally bring my penis model with me for every demonstration. I just don't carry it with me unless I know there is to be a condom demonstration. And frankly, I have not been asked this yet so I was not prepared. Not to mention the fact that I personally have not used a condom since I tried NOT to get pregnant in 1982. I know it can go over your hand and fist and up to your elbow to demonstrate that it's big enough for any guy.

But more than anything, I did not want to go to jail. I had visions of the Condom Police coming in and busting us. I had a look of panic when she asked that, and my boss said my body language indicated pure panic. Seriously, I was more concerned that we would get into trouble than I was about the in's and out of condom usage. But he jumped up and said, "I can help with that." Great, just the kind of help I need. So he starts looking for something to work with. Luckily, I bring condoms to my STI presentation (when I don't hand them out as freebies at the end) to show the wrapper (and the expiration date) even if I can't hand them out (which I can't at an abstinence ONLY based district). So he grabs a pair of scissors off the teacher's desk, but I think they are to show the kids what NOT to use when opening the wrapper. Don't use your teeth. Don't use an X-acto blade. Don't use scissors. But instead, he hands them to me and says, "Let's pretend this is a penis." Great, I get to hold the pretend penis. It's times like this I actually float above myself and imagine this scene which is so laughable, but I can't laugh. So he opens up the wrapper, "blows on the party hat" to check for holes, and rolls the condom down over the scissors that I am holding by the handle, hoping, of course, that the blades don't nick the condom and virtually blow the whole purpose of the demonstration. I wanted the whole scene to freeze like the "hold" button on a VCR.

Then he shows how to holds the base of the "scissors" and pull the penis out before rolling off the condom. Then he ties it in a knot to dispose of it while telling the kids never to flush it down the toilet. I add, "If you think you're embarrassed to use one of these, imagine having to tell your parents they need to call the Roto Rooter Man cuz you stopped up the toilet." Of course, now the scissors and I am covered in lubricant. I doubt that that teacher will ever want to use those scissors again. I know I will never look at scissors the same way.

Puts a whole new meaning to "playing with scissors."

Hallelujah Chorus with Nuns

2007-04-08T21:55:00.002-05:00

My sister just sent me this for Easter. This is the funniest thing you will ever see. (Thanks to RMT for helping me imbed the YouTube. You rock!)

Easter was... well, pretty damn depressing. Don't get me wrong. Everything that has happened to me lately has been my choosing so I cannot be depressed because I am being forced to endure horrible things. My husband did not leave me. I am not without a job. My children love me. I'm the one who chose to leave my marriage and move away. So this is not the blame game. But for the first time in 20 years, I did not attend my home church with my family. Even as my daughters pulled away from church, they still came to Easter (and Christmas) with me. Last year my daughter (Mabel) and I were laughing so hard that we had to leave and go out into the Narthex. One Easter my underwire actually came out of my bra and started snaking its way out of my dress and up towards my neck... DURING COMMUNION. So as I looked down (in pensive silence), I see this metal protrusion and pull it out the rest of the way. You try keeping a straight face to receive "the body of Christ" while holding onto the underwire that has just escaped its stronghold. And you wouldn't think it would have a big impact, but you would be wrong. A bra (my size) without an underwire is just a tee-shirt. Luckily, the priest at the time was the father of 5 daughters and obviously knew his way around bras and never skipped a beat as he said, "Bonnie and Clyde, Bonnie and Clyde." (For you unchurched, that's Body of Christ.)

Now where was I. So I had said I would try to go the church in town on Easter, but I did everything to sabotage it. I stayed up late IMing with Os and then went to bed after driving 5 hours to and from Wichita. And I didn't set an alarm. If God wanted me to go to Easter service, She would wake me up in time. And sure enough, my eyes popped open at 10 till 8. So I figured it was a message... from God. And got up, took a shower, got dressed, and headed out. The Episcopal church in this small town is downtown so it's street parking, and I told myself that if God wanted me to go, She would leave me a parking place. Sure enough, there was a perfect spot left opened, obviously, by someone from the previous service. I even parallel parked and got a great seat inside. I know no one. And I know that church shouldn't be about the people, but it is. I was fine in the beginning. Sang "Hail Thee Festival Day," and even though it's not one of my favorites, I belted it out (because I can sing it and it's not one of my favorites because it's very difficult for the average Episcopalian). Let me preface this by saying that I had been in a church choir for years where Easter is sort of the "biggie" of all church holidays. Anyway, I was fine. For the most part. Oldest daughter was back in St. Louis with her boyfriend but went to church with her father. Younger daughter would not take me up on my invitation when I asked her to come along.

By the peace, I was thoroughly depressed, through no one's fault, because as people turned to their significant other which ranged from spouses to children, I had no one. Yes, people are kind, were kind, and passed the peace, but it can get very lonely. By the time I left church, I was pretty low and lonely. Drove home. Roommate is visiting her daughter for the weekend. Just me and the dogs. I got on the internet with a friend and continued to be pretty low. It's just not the same. I am usually so busy this season. Once I quit choir, I had tons of chores to do at work, decorating, planning, welcoming. I even sewed matching outfits for me and the girls one Easter. And of course, as a parent to 2 little girls, there was the baskets and the dying of the eggs. Nothing occupied my time this year. Later in the afternoon, Mabel called to tell me she was back in town and I headed over to see her (to ask her advice on some clothing for this coming weekend's festivities), and I called a friend from back home. She went on and on about how lovely the church looked and how she thought of me and missed me terribly. I loved hearing that, but I just started sobbing on the phone because of my loneliness. I miss my friends at church so much. Of course, I knew it was time to leave my husband when I knew I would miss them more than him. And I do. It is supposed to be the most joyous of holidays and yet I was very low. I didn't see that coming. Or maybe I did which is why I tried to sabotage the day from the beginning.

I am glad I got up and forced myself to go to church. Don't get me wrong. I just didn't expect it to hurt this much. But now that it is late and Easter is over, I watched the nuns and the Turtle Creek Chorale sing The Hallelujah Chorus (see YouTube link above) and laughed my ass off. I think God would be laughing, too.

On a very bright note, my daughter was named OUTSTANDING FIRST YEAR TEACHER of the school district in which she teaches. Her school is only 3 blocks from my work, and her department head called me ahead of time so I could get over there for the presentation, but the school board got there before I could even drive the 3 blocks. So I was seen huffing and puffing up the stairs with the bouquet of roses. (Thank goodness I work out or I would have collapsed in the hall.) I am so proud. I could burst. My daughter is 5th generation teacher, and she was born to teach. And yes, I have told everyone. Must call the papers tomorrow. Must order the billboard, too.

Thanks for listening to my griping. I am feeling much better. And thanks for listening to me brag about my kid. I am feeling much better now.

She drives the big rig...

2007-04-01T21:20:00.000-05:00

Yep, that's me, driving a 16-foot truck. Can you tell how scared spitless I am or that there are tears in my eyes at the prospect of driving 2 hours down the highway in this vehicle packed with my life in the back? To the brim?

I have decided that driving this truck was a lot like going to the dentist. Scared, nervous, anxious, petrified at the prospect (ok, already, I have a dental phobia that I forgot to mention in my earlier post). But once in the driver's seat (or dentist's chair), it's not that bad. I did ok. I actually am the one who backed the truck into the driveway. Now I have to admit when I got into the cab, the first thing I noticed was NO REARVIEW MIRROR. I almost got out to report the damaged part until I realized there was no need for one since behind me was a wall of yellow. There was no need for a rearview mirror. That's why there were mirrors the size of Albuquerque on the sides of my big yellow truck.

So it was a gray day in St. Louis, but the rain held off as we packed the truck with my bedroom furniture and just a few boxes. My life. Well, there were a little more than a "few" boxes, embarrassingly so. I was the second youngest person helping, and the youngest was only a year younger. So that means, 48, 49, and then my sister who is 55, my other sister 60, a friend who is in his mid-60s (whose wife bragged he could fit a 3-room house in a Volkswagon and I believe her after seeing the miracle he performed that day) and neighbors who are 67. Do the math. I think that means the average age on the St. Louis end was 60 something. But damn, were they incredible workers. Even the STBX did an incredible amount of work while he watched me pack up my life in the back of the truck. He took the picture shown while I tried to hold back the tears.

I took the train to St. Louis the night before and it was 2 hours late so instead of getting in around 9:30, I did not get in until midnight. Then with the nerves and anxiety, I did not fall asleep until 3 and up at 8 to get the truck. I was pulled this way and that with people asking me tons of questions. Apparently, they thought I was running the show. My brain was pulled in every direction. My favorite memory was 4 of us, my friend, my neighbor, my sister, and myself pulling (or pushing?) a mattress up the basement steps. Nothing like hearing your sister yell, "Push" as if you're delivering a baby. We were laughing so hard, and given our collective ages, that did not bode well on the bladder. Glad to say, there were no accidents but several close calls. So the "I can pack a house into a Volkswagon" friend did his thing, and I was off to Columbia. The rains held off, and there was no wind. I was truckin'. You would have been proud of me.

I hit Columbia in record time with no incident. (I even passed cars twice on the highway using those huge side mirrors.) Got to my daughter's apartment and, again, backed into the necessary space like a pro. We got about a quarter moved when the rains came. Deluge. I have never been so soaked to the bone in such a short time because we were literally in the middle of moving something with no time to run for cover. Luckily, I had lost enough weight that I actually borrowed something of my daughter's to wear. Minor victory. I could not have done what I did that day had I not been working out the past 3 months, so word up, work out before you move. On this end, we had 2 daughters, 2 boyfriends, and this old lady so the average was much lower. And now we had to get all this stuff, minus the few pieces of my daughter's furniture, into a 6 x 12 storage unit. (I continue to be homeless until we sell the house. That definitely accounted for some of the anxiety.) By 6 we were done, and I had been on my feet for 10 hours with 5 hours of sleep. The kids were bitching that was turning walking slower into an artform until I reminded them that I had been moving crap all day on both ends. Fed the youngins pizza (NO BEER) and headed back to my sweet room at my friend's house. (God love her.) I was in a bath of hot hot water by 10 and asleep by 10:30. Now I know why everyone on Little House on the Prairie had no depression or anxiety issues. They were too exhausted.

Woke up this morning immobilized. I have never ever been in so much pain in my life, but then again, I had never move at this age. Took 3 Advil and sat in the hot hot tub (again). Had to get the truck back. When I dropped it off, this gruff but sweet man said, "You didn't park the truck, did you? That's our job." He then asked which truck was mine, and I told him, "Second one there," and he said, "Damn, girl, you did an excellent job. Do we have your number in case we need you to come work for us? You do better than some of my guys." I beamed with pride but refused further employment with Penske. One time in the symbolic dentist's chair was enough for me. You won't find me driving the big rigs any time soon, bit it's nice to know I have a future in truckin' if I want. My entire life, with a few exceptions, is now in a storage bin.

Pray the house sells soon so I can make the next move. And pray the divorce is over soon. The STBX and I are talking again and things are going smoother (in case you were wondering). Thank you for understanding why I haven't been blogging a lot lately. Can't blog about work (although I have some great stories for my book when I quit), can't blog about my personal life (oh, I bet you're dying of curiosity now), and I won't blog about the divorce (taking the high road and scared of what could happen if I do). So I may have to do a meme stolen from Os. Oh, and I signed up for private swimming lessons. That should be fun to blog about if I don't drown first. My next post? DOES FAT FLOAT???

Six weird things about me...

2007-03-10T18:37:00.000-06:00

Or how I started to write these out and realized that I'm a freak.

I was tagged a long time ago by Pam and Snow Wonder to list 6 weird things about me. And since I can’t write about work and I won’t write about my dipshit of an STBX and the divorce, I guess I can list 6 weird things. Or I can narrow down my list to 6. Or perhaps I have to scrounge to find 6. Your call.

In no particular order:

1. I am not fond of water… in my face. I don’t swim. And I will take a bath over a shower, and when I take a shower, I would prefer NOT to face the showerhead. A towel is always nearby to wipe off errant droplets. I am not a freak. I just never learned to put my face in water. I don’t want to hear any crap about it either. On my agenda for this my 50th year is TAKE SWIMMING LESSONS.
2. I have triskadeskaphobia. Fear of the number 13. Again, I don’t wanna hear any crap out of your guys. I do not like Friday the 13th, but I am not frozen in my seat that day. I often forget it’s that day until some dipwad brings it up and then it’s not pretty. I had one child on the 10th of the month and the other one on the 16th, clearly 3 days either side of the 13th. And no, nothing bad has ever happened to me on Friday the 13th (except for that one in ’78 when I saw a dog get hit by a car right in front of me, but I was weird long before that). I moved to my new place on Saturday the 14th of October because there was no way I was going to move on Friday the 13th. If anything bad had happened, it would have been because of that. This year I will be flying on Friday the 13th so I guess I better get over it. Not happy. Pray for me. Pray for the pilot. Pray for the plane.
3. I don’t do seeds. I don’t do seedy fruit. Is this a phobia? Seedaphobia? Now because it is not recognized by the APA, it has provisions. For instance, I like bananas, and people give me crap that they have seeds. Not visible seeds. Strawberries are way off limits except in daquiries. I don’t bite into peaches or plums. I cut apples into sections. I’m just now believing that seedless grapes actually have no seeds. (For years I didn’t really believe the advertisement.) Navel oranges are the best invention. And don’t give me a piece of watermelon until you take out all the seeds so, yes, I have to wait a while before I eat watermelon. None of this makes sense. It’s all in my head. I have nothing on which to base this fear. I have one sister with the same phobia so perhaps it’s hereditary to which I have no control.
4. I cannot kiss anyone in the morning without first brushing my teeth. Of course, that hasn’t been a problem during my marriage. There was no kissing. But it could be an issue in the future. At least, I’m hoping.
5. I put silverware in the dishwasher according to type. All forks in a compartment, all spoons. Well, you get the idea. And all utensils a placed in the compartment facing up as a friend of my daughter’s taught me. He washed dishes in a restaurant so I consider him a professional. This also encouraged the kid to help put the dishes away because they could just grab a whole grouping and put them in the right place. Clever, huh? You may borrow my idea.
6. I have to read a newspaper in order. The best Christmas gift I got this year was a subscription to the St. Louis Post Dispatch to be delivered to my new place (120 miles away). I love reading the paper, and I am fine with sharing the paper. But I have to read it in the right order. Don’t hand me the “Everyday” portion and expect me to read it before the “Metro” section, or, God forbid, anything is read before the news section. Is this weird?
7. I’m one of those weird people who reads death notices. (Which are different than obits. Do you want the lesson now or later?) I don’t read all of them. I just peruse. In my defense, one of my volunteer jobs at my former church was to send birthday cards and anniversary card to the “old” people at my church, and I didn’t always get notified when they died. It’s never good to send a birthday card to a dead person, and it is devastating to send an anniversary card to a couple when one of them is dead. So I don’t want to hear any crap from y’all. But I do love reading whether a person “walked into Heaven’s gate,” passed into God’s care,” “passed peacefully in the arms of Jesus,” or “fell asleep with Jesus.” I am wondering what mine will read.
8. I was not allowed to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches as a child and, therefore, did not have one until I was an adult. Nummy. My mother insisted that they did not go together and only allowed peanut butter and mayonnaise (Miracle Whip) sandwiches. And before you say “Eewwwww,” don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.
9. And while we’re on the subject of things not allowed, I was not allowed to have Barbie dolls. I didn’t whine much about it. We were poor and once my Mother’s foot was put down about something, we rarely bugged her. Her reasoning, and I can totally understand it, was that she sewed clothes for her 4 daughters and she wasn’t about to sew clothes for that tiny emaciated waif. Can’t blame her. In turn, I did not allow my daughters to have Barbies but for a totally different reason. I was not going to allow my daughters to have a doll that had better housing and cars than I did. On a political level, I did not want to subject my children to those skinny bitches who had nothing better to do than drive a Porsche and stand on those unbearably uncomfortable heels all day. Like their mother, my daughters never balked (although some of their friends thought they were weird). My friends did not think it weird. I was not allowed to have any friends come to the house since we were living in (OH DEAR GOD) a divorced house. Subsequently, my 40th birthday was celebrated with Barbies all over the place. Naked Barbies. Wonder what these friends will do for my 50th???
10. Finally, my last one isn’t so weird. It’s a puzzlement. In my new life I am discarding much of my old underwear. Losing 50 lbs and starting a new life will do that to a person. Now here’s where it gets weird. The granny panties and underwear with holes or rips are going in the trash. But do I throw them away when they are clean and in my drawer? Or do I wear them one more time and throw them out afterwards? And is it weird that I am worried that the garbage man is going through the garbage and finding my discarded granny panties in either condition?

What a good dog

2007-02-07T18:00:00.000-06:00

Brock after a day at Kootanai Falls (see below). He was tired!

As most of you who visit Leesa's blog, she lost her sweet Brock over the weekend. I was one of the lucky ones. I got to meet the sweetest, goofiest, most loving dog in Christondom. He watched over Pam and me while we house sat for Leesa (and Hub) in October. Keep the image of me jumping out of the hot tub in my swimming suit and racing after this humongous happy-go-lucky dog because he broke out of its pen. That was a sight to behold, and Brock was oblivious to the panic it caused me. He had a good life. It just wasn't long enough.

Brock was a good dog.

I Have a Dream

2007-01-15T00:08:00.000-06:00

... that I don't lose power in the recent ice storm that has hit Missouri. And that I learn new things on my computer. And that lost little boys find their way home.

I just off the phone with the MAC guru who helped me immensely. Granted, he can't get my audio to work on my webcam when I'm on Yahoo Messenger, but apparently that's a capability no one is capable of making work so I have forgive him. Until he helped me with Firefox (which I still don't really understand), I was unable to format anything on blogger or e-mail so now I am a happy camper.

Ok, in case you've been living under a rock and didn't hear the most incredible news of hope and miracles, here it is. Sadly, a boy was missing the other day from some tiny town in Missouri as he got off his school bus. Luckily, his classmate remembered him getting into a white truck with a camper. Surprisingly, the police in my former town (the one I left when I ran away from home) was serving a search warrant at an apartment complex when this guy said, "I guess you're here about the white truck." Amazingly, they searched the truck and discovered it was the same one with the rust on it that the classmate had seen the previous Monday. Unbelievably, when they went to the guy's apartment, there was this 13-year-old missing kid. And MIRACULOUSLY, next to him was a kid who had been missing for (ARE YOU SITTING?) 51 months. It's not the way I want to see my beloved Kirkwood in the news splashed across the headlines, but it was our police who accidentally found both boys. Everyone was cheering at the apartment complex when the FBI and police showed up as well as every Wal-Mart across the state that announced the discovery. And, undoubtedly, this guy is going to be put away for a long time because no one likes a slime ball like this (who seemed like a normal, quiet guy who paid his rent on time). The kid who was missing for over 4 years has had his picture plastered all over benches and such, but no one had found him because obviously he'd never been allowed to go to school so let's all hope and pray he gets some good psychological help. What an incredible story.

On the homefront, I couldn't go home this weekend to sign the real estate contract because Missouri has been encased in a sheet of ice. Slicker than snot. I can't even get my car door opened to start it and get the ice off. I've been in the house for 3 days now and will be screaming FREE AT LAST, THANK GOD I'M FREE AT LAST on MLK Day if I do extricate myself from the Ice Palace. But I have power. Much of St. Louis and Springfield does not. I figure people wouldn't be looking at houses this weekend even if I could get the sign in the yard. I ask again. Do you know anyone who wants to buy a small 3 bedroom house, 2 blocks from a grade school, in a great school district in a wonderful suburb of St. Louis that, while not noticing a kidnapped boy for 4 years, does everything to rescue children from sick perverts? I know just the house for you.

December 29th, 2006

2006-12-29T12:46:00.000-06:00

Today is my 2 year blogiversary. Yep, I was so bored on my 25th wedding anniversary that I started a blog. What does that tell you!??

And now for the depressing letter. Get it out of the way. Moving on.

I’m writing here what I cannot send to you in a letter. So many times I wanted to pick up a pen and write you about the happenings of the last few months. I don’t ever want you to think that I don’t think about you and us every day. You have been part of my life for over 31 years. How could I not think of you every day? And today, what would have been our 27th wedding anniversary, I think of you at every twist and turn.

After that first year when we gave each other a refrigerator for our anniversary, we have not really exchanged presents or even been able to afford a nice dinner out. One year friends watched the kids while we went to dinner and it snowed and iced so bad we couldn’t get down their street to retrieve the girls afterwards. We had a night alone. I remember going out to dinner the last time in ’92 when my sister watched the kids. I hear of other friends who go on cruises for their anniversaries or give lavish gifts, and we have never been like that. A card here or there. Even friends threw us a 25th wedding anniversary party because we did not think to do so. So why is it I am thinking about us more today than I have in the past 27 years? I don’t know. Because it's over perhaps?

For years I asked for another wedding ring. I stopped wearing my wedding ring in ’95 and wondered if you even noticed. Wondered if you even knew why. It wasn’t because I stopped loving you if that’s what you thought. I was working 2 jobs to keep us going and woke up one night in a panic because my hands were so swollen that I couldn’t get the rings off. Did you even notice? So I took off all my rings, not just the wedding set, but you never said anything or noticed. Ever since we reconciled in ’99, I asked for another wedding ring. I thought surely you would have done something for our 25th. Something simple. Something inexpensive. Finally, last year, I bought my own replacement ring. I’m sure I made a big deal about it (because I really liked the ring) but it was just another example of you not listening or not caring or being embarrassed that you couldn’t figure out how to give me what I asked for in an affordable manner. I have never wanted riches, never badgered you about not being able to afford lavish gifts. Never humiliated you. I didn’t need to. I’m sure you did enough of that internally.

I swear I never planned this divorce. As much as you think I threatened divorce, I never ever thought I would leave the marriage. If I’d had this planned I would have bought luggage in preparation and not let you sign a 2-year contract for the cell phones. I just snapped one day and realized I couldn’t live this lonely existence where I did all the feeling and thinking and planning. True, I am the emotional one, the up and down one, and you have loved me consistently, ever steadily throughout the years. But I never planned to leave you once Dorothy graduated and went off to college. This was not planned. Every time we have celebrated an occasion recently as a family, I am so proud of the way we are able to work through this. But I remark to myself that nothing much has changed. We walk into a room and go our separate ways. We were able to go to a few parties this way, Thanksgiving and Christmas, and no one would have guessed we were living any differently. And it wasn’t until our screaming match last week that we had even aired our "dirty laundry." I’m sure there were a lot of times you wanted to scream at me or vice versa, but we have managed to keep this under control, and I marvel at that.

Yes, it’s hard. Yes, it hurts. We have been a part of each other’s lives since… well, since Gerald Ford was president. The girls adore you, and that will never change. I miss knowing you will always be there. You provide more for me than I will ever be able to list. It’s not something I can put down in words, put on paper. As hard as it is to fill out financial papers or sign parenting agreements, it’s much harder imagining you not there. And I’m sure you feel the same way. Sort of. I’m not sure if you will miss me because I was never sure if you noticed I was there. But deep down, I am sure my absence will leave a huge void in your life.

When we sat down Christmas Eve and "It’s a Wonderful Life" was on, I looked over and saw a tear in your eye. It caught me off-guard, and I started to weep. I asked if you were ok, and you said yes, but you weren’t. But I couldn’t tell if it was because you were imagining your life without me or just hearing "Old Lang Sine" made you misty. Either way, seeing you cry tore me up. I can’t stand the thought that I have hurt you. I know you think I am cold and callous towards our marriage, but I hope you know that this is the hardest thing I have ever done. As flagrantly as I have mentioned divorce (because it’s so prevalent in my family), I never ever thought it was this hard, and I never ever thought I would be going through this. Honest. I knew it was an option when we got married because it was rampant in my family, but I truly never thought I would go through with this. And I know you didn’t. I truly took our vows seriously: For today I love you with all my heart and I believe I always will. They were not idle words. I probably have taken you less for granted and loved you more these last few months than I have in years.

And now I love you as the father of my children. That will never ever change and never die. We have not been the best husband and wife to each other, but together we have been terrific parents. And that will never die. We will be at every graduation, weddings, births, christenings, plays & musicals as a family. I would hope we could even sit together and hold hands occasionally, proud at our accomplishments. No divorce will ever take that away from us. I want you to call when you’re in town so we can go to lunch. I will never have it in me to hate you or be angry with you. I want so much for you that our separation can never taken away. I want you to be happy and loved and appreciated. I want you to have the job of your dreams. No piece of paper will dictate my feelings. Never. I cannot ever imagine any holiday without you, and I expect to see you at that dinner table every Thanksgiving and Christmas as long as you want to be part of my family’s lives. We have been a part of each other’s lives for over half our lives. We will continue to parent together, be grandparents together, and I hope remain friends "till death do us part."

The Day the Laughter Stopped

2006-12-22T23:57:00.000-06:00

I knew it was coming. It just couldn't last forever.

I arrived back "home" today, and, as usual, it's weird, but I decided to stay here (in the basement) because we have much to do around the house in the 4 days I'm here. Why waste it with driving back and forth between this house and my sister's house? Oldest kid came home yesterday and called me 100 times from the grocery store because she was buying groceries for her dad cuz there was no food in the house. So now the STBX wants to redo the wood floors to help sell the house (even though he would never have considered redoing them while we lived here, but that's another post). So the garage is full with crap in preparation for this alleged refinishing.

He borrowed my car to take things to Goodwill and starts to put some furniture in it that I had not "sanctioned" for giving away. I went ballistic. He now thinks I don't have a say in anything because I walked away. I explained that the house was HALF mine and the furniture was HALF mine and so was all the crap. He, at least, could consult me before giving stuff away. Especially MY stuff. We were screaming in the garage like we have never done before. So much for the laughter at Thanksgiving time. He said that since I had decided FOR him that we were getting divorced that I didn't get any say. Ohhh, back up the train, Buster. I lost it and told him that I had been telling him for years, but he just CHOSE to hear it the day I mentioned "divorce." He said, "I knew you were going to say that."

Glad he can read my mind NOW.

Wedding anniversary is next week. We haven't celebrated since 1992, basically. No dinner, no cards, no gifts. But for some reason, I am very maudlin about it. I get teary every time I hear Greensleeves. Yep, a Christmas wedding with Christmas music. Damn it.

This year's Christmas will be memorable. Go down in history memorable. Sucky memorable. Watching my furniture be sent to Goodwill memorable. Screaming in the garage memorable. Ahhh, but there's cheezy potatoes! Life is good! Merry friggin' Christmas to us all.

It'll be ok. Really. Keep filling my stocking. I love you all.

It is better to give than receive...

2006-12-16T19:20:00.000-06:00

Xmas Stocking

leave a gift for Redheadeditor

get your stocking

I hate you Gary K. Wray... not really

2006-12-16T18:29:00.000-06:00

Ok, Gary, this one's for you. And Pam, I really am thinking about my 6 weird things. Turns out, they are mostly phobias, and I never thought of myself as that phobic until I tried to list how weird I was.

A - Available/Single? It depends when the divorce is final. Can I be available before the divorce is final??? Wow, this is a tough one to start a quiz with.
B - Best Friend? Depends where I am. I have so many best friends.
C - Cake or Pie? Definitely Pie
D - Drink Of Choice? Diet Coke
E - Essential Item You Use Everyday? Computer, cell phone
F - Favorite Color? ?? green green green
G - Gummy Bears Or Worms? Bears, of course.
H - Home or Homesick? I don’t have a home right now, but I am not homesick for my old home. Does that tell you something?
I - Indulgence? Blogging and e-mailing
J - January Or February? January - not too bleak… yet. My mother hated February, and now I know why.
K - Kids & Their Names? Emily (Mabel) and Laura (Dorothy)
L - Life Is Incomplete Without? my sisters, my daughters, my friends
M - Marriage date? 12/29/79 YIKES
N - Number Of Siblings? 3 older sisters who were and are my angels
O - Oranges Or Apples? Apples, but I don’t touch the core. Oranges if they’re navel. I don’t “do” seeds.
P - Phobias/Fears? Seeds. Friday the 13th Abandonment.
Q - Favorite Quote: "Everything is ok in the end. If it's not ok, then it's not the end."
R - Reason to Smile? Two amazing young women for daughters
S - Season? Definitely autumn.
T - Tag 3 or 4 people? I would never do that to anyone.
U - Unknown Fact About Me? I can name all the presidents in order (and it really pisses me off when towns name their streets after presidents and name them in the wrong order… at least the first 5: Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe. You can do what you want with the rest, but come one, folks, the first five presidential streets should be in order.)
V - Vegetable you don’t like? Beets
W - Worst Habit? Probably talking too much. Even at my age, I have to work very hard at listening more, talking less.
X - X-rays You’ve Had? I have broken a few bones in my foot. Clumsy, I guess. Hasn’t everyone fallen in a hole at the movie theater in the dark while exciting?
Y - Your Favorite Food? Would I look like “this” if I had only ONE favorite food? Ok, let’s say Potatoes, the food of my people.
Z - Zodiac Sign? Leo

The Power of Words

2006-12-11T11:34:00.000-06:00

The divorce papers came in the mail the other day. The word divorce is thrown around in today's society so casually that it no longer has the sting it did in the 50s when my mother filed for divorce. At that time, she was shunned, lost custody of the "friends" (seriously, she did not get one friend in the divorce), received not one dime of child support, and had her entire bank account depleted by my father. As it was, practically no friends were allowed to come visit the 4 of us sisters because "there was no man in the house." (Forget the fact that the man who previously occupied the small apartment beat my mother and sisters, drank like a fish, and screwed every woman in town.) So 5 decades ago the word divorce was fraught with stigma and secrecy, clouded in fear and panic that it was contagious.

But today, the word is practically meaningless. The divorce papers did not read divorce. (I have to read them again to see if that word is anywhere on there.) Instead, the legal term dissolution of marriage is enblazened across the page. Yikes! Isn't dissolution a scientific term for when you have a science class and show the students what certain chemicals can do to things? And I thought about other instances where the reality of words is shocking. A friend who suffered a miscarriage was shocked when the insurance papers read spontaneous abortion. That's its medical term. Yikes! And for anyone who has gotten (or whose partner has gotten) a vasectomy knows that during the consultation the words permanent sterilization are bantied about. Yikes, doesn't that sound like something the Nazi's did? I kept asking the urologist why he kept using that term, and he said that if he used the word vasectomy, the patient thinks it can be reversed too easily. It is startling to hear permanent sterilization, but it's effective. So effective that my STBX husband fainted at the consultation. But that's another story.

So a divorce is called a dissolution of marriage? So my 27 years is in a Petri dish with acid being poured over it. Yikes. This would be so much easier if I hated the guy. And so much harder if I loved the guy. I do neither. So after I read the papers, I signed them.

Slicker than snot

2006-11-30T14:11:00.000-06:00

The phone rang at 6 o'clock this morning. Thank God we don't have elderly parents or we would have had a heart attack. As it was, it was my teacher daughter screaming, "I HAVE A SNOW DAY." She lives 2 hours west of St. Louis and the rain, sleet, and ice had started early this morning so they cancelled school for today and tomorrow. All I kept thinking was that Leesa and Silent One and RMT Michael would laugh at us in Missouri panicking over a little (ok, a lot) of ice. It's coming down now pretty hard making for trecherous driving. Schools are closing all over the place. Stop laughing. We're wimps.

Now here's a puzzlement. When I got home from lunch, my STBX's car was in the driveway as he was getting ready to leave for a job interview (YAH!). I peered into the car and saw a pink gift bag in the backseat with Estee Lauder's Pleasures perfume in it. The girls would never wear Estee Lauder (I don't care if Gwyneth Paltrow is the spokesperson). And he's never bought me perfume ever. Ok, once, when the girls picked it out for him. And his mother's dead. And he hasn't seen his sisters since their dad dad 12 years ago. What do you think is up with that?

Gobble gobble and we zoom to Christmas

2006-11-25T02:24:00.000-06:00

Wednesday was filled with car car car crap. My daughter's car died, literally, last week. She described her stick shift as a limp dick. For those of you with mechanical knowledge, that could be a bad transmission or a clutch problem. Either way, it's not good so we found her a new car. Well, a used car but new to her. Spent 5 hours on Wednesday getting the loan, insurance, license plates. ARGGGGH!!!! Done.

Drove back to St. Louis that evening and went to Turkey Day festivities, a 99-yr-old tradition in our little 'burb in St. Louis. Thanksgiving was a lot of fun with food and family. My sister had it catered this year so all we had to worry about was the traditional creamed peas. I don't want to hear any crap outta you. You've never had MY creamed peas. We laughed so much at dinner. My one sister reviews movies and was describing a movie she just reviewed where the PR people made an explicit plea for the reviewers not to tell the ending in their review. My niece mumble, "They said they same thing about "Titanic." I thought Dorothy and I would fall over laughing.

Then we talked about my new job. If you haven't figured it out, it has to do with sex, sort of. Since my oldest sister is a Southern Baptist, their Thanksgiving conversation would be nothing like what the rest of the family talked about. I mentioned my favorite interview question: So you're in a room of 4th graders. What do you say when one of the boys asks you if your masturbate? I told my niece that I bet she doesn't have that conversation when she goes to her parents for Thanksgiving dinner later this weekend. She guessed that no one else's Thanksgiving included this conversation we were having.

If you're interested, after I answered the interviewer's question, I asked the guy, "So what about the other question?" He said, "And that would be?" I said, "When the teenager girl asks me, 'Does size matter?'" He asked, "Well, does it?" And I answered, "Hell yes." It was an interview like none other. And we just laughed and laughed at Thanksgiving dinner.

And then we came back to the house and painted today to get ready to put it on the market. The family went to lunch, and I almost ran over an old lady at Home Depot... in my car. And we laughed and laughed. I didn't think I was that close, but the STBX and the girls tried to convince me that maybe she peed her pants when she saw me coming for her. (I swear, my foot slipped.) You would never guess we were getting divorced by how much we laughed while painting. I am so proud of how we are handling things.

And then my sister took me to see "Spamalot" for my Christmas present, and I laughed some more. If you're in the neighborhood, bring a paint brush and get to work. I am so thankful for all of you, my friends, near and far, in cold weather and warm, in the US and Texas and Canada, I adore you all madly.