Soulful Knowledge

He looked up from his drink at the bar and saw her.  At that exact point he became the leading man in an old black and white movie. His peripheral vision blurred.  The noise from the band became muffled in his ears.  As if  his brain became a camera with a zoom feature, he focused solely on the girl across the room.  Without thinking, he touched his hand to his heart to massage his chest because he felt a sweet pain there. He saw her red lips, her dark hair, and her vividly green eyes.  He knew he would never ever ever be able to erase the memory of his first glance at her.  What he didn't know was if he would ever want to.

His thigh muscle jumped as he fought the urge to get up and run over to her.  He knew he had never seen her before but there was something so familiar about her.  Is this what love at first sight felt like? He stopped to think.  While she was very attractive, it wasn't lust that was making his head spin.  The powerful draw to this woman was coming from somewhere deep inside him.  He felt off balance and it took a concerted effort to settle himself again.  He adjusted himself in his chair.  The music was back and so was the swirl of activity.  Think, man.  Don't screw this up.

***

She was used to having men look at her.  Around her 13th birthday she started noticing it and as time progressed, so did she.  She had been heady with her new-found power and made stupid mistakes, as teenagers will.  At least she had learned from them and now what she wanted wasn't just attention.  Today she turned 30 and this very morning she had made a promise to herself.  No more casual hook-ups.  She wanted the real deal.

She felt a shiver run up her spine as if someone took their finger touching her lower back up to the base of her skull.  Her scalp prickled as she turned to her left and found the source of her agitation.  He was staring at her from across the room but this was different from everything she had known before.  There wasn't anything lascivious in his eyes or demeanor.  She swallowed and breathed in deeply.  It was as if time froze for everyone but them.  Without realizing it, she reached up and brushed her lips with her fingertips.  She watched as he wiggled in his chair, unfolded himself, stood up and started walking over.  

Pedicures and the church

I took my Veteran's Holiday on Friday because of work obligations on Tuesday.  I did something nice for myself.  I got a pedicure.  Best Nails is where I go and it is a rather large establishment with a lot of friendly employees.  Manicures, pedicures, waxing, etc.  They do it all.  I normally go on a Saturday or Sunday when it is really busy so I was looking forward to being there during the week when I hoped it would be less so.  I was not disappointed.

I walked in and looked around.  They had a comfortable number of customers sprinkled about and the atmosphere was not as chaotic. I was greeted by the owner, asked what I needed, and picked a nail polish color.  Same as always.

Like every other salon, the pedicure chairs are lined up against the wall facing the center of the room. If any of your chair neighbors are loud, you are privy to phone conversations, text messaging, and conversations between them and their nail technician or one of their neighbors.  It won't come as a shock to any of you that I don't like idle chit-chat so I keep my communications to a minimum.  I go there to relax, not be stressed out thinking about what other stupid shit will come out of my mouth.  Not everyone feels the same as I and it was my awesome pleasure to be treated to one of my neighbor's non-stop verbal diarrhea.

She was probably in her fifties and wore her make-up less on the natural side but not quite clown. Her bottled blond hair looked nice but from two chairs down I thought it could use a good dose of conditioning to help with the dryness.  Just observations, folks.  No judgment here.

She never stopped talking.  Really.  Occasionally the long suffering nail tech would interject one thought or sentence but it was pretty much a soliloquy.  A one woman show.  Besides being fascinated that one person could talk so much without a script or input from anyone else, I was handling it up to the point when these words carried over to me, "God will help you but you have to believe.  You have to believe 100% because if you don't, it won't happen.  He will provide you the money you lost before.  We all makes mistakes in the past but if we believe, He will make up the difference."

This is one of the reasons I don't attend church anymore.  Yes, I 'm Jewish.  I have been since birth and will always define myself as Jew no matter where my spiritual journey takes me.  As a freshman in college I discovered Jesus and for about fifteen years I was active in the church.  It's a whole other mile long blog topic as to why I left the church but suffice it to say this is one of reasons.  Is God really not big enough to make things happen if we have a moment of doubt?  Is God that heartless that He would not want to give us what we want and/or need if we don't believe 100%?  Does our heart and behavior have that much power because that is what this says to us.  It tells us that God can only move if we do something that can be next to impossible.  It is this way of thinking that pushed me away.  God is love is also preached.  Really?  Is this a good representation of love?  Is this how love works?  If it is, I don't want any part of it.  I can't believe in a God that will only help me if I first believe 100%.

After leaving the church and rejecting the traditional idea of God, my spiritual journey continues to this day.  I still believe in some kind of higher power.  One of my theories is that this is all a huge experiment.  I liken when the asteroid hit the earth and the dinosaurs were destroyed to when a kid messes up his Lincoln Log creation to start again.

So, after I heard this lady preaching to a captive audience, I put on my make believe ear muffs and tuned out.  You know what that is.  You've done it yourself.  I went to my Happy Place.  I dialed down the present and got comfy with my imagination.  I got so comfy that I found the bravery to have my eyebrows waxed for the first time ever!  I am a movie star, people.

They are Watching

I still haven't bought a new used car so this morning it was time once again to take the Taurus in for an oil change and tire rotation.  So far it is still holding itself together probably through my own sheer will power.  Happy thoughts!  Happy thoughts!

While sitting in the waiting area for my turn to check out, ahead of me was a woman with a Russian accent and her daughter that was probably around 5 years old.  The petite little girl with dark hair and eyes was very well behaved.  Her mother stepped up to the counter to pay for the service while she sat in a nearby chair playing with her fuzzy stuffed toy talking to it so quietly her voice couldn't be heard.  Her mother sounded a lot like Natasha from The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show but more melodic.

The discussion became a little louder between the service representative and the mother.  There was a disagreement over how many dollars were on her dealership member account.  She thought there were way more than what he found.  It was about a $50 difference so the mom had to pay more out-of-pocket than she previously thought.  While they did get a bit louder, it was still respectful on both sides and amicably resolved.  What neither of them knew was that the little girl, perched in the chair behind them, watched and listened to the whole conservation.

This quiet little girl looked from Mom to Rep back and forth.  As I watched her watching them, I could tell she was calculating their emotional statuses.  Should she be uneasy or is everything okay?  What is Mom doing?  How is Mom talking?  Will this get worse or should she remain calm?  As her mother and the service rep worked it out, the girl stayed status quo.  Neither of the parties were agitated so neither was the girl.  She continued to feel safe throughout and when the mother turned around to gather her daughter and leave all continued to be well.

What the mother couldn't know was that she had just given her daughter an excellent example of how one behaves in circumstances of differing opinions.  Her daughter watched intently as both parties talked through the issue. While neither one backed down from their realities, there was compromise.  No yelling. No name calling.  No finger pointing.  The mother, just by being herself, showed her daughter how to properly handle oneself.  It was okay to disagree.  Nothing bad will happen.

Children learn by example.

Every day we are examples to others whether we realize it or not.  How we handle ourselves, what we say, our body language.  There are people watching us including little children calculating whether they should model themselves after us or not.

Blood Letting

I took a friend out to lunch today.  Walking back to the car after eating, I saw on the ground a little Japanese doll pendant.  It is made out of plastic or rubber.  Some kind of material that is squishy, yet firm.  I took it as a sign of good luck coming my way.

*************

I have been struggling a long time.  My whole life, actually.  I made decisions based upon emotional needs.  I wanted to do things my way.  I needed control.  I couldn't let things go.  Last year I made a decision to not ride the merry-go-round anymore.  I was tired of the same lessons visiting me over and over again because I didn't want to learn.  That involved deep protracted surgery on my psyche and what stopped me in the past was knowing how painful that would be.  The thing is is that I also knew I couldn't continue to live my life the way I had been.

It wasn't going to be an overnight excursion but instead a long distance voyage into really seeing myself.  What did I need to change?  What did I need to do differently?  I never EVER wanted to run around the same circle again so I pushed when I wanted to give up.  I ran when all I wanted was to inch along on my hands and knees.  I allowed the knife of truth to open me up and I bled.

I'm still learning but the hardest part is over.  Recently a situation presented itself that I knew I had to handle much differently than I would have before.  I made sure to not repeat old patterns.  I consciously made the decision to think and act differently.  Instead of drama and hurt, there is peace.

*************

I had an appointment with my doctor's assistant this past Friday.  Tiny infections, the size of single pores, kept popping up in different places on my skin.  Antibiotic ointment didn't cure them.  Anti-fungal cream was keeping them under control.  For at least a couple of months I had been feeling awful.  Tired. Wanting to sleep.  Achy.  I told the nurse and showed her the weird examples of what I had no name.  She ended up prescribing a month long course of antibiotics made specifically for bacterial infections.  I started it yesterday.  When taken on an empty stomach, this drug makes me so nauseous I want to puke.  Now I take it with food which isn't the preferred way but if I want to function the only way.  I am already feeling better and doing better.  She was right about what was happening inside of my body.  I listened to her and relied on her knowledge.

*************

The tiny infections in retreat is the physical representation of the healing of my heart.  The tiny Japanese doll pendant is a gift; a representation of future good luck.

Old Soul

My massage therapist, Eric, has to be the sweetest person on the planet.  It is his spirit that I connect with and find comforting.  Being around him I feel peaceful.  I want to talk, which is not my normal behavior.

Last night I treated myself to a birthday massage.  When I couldn't keep quiet any longer I blurted out to him how sweet he is, twice because embarrassing myself once wasn't enough.  He replied with, "Thank you.  I try to be," and then continued to educate me on the wonders of digestion.

That in and of itself is sweet.  He didn't deny it.  He didn't say he thought I was crazy.  He didn't stop the massage and walk out.

I can feel his caring nature through his touch.  He is a healer.  As a matter of fact he is going back to school to become a nurse.

I think he is an old soul.  I also think we've known each other in past lives.  When I first met him, I instantly felt comfortable around him.  He probably isn't aware of this but the first couple of sessions together he was finishing my sentences.  Even last night I was blabbing on and on trying to explain something to him.  Finally giving up on it I said, "I'm probably not making any sense."  Eric replied sincerely, "No.  Not at all.  I know exactly what you are talking about."  He wasn't bullshitting.

My soul is drawn to his even though there is more than a twenty year difference between us.  I think he acts older and he admitted last night when I told him how old I will be this birthday he thought I was younger.  

His hair is dark like mine and when he sports a beard it makes his impossibly blue eyes pop even more.  Frosting on the cake.

Mexi-Ghetto Regulations!

If I don't recognize the number displayed on my cell phone, I won't answer it.  However, when Restricted lit up my phone late Saturday afternoon, I picked up.  It was the animal services officer that last visited the family up the street.  She was responding to an email requesting I call her.  She gave me good and bad news.

1. It is not against regulations to have a dog in a crate in a doghouse.  During each of the three visits the officer saw that water was being provided for the dog and on one of the visits the owner was outside playing with the dog.  I told her that is rare and I could count on one hand the times I have seen that.  I also think it is pretty convenient that that happened when it did since the dog was a crying mess when I heard and saw it.

2. The dog was found to be healthy.

3. Having a piece of plywood in front of the door with about a foot of space at the top was not against regulation because there was air getting in.  When I said there was no way there was air circulation and it was more like a hot box she said she would have to witness it and make a decision at that time.

4. When I asked about the dog getting exercise she said that the officer could talk to the owners about it.  Here again, being in a crate was not against regulation.

It ended with her telling me she understood what I was saying but that they must abide by the regulations set forth even though it may not be the way she or I would treat our pets.  She also reassured me that I should call animal services whenever I think something isn't right and they will always go check on the dog.  At least she didn't think I was being overprotective and ask that I stop calling.

That's about it in a nutshell.  Kind of anticlimactic but at least she listened, was respectful, and I knew she cared.

I Told You So

Taking out my compact, I powder my nose.  With a click it is closed and I toss it back in my purse. I hear metal on metal.  Panicking, I remember the safety is engaged.

It's time to leave.  The blood stains in my cuticles don't bother me.  It is the bloody tear in my heart that hurts.

I told him if he ever cheated on me he would be sorry.  When he laughed at me I should have known he didn't believe my threat.  Not his fault.  I did say it with a smile on my face.

If anyone asks tonight I'll tell them it's red paint.  No one will, though.  An artist's life is dirty and they wouldn't want to offend "Mimi, The Magnificent".

The vultures circling above are impatiently waiting for me to leave.  Looking at his dead body I feel no regrets, only an overwhelming aching slightly appeased.  I hope his dangling hands fluttering with the current attract hungry gators.  Extra treat tonight, my friends! Enjoy.

She walked away.  The thud-thud rhythm of her boots on the dock disappearing with her.

Mexi-Ghetto

Politically incorrect but true

I have written about the positives about my neighborhood in spite of the illegal activity and low income that surrounds me.  Since I am the minority, I make myself as invisible as possible and interact only when there is no doubt it is welcome.  For the most part this is a "Hear no evil, See no evil, Speak no evil" zone not only for me, but for the others, too.  There are quite a few people living across the street from me in housing that has been split up to make apartments, some of which are probably one room studios, using the term studio loosely.  They don't want any trouble, either.  Life is hard enough.

If you would please look at the above map, I live in the Mexi-Ghetto/Ghetto-Lite section.  What is a white girl sliding into her mid-fifties doing living there, you ask?  I have a whole house to myself and my rent, which I can afford, includes wireless internet.  Utilities are very low, too, as sometimes my landlord doesn't even charge me for my part of the bill.  He's got his office in the attached garage and pays the first $100.  My mother finds it very disturbing that I live here in this neighborhood.  I don't blame her for feeling that way.  The only way I live with it myself is to not think about it until I am forced to by events that happen around me.  Lately there have been a few events that, duty-bound, I have had to poke my head out of my shell and acknowledge.

Fairness has been big with me going back to when I was a child.  Everything had to be fair.  Is this a middle child syndrome or because I am a Libra?  I don't know.  It just is and I have had to accept it and, at times, temper the drive to force it.  Even though it makes me crazy, it is not always possible to bulldoze fairness into a situation.  Other people don't always see things as I do and while I excel at debate and friendly arguing (I've been told over and over that I should have been a lawyer.) not everyone is going to agree with me all of the time.

Two doors up is a Hispanic family (hence the "Mexi-Ghetto") with a son that is probably around 13 years old and a younger son and daughter still in single digits.  I liked them until they got a puppy.  It is probably a Chihuahua/Terrier mix larger than Poppy with the same colors.  The kids used to take the dog for walks until it wasn't fun anymore.  Now that it has been one year since they got it, I have seen some disturbing activity and so I've called Animal Services on three separate occasions.  I'm actually calling the Sheriff's non-emergency number since it was after hours but in the end they have the authority to dispatch an Animal Service's Officer.

This is way outside of my rule of invisibility.

One day I noticed the family had bought the dog a pretty yellow doghouse.  Then I noticed the dog in a crate in the dog house clearly upset and barking its little head off.  It became commonplace to see a mop and mop bucket drying outside their door.  Well, maybe this was a one time deal.  It wasn't and after seeing the poor dog locked up a couple of days in a row I had to call Animal Services.  I didn't see any water provided and this was outside in the heat when it gets to a real feel of 105 degrees.  Their yard is completely fenced in.  What is wrong with letting the dog run around?

The next day the crate was no longer in the doghouse but not much longer afterward it was back and so was the dog.  On to my second call to the Sheriff.  Once again a change was made but it didn't last.  Plus, it was worse.  Not only was the dog in the crate in the doghouse, add to that a piece of plywood in front of the doghouse so that not only could the dog not see out but people couldn't see in, either.  There was about a 1 foot space for air to get in and I am sure there was no circulation.  This was solitary confinement.

At this point I am seeing red.  I don't care if those kids prostrate themselves on the floor crying their eyes out to the animal services officer.  I want this dog to stop being tortured.  I explain the situation for the 3rd time adding the new development.  I am so upset I am on a tear.  Again I am promised Animal Services will be sent out.  About 20 minutes later when I take the trash to the road for pick-up I see the officer walking up to their door.  I hope this will finally get the dog out of there and to a better life.

The next day, which was yesterday, I see the dog outside in the yard running around.  I have more than one call into the officer to find out what is going on.  They can't give me the information over the phone and I can't leave work to walk in and ask for it.  I leave a message asking for the officer to call me. It is now 6:15 pm I have heard nothing.  I was assured earlier today that the officer has my message asking her to call me and she will.

I am mad about this for two reasons.  The first is the health of the dog.  The second is what this is teaching the kids.  I want them to know that this is not the way a pet should be treated.  I want them to become defenders of the defenseless, not continuing the chain of cruelty.  I don't want this behavior perpetuated.  By allowing this to continue, Animal Services is just as guilty as the adults in this family.

I'm sure after reading this you aren't in the mood to hear about how I was woken up at 2:30 in the morning a few days ago by door banging, yelling, and cop activity across the street.

Counseling Saved My Life Twice

The first time I saw a therapist was because I was deeply clinically depressed.  I was in my early thirties and could hardly function.  It was only because of my two young children that I forced myself to get up in the morning and take care of them.  I ended up separating from my husband and eventually divorcing him.  But, I was still depressed.  Now on my own with shared custody of the kids life became better and worse at the same time.

When a person is depressed, it is hard to accomplish anything.  I had stayed at home with my kids to rear them and my husband was the breadwinner.  After leaving him, I got a job as a receptionist and because I shown myself to be smart and capable, "other duties as assigned" became the norm as more and more work became a part of my responsibilities.  I vividly remember sitting at the typewriter messing up an address on an envelope and my anger exploding.  I could no longer deny that I really wasn't doing okay.

I found an LSMW that was part of a Christian organization that charged the hourly fee on a sliding scale.  My charge for each visit was $5.  That should give you an idea of why my salary was making it hard to make ends meet.  I was reassured that religion was not a part of the therapy so I made my first appointment.

I found my way to the church and Elaine's office.  I knocked on the door and a short old lady opened the door, smiled, and asked me to come in.  This woman looked like my grandmother.  How the hell was she supposed to help me?  She ended up being probably the wisest woman I have ever known.

She said that I needed to see her twice a week and then as time went on we could discuss tapering off to once a week and then eventually I wouldn't need to see her at all.  I had no experience with this type of thing so I didn't understand that this meant I was in a serious state.  I agreed to it only thinking about how the $10 a week would impact my finances.

After a few sessions she suggested I go on an antidepressant.  I balked.  I can do this.  I only need to figure it out.  My brain power alone can do this.  Elaine persisted and kept pointing out how the feelings I was expressing and the moments in my life that I shared with her all pointed to me needing to take medication. Plus, if I was able to figure this out why hadn't I already done it?

One very difficult afternoon I finally had to stop denying my need and accept her advice when I saw an image of myself in my head.  I was at the edge of a precipice.  It was very dark and very deep.  I looked down into it and I knew if I let myself fall into it, I would never come back.  I would go crazy and lose myself forever.  I had been holding on to sanity by my fingernails for a while and was doing so because of my children.  I had to admit the will to continue to be strong on my own would not last.

The next visit I had with Elaine, I told her what I saw and that I agreed with her - I needed an antidepressant.  Even in the midst of my emotional pain and barely hanging on, I could see she was relieved.  I can be a stubborn SOB so she had her work cut out for her and this must have given her such satisfaction and solace.  The part of me that could still think straight realized she had been scared for me.

Elaine told me about her supervisor and how she is required to keep him abreast of her clients.  He was a psychiatrist that could write scripts and he would await my call to see him.

Did You Know I Love You?

Did you know I love you?
Did you know I care?
Did you know I love you?
Every little hair.

Did you know I love you?
Each and every night.
Did you know I love you?
Even when we fight.

Did you know I'll love you
When you're old and grey?
Did you know I'll love you?
Just be with me, stay.

Did you know I love you?
My heart is not my own.
Did you know I'll love you?
You'll always be my home.

Timing is Everything

If you regularly read my blog you know that my commute to work takes me about an hour.  I’m going to tell you about this morning’s drive.

Fruitville Road is very long and covers quite a bit of distance.  It starts at the west end of Sarasota where it is a whisper away from the Gulf and runs straight through  to the east end where it almost comes into contact with a different county but doesn’t quite get there.  Each end dead ends into a major road.  Driving West to East, once you cross under I-75 the landscape changes from city to country and the scenery is beautiful.  Wide open fields, cows, donkeys, horses, and goats are all a part of the roadside show.  I fantasize that I live somewhere along the way in a big house set back from the road and my only job for the day is to take care of it and my animals.

This morning was like any other.  I gave Poppy his treat to distract him from me leaving the house; I locked the door, got in my car, and made my way to Fruitville Road.  About 10 minutes later, still on Fruitville in the city of Sarasota, I noticed a school bus in the far right hand lane with its yellow lights flashing.  “That’s odd,” I thought.  In the almost three years I have been making this commute and all of the different times in the morning I have done it, this has never happened.   The bus’ lights change from yellow to red and the “STOP” sign swings out from the bus’ side.  I can now see a little boy running down the sidewalk to the stopped bus.  The little guy was late and the driver was outside of the normal routine to pick him up.  Question resolved.

The bus then cut across all three lanes to the far left turn lane and the incident was forgotten until about a half an hour later.

Once Fruitville Road is no longer a part of the city proper, it goes from straight to winding and changes from six to two lanes.  I had my windows open because after the long and very hot summer it was finally cool enough to do so.  The breeze whipped my hair around as it blew through the car.  I was loving it until I drove around one of the bends and saw a car in my lane coming towards me.  It was passing in a clearly marked no passing section of road.  “Holy fuck,” I said out loud as I gently applied the brakes and started to point the car towards the shoulder.  I looked in my rearview mirror to check on the actions of the driver behind me because I didn’t feel like getting rear-ended, either.   I could see he or she was slowing down, too.  Looking ahead again, I figured that the oncoming car’s driver must have stomped on the gas as it moved like hell passing the vehicle in front and then flew back into its lane. 

Now I was talking to myself.  “Well.  That was exciting!”  I pulled back into my lane and sped back up to the 55 mph speed limit.  Mind you, as hair raising as it was, it took seconds to take place.  Once again I checked to see what the car behind me was doing. Apparently they were more effected than I at the prospect of a head-on collision because it took them much longer to move from the shoulder of the road back into our lane.  Even when they accomplished that, they were driving much slower. 

Now I ask you - what if that little boy wasn’t late for the bus?  What if the school bus driver thought too bad so sad and decided to teach the boy a lesson about being on time and not make an extra stop to pick him up?  That probably ate up the same amount of time it took for the crazy driver to successfully complete the illegal pass without taking someone’s life.

Once again I and those around me were saved from something that could have ended up badly.   I bow my head and thank the Universe. Timing is everything or is it Karma at work?  Some would say it was a wonderful gift of coincidence.  Others would give God the credit. 

To quote the song written by Pete Seeger and sung by The Byrds "Turn! Turn! Turn! (to Everything There Is a Season)" which is based upon a passage from the Book of Ecclesiastes:

To everything - turn, turn, turn

There is a season - turn, turn, turn

And a time to every purpose under heaven

A time to be born, a time to die

A time to plant, a time to reap

A time to kill, a time to heal

A time to laugh, a time to weep

I think it simply was not time for it to happen.  

New but comfortable

I've started to carry a  little notebook (3.5" x 7") with me.  It is 1/2" thick and fits in my purse.  It closes with a magnetic clasp and I got it on clearance at Tuesday Morning.   I love its size, its shape, and how it feels in my hands.  Because the pages are sewn together at the spine, it lies flat when opened.  Here is a picture of it:

My little notebook

I am keeping it near me at all times so that when I have an ah-ha moment I can write it down.  I also am using it to write some pretty personal stuff, which is better than keeping it inside.

I went to my first Book Club meeting this past Saturday.  It was fun!  I was among a bunch of people that were like me and this introvert was comfortable.  I left feeling energized instead of drained and that is unusual and exciting.  When I got home, I immediately ordered off of Amazon the next two month's books.  I didn't do it prior to the morning's meeting because I wasn't sure I would like it and want to return.  The October meeting is on my birthday.  A gift to myself.

I wasn't the only newbie there.  The majority of people attending were new to the group.  I paid my $5 annual dues on faith that it wouldn't be wasted and if so, oh well.  The group was composed of 2 men and 15 women.  One of the men who came in late and I think just did it on a whim because I caught him peeping at us from the conference room door window, was well spoken and had good points even though he hadn't read the book.  The women were interesting and thoughtfully expressed themselves and their points of view.

It was refreshing to discuss opinions without arguing which one was right or wrong.  The leader of the group kept us all on point and it made reading the awful book selection worth it.  It also showed me that I am track.  I always loved reading (Thank you to Lucille Stark my 1st grade teacher) and so do the others in the group.  It was like I was with my own kind.  I don't care if that sounds weird because it is the truth.  I am an egghead, coo coo kachoo.

  

Finishing this is like trying to get the last bit of gum out of my hair

At first it was a bright shiny pack of gum and I thought how wonderful!  I wanted to try each flavor and took my time unwrapping each stick.  With excitement and anticipation I opened my mouth welcoming each new delight not spitting out the old.  

Eventually I had a huge wad of gum in my mouth that, as time went on, became harder and harder to chew.  Then the taste that initially was so special started to fade away until I grew to dislike the taste of the mass in my mouth. 

I could no longer talk around all of the sticks of gum in my mouth so I opened wide and pulled the lump out.  My jaw hurt but having the space back in my mouth was glorious.  I rested.

I flicked the ball of goo into the trash can but some of it stuck to my fingers.  I worked hard to get it off and when I swiped at the sweat on my forehead some of it stuck to my bangs. 

I rubbed and rubbed and worked at the gum on my fingertips until each little fragment was in the trash.  I looked in the mirror searching out the last bits stuck in my hair.  With a gob of peanut butter I worked on loosing the final speck of gum.  When it finally detached from me, holding it in my fingers I stared at it remembering how good it tasted when I first popped it in my mouth and how glad I now was to finally be rid of it. 

I flicked that in the garbage, too, and turned on the kitchen faucet to wash my hands of you.

Go Play Outside

My neighborhood may be the home of the working poor, drug dealers, and people just trying to make it through life but tonight I had a smile on my face because I live here.  It is also proof that time presses on whether we like it or are ready for it.

A retired policeman used to live kitty corner to me on the right.  I noticed what I surmised to be home healthcare workers come and go.  Then I saw what looked like family members buzzing about the house and his yard and figured the old man either died or they moved him to a nursing home or hospice.  Eventually younger people moved in and I lost track of who was permanent and who was transient.  After a few months I saw regulars and they included children.

A man in an electric wheelchair used to live kitty corner to me on the left in the front apartment of a house that had been divided up.  I hadn't seen him around in awhile then one morning when I was taking Poppy out I saw the landlord and some other folks taking things from in the apartment and putting them in the front yard to sell.  The landlord told me the man was very sick and in hospice with no prognosis of recovery.  Soon after new tenants moved in and they included children.

Now there are 5 to 6 kids all around 5 to 7 years old living across the street and they play outside together.  Tonight I heard different little voices counting backwards from 10 down to 0 and I figured they were probably playing Hide and Seek.  It made me smile to think that they were enjoying the same game that kids have played forever but now less and less since technology has advanced and become integrated into our lives.  I heard my childhood in their loud voices as they bickered with each other and yet kept counting and playing.  I am sure they don't have their own computers or cell phones.  They have each other and their imaginations, just as I and my friends had.  They don't have play dates.  They just walk down the street and knock on the door or join the kids already outside.  Occasionally one of the parents will step outside and look to make sure everyone is accounted for.  I know all of this because I walk Poppy.

It has been a long time since I have heard children playing childhood games outside in a neighborhood and damn if felt good.  My heart is a little happier because of it.

Musings, not necessarily amusing

I know this picture is lacking but bear with me.  These two are sold together in one package and I have to admit I was drawn to it because of the little bitty sidekick that handily fits in my purse.  I am also attracted to them because they look like teeth.  No, they aren't floating in mid air.  I took the pic on a glass topped table.  Please note the window display on the back of the large container of dental floss.  It is so that you are able to see when you are in danger of running out and it is time to go to the store to buy more dental floss.  Do you think I utilize this wonderfully helpful concept the package maker devised or do you think I ran out of dental floss tonight?  If I ran out of floss tonight then how did I take this pic?  Brand new package I bought and then stored for such an occasion, suck-ah!

Now that I have that out of the way, I want to know if people who need people are the luckiest people in the world then what about people who don't need people?  The lone wolves.  The ones that find neediness about as comfortable as wearing one of those itchy wool sweaters that you swear if you had to you would rip it off of your body even in public just to find relief from the hell it creates.

Lastly, do you ever find the conversation you have in your head is more entertaining than the one you are having with an actual person?

Are you ready to get out of my head now and go back to yours?

Whose Fault is it Anyway?

While at the beach this morning I noticed two paddle boarders in the distance.  A man and a woman.  I wondered again if I could do that.  It looks like fun.  After a while they took a break and walked their boards along the coastline on their way back to their starting point.  While lying on my towel, I heard a piece of their conversation.

Woman: "I used to think people were inherently good and now I don't believe it."

Man: "I think it was Aristotle and someone else who said, 'Does man corrupt society or does society corrupt man?' I think Aristotle said that and then someone else," he repeated.

It was quiet for 1/2 a minute as they passed by and then:

Man: "You have to look at the animal kingdom for the answer."

I no longer could hear their conversation and they got back on their boards and paddled away.

I started to think about what the man had said about the animal kingdom and in order to draw a conclusion to the argument one must look there for the answer.  I disagree.

There is no corruption in the animal kingdom.  The animals just are.  They are themselves.  A big cat doesn't debate chasing down a gazelle for a meal.  It isn't right or wrong.  The cat doesn't feel regret or remorse for his actions.  The cat's thought processes are limited to survival and procreation.

Man understands the concepts of good and evil.  Man understands what it is to inflict pain.  I don't deny animals feelings but they are basic.  The idea that we should look to them and how they live in  order to decide whether man corrupts society or does society corrupt man is flawed.

In order for society to be corrupted it would have, at some point, been without corruption first.  How would society become corrupt?  Man.  Man is capable of manipulating his surroundings for better or worse.  It is instinctive and man chooses how to act, how to behave, and what to produce.  Just as a baby automatically reaches for his parent for protection and love, so is man's sense of right and wrong, unless one is a psychopath but that is an aberration from the norm so not a part of this argument.  Man's decisions shape society.  What happens next is up for grabs.  Do I want to pick a flower to give someone joy or pick a fight to ruin someone's day?

We are the cause.  Society is a reflection of our decisions - corrupt or clean.

Drunk Bees

Apparently wasps and bees get drunk.  I recently tried helping two bees, at least I think they were two different bees as these were two different walks but how would I know?  Both had been on their backs, their little legs and wings were frantically working to turn them right side up but they just couldn't do it.   Once turned over, the first once I happened upon walked with no problem so I moved on.  On my next walk, after being helped to his feet, the second one I found wobbled about for a few seconds and landed on his back once again.  I gave up on him.  He needed to sober up.

I've tried being a friend to human alcoholics, too.  I didn't grow up with alcoholism in my family but apparently other forms of abuse create the same results.  I like to think I've grown, learned, and broken the pattern that held me captive.  I haven't lost empathy or sympathy.  What I've lost is the need to become embroiled.  

Off to the beach for some water therapy and then I have my massage with Eric later this afternoon.  Not everything in my life is perfect, but it is pretty damn good.

One more thing.  I like to think that being cynical and realistic is not the same as being pessimistic.  Just something that has been on my mind.  I'm also out of bread.

Wait. How old are you?

My mother is 79 years old.  This coming January she will be 80.  She still drives, still cooks, still cleans, and is able to take care of her two dogs and walk them regularly.  My mother doesn't act or look her age.  This holds true when it comes to men, too.  "I know he likes me."  "I could tell he liked me."  It doesn't matter if the guy is 25 years old, single or married.  It doesn't matter if he is 50 or 65.  In my mother's mind she is still the belle of the ball and the life of the party.  Men find her fascinating and that, my friend, is her reality.

Apparently she has been learning some new slang as the other day when I was talking to her on the phone on my drive home from work she was telling me about some man she talked to somewhere.  I don't remember the details but that isn't the part of the story you need to know.  In her mind, he was enamored with her and she said, "I would do him."

Last Sunday morning I was over at my mother's house having my weekly visit.  I was requested to get there within a certain time frame as she had a neighborhood party to attend later that afternoon.  The way it works is each neighbor takes turns hosting and everyone on the street is invited.  My mother decided she is never going to host but periodically she does attend these gatherings.  One of the reasons she moved into this new development was because they represented themselves as actively providing social events within their community.

My younger sister, Eve, dropped by and it is always a treat to spend time with her, too.  The three of us were sitting on bar stools belly up to the kitchen island gibbering away when my mother announced that she bought a new top for that afternoon's party.  She said, "You know how I hate to shop," as she jumped from the bar stool and walked to her bedroom to get this new top we had to see.  Eve and I looked at each other. "Hates to shop?"
"I was being sarcastic."
"Oh."

Mom walks out of her bedroom with a sheer black lacy top.  Eve and I are speechless but we manage to oooo and ahhhhh over it because it is very pretty.  Eve then states the obvious.  "You know you have to wear a camisole underneath it, right?"
"What's a camisole," my mother asks irritated.
"Like a tank top," Eve says glancing my way.
I chime in, "Yeah.  They have spaghetti straps."
My mother is even more irritated.  She's the mother, after all.  "I don't need one."
The battle is on.  Eve and I are now talking over each other trying to convince my mother she absolutely cannot wear that top without a camisole underneath.  My mother's answer?  "I tried it on in the store and it looked fine."  "I have a black bra.  It will be fine."  To which Eve asks, "You have a black bra?"  To which my mother answers, "Yes.  I have two."

That shuts us both up for a second as more questions and weird thoughts dance around inside both of our heads.  We manage to bring ourselves back on point to the emergency we are trying to fend off.  My mother finally acquiesces and goes to the hall mirror to try on the shirt to prove to us we are wrong.  She whips off her current top and lo and behold, she is wearing a black bra.  The sight is a little unsettling.  She then pulls the new top up over her head, fidgets with it as she regards her reflection in the mirror, and walks back over to Eve and me.  Eve says, "See?  You can see your stomach.  You have to cover  your stomach."  That was a very polite way of saying, "Mom.  You are clearly almost naked right now and you CANNOT go out in public dressed like that."  I am nodding and agreeing.  My mother looks down and finally cannot deny or defend any longer.

"Where do I buy a camisole?"







  

Removing Attachments

"The healing is then your job, instead of becoming offended by these deep soul divulges; you dive deeper into the relationship with yourself (not fixing the other person) to see what the root of the pain is from. It is also your partner’s job to do the same."  To read the whole article copy and past the link below into your browser:

http://thespiritscience.net/2014/07/26/how-to-remove-attachments-to-past-relationships/

I was in the same type of relationship the author describes.  It was the best and the worst.  It was the brightest and the darkest.  He and I both felt an immediate tie to each other and we never permanently let go through the very high ups and the very low downs.  I never felt love for another deep inside my soul as I did with him.  I never knew such profound peace and complete pain with another human being.  He and I were mirrors for each other.  So many times we reflected back the good and the bad.  Because of him, I became the true me.  Because of him, I changed my life's path by becoming honest with myself and chipping away at the caked-on blinders that inhibited me from really seeing.  My life is so much better for having known him.  

I learned a great deal and for that I am deeply grateful to him but I had to cut the cord.  The pain of breaking it off with him was phenomenal and more intense than I had ever experienced.  It would flood my brain, burn my soul, and cause me to feel physically depressed.  I can understand why, as the author noted, some turn to drugs or alcohol to numb the pain caused by it.  The agony was crippling at times and there was no question that I had to free myself from it.

I didn't cut the cord the way described by the author but it was a conscious effort for me and on multiple occasions I had to stop what I was doing to reject his psychic reaching out to me.  I had learned what I was meant to know and even though the relationship had been pared down to friendship, it still was poisonous.

I am finally not angry with him anymore or feel hurt when he crosses my mind.  Not that long ago I found that I could wish him love and wellness.  I want him to find peace because he deserves it and needs it.  Just not with me.

Sucker Punch

Insanity holds hands with hopelessness
And they dance inside my head
Prancing on reason and
Twirling on logic
They spin and twist and jump up and down on my brain.

Inwardly manic; Outwardly calm
Do you ever feel you are crazy the same way I do?
Emotion is driving the car next to the edge of the cliff
Logic is asleep in the trunk knocked out by a sucker punch.

Vanity

And when you look up at the stars, what do you see?  Do you see unending galaxies and universes and lives that are lived far far away?  Do you see your destiny?  Do you see that you are a mere speck, a teeny dot on a small planet?

I used to fly to Florida on average 2 times a year.  I miss it, in a way.  It was a luxury.  I could get away from the usual and be free.  Part of what I miss seeing is the earth from above.  Above the clouds.  Above the weather.  Above daily cares.  There is no turbulence at that height.

Life's perspective is different from above.  No streets.  No people.  The first time I watched the beginning of the movie Contact, I held my breath.  At least it felt that way.  I watched myself pulled backward further and further and further away from Earth my perspective changing and my mind forced into continually adjusting.

We are so small and look at the havoc our small selves are able to create. Horrible atrocities are manifested in the name of some god.  Why is it easier to live in fear than walk in love?

I have theories but no answers.

Slow down.  Take the time to drift up.  No matter what life is like now, it won't always be this way be it better, be it worse, or just different.  All you control is what you do now.  When you make peace with that, your perspective changes.

The Best Cancer to Have

This past Saturday my mother and I spent the afternoon together.  We decided we would catch a movie and then an early dinner afterward.  We both ate breakfast but skipped lunch and met at the theater at 11:30 for a 1:35 showing to buy our tickets early and shmy at Tuesday Morning first.  (It's a Yiddish word.  Look it up)

We sat on the phone earlier that morning while I went online to see what theaters were playing what movies.  My mother won't see any movie that has aliens, monsters, or men at war.  That limited our choices.  She likes schmaltzy love stories and with a few exceptions those usually make me want to barf.  We narrowed it down to one film we both wanted to see - "The Fault in Our Stars".

I knew it was supposed to be a movie that you either needed a to bring a box of tissues with you or grab a pile of napkins along with your popcorn.  What I didn't know was that the heroine of the movie had thyroid cancer that had advanced to her lungs and her prognosis was sketchy.  This tidbit of information assaulted me quite early on in the film and it was as if I was punched in the solar plexus.  I gasped.  I needed air.  I felt claustrophobic.

I was still in the miasma of the unknown waiting to hear if one of the lymph nodes left untouched by my last surgery was cancerous.  It was a hard movie for me to watch but I was very glad that that was the cancer she had.  Thyroid cancer has been minimized by most of the medical community for way too long.  "It's the easy cancer."  "We have thyroid replacement drugs and you won't even know you don't have a thyroid anymore."  I call bullshit!

I am not going to play my tiny violin.  I am not going to whine or stand on a soapbox.  I hope this movie makes people wake up to the fact that thyroid cancer shouldn't be patted on the head and told to be quiet.  It is important to also note that other types of cancers were represented in the film and not just the one that has pink ribbons or football players wearing pink athletic shoes.

This morning I am still feeling like a bird let out of a cage no longer trapped.  It is good to be free.

And the Results Are..............

No Cancer found in any of the biopsy specimens!

Tip one back and celebrate with me.  The clock has stopped ticking.

The Tide

It is August.  Over half of the year has passed.  I am at the beach cursing that I don't have a pen and paper with me.  They are back at the car in my purse in the trunk.  I am trying to not to think about the results of the biopsies but I can't stop from doing it.  Don't think about a ballerina dressed in pink riding on the back of a circus elephant.  See?

I grab my car keys and hike back to the car.  I really need to write.

When I got to the beach at 9:30 this morning it was sparsely populated.  That's how I like it.  The wind is blowing hard and I like that, too.  As I get closer to the water, I can see that the tide is coming in as the waves crash to the shoreline.  After setting up my blanket and bag, I slather on sunscreen including getting as much of my back as my fingers can reach and I am sure I have left white globs of goop back there.

The sounds of the beach fill my ears.  Waves, birds.  The water is warm enough to walk right in and as I do I am tossed about.  Waves hit me and spray my face.  When I lift my feet off of the bottom I am carried by the tide southward so periodically I have to fight my way back trudging against the current fish swimming ahead of me trying to stay out of my way.  Sometimes I face the shoreline and watch it pass by fast enough it seems as if I am in a car.  Sometimes I drag my feet in the sand to slow the driving water.

Crash into me!  Crash into me again!  Make me keep my mind on now.  I don't want to think.  I just want to be.  Sea salt is in my mouth and I taste it when I lick my lips.  It gets in my eyes and the burning doesn't last long.

Hit me some more!  Drop me low and then pick me up and carry me away.  Floating up and then pressed down.  I stand in front of walls of water topped with froth and enjoy the impact that is so strong I walk backwards.  Tire me out, please.  I need peace and if it means standing here in your strength being knocked around for an hour then I will.

I finally am tired enough and peaceful enough to leave the water.  The beach is inhabited by more people and I know I will want to leave soon.  White powdered sugar coats my feet and ankles as I walk back to my blanket.

At the End of the Day

Drawing the blinds
Turning down the bed
Cold soft sheets

Sitting on the edge
Swinging legs up
Feet under sheets

Pushing body under
Lifting bedding up
Head on pillow

Looking at the ceiling
Covering face with hands
Dark room now

Turning on left side
Hugging one pillow
Eyes are closed

Breathing evenly
Dreaming commences
Brain at play

Yes, Again

Dr. Lupo is always late to his appointments.  I resigned myself to that fact when I first starting seeing him.  On the other hand, he never rushes in and rushes out.  He spends as much time with you as needed and you never feel like you are a pain in the ass to him.  He is slightly built with sharp features and a sharp wit.  Here is the doctor that watches me for signs of cancer and he always has me laughing.  An office visit with the potential of feeling like a wake is instead filled with his bright personality that doesn't allow the darkness to squeeze itself in.

I have answered all of the required questions and filled out the forms on the clipboard.  I've been weighed and brought back to one of the exam rooms and told it was a temporary pit stop because I will be moved to the room with the ultrasound equipment shortly.  While waiting, I read my book and it helps me remove myself from the current situation, but not for long.  I reach over to the left side of my neck with my right hand and find the nodule.  OK.  It's still there and I didn't imagine it.  It hasn't miraculously disappeared.  I am right to be here.

The nurse comes in, retrieves me, and we walk to the exam room with the ultrasound equipment and I am told that Dr. Lupo will be in soon to see me.  We all know it will be more than a few minutes so I hunker down again, find my place in the book, and continue reading.

There is the quiet knock on the door and in walks my doc.  I once again notice his black hair and slender fingers.  His smile softens his features and puts me at ease.  I do believe he must have changed barbers or hairdressers because I really like the way his hair is cut but I don't have the nerve to broach the topic.  It would probably come out all wrong and then I would be stepping all over myself trying to dig my way out of an increasingly embarrassing situation.

He thanks me for being there.  Say what?!  You heard right, sister.  He thanked me for coming in.  I try to turn it around and I thank him for making room for me today.  He laughs it off and says, "With your history I said bring her on in.  We'll take a look at what the problem is."

I show him where the nodule is located and he palpates it.  He doesn't think it is a lymph node but lets get the ultrasound going so we have more information.  I move to the table and lie down.  We get under way and he's thinking out loud and tells me so.  I tell him I would rather hear that than nothing.

There appears to be blood flowing through it so he suggests a fine needle biopsy.  I've been through those before and they are far from enjoyable.  Like another solar system away from enjoyable.  I would say galaxy but that would be pushing it.

He gets his nurse in the room and jokes are flying and I can't help but laugh which gets his nurse quietly giggling.  Ice is the numbing agent as the lump in question is close to the surface.  First needle, second needle, third needle.  Done.  I take in a deep breath and let it out.  Dr. Lupo comments, "Well, she's still breathing."  He gives me ice wrapped in gauze and tells me to hold it there while he and his nurse exit.

When they return Dr. Lupo isn't smiling.  He looks worried when he tells me that it is in fact a lymph node and he wants to take one more biopsy and this one will hurt more than the others.  When he left it was to look at some of the material under his own microscope and that is what he discovered.  It is lymph tissue.

I put on my life jacket because the waves have started to crash into the boat and I'll be damned if I am going down.  Ice, needle, pain, done.  Doc then tells me it hurt more because it was a larger gauge needle to get more tissue but he didn't want to scare me.

I will hear something in 3 to 10 days.  If the results are conclusive, it will be closer to the 3 days.  If more testing is needed it will be closer to the 10 days.  His office will call me and either give me the news over the phone or ask me to come in.

In my head there is now a clock with a countdown.  The only time I don't hear it ticking is when I am asleep.  

Not Again

It was just another morning at work.  Pete, the maintenance man extraordinaire, and I were talking while he was collecting the kitchen garbage to be hauled out to the street for pick-up.  I have no idea why I did this or what prompted me to do it but without thinking I reached up with my right hand to touch a spot on the left lower part of my neck.  I felt a small lump.  A nodule which shouldn't be there.  WTF.  I kept my finger on it and asked Pete, as he was walking the garbage to the front door, if he would take a look at it.  He said "Sure" because that is the kind of guy Pete is.  We got close to the window and I took my finger off of the spot.  Pete said, "Yeah.  I see something.  You can see it.  It's a little lump."  To which I replied, "Is it under a scar?"  Pete said, "No."

I thanked him and said out loud to no one that now I had to call my doctor.

I don't want to go through this again.

I walked into my office, grabbed my purse, and pulled out my wallet to look for my endocrinologist's business card.  I was panicking.  My emotional response was immediate.

Felicia, one of my co-workers fantastico, walked over to my office and stopped at the door.  I told her what was going on and yes, I started tearing up.

I don't want to go through this again.

Felicia is an excellent listener.  When I apologized for my obvious loss of control of my emotions, she said if it were her she would be doing the same thing.  I shouldn't worry about it.  She didn't pepper with me with questions I couldn't answer but instead let me talk and made it clear to me that she understood.  She was supportive without going overboard and didn't fall apart with me.

After digging around I had to admit to myself that I didn't have the doc's business card so I went online.  Through all of this Felicia stood by until I picked up the phone to call his office.

I feel better because of Felicia.  I don't know that I will have to go through this again.

I got through to the office and after explaining the situation to the woman that answered the phone she passed me on to my doctor's nurse, Melissa....I think.  I am so bad with names.  She pulled up my chart and started asking me questions.  What was the size of it?  Where exactly was it located?  In order to answer that question I had to walk to the bathroom and look in the mirror.  I kept leaving the bathroom and she would have another question and I kept having to walk back in.  We ended up laughing about it because she could hear me opening the bathroom door over and over.  She tried to catch Dr. Lupo (yes, like the wolf) between patients but wasn't successful so she said she would have to call me back.

Felicia staunched the emotional bleeding some more simply by listening to me as I tried to busy myself as I waited.  I didn't know if Dr. Lupo would see me or if he would send me to my primary care first.  After a few minutes she and I went back to our respective offices.  It wasn't too long a wait when my cell phone rang.

Hope.  Please good news.

It was the original woman that answered the phone asking me if I could come in at 4 pm as Dr. Lupo wants to see me and perform an ultrasound, too.  Felicia had walked to the door of her office and was looking at me.  "Yes", I said.  "I can come in at 4."  Felicia nodded in agreement.  The woman reiterated it was today at 4 pm and I reconfirmed.

The Definition of You

Cancer walked me through 2 surgeries and 3 radioactive iodine treatments.  It grabbed my head and forced me to look at death and ergo to look at life.  In 2011 I physically changed my life by moving to Florida from Maryland.  In 2014 I am making internal changes.

As we all know, my mother is 79 and this coming January she will be 80.  She has talked about death and heaven and what do I believe?  We've had this conversation a number of times and I say the same thing to her each time.  We are a soul, or spirit.  We need our physical body in order to live in this plain.  When our physical body dies, we move from this plain to another one and we continue on because we are not our bodies.

I was at Petco this morning picking up canned food for everybody - Senator, Trixie, and Poppy.  Because Poppy has food allergies, I have to buy him the expensive brands that don't have grains and a lot of ingredients.  Senator and Trixie think the cheaper the food the better it tastes but I am careful about their diets, too.  By the time I get in line to pay I have about had it with the whole shopping process.  Even though I have breasts and a uterus I don't like to shop.  I got to the only register open and I am happy that I am next in line until I see the cashier is in the middle of some kind of refund/rebate/difficult customer process and she is working methodically but feverishly as the line behind me grows.  I put on my Zen cap and decided that I would remain calm.  My getting irritated was not going to change what was happening.  It would only make things worse.

When I am forced into a situation like that, I look around for things to occupy my thoughts.  I realize that the man in front of me with his hands on the cart was huge.  He was possibly 6 1/2 feet tall and his biceps were the size of my thighs.  His skin was taught and I could see where it had to stretch around the huge muscles.  His back was broad and he had stubble on his legs from when he last shaved them.  He was obviously a body builder.  I looked at his hair and I saw a lot of grey.  He wasn't a kid and it was evident he had been working on his physique for some time.  A woman walked in the "out" door and stood in front of the cart.  She was maybe in her early 40s and she was with him.  She looked intensely at his face as she scanned it for queues.  I could see her eyes take him in and calculate his mood.  I wondered if his size and build made her feel protected or if it intimidated her.  I wondered if I could be with a man that looked like that and I decided I couldn't.

He created his appearance to communicate something.  He was his own artwork.  He was better than Michelangelo's David because he was not a statue made of stone.  He was man.

The only part of his face I saw was his profile when he looked at the cashier.  Otherwise he was looking straight ahead.  When it finally came to pay, both he and the woman reached for their respective wallets.  His was a money clip and even though he pulled money from it it was like he was moving in slow motion.  He was actually waiting for her to step in and pay, and she did.  It made me wonder about him some more.

No matter what he does to his body it is his soul, his spirit, that ultimately defines him.  What he does with his life, who he has touched, how he as loved, and if he has helped or hurt - these are the things that matter.  I am asking you to look beyond the body and see the person that inhabits it.

Internet Rant!

I don't usually rant but I have been thinking a lot about how the internet has changed our lives and who we are as people.  Unacceptable behavior used to have consequences because it was person to person IN person.  Now everyone has keyboard courage and being a dick is easily accomplished with a few key strokes.  There is very little personal responsibility because it is so easy to get away with acting like a pile of rubbish stinking up the places you enter.  We have lost empathy and instead have reverted to simple primal behaviors.  Men beating their chests with their fists and women being able to behave badly and not be embarrassed by it because they cannot be seen.  There is damage being done, people.  These aren't victim-less crimes.  I read news stories online and want to rail against the ignorant comments full of judgment from people that think it is part of their entitlement as a human being to criticize others while they stand in their smelly shoes and don't think they stink because they can no longer smell their own rottenness.  Our cores are drying up and turning brown and ugly.  

On a lighter note, I accidentally burped in my dog's face the other night and all he did was sniff the air.  Only dogs would find a rude burp full of interesting information.

Match Me Up!

Over the 4th of July weekend I joined eHarmony.  It was free so I figured what have I got to lose?  As it turns out, I have lost some money and some contentment.

I ended up shelling out some cash because otherwise I could not see my matches' pictures.  What the hell?!  How would I know if I am reading information about a Boris Karloff lookalike or Ryan Gosling's twin?  Looks aren't everything but they are something.

My next question is...can these men really be this active?  They play golf and tennis and that is when they are not kayaking or working out.  They are sailing and fishing and that is after they have just finished riding their motorcycle from coast to coast.  They love day trips and jetting off to Europe is a terrific getaway.  I know I am introverted and that kind of curtails activities that involve a lot of other people, but this all is making my head spin.  They love to make everyone laugh, they are great with their finances, and if they weren't so busy making their nearly adult or adult children the center of their attention they would have already cured HIV.

When I finally walk in the door after a long day at work and the commute,  I am greeted by the two cats and the dog.  I pick up Poppy who is hopping around wildly and while I am being treated to kisses, kisses, and licks I more often than not make a straight path to the bathroom where Poppy is put back on the floor.  Having finished taking care of me, I take the Popster for a walk.  That takes about 20 minutes.  Once back in the house, all of the critters are fed.  After that, I do whatever cleaning up is needed and then I think about dinner for myself.  Maybe I can start to relax between 7:30 and 8:00 pm.  I am exhausted and just want to put my feet up.

On the weekends I am running errands, doing laundry, cleaning the house if I can motivate myself, and giving some time to my mother.  There are pockets of time for the beach and a movie.  Maybe here again I run my life differently because I am an introvert.  I have to have down time.  I can only recharge that way.  If I could find a friggin dominoes player I would love to do that but there aren't any dominoes groups that I can find and I have looked.  What is my passion, you ask?  Writing.  I love to write.  Now there is an activity everyone can enjoy doing together.

So, back to these men.  When I have talked about this to friends and relatives they ask me if I really think they do all the stuff they say they do.  Just because I am an honest person doesn't mean everyone else is and I so often forget that.  It is not surprising to me that just one man since I joined that holiday weekend has contacted me.  At the same time, it was stressing me out!

Phooey on that.  I am so Type A and goal orientated that I had to take a step back and force this into perspective.  If no one reaches out to me, then so be it.  If no one gives me an online smile back to the one I send, then...so be it.  If I never meet anyone through this mother effing website, then so be it! 

Intervention

I do a lot of driving because I live so far away from where I work and because I am the only employee that lives in Sarasota or "in town" as they Myakkans would say, I usually am the one that runs errands.

Last Friday afternoon I was doing just that.  I had left work early as I had an appointment to have some blood drawn for medication level testing.  My first stop was the accountant's office to drop off June's books so that they could work on them.  I had run my distance and I was passing the baton to them.

It was a typical summer afternoon with plenty of rain, thunder, and lightening.  For those that have never experienced one of Florida's summer afternoon storms, they are torrential.  There is no soft pitter-patter of tiny droplets that dance from the sky and land gently to the ground.  These are fierce globules of water that have formed gangs and race to the ground to pummel it.  It comes down in buckets; it comes down in sheets.  A film of water forms on the surface of roads daring drivers to hydroplane.  It was raining like this on my way to the accountant's office.  I arrived there safely, said hello, dropped off the thumb drive, and left.

When an opening in the traffic allowed, I pulled back into the 3-lane road and found a good spot in the middle lane.  It wasn't raining as hard as it had been just a few minutes ago and I could comfortably set my wipers to lazy intermittent.   I saw up ahead that the traffic in the right lane stopped to leave a space for a driver to pull into.  Instead, this crazy man who apparently does not cherish life whipped out from in between the cars and drove across my lane and the left lane of oncoming traffic. As I looked in my rear view mirror, all I had time to do was break hard and hope that I wasn't rear-ended .  That shouldn't have been my only concern because suddenly to my left I saw a white car that must have been going faster than me and unlike me didn't have the warning of a possible situation.  As I watched the white car slide closer and closer to my beloved Taurus, I was waiting to hear metal against metal, to feel my car shudder as it was hit.  Instead I saw an incredible thing.

Are you familiar with marshmallow fluff?  Here's a picture of jar of it and next to that is a picture of what mother's in the 1960s used to consider a healthy sandwich.

 

See how the fluff is oozing out of the sandwich?  That is what I saw in between the white car and me.  It was like there was fluff smashed between our two cars prohibiting the collision that never was.  

The driver of the white car eventually stopped and I pulled up next to him and rolled down my window.  He then rolled down is passenger side window and we looked at each other.  He was a handsome late thirties early forties man that was in shock.  The conversation made up of one liners went like this:

He shouted over to me, "Did I hit you?"

"No, you didn't."

"I didn't hit you?"

"No."

"He pulled out in front of traffic!"

"Yes, I know."

"I can't believe I didn't hit anyone."

"Yes, I know."

"I can't believe he did that."

"Yes, I know."

I couldn't expand my vocabulary because the man just kept talking.  I confirmed for him that everyone and everything was OK and we both drove on.

It is not up for debate whether I saw the fluff protecting our cars.  The point is...is that he and I both could not believe there wasn't an accident.  Divine intervention?  The Universe deciding in a split second it wasn't time for this now?  Guardian angels?  Take your pick.  It did happen.  Fluff rules.