One Dollar

When I tell people I live near downtown Sarasota, they get all starry eyed as their minds fill up with thoughts of beautiful high-rise condos and amazing sunsets.  Their fantasy melts like hot wax when I tell them my neighborhood is a few blocks to the north of downtown and it is composed of Hispanics, Blacks, and Whites, in that order.  I am not rich.  I don't have a partner, rich or poor.

As their thoughts of utopia wave bye-bye in their mind's rear view mirror, they come back to reality.

Because of Lithuanian descendants, I am dark haired with olive skin darkened even more by the sun.  When I take Poppy out for his walks, it isn't unusual for me to be approached by people.  He is a cutie-pie and we all know it!  They say, "¿Cómo está usted?" or "¿Cómo está?" It has happened enough that now I reply with, "Fine.  You?"  It is when they walk up to me and speak a whole lot of Spanish that I have to respond with, "I don't speak Spanish."

It is an interesting place to live and when I visit my mother, and I do every week, who lives in money-is-no-object suburbia, it is a bit of a culture shock.  There is no blending of the races because everyone is one race...at least that has been my experience so far.  I walk my dog there, too, but usually not alone as my mother has two of her own.  We do it together and our goal is getting to the dog park which is located around the block next to the kid's playground which is located next to the bocce ball area which is located next to the 2 pools and 1 Jacuzzi which are attached to the clubhouse.

What am I trying to say?  I live in a poor neighborhood.  I was in the Save-A-Lot a couple of nights ago for milk and being that it is the closest grocery store I opted for convenience.  As I am walking to my car with a box bottom filled with a few heavy items, I see a man holding money in his hands counting it.  I knew what was going to happen and instead of turning my head signaling that he should not approach me, I kept looking at his unshaven face as I rested the box on my trunk.  As he walked over to me he said, "Ma'am.  Do you have 79 cents?  I am embarrassed to have to ask but I need...."  I couldn't make out exactly what he needed it for but it didn't matter.  Was it the truth anyway?  I would never know.  I opened my wallet and counted my change.  "I only have 54 cents," I said.  His face fell with disappointment and the bubble over his head read,"What am I going to do now?"  He wasn't expecting me to finish my sentence with, "So here is one dollar."  I took it out of my wallet and gave it to him.  As he reached out his hand to take it, he was a bit stunned.  Then thanked me and thanked me again and wished me a great night.  He was smiling and all it took was one dollar.  What he doesn't know is that he made me more happy than I made him.  I felt it best to leave it at that.

Hope, not fear

Sometimes I feel like I am stuck in the middle of a tornado and the air is being sucked out of my lungs by the pressure of the whipping winds, my hair stinging my face.  Sometimes I feel like I am standing on a backwoods country road in the middle of a dark night walking blind feeling my way forward inch by inch not knowing what is ahead.  Sometimes I am under water, anchor tied to my ankle, looking up at the line between sea and air.

It is hope that keeps me going, not fear.  Hope is reaching into my front pants pocket, feeling for the coins gotten by learned lessons I sweated and wept tears to earn. The scar around my neck a badge of courage and proof I know how to fight.  I take out my sword of honor and hold it high as I will not be defeated.  My cloak is peace woven with strands of joy.  My crown is hope.  I will be brave through the wind and the night.

I looked like me!

The other day I looked in the mirror as I was leaving the bathroom and I had to go back and look again.  I could see myself after having not been able to for a very long time.  What was it?  The hair? The lighting?

I studied my reflection analytically instead of emotionally.  Different skin tone?  No.  I looked younger.  That was it.

One of the things that I have been consciously doing is actively unburdening myself to the point of throwing out or giving away things that I no longer need, want, or should have.  At first it was a slow process of calculating decisions like math problems.  Now it has become very easy and with that I have found a sense of freedom.  Just the other day I had to make a decision about something in the kitchen and poof!  Into the trash it went.  I shocked myself!  Anyone who has spent any amount of time with me knows that my decision-making process is arduous and painful as I, a typical Libra, will keep looking at all sides of a problem until eventually narrowing it down to the answer. For those that stampede through making up their minds, it is sheer hell until they jump in, take control, and make the decision for me.  Now I am taking control by letting go and it is working.

The small decisions are no more of this, that, and the other and that is making the larger decisions easier.   I am less burdened.

I have also accepted the fact that I talk to the dog, even when he is sleeping.  I laugh at myself and the things around me more often and more easily.  I allow myself to be goofy.  This is how I am, who I am, and I am happier. I like talking in silly voices.  I enjoy making up stories about the people I see.  I like playing the drums on the steering wheel while I listen to the radio in the car.  It's a long drive to and from work, people!

I am nicer to myself and because I am more accepting of myself I find that I am more accepting of others.  My inner voice is softer.  I don't have to listen to lectures anymore.  Instead I am outside on the playground admiring the pretty wildflowers or watching the sky spin as I ride the spinner.

I looked like me!

And Still

And still
It is no more
We are no more
Waiting for the memories to fade
From sharp to dull
Waiting for the distance to grow
From close to far
Waiting for the pain to cease
From wicked to sweet

I turn my head to the past
Looking back and seeing
What lacked.

I turn my head to the fore
Looking ahead and seeing
What?  More?

Inside room is made
For the music of rest
As Healing knits and sews
Weaves soft light
Into the fabric of my soul.

Alone with Time
Time for the rest
For the peace
So that forward becomes
Now
With a wholeness
A fullness
Awash in cool waters
Springing from the union
Of equality, peace, love, and
Harmony
Understanding, knowing, seeing
Time will bring it.
A bouquet of flowers in a basket.
Time will know
When to let the water flow.

Wow!

Last Sunday I woke up with a huge amount of lower back pain.  My sister, Eve, is an Occupational Therapist and after seeing me trying to get up from a seated position, she asked me specifically where and when it hurt. I went into a blabbering spiel trying to explain it.  She wrapped it up succinctly, "So it hurts when you are transitioning."  Yes!  That's it.  Eve went to work on my back with ice and a massage.  It helped quite a bit but afterward, on a bathroom break, I noticed my eyes were red and thought, "That's weird," and proceeded to go about my business.

The next day I woke up to a god awful headache, still the lower back pain, my eyes hurt, and I had a fever that kept breaking and returning.  Tuesday the same.  Wednesday I tried going into work and had to leave with only 1/2 a day under my belt.  While at work Wednesday, I got an automated call letting me know that my annual endocrinologist appointment was Monday.  Damn.  I had just thought about that in the middle of the night and quickly forgot it.  I needed blood work done prior to the office visit and I didn't have the script.

I got that faxed to me and then after getting home and taking a nap, I figured it was as good a time as any to go get the blood draw done.  Still feeling like dog poo, I ventured out.  

While in the waiting-to-be-checked-in area of the lab, I was able to see the people in the waiting-to-be-pricked/prodded/tested area of the lab.  In the chair closest to my area was an old man with a cane.  He had to be in his eighties and I thought how wonderful that he still gets around on his own.  What strength!  What tenacity!  His name was called and as he got up and started walking with the aid of his cane, he farted not just once but twice and long and loud.  He made neither apologies nor excuses.  He was not embarrassed.  He just kept walking to meet the tech down the hall.  "Wow," I thought with even more respect for the guy.

After I got home, I decided it was time to call my primary care doc.  This thing with the strange combination of symptoms was not getting better.  The Universe was on my side because I got a 9 am appointment for the following day.  That was my second "Wow!" moment of the day.  I can never get in to see her that quickly.

This morning my alarm went off and I wanted to stay in bed.  Pain in back.  Check.  Pain in head.  Check.  Pain in eyes.  Check.  Fever.  Check.  Get your ass up so you can see the doctor.  Check.

Since I have had my fill of doctors, I really only see them as a last resort.  I loved my primary doc in Baltimore and no one will ever be able to take his place.  I could always count on him being honest with me with a sprinkling of sympathy.  He was never brusque plus he was smart.  My heart still goes pitter patter just thinking about him.  Still thinking about him.......

I am still getting used to my relatively new primary doc of 2.5 years.  She is just as smart and just as sympathetic as Doc Baltimore and I know any issues that exist are mine, not hers.  And really, she is a no bullshitter, too.  When she walked into the exam room this morning, (a half an hour after my scheduled appointment time.  She is perpetually late so I mentally prepared myself for it.  My Baltimore doc was never more than 10 minutes late.) she didn't say, "Hello, Nancy.  How are you this morning?"  All she said was, "Nancy."

She knew that for me to come in because I wasn't feeling well there was something really wrong and that was all I needed - her understanding - and she gave it me with simply stating my name.

At what I presumed was the end of the visit because she left the room, my doc had her assistant come in to draw blood.  Two pokes later he had what he needed.  The second item on the list was getting me in to see an eye doctor to rule out some suspicions.  I could hear my doc speaking to her assistant - did I have my own eye doctor?  He knocked and popped back in my room to ask. Well, I saw a guy at Walmart that I had to go back to for a second eye exam because he screwed up the first eye exam so I don't think he counts.  The next thing I know he is asking me if I can go to an 11:25 appointment to an eye doctor just down the street.  "Why, yes!  Yes, I can."  Wow.  This is all working out and going smoothly.  To the eye doctor I go!

I get there early but no matter.  I watch the TV showing sea creatures walking around the bottom of the ocean floor set to classical music and is that really what I am seeing?  Is one sea creature eating another sea creature???  I fill out the paperwork, an assistant leads me to an exam room where she does not have fun trying to get drops in my eyes.  That nasty job done, she leads me out and we stop at a room with low lights that has 4 chairs and 2 people sitting across from each other.  They are mother and daughter and I know that because I saw them in the waiting area.  Instead of telling me to sit there, she tells me to sit back in the waiting area that is all windows and very bright.  Huh?  After I have seated myself she walks up to me and says that she didn't think I would want to sit there with all of those people.  What??  Of course I want to sit there.  I will be in pain otherwise.  She leads me back to the low light room as my eyes dilate.  The mother moves her seat to next to her daughter and I sit across from both.  It didn't have to be awkward.  After a bit, a different assistant takes me to a different exam room.  "Please sit in the big chair," I hear for the second time.  Inside I laugh as being told that makes me feel like a toddler.

After the drops, the dilation, and the exam, the scary things were ruled out by the eye doctor.  Whew!  No bad news but still no explanation.  The final stop is to get the x-ray which is located just down the street but the other direction.

It is noon when I drive up and the hours posted on the door indicate they are open from 8 am to 5 pm.  Cool.  I walk in and am told their tech, singular, just went to lunch, will be back at 1 pm, and I am more than welcome to  fill out the paperwork and wait or come back.  If I choose to leave and return my #1 spot will be saved.  I give the door a dirty look. My first thought is to leave, get a quick lunch and return with the promise no one will take my spot.  Hmmm....I trusted the door and look what happened.  I opted to stay, watch TV, and read a magazine.

As I'm sitting watching the news and not crustaceans eating each other, two copier repairmen walk in.  Why do they all look the same?  Does that sound awful of me? They are nerds in super hero capes as they are called when there is trouble and they always fix the problem.  

So, it was a long day.  I'll go back to work tomorrow.  I'll talk to my primary doctor tomorrow.  Oh, one last thing, my doc has no idea what I've got.  In the end, if nothing is discovered from all of the testing, we will chalk this one up to some kind of virus that I should be able to kick in about 10 days.  Yay.

Love is love is love

Sometimes Poppy likes to be held like a baby.  He nestles in my arms with his little head pressed against my neck and I rub his back.  When he is in my arms like this, I get very peaceful and calm.  I end up softly singing to him while gently rocking back and forth as I sit.  Half the time I think that if anyone saw me doing this they would think I had lost it.  The other half replies, "I don't care."

I held my kids like this.  I sang to them and I rocked them.  With my son it was mostly in the middle of the night when he couldn't get back to sleep.  With my daughter it was mainly trying to get her sleepy enough to take her afternoon nap.  I loved the feel of their small bodies pressed to my chest.  The smell of their heads and the feel of their hair as I tilted my head down to kiss theirs.  When Poppy requests this kind of time with me, I do it as much for him as I do it for me.

The only other person Poppy cuddles with like that is my mother.  When we visit sometimes she walks around her house holding him and talking to him.  He loves it!  My mother calls him, "Pee Wee" or "Peaty".   It's very cute.

When we were having our quiet time this morning, a very clear memory came popped in my head. I was very young and my family was at our summer camp, aka Camp Toothacres because almost every male in our family was a dentist.  Something happened that got me all in a twitter.  My older sister, Reesa, saw it as a golden opportunity to tease me. Since she is three years older I did not have the vocabulary needed to fight back so I screamed at her whatever I could muster.  This was even funnier to her.  I must have been loud enough that my father appeared out of nowhere and scooped me up into his arms, cooed to me, and rubbed my back as he walked with me.  At 53 I can still remember how it felt physically and the sweet relief that washed over my heart and mind. My father was my savior and I was complete.

Reesa tried to tell him why I was awful and he just said that I was little.  That took the wind out of her sails.  Poor Reesa!  As the oldest of 4 children, she was always put in the position of having to understand except when I would bite her but that's a whole other story for another time.

I have a lot of memories of my father.  This is one of my favorites and I think this is why there are princess stories.  Dad was the original prince and as little girls grow up, they want to feel that same kind of love and protection from their mates.