Be True to Yourself

As we grow and mature, we are told many things in our lives in regard to how we should live, what we should believe, and the correct way to think and to act. I could go on and on but it is too nauseating to try. 

Unless one is a psychopath, most of us are born with an innate knowing. Gut feelings. Intuition. We are taught to not trust those feelings but instead to rationalize. This is especially true for women. How many times did you know something, talk yourself out of it, then realize you were correct? Be at peace and listen to that inner voice. We are more than flesh and blood. Our spirits live in our bodies. Your gut, your intuition will develop as you learn to listen to it and trust it. You inherently know what is right, what is good. 

Just be true to yourself. That is all I am asking.

Beauty Comes from the Soul

People, friends and strangers alike, will always have an opinion about how one should dress, how one should act, and what one should think. They formulate these based upon their own personal experiences, upbringing, social stigmas, level of insecurity, and level of love. Tattoos, hair color, hair style, clothing, and makeup are one's personal expression of inner self. If people, friends and stranger alike, can't hack it, it is their problem. You need not take that on and integrate it into your self worth. Beauty comes from the soul.

Green Eyes

I looked into his eyes and realized they were the most beautiful shade of green.  A deep forest green, depending on the light.  And then he smiled and oh, my.  I was lost.  I was gone.  The dimple in his chin was disarming. 

It wasn't until we went to the beach later that day did I realize something deeper happened when we met.  A shifting in my soul.  Like a seatbelt being buckled. Click.  I would never be the same.  I was connected to him.  My soul recognized him.  It wasn't my heart or my mind but deep within me - I knew him. 

I recently noticed his eyes again.  Such a beautiful shade of green.  A deep lush green found in the woods.  With love they looked back at me.

Time

The soreness and the pain
Must be worth the strain
To make the future better
To make the future last

The sadness and the tears
Pushing down the fears
To make the future better
To make the future last

Learning to be in the now
Shoulders heavy as I plow
To make the future better
To make the future last

Dancing to the music
Sometimes feeling sick
The crowd disperses
Dizzy, yelling curses
Raising my fist
Rage, feeling pist

Ending with exhaustion
Acceptance is my station
To make the future better
To make the future last

Aunt Audrey

Tomorrow my sister Eve, my mother, and I are driving down south to the East Coast to join my cousins and others to say our final farewell to my Aunt Audrey.  I don't know how else to put it except there was an affinity, an understanding, between my aunt and I.

 

Growing up she wasn't my only aunt and even though she lived the furthest away whenever I had the opportunity to spend time with her I always felt the most comfortable and accepted by her.  She laughed the easiest and had a way of making light of situations that instead of making me feel belittled for feeling so heavy I felt the load ease up and saw that maybe I was just a smidgen too serious about the whole thing.  Even though she was no pushover she never made me feel that I was any less when my introverted ways seemingly held me back.  She accepted me and didn't try to change me.  She challenged my thinking by talking to me and putt out other perspectives in front of me.  She knew I would think about what she said and make an informed decision that would be mine.  

 

So, I loved her not only because she was my mother's sister or my cousins' mother but because of how she loved me.  She knew she always had a place in my heart and I knew I was loved by her.

 

Goodbye, Aunt Audrey.  I'll see you again.

And now a word from our sponsor

If anyone is keeping up with my posts, you probably think I am a lunatic with wild mood swings.  I am actually someone very hurt from a freshly ended relationship and trying to find solace in writing.  It doesn't matter if I write about something funny, something sad, something true, or fiction.  If I am writing then I am helping to rid myself of the painful infection that keeps trying to build up in my bloodstream. 

I am mad at myself for feeling like this.  I should be happy it is over after all I am the one that ended it.  For months it had deteriorated until I had to cry uncle.  Even so, it is a loss and I must allow myself to grieve and give myself permission to one minute feel riddled with bullet holes and the next laughing.  I think part of the problem is I am normally more in control of my emotions and this time they are guiding the ship over rough waters making me seasick. 

Thanks for being there.  Thanks for sharing my life with me.

I Bet You Don't Even Care

My aunt passed away this morning.
I'm so sad.
You were supposed to be here.
I bet you don't even care.

You left months ago.
So hard to let go.
I should hate you but I don't.
My mind is willing but my heart won't.
I bet you don't even care.

Rose and Jeff cont.

She was happy yet scared.  How selfish was it of her that as Jeff faced the surgery that he needed to save his life she was worried about how she would once again continue on making a life for herself without the one she loved.  She thought back again and compared the two.  Now was different from then. 

She had loved Tim with every molecule of her body.  From the first time she saw him, something fantastical and strange happened and she felt complete.  Those feelings of searching for something, needing something else that she couldn't make sense of always playing like a recording on repeat had left her.  They just weren't there anymore.  That is why on that day when he was drunk and took the car keys she thought her life had ended, too.  She thought she would never recover from the loss and the guilt but mostly from the pain.  The pain was what was overwhelming.  That part of herself that she finally found and reveled in as it snapped easily into place into her core had been ripped from her.  Before meeting him she knew she was missing something but it was undefinable.  After that awful night she knew exactly what it was that she was missing and that she would never have it back.  The incompleteness drilled deeply through her heart and kept going until it made a cavern in her soul.  That was why she could hardly get out of bed.  That was why she didn't care if she ate.  Her cat, Lovey, was the only companionship she could tolerate.  Her therapist was the one that pulled her up and helped her to find herself again.

Rose heard Jeff's footsteps as he reached the screen door.  He walked as if he were a much larger man.  "Hey, Sweetheart.  You OK," he asked as he looked at her through the mesh.

Rose swiveled in the chair and got up.  "Yep.  Hungry?"

At Home

I ended up bringing the car into the dealership this morning as it was hiccuping. $700 later it is still there being worked on. I can't really complain because they are 2006 original parts that are being replaced and the car has been as solid as a tank. The critters are happy to have their Mom home and we all took a nap together. I also dusted with Poppy watching incite-fully and all-knowing. He was very Zen about it until he took the opportunity to grab the duster and run.

Happy Birthday To Me

Just putting one foot in front of the other is laborious.
Just breathing is hard.
How does one push forward when the wheel on your wheelbarrow is cripplingly bent?
No amount of glue, duct tape, or mending can close up the gash.
The cherished memories are rammed by the hurtful ones causing explosions of flames creating burnt-edged holes in my heart, mind, and soul.
My North Star has gone missing.
My blanket guarding me against the cold was lifted by the storm.
Happy Birthday to me.

Poppy and the drive thru

Tonight Poppy experienced his first not-so-fast food drive thru.  This is a neighborhood restaurant and not a McDonald's/Burger King type of place but they still have the huge menu and speaker.  

I have to digress here so that you have a more complete picture of the situation.  Poppy and I have a very efficient system for when I am the driver and he is the passenger.  I place him in the passenger seat and then I get in the driver's seat.  We have done this enough that Poppy has learned what "Move over" means.  Time is of the essence with Poppy so he doesn't like to waste it and before I have driven 10 feet he has made his way across the car and has at least his head in my lap.  In just a quick minute he will have his body in my lap and then he scoots his way up my chest and uses my cleavage as a shelf upon which he sits comfortably.  If I am not paying attention, I don't realize what he is doing until his little body is blocking my view of the steering wheel.  That sounds dangerous, you say?  Well of course it is dangerous!  He sticks himself to me as if he is made of Velcro and it takes much coordination on my part to unstick him, place him back in the passenger seat, and keep my eyes on the road.  To answer your next question, I know they make doggie harnesses that keep both driver and dog passenger safe.  One of these days I'll get one.  That is after I have balanced my checkbook and dust.  

I roll down my window and place my order.  Poppy tries to look out my window to see who is there.  Who am I talking to?  Since he is a little Chihuahua, that puzzle will remain unsolved.

We turn the corner to drive around to the side of the building and see that another car is ahead of us and waiting for their meal.  I push Poppy back into the passenger seat, get my purse, pull out my wallet, and feel pretty relaxed as I count out the exact change and bills.  Poppy is quite interested in looking out my window and tries again to crawl up onto my chest.  The car is in Park and my left hand is holding the change, my right is holding the bills.  I let him sit there until we are able to move up to the window.  I gently shove him off of me and once we are in position in front of the window he gently shoves himself back against me.

The restaurant worker slides open the window and just as she repeats the amount I owe Poppy hits the jackpot.  A person.  A person that is very close to the car!  Who said she could be there?  With is teeny Chihuahua bark he lets her know he is the mighty and powerful!  Luckily the girl finds this as funny as I do as I hand her the money.  I place Poppy back in the passenger seat.  As I said, this restaurant isn't trying to be fast so we patiently sit in the car.  Poppy is wondering what the heck is all of this and why are we here and will the lady return?  Soon enough my dinner is passed to me and the car fills up with the smell of food.  Poppy's face quickly turns from curiosity to recognition as the food bag passes over him and is placed onto the floor of the passenger side.  Ohhhhhhh.  So this is why we are here.  How magical!  When can we eat?

 

 

Rose and Jeff continued

Rose took a seat in one of the wicker chairs on the porch as she watched Bill make a mad dash to the nearest bush and lift his leg.  It was that lovely time of early evening when the creatures that are active during the day start getting quiet preparing for the night ahead and the nocturnal ones haven't yet woken up with a yawn and a stretch.  When it was quiet like this and Rose was alone she always ran an internal diagnostic of her feelings and life status.  It was a habit she felt didn't need changing.

Hearts

Hearts are like M and M's. When the hard covering is broken the soft inside becomes vulnerable so be careful that you aren't walking around with a hammer but instead have a soft touch.

Rose and Jeff Continued

Rose turned her head to look at the bedside clock. It was 6:30. The dog had to be fed and let out. Dinner had to be made, too, but she didn't want to be out from under Jeff's arm. If felt heavy, strong, and good. She looked back up at the ceiling and as she indulged her memories she closed her eyes.

She was back at the kitchen table finishing off the toast with jam. Her mouth watered and she had to swallow. She opened her eyes again to survey the room and make sure of her surroundings. She should really get up and take care of the dog. Guilt got the best of her and she slipped out of Jeff's arms.

Bill sat up at the sound of Rose getting out of bed and stared at the doorknob willing it to turn and the door to open. Tada! “C'mon, Bill. Let's go out,” said Rose as she got down and gave Bill a hug around his soft furry neck. They walked down the hall together through the kitchen and out the door.

Test Results, etc.

My latest cancer test results were not what I expected or wanted.  The numbers were higher than the last time I was tested a little over a year ago.  It took me weeks to absorb this bad news.  It wasn't the doctor that called me but his nurse and she had no idea why I wasn't dancing in the streets over the results after all, they were less than 1.  Nothing gets done when the results are under a 1. 

She didn't know I've been through this yearly number increase before and ended up needing a second more extreme surgery.  On top of that I have some sort of knobby growths one on the top of my left foot and the other on my forehead near my hairline.  I've had three courses of radioactive iodine treatment so secondary cancer is in the back of my mind.  I see my general practitioner today to talk to her about that and also getting refills on prescriptions.

My personal life is full of crazy shit including Jim's bat shit-ass crazy ex-wife.  My mom is slowly losing her mind and with that even more of her histrionic personality presents itself as the "I shouldn't say that" filter erodes.  I am in the throes of foreclosure because of my bat shit-ass crazy ex-husband.

"Drugs are bad, mmkay?"

So, the good things are that Jim and I are seeing an excellent nurse/social worker.  She is definitely heaven sent with that combination!  I have the best boss ever!  I have the best dog ever!  Let's just end this on a high note, mmkay?

Negatives

Unheard

Unloved

Abused

Misused

Lied to

Misplaced

Disgraced

Rose & Jeff

Rose was standing at the kitchen sink washing the dishes that had been left over from breakfast and lunch.  Her hands were warm from the sudsy water.  She was wearing a cotton dress that felt soft as the air from the open side door blew in gently making the fabric kiss her legs.  She looked out the kitchen window and smiled as her gaze took in, once again, the open fields that were her backyard. She would never tire of the scene.  It is what she always wanted.  As she watched the tall grass sway in the breeze, peace filled her heart and quieted her mind. 

 

She was lost in thought when she heard his boots on the porch and then the squeak of the screen door as he opened it.  The smell of cut hay walked in with him and with five quick steps Jeffery was next to her.  His right arm wrapped around her waist as with his left he turned the sink faucet off.  Kissing her on the cheek and then the back of her neck her body relaxed into his.  He had worked outside all day and sunshine clung to his plaid shirt.

 

“Hey, Girlie,” he said with both arms now wrapped around her waist. They were in their early 40s but she felt like a teenager whenever he was close.

 

“Hey, big man. How's your day going,” Rose asked as she turned around to face him.  He kept her tight in his arms.  She unbuttoned his shirt so that she could run her fingers through his chest hair.  It was soft and curly and she loved it.  She rubbed her face where her fingers had been and inhaled deeply.  Jeff always smelled good to her whether just coming in from a hard day’s work outside or fresh from the shower.   She felt Jeff’s kiss on the top of her head and then his chin as he rested it there.  She knew he was looking out the kitchen window and probably thinking about next week.  His surgery loomed large even though they both tried to not let it ruin their time together now.  With that thought she went from light to heavy.

 

Jeff took her by the arms and pushed her away from him just enough to be able to see her face.  She automatically tilted her head up. As she looked into his eyes her smile started off as brave and then crumpled.  Rose’s eyes filled with tears even though she wanted so badly not to give in to the desperation she hated to admit she felt. She couldn't imagine life without him. After all that she survived in the past she couldn't lose Jeff. All of those times when she forced herself to keep going when all she wanted to do was lie down and die - she didn't know if she would be able to keep going this time. Jeff tucked her protectively under his arm and they walked down the hall to the bedroom. Their dog, a big black German Shepard/Black Lab mix named Bill, had watched the whole thing from under the kitchen table. He got up and padded behind them nails clicking on the tile floor. The hallway afforded carpet and it was quiet again. Outside of the bedroom door he laid down and rested his big head between his front paws.

Break

I am at my best with you, at my worst with you.
Satisfying happiness, intense pain.

The highs and lows are wearing me out, breaking my heart, bleeding me to death.

Feeling ugly, not wanted, not needed, not heard.

Bodies in the same airspace circling the same skies but not meeting.

The petals are falling off the flower that used to be so vibrant and alive.

The edges are drying up and hardening.

As each cut clots the scar remains, imperfect healing felt with each movement.

The lying did me in. Felt so stupid. Still do.

How do I find my place again? Suspicions were right.

Wish I could bathe in healing waters. Go back. Can't.

Anger is the blanket covering the sheets of hurt.

My fingertips are white holding on. For how long?

Milk Bottle Happiness

My heart is as full as a milk bottle sitting in the sink

Standing upright under an open faucet

The water running up and over the lip

And falling over the sides

Cleaning the bottle from the inside out.

I always thought this kind of happiness

Was only for those I saw on the other side of my sadness

But never for me.

Now I know. It is for me, too.

Bowling

I went bowling this past Sunday with some very special people. It had been a very long time (Ummm.....probably close to 30 years???) since I last laced up a pair of rental shoes. They were iridescent green and orange. Pretty, in fact, and so unlike the ones I remember. They also fit reasonably well. Again, very much unlike the ones I remember. As it turns out, that isn't the only thing that has changed about bowling.

I remember red vinyl covered tubular bumpers that were placed in the gutters to help novice bowlers feel better about their yet unrealised mastery of the game. Now there is a fence-like structure that pops up from the floor on each side of the alley. An ill aimed ball will bounce from side to side as it hits the metal fence and careen wildly down the alley, depending upon the force of the throw, and I do mean throw, of the bowling ball. These fences not only keep the ball out of the gutter but also act as a pinball machine directing it towards the pins. Our vinyl tubes didn't do that.

My fraternal grandmother, Nana Anna, loved bowling so much she belonged to a league. She took me out one afternoon, just her and me, to teach me how to bowl. Allow me to rephrase. She tried to teach me how to bowl. As you take three steps forward you swing the ball back and then forward while keeping your eyes on the arrows on the floor your wrist straight bending at your knees at the last step with perfect timing as you let go of the ball as your back leg shoots out helping with balance and aim.

Nana Anna was very patient with me up until the point where she could see that there weren't any words of advice that could help me to not twist my wrist at the last second sending the ball on a crooked journey. I think that is the only time my much beloved grandmother gave up on my success. I think she figured it wasn't worth the worry and concentration on my part so why keep pressing?
I thought a lot about Nana while I was bowling. My heart still misses her. On the other hand my heart was also made happy by the fun I had with Jim, Jaime, Sierra, and Jax.

Lastly, my left butt cheek is in pain! I thought I would be feeling it in my right arm not my butt! I am not looking forward to what it will be like in the morning. I'll take it, though, as I wouldn't want to give up the fun I had today.

Rose and Jeff prologue

She could either stay curled up in a ball on her bed or start her day. One would lead to catharsis and the other to more wallowing in the pain she already felt. She looked out the window and saw the sun and blue sky. The cat, which was perched on the end of her bed, got up, stretched, meowed, and jumped down. She watched the feline haughtily walk out the bedroom door. If the cat could do it, so could she.

Today was going to be the start of the end. She unfurled herself and laid her head back on the pillows. As she looked up at the ceiling, she claimed this day the end of guilt, the end of remorse, and the end of anger. Her eyes quickly filled with tears that overflowed onto her cheeks, ran down the sides of her face, and tickled her ears as their descent slowed and pooled. She made no sounds. She stopped sobbing so long ago. Somehow someway she was going to make this pain stop. She was going to find a way.

She wiped her face with her hands and sat up. She had lost weight because she just hadn't had the energy to eat let alone cook anything nourishing. She felt weak and her long brown hair was a tangled mess. Her t-shirt hung off of her shoulders. She lifted her arm, smelled her armpit and said out-loud to herself, “Gross.”

The cat ran back into the bedroom and flew onto the bed coming to a quick stop in front of her. She couldn't help but laugh. She reached over and petted her. She loved the sound of her cat's purr. It was like a little motor boat and the rumble of it represented happiness.

As she swung her legs over the side of the bed the picture of him on the dresser seemed to jump out at her. With a sharp intake of breath she refused to again be consumed by her emotions. She forced her eyes from the photograph over to the mirror and this time gasped with disgust. “Oh my God,” she said as she turned to the cat. “Lovey.....how can you even look at me?” Lovey answered by rubbing against Marcia's arm.

She walked to the bathroom and peeled off her t-shirt and underwear balling them up as she threw them into the already overflowing hamper. One arm of her t-shirt peeked out from under the lid as if it wasn't ready to say that final goodbye. The tiled floor felt cool under her feet. It felt solid and sure. Lovey jumped onto the lid of the toilet and watched as Marcia turned on the shower and tested the water temperature. She reached over and tickled Lovey's head prior to entering the stall.

The spray of water hit the top of her head as she bowed under its stream leaning with both hands on the shower wall. A flash of memory assaulted her. “You bitch!” He was slurring his words as spittle sprayed from his lips. Shit. Breath. Breath through it. Let it happen and then let it pass. And so she did.

She walked back into the bedroom naked and wet from the shower. She no longer felt dirty but she knew the memories would still cause her to feel unclean. For how long was anyone's guess. What did the therapist say? Everyone grieves at his or her own pace. What a crock of shit. Well, maybe it wasn't but she figured she was partly still in the denial stage slowly crawling into the anger stage. She would rather slide directly into the acceptance stage as if she were a baseball player sliding into home base. This was hard work talking oneself off of the ledge.

As she picked up her dirty clothes from the floor and tore the 3-week old sheets off of her bed, Lovey sat in the chair by the window watching Marcia's progress. She was an easy taskmistress and only cracked the whip when hungry.

Marcia flung everything into the laundry hamper. This time the lid stayed open like a huge yawn. Laundry will be the next thing she does. Right after getting dressed. And eating. And then blow drying her hair. Whatever.

She walked to her dresser to grab a pair of underwear out of the top drawer and his picture assaulted her again. “Dammit!” She assaulted his picture back by picking it up and deep sixing it into the trash can with such force that the wooden frame flew apart and the glass cracked. “Fuck you!” Yep. She definitely was moving into the anger phase.

She was breathing hard from the exertion when the next memory lit up her brain like a grenade's blast. “Oh my God. Oh my God,” kept repeating over and over in her head as she wiped the spittle off of her face. His gait was unsteady as he weaved his way towards the back door grabbing the car keys nearly ripping the hook out of the wall. She ran up to him and demanded them back. He was in no shape to drive. All at once he was upon her choking her with his free hand. “I am not drunk!”

Her heart pounded in her chest and sweat dripped from her forehead into her eyes. She realized she was sitting on the floor with no clear memory of how she got there. Lovey walked over and meowed as she rubbed against Marcia's hip. Jeez, she still hadn't gotten dressed. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is what the therapist had called it. Panic attacks. She was learning all kinds of psychological lingo now. This is not the education she wanted but she definitely had paid for it.

At the breakfast table she drank her first cup of coffee for the day. As the coffee hit her empty stomach she almost threw-up. Toast would work. She ended up eating 4 pieces loaded with strawberry jam and butter. Mmmmmmm....sugary sweetness.

A Poem

You

You are the soft breeze that moves gently through the air
In the cool of the evening after the sun has set
Creating music as you wind around the hanging chimes.

 

You are the pillow that holds my head at night

Surrounding me with comfort

Caressing me with support.

 

You are the brook winding through the willows

Gurgling as you move forward

Hypnotizing me with your actions so that I have no choice but to follow.

 

You are the lightening in a storm

Temporarily blinding me with your brightness

Causing me to drop to my knees because of your power.

 

You are a man so I am a woman.

Your hands hold my heart.

Let go. I said let go!

Learning to let go is proving to be a lesson I keep circling back to and each time I do so I want to kick my own ass for forgetting that I need to do it!  Life is so much simpler when one lets go.  I don't need to control everything.  Life does not fall apart if I don't orchestrate it.  

There is a horseback riding term called "giving the horse his/her head".  When a rider does this, the rider loosens the reigns so that the horse, instead of being directed by the rider, directs itself.  In sticky situations a rider will allow the horse to guide them through.  The rider recognizes when this is necessary and at the appropriate time takes the reigns back.  I need to learn to recognize under what circumstances it is right to loosen or tighten my grip.

Letting go doesn't mean not taking responsibility.  It doesn't mean I don't have to do anything or make any decisions.  It does mean that I don't always have to be the band leader coordinating the instruments so that they are playing the same tune that is echoing inside my head.  I don't always have to be right.  Letting go isn't hard when I remind myself that when I do it I am less burdened, less stressed, more at peace, and the sound of gears grinding ceases. 

Letting go means acknowledging that the other person is right.....and I am not.  Oh, how that bruises my ego but on the other hand why would I think I should always be right?  Who is always right?  That's another burden from which I need to be released.  Why did I create all of these obnoxiously impossible rules for me to follow?  I don't need them anymore.

I've been carrying around a whole bunch of unnecessary tools in my tool belt and with each step they were either banging into one of my thighs, pressing into my waist, or tripping me up.  I'm working towards detaching each troublesome tool and tossing it behind me as I go so that as I move forward it is forever in my past.

It's Official - I'm Divorced! And so is the cat.

June 21st, ladies and gentlemen.  That's the date of my divorce.  I am happy to be free.  Happy that that time of my life is finally over.  Sad that it came to that.  Drinking ruined the man and the marriage.  It rots a person from the inside out and then pushes out from the drinker's pores to drip and fall all over those within close proximity poisoning on contact.  It eats through the skin as effectively as acid burning and eroding the tender flesh leaving exposed that which should be protected.

Each day the reality of it becomes more real to me and I have to smile and do a happy dance...on the inside.  I don't want to scare people by doing my own improvisational interpretation of joy in public.

As I'm sitting here at the dining room table writing I look up and see my other cat, Senator, lounging on the back of the living room couch.  I got him back from the ex about 2 weeks ago.  Having Senator back is just another thing to add to my list of happy.  I have a wonderful friend/classmate that did me the biggest favor by negotiating the details with the ex while she was up in Maryland for a wedding.  She got the cat, bought him the proper carrier in which to fly him, took care of him, made him feel safe through the process, and then at 12:30 in the morning coordinated with me to hand him off.  She and her mom gave me something that cannot be given a monetary value.

Senator came back to me overweight, shedding, his coat shabby and sprinkled with dandruff, and without the personality that prompted me to name him Senator.  His beauty was marred.  I am glad to report that his coat is getting back its sheen and elegance.  He has already lost 1.5 pounds and not because I have limited his food intake - he has done that himself.  Eating is no longer a substitute for what was missing.  The most glorious part is that his personality has resurfaced and he is back to walking around like a pompous fool.  He also came back to me with a very bad habit of yowling incessantly in the middle of the night.  That has stopped, too. No need for it.

So, Senator and I are both now free from what haunted us.  He and I are content now.  Come to think of it, I'm not yowling in the middle of the night anymore, either.

Itchy Hives

I've got a 5-page paper I need to write, create an eye-catching poster board, and then ready myself for a mini presentation in front of the class for school.  I am over a week behind at work.  I am crossing my fingers and toes and anything else that will comfortably cross that my June 18th divorce hearing will not only stay as scheduled but go off without a hitch.  I am gritting my teeth hoping that the husband I am crossing everything for so that the divorce on June 18th happens will mow the lawn and allow potential buyers into the house so that it can be viewed and sold.  A couple of weeks ago I had to take $10K out of my IRA to save it from foreclosure because my hopefully ex as of June 18th has decided that even though he is the only one living in the house he shouldn't have to help pay the mortgage.  I am living with my mother who never stops creating sound.  She is either humming, singing, or talking and not necessarily to anyone in particular or for any reason.  You know those dog owners that silence their dogs from barking?  Yes, I do appreciate all she has done for me so don't get your feathers all flustered.  My mother has also given me multiple opportunities to learn how to politely yet firmly set and reset boundaries that keep getting crossed.  At first I wasn't so polite.  Hopefully I am better at ti now.  I have decided I have to figure out my finances to see if I can safely move out.  As a matter of fact as I am writing this she is talking to me.  A week ago my son-in-law was shot and murdered by a woman off of her meds.  Now my daughter, at 29, is a widow with a 2.5 year old.

I am getting over a yeast infection (TMI?) and have been battling hives ever since I got the news about my son-in-law.  My body is talking to me.  Well, I think it is yelling at me.  I've got too much stress.  I do walk as often as possible.  At least 3 times a week.  I have a fantastic boyfriend that does what he can to help me take it down a notch whether it is affection or just talking me off the ledge.  At the age of 51 I never thought I would be using the word "boyfriend" to describe a part of my life. 

Stress sneaks up on me.  This time it was in the middle of the night and that is why I woke up with hives.  My brain stays awake while my body sleeps.  Hold on.  I have to take a scratch break.

Ok, I'm back.  I normally try to wrap these up somehow.  Draw a conclusion.  Say something humorous.  I don't have any answers and that is why I'm writing.  So.......I'll see you soon.

P.S.  My mother is still talking.

Sandbar

Yesterday in the later part of the afternoon Jim and I went to the beach. It was low tide and we walked out into the Gulf to the first sandbar. It had taken us a trip first down the shoreline and then back up until we found a section of water that was calm enough for us to traverse without being pulled or pushed by the chaotic turbulence and strong undertow.

There were other sandbars further out but I had to stop at the first one. It was glorious. I knelt down into the sandy bottom that I could see through the water. I looked upward and saw the sun lowering in the sky reflecting in the waves as they continued to smash against each other tumultuously. I was in awe.

A forest holds its own beauty. I grew up loving, playing in, and seeking and finding solace in the woods. Their scent, the sound of the forest floor as one walks, the enchanting way the sun dapples it as it peeks around the branches high up. The trees talk. My heart finds peace in the forest.

But the wilds of the Gulf hold a different kind of allure. It is power without mercy or humility that produces tranquility within my soul. What words does language hold that can come close to describing such a deep down inner core emotional reaction? I could have sat there forever and just watched as Jim's arms kept me anchored. Even as we got up to go back to shore, I had to turn around, stop, and look just one more time.

Changing

I've been doing quite a bit of work on myself lately.  That's one reason I have been so quiet for so long.  I have had to take more than a few steps back and honestly come to grips with who I am, who I want to be in the future, and what I believe in. 

Who I am.  I always thought of myself as this dominant kind of woman that knew what she wanted and actively pursued her interests.  Well, the joke was on me!  While my intelligence, creativity, and mindfulness are cornerstones of my personality, I have come to realize that I have lied to myself for a very long time about what my core is.  I have been forcing myself, even as a young child, to try to fit into the mold that those around me wanted for me, needed me to be for themselves, instead of listening to myself and allowing me to just be, well, me.  As I make the adjustments I am like one tweaking the old fashioned radio dial where one had to carefully and slowly twist the dial left and right until the incoming signal was as clear as possible.  Sometimes I overcompensate and sometimes I under compensate but for all of the travail I am more at peace than I ever can remember feeling.  I no longer experience the undercurrent of anxiety of round hole square peg.

Who I want to be in the future.  I think I now have a pretty good idea of who I really am.  It's tough being honest with oneself.  It's also tough turning off those old autopilots and scripts.  Reacting instead of stopping, thinking, and assessing is much easier but it will only keep one on the merry-go-round.  Up and down and up and down.  I wanted off.  I needed off.  It's scary out here but the scenery is much more interesting.

What I believe in.  I always believed in God.  I was born a Jew, freshman year in college I learned about Jesus and believed in Him, and am now reading up on Buddhism.  I am leaning more towards a Higher Power and/or Creator of the Universe than what some call God, some call Jesus, others call Allah......I could go on and on with the names humanity has given to this Power.  I believe it exists, I'm just not sure what and/or who it is exactly.  I'm not all that worried about labeling it.  I'm just learning.  Once again, I am at peace.

So, I guess I'll be writing more about this journey as I walk it.  It can be painful at times but it has also brought me much joy and freedom.

Playing Cards

She drew a card from the deck and turned over the queen of hearts. It was supposed to be a game but in the end the joke was on her. She looked into the mirror and saw herself for the first time. He held it in his hands.

He drew a card from the deck and turned over the king of hearts. It was supposed to be a game but in the end the joke was on him. He looked into the mirror and saw himself more clearly than before. She held it in her hands.

They peeked from around the mirrors and their eyes met. They knew each other from a long time ago and ago and have met again. This time, as they held their mirrors, they saw the truth and it was good. They were home. They were safe.

The mirrors were set aside as they now reflected each other in their eyes. Blood mixed with blood. Soul mixed with soul. Blessings intertwined.

They walked into each other and became one.

As You Open the Door

As you open the door to me
I tentatively walk over the threshold
Into your house
Hoping that I will not have regrets

I have tasted your flesh
And seen a piece of your heart
Your body has mixed with mine
I hope I will not have regrets

For surely this is the answer
This is the man
That was waiting for me
That was calling for me
From when I was far away

Now that I am close
Now that I have walked through his door
I want to feel safe; I need to feel safe
Hoping that I will not have regrets

I have shared so much of my soul
I have given so much of my body
My bruised heart is beating anew
I hope I will not have regrets

For surely this is the answer
This is the man
That was waiting for me
That was calling for me
From when I was far away

A Broken Heart

You've pulled the knife out only to find a deep gash that needs time to mend.

A broken heart indiscriminately bleeds all over the place.  The blood pools beneath when lying down.  It hits passersby.  It sprays on the walls and drips onto the floor.  It coats the inside of the car's windshield.  It is a mess. 

You lose your footing slipping along on the red fluid while unsuccessfully trying to bypass the puddles you yourself have formed.  You take a shower trying to get clean but the watered down blood circles at your feet as it goes down the drain. 

With each pump of the heart more blood leaks out until it eventually clots, scabs over, and then leaves a scar.  The question then is this - would you take the chance again?

Dementia

One of the courses I am taking is psychology for the health care worker. I am currently reading the chapter that deals with the elderly and just finished reading a case study concerning a husband and wife where the wife has dementia. The husband takes care of the wife on his own but in the end puts her in a nursing home.

This sparked a memory for me from when I was a bookkeeper at a nursing home. There was a lovely, kind older gentleman who visited his equally lovely wife every day. When I say every day, I mean every day. The two of them would sit on one of the benches in a common area holding hands while he spoke to those that passed by. He would turn to his wife and explain who the people were and what they were doing. Even though she had no idea who he was or probably where she was she didn't seem to mind the contact and in response to his explanations she would look at you, nod, and smile.

That was all he needed. Holding her hand, sitting next to her, being able to talk to her was enough. He relished each day that he still had with her and even though he knew that one day, possibly in the near future, her mind would further deteriorate, this is what he had now and he would be happy with it.

The love this man demonstrated towards his wife was special. I couldn't help but be drawn to it. It was simple and complete. It didn't demand; it gave. It wasn't forceful but instead kind and patient. It was apropos to the moment not trying to mold or shape. It was a life lesson that I've never forgotten.

Back to School

After searching job websites for a couple of months I concluded that my skills were more suited to Baltimore than to Sarasota and that no matter how long I looked the outcome would be the same. What this job search did net me was knowing what employers are looking for here. I did some research and have decided to go back to school and learn medical insurance billing and coding. This is a one year program and when I was signing the oodles of enrollment paperwork I had to tamp down the panic of commitment. I aced the assessment tests and had orientation this afternoon. 

I also am required to wear color coded scrubs....blue for medical.  I tried them on today as they need to be special ordered to have the school's emblem embroidered on them.  They are mostly made of polyester which increases the sweat factor.  Since this is the only drawback I shouldn't complain.

Once I graduate, I have to work one full year in the field before I am allowed to test for certification.

Now that I am past the panic stage, I am settling down to quiet excitement. This is where I am right now and this is what I have to do.  As I continue to turn the pages in my book, I am happy.  I am happy.

Blue Valentine

My mom and I just finished watching the movie "Blue Valentine".  If you are depressed, I don't recommend it because you will only feel worse after watching it.  Although I'm sure the point of the movie was not to depress but to enlighten, it was still depressing.  So that I don't have to write "spoiler alert" it basically is about how two people got together, married, and then split. (I am such a sucker for Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams.)

I'm betting I feel so strongly about this because some of the script hit so close to home the writer may as well have resided there with me, took notes, and then transcribed them verbatim. 

Yesterday morning I was reading an obituary about an 80-something year old man that had recently died.  I normally don't read the obits let alone the newspaper but my mom left it lying on the kitchen table.  I picked it up to read while I ate my meal.  This man's obit stood out because it took up a whole 1.5 columns!  Whoever wrote it took the time and care to make it detailed so I figured the least I could do was honor the effort.

This man had been married to his High School sweetheart for 66 years.  She passed away on March 11th of this year.  About 4.5 months later he joined her.  I don't recall the obit saying he had been sick.

I wish I could interview them separately and together.  So many questions for a couple that was a success.  Why is it that some people are able to be married for 66 years and others can't make it past 6 months? Mutual respect?  Communication? 

Since the divorce rate hovers around 50% here in the US, maybe I shouldn't be asking any of you to answer these questions.  I should ask the citizens of Kazakhstan.  Their divorce rate is 39%.

It's either just the rain or I am actually really pissed off.

I've been living in Florida for one week now.  I have crossed off quite a few of the entries on my list of things that must be accomplished including changing over the tags on my car and transferring my MD driver's license to a FL one.  Last night, despite the three nightmares in a row, I slept in later than 4:30 in the morning.  I'm going to have to learn how to use the DVR because I missed Mr. Ed.

As I'm writing this, I see that it is pouring outside.....again.  No draught here!  Yesterday when I was driving Jesse to the airport to catch his flight back to Baltimore, I nervously drove through a deluge.  I'm sure the intermittent storms are normal for this time of year, but they are bumming me out.  Add to that being pissed off that at 50 I am starting my life over, well, just ask my mother if her tongue isn't shredded yet from biting it.  Yes, I am pissed off and the weather isn't helping.

Those that see the glass as half full tell me that I should look at this as an opportunity for new beginnings that I otherwise wouldn't have.  While I understand this on an intellectual level, my emotions are wearing boxing gloves and mouth guard while dancing around the ring looking for a fight. 

The good news?  Trixie the cat is showing signs of feeling more comfortable around the house when it isn't just me walking around.  Shadow the dog can't wait for Trixie to want to play with him.

Mr Ed

I am an early riser. Always have been. Getting up early allows me time to eat a quick breakfast before running out the door to go to work. One morning not more than a month ago I was watching the early news and decided it was #1 - depressing and #2 - boring. I started channel surfing and found "Mr. Ed". I had shadowy memories of watching it when I was little and so I pushed the button on the remote. 
Very rarely do I get to see a whole show.  Most of the time I don't sit my butt in front of the TV until the final 15 minutes.  I like it!  From what I've seen so far, most of the story lines are pure eye-rolling silliness but the jokes aren't half bad and I find myself laughing at the them. Imagine playing Wilbur, the straight man to Mr. Ed's funny lines.  

There is a naivete and simplicity that is endearing.  Each show seems to have at least one joke about being married and surprisingly conservation is a common thread, too.  The show aired from 1961 to 1966.  One wouldn't expect gas usage in our vehicles to be a topic, but it was. 

It is silly humor that is part of the start of my weekdays.  That's much better than the news....at least it is for me.

Scrapings from the bottom of the frying pan

First Scraping
I have a $5,000 deductible on my health insurance.  This is for Individual coverage, mind you.  If I had Family coverage, it would be $10,000.  When I last saw my endocrinologist we discussed me getting a series of shots and then a blood test that will give me a true reading as to the possibility of the thyroid cancer growing again.  This can't be done by only drawing blood and then running tests because my thyroid medication is dosed to keep me at a certain level of whatever that inhibits cancer cell growth.  (I'm sure you don't want a science lesson here so I'm keeping it simple.)  The shots are very expensive....somewhere to the tune of $2,000.  When my doc found out what my deductible was, he offered another suggestion.  Since I had the neck dissection one year ago, we could bypass the shots/blood test and just do the neck ultrasound this September.  He said I should make the ultrasound appointment in the morning and then an office appointment with him same day in the afternoon.  I thought that was a good idea and agreed to it.

Now that it has been a month and a half since I made that decision, I realize it isn't going to work for me.  It was these annual shots/testing results that made me want to change docs in the first place.  (See earlier posts.)   

Second Scraping
It's Spring and I am back to mowing and planting.  I love all of it. I feel so much satisfaction after having mowed a row, turning around and seeing the difference in the height of the grass.  I could compare it to the immediate results one experiences when ironing clothes, but I hate ironing.  Actually, I hate everything about ironing except for the hiss a steam iron makes when setting it back upright.  That's kind of cool.

I love all of the different flowers, except for orange marigolds.  I look at them and feel pissed off.  Weird, right?  They are innocent and I am holding back from snapping off their heads.  Other than my issues with marigolds, I find the differences in flower's leaf construction, bloom, colors, textures, and smells intriguing.  My blood pressure lowers and I just want to sit and stare.  I could sit on the forest floor for hours taking in the different sounds the trees, animals, and bugs make.  I love the patterns of light made by the sun's rays shining through the canopy overhead.  Where the sun breaks through those spots are warm and toasty.

Third Scraping
I don't like sweating.  Because of my medication, I sweat more easily and it is gross.  I won't even try to pretend this is not gross by calling it perspiration.  If I just sweated from my armpits, I would be almost OK with that but my head is the sweatiest part of my body.  Sweat runs through my hair down my neck and behind my ears.  It interferes with my vision as it falls from my eyebrows.  It makes my eyeglasses slip down my nose.  For those of you familiar with West Side Story, sing along with me.....I feel pretty.  Oh so pretty....

Doggie Heaven

I wasn't very brave at the vet's office. I cried in the waiting room, in the exam room, and afterward while writing the check. My final goodbye to Belle included rubbing her head, telling her she was a good girl, and a kiss on the head.


On the drive home a scene popped into my mind's eye. It was like a picture in a coloring book in that the lines were simple and it was composed of only three elements. The sky was robin egg blue and the grass was crayon green. I knew the temperature was just right and the sun was somewhere in the sky. I saw Belle bounding around like she did when she was young and she would play. She was happy and no longer in pain. I felt calm afterward and gained some peace.  Even though some of you will think I've definitely gone off the deep end, I felt I was allowed a glimpse of her in doggie heaven.

RIP Belle

RIP Belle. She's our 11-year oldish Pointer/Doberman/? mix.  Her legs aren't working well anymore and she's in pain.  She's lost quite a bit of muscle mass and her back is somewhat bowed.  It's that time when an owner makes that hard choice.  The only thing making this easier is believing that she is going to see her ole pal Budderbutt who passed before her.

I can still see her sitting pretty in her run at the shelter. I walked through the door to the doggies and spied her immediately.  She looked back at me and that was all it took.  Yes, she was neurotic but how would you be if you had been beaten by some slob and then dropped off because you were thought of as a pain in the ass instead of a loved companion?  Eventually loud noises, sudden movements, and reaching over to pet her stopped causing her to panic. 

We got the submissive urination under control.....for the most part.  Her first year took patience but it was worth it.  Yes, she never lost the habit of sounding the alarm bark because a leaf floated by in front of the window and she had a stubborn streak.  She was prone to ear infections, too. 

But, she was protective and loving.  She was very smart, too, and had a large vocabulary.  She even figured out what we meant when we spelled certain words.  When she was young she had the most beautiful gait and I used to love watching her run around the back yard like a crazy person.  Now just getting up from a prone position is hard work and sometimes not a reachable goal.

I love that dog.  She used to climb up on the bed with me at night and cuddle.  All 80 pounds of her lying right next to me so we touched.  I didn't mind that she always rudely turned her back to me.  I guess it was her way of forcing me to put my arm over her. 

I'm not looking forward to our 7:45 pm visit to the vet's tonight.  I don't want to watch the light leave her eyes but I will be there for her.  She was there for me.

Country Music & Love

There are very few Country music songs that I will listen to all the way through. I just find the lyrics way too sappy and then I end up getting nauseous and it just isn't pretty.

It's not that these people can't sing. I think some of these artists have the most beautiful voices. It's not that the musicians lack talent. There is no hiding behind electro-pseudo-techno machinations. It's the lyrics. And the whining.

Sometimes love stinks. Sometimes love is grand. The verdict is out on love as a whole and that is why there are so many songs about it, people have killed themselves over it, and some have killed others because of it. Remember the one hit wonder by Haddaway, "What is Love?"?

Maybe that is why, if in the mood, I can enjoy listening to Johnny Cash. He didn't whine. I don't mind the twang. Having lived in Oklahoma and Texas, I find it endearing.

Maybe this isn't about Country music. Maybe this is really about love.

The Dog Gauge

On this New Year's Day, 2011, I found myself really looking at my two dogs.

Belle, who is somewhere around 10 or 11, had a very bad inner ear infection that caused Bell's Palsy on her left side. She's had it for a little over a month now. While she still can't blink her left eye, it is now moving in synch with her right, her inner lid functions normally, and she is able to move her left ear a little. The left side of her mouth still droops, though, and we administer drops in her left eye a couple of times a day to keep it moist. Her pretty brown muzzle is white with age. Even though she still suffers from deterioration in her back,this morning she sped out the back door and ran the length of the back yard.

Nigel, who will be 7 this February, also has white on his muzzle where it used to be all black. He has become quite the curmudgeon, too. Being part Chow he was always opinionated, but now when I look at him I see an old man standing on his front porch in plaid pants hiked up to just under his chest waving a fist in the air at the neighborhood kids.

My dog's lives represent a timeline. What was I doing when they were young? What was I doing when we only had Belle? How about when Nigel was added to the clan? How have things changed now that we all are older?

These two also are an example of no matter how we sometimes would like the clock to stop and things to never change, time forces change to happen. It is the way the world was devised, for better or for worse.

One time, when I was around 12 years old, I was a very upset little girl crying during a family gathering while seated at our dining room table. I was trying so desperately to move from one phase of my life and into the new one and it was so confusing at times. Some of my extended family was embarrassed by the emotion and walked away. I can remember my father standing at the head of the table holding on to the back of one of the chairs looking like he was so lost as to how to help me with the pain. All at once, my grandmother walked into the room, sized up the situation, and said, "Nancy, it won't always be this way." She then proceeded to gather up my hurt and pain and replace it with peace and calm.

No matter whether change charges at us head on or creeps up from behind, we cannot stop it from happening. All we have to do is look at our dogs to see that.

Thanksgiving Eve

As I sit in front of my computer monitor on the eve of Thanksgiving, I want to say that I am thankful that I am alive. There were two pivotal points in my life within the past 8 years in which dying was a real possiblity.

In the Fall of 2004 in the examination room, my primary care doctor could have not continued to listen to me after I pointed my finger at him and told him he had to figure out what was wrong with me and that I didn't care what the results of the tests were. I could not continue my life the way it was. Unbeknownst to everyone, the cancer was growing front to back and starting to infiltrate bone. My thyroid was riddled with it and because of that I was gaining weight, my hair was falling out, my skin was a mess, I slept through my weekends, and was in a brain fog. He ordered an ultrasound and voila!

Last year around this time I could have believed my original endocrinologist that the cancer was not growing even though the annual testing said otherwise. It could have multiplied past the 12 lymph nodes removed in May of this year and become inoperable. My new endocrinologist had it right. And so did the surgeon.

Cop Cars and Strobe Lights

I woke up at 2:30 this morning to strobe lights flashing through the blinds and lighting up the bedroom like a dance club. At first I thought there was something wrong with my eyes but when blinking didn't stop it, I woke up enough to realize they were police strobes from more than a couple police cars up and down my street. I guess someone's party got a little too raucous and someone else called the cops. There was a steady stream of young adults laughing and talking loudly as they walked along the street to get in their cars to leave.

I hang my head in shame as I am now forced to admit my street is like a librarian - looks quiet but wait until it loses the glasses and lets it's hair down.

Do I Really Look Like a Hooker?

The other day a guy driving down one of the main roads near our house mistook me for a hooker. All I was trying to do was look around the parked cars to see when there was a break in traffic so that I could cross the street. Maybe I looked too....expectant? I just wanted to get my prescription that was ready for pick-up at CVS. Jamie says it was the red shirt I had on. I've never heard that hookers like to wear the color red but apparently it makes them stand out.

This guy was talking on his cell phone, driving, and looking at me. All of a sudden he slowed down, put his blinker on and started pulling over right near where I was standing. My first thought was, "Why is he pulling over? This is a one way street and he would be driving the wrong way." It was then that my brain registered that he had "that look". Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. You guys reading this probably practiced it in the mirror when you hit puberty. The girls practiced it on each other before heading out to the Jr. High dance. As we got older and more experienced, it just came naturally. When I was in my late teens, very late teens, and someone in college would give me the look, the intensity of it would sometimes be so intimidating it would have the opposite effect on me and I would feel the need to turn tail and run instead of move closer.

I quickly looked left and right again and was extremely relieved to find the coast was clear for me to cross the street. The guy in the car seemed surprised by my behavior. I wasn't following the script! And here he thought he had scored. This one looks healthy!

I'm still not sure how I should feel about this. It's rather insulting. At the same time, I have a niggling voice in the back of my head saying I should take it as a compliment of sorts. It makes my brain catch on fire and smoke if I think too hard about it. What do you think?

Shopping Carts

Yesterday I took my lunch hour to go to PetSmart for dog and cat food. I did this so that it wouldn't be part of the one hundred chores already lined up for this weekend. Even though the staple of the critters' diet is dry, we supplement it with canned. I really dislike shopping so when I take the time to do this I purchase enough to last a couple of weeks. Since I have to check the ash content on the cans for the cats and Nigel gets itchy from certain brands, it does end up taking a bit of time to accomplish this.

The checkers at the registers may put on a happy face when I show up in their queue, but they only do that because they get paid to act that way. If anyone gets in line behind me, they aren't required to act happy. Sometimes they don't even try to act polite. Some are so annoyed that they have to wait their turn for service they will stand right on top of me making their physical presence known while their purse bangs into me...accidentally, of course. I have had mothers push their kids up against me. Notice my examples if this childish behavior are all women? A man may be annoyed but I not once had one act in a passive-aggressive way. He will either stand there with the patience of Job yet again suffering because of a woman or he will be stone faced not wanting to upset the apple cart no matter how steamed he is feeling. Yet again another difference between the sexes.

I had finally checked out, made it to my car, and noticed something odd while setting the bags full of cans in my open trunk. There was a woman walking behind an empty cart in a meandering fashion. I watched her for a couple of seconds as she walked between cars looking around and it hit me that she was looking for one of those parking lot shopping cart depositories.

I always feel sorry for the person responsible for rounding the carts up and returning them to the store. The carts are either slammed in there every which way or they are lined up linked together 5 feet past the end of the enclosure. This is a sucky job especially when the weather is crap so I always properly take care of my cart.

As I finish loading the trunk I'm thinking to myself that sooner or later Miss Brilliant will realize that these cart kiosks are few and far between and since she is so close to the store anyway it would behoove her to just take a few more steps and take it back to the building. I close my trunk and start back to the store to return my cart. Half way there I see an empty cart sitting at the end of a car. I don't see anyone near it so I figure the person is in the last throws of their shopping experience probably knee deep in their car arranging their goods.

I've already checked my watch a thousand times to make sure I won't be late getting back to work. I have two more rows of cars left when I hear someone call, "Ma'am!" Guess who it was.

If she had been using crutches, in a wheelchair, or a little old lady or man, I would have said yes when she popped out from between cars asking in the most sickly sweet manipulative way my teeth hurt if I am taking my cart back to the store would I take her cart back for her, too. I yelled over my shoulder that I was late for work and kept walking.

Was she just hiding waiting for someone to walk by? The time it took to do that she could have returned the cart herself and been on her way. Call me a bitch, but that kind of behavior does not warrant a reward. I am not required to complete her tasks nor do I feel any guilt over it.

Believe it or not, this is the second time a woman has asked this of me. The first time I played the martyr and was pissed at myself for it. This time I did what I felt was right.

Isn't it amazing that as I crossed the threshold from store back to parking lot she and I passed each other as she was walking her cart back to it's home? Now....how hard was that?

Summer

I can't wait for this summer to be over. I can't believe I'm even writing that! It has been way too hot, way too humid, and because of the medication I'm on, frankly, I am sick of sweating.

Summer doesn't mean to me what it used to when I was a kid. It was freedom from school and summers in Old Forge. It was the yardstick I used to measure the differences in me from one year to the next. It was playing outside until darkness fell and someone's parent was calling them in the house. Summer was riding bikes and playing jacks.

As I got older, July and August became lazy days. I would listen to my albums with the volume turned up while lying on the living room floor and the windows wide open. The windows remained open when I played the piano and the breeze made the drapes dance. Sometimes I would wonder if anyone could hear me. I hated playing in front of people. Playing was my stress reliever. It was my escape. I didn't need an audience for that.

As my responsibilities grew summer's joy waned and the years all just became one run on sentence.

When people talk and laugh about going back in time to a certain age to live it again, I never say I would want to do that. There is too much to have to learn again plus I am finally comfortable with who I am. What I do wish I could recapture are the summers and the feelings I had during them when I was young. It wasn't all sunshine and apple pie, but they were still good.

The End - Part 8

Trepidation, curiosity, and excitement filled me as Det. Lewis and I walked down the hall, took a left, walked down another hall and came to the double doors of the courtroom. I entered through the door on the left with no further conversation or instructions other than what was said to me before. Keep my eyes on the State's Attorney. Answer her questions as previously discussed. It's all just a conversation between her and me.



When I walked in I had no idea where to go! Where was the so-called stand? There wasn't one...at least not like in the movies or traffic court. No one directed me so I stopped moving forward while my eyes swept over the room trying to decide the direction I should take. The rows of benches were on my right. Ahead of me and at the end of the room was the jury on the left and the judge straight ahead. In front of the judge were two tables pushed together where the prosecution and defense were sitting along with the accused. The court stenographer was somewhere sandwiched in between the tables and the judge's bench along with a burly and unsmiling officer of the law.



Since no one was directing me and I still didn't clearly see where I should sit, I just started to walk straight ahead. As I neared the front, the judge yelled at me to stop and pointed to the chair I should take. Geesh! I'm new at this! And Holy cow! I have to walk right behind the accused and then practically sit on his lap!? Imagine this part of the courtroom to be a rectangle. The judge was the long line at the top. The jury was the short line on the left. The lawyers and the accused were the long line at the bottom and I and the heat were the short line on the right with me closest to bottom.



Before I sat down I was sworn in. "I do." Two simple words that somehow made the judge take his eyes off of whatever paperwork he had on his desk and look up at me. I was told to sit so I did. The chair was inside of a type of booth and when I looked straight ahead there was the jury. I had to turn my head to the left to see the lawyer's tables. It all seemed like such an odd way to have things set up. The lawyers were sitting close enough to each other they could compare manicures and the jurors on the far left did not have a clear visual path to the person that was testifying.



I started off in a state of controlled fear but soon relaxed. The defense lawyer was a young woman that didn't look scary and the accused wouldn't look at me at all. He was probably drilled not to do so as it would have been interpreted as aggressive. The state asked her questions and they were pretty much what we already reviewed. I think she would have hopped on the table and cheered if she could have because of how I responded.



At one point the SA asked me about how I had described the guy's build in my statement. She then asked me if anyone in the courtroom had that kind of build. Well, Mr. Law Enforcement was a big guy so he fit the bill and since up until that point I had only seen the accused seated, I had no idea what his build was. I pointed out the trooper, or whatever he was. They jury laughed and the judge made a face. The SA asked the judge if she could ask the accused to stand and was given permission. The second he stood up I recognized him as the man. There was no doubt in my mind and I said so.



The defense lawyer(dl) now had her turn. I was all set for battle but there wasn't one. I wondered if she had given up because she didn't believe his innocense so didn't care and was just doing the minimum. I found out later that he had concocted some insane story in his defense that no one in their right mind would believe...even if it were a movie of the week. The dl asked me why I had to wear glasses. I told her it was because I have an astigmatism. She then asked me to explain what that is. I'm sure she wasn't expecting my trying to describe the deformity to the lens of the eyeball that causes it. Eventually she asked me a very stupid question. She said, "So, without your glasses your vision is blurry." I know. That wasn't really a question, but I had an answer. I looked at her and said, "Hence the glasses." I was proud of myself as I had made the jury laugh again! Even the judge and the trooper had to smile.



The SA had just a few follow-up questions for clarification purposes and then the judge told me I was excused to go. As I was getting my purse and standing up to leave he said, "That was a special testimony."



The guy ended up being found guilty. He was sentenced to 30 years. The SA thinks he will have to serve about 24 of those.

Really?

Shanel and I said our hellos and I introduced myself to her. I'm going to be 50 this October so just about everyone looks young to me now. Especially cops. They look like they just graduated 6th grade. Shanel seemed young to me, too. Maybe it was just the circumstances. Or, maybe it was the poor decisions she made in the past. Or, possibly more fitting, it was that she seemed to not have a grasp on life in a mature way. Have you ever talked to a person and realized their reality is not all that close to your version? Maybe that was it.

Whatever it was about her that gave me that impression wasn't as important as what she must have been experiencing waiting to take the stand that morning. I'm sure whatever I was feeling she had it 10 times worse. I told her how sorry I was for what happened. That small gesture of compassion opened up the flood gates.

She told me how one her dead fiance's sisters had called her with death threats. How his family still blames her for what happened and all of the ways they had been harrassing her. She talked about renting the house from her stepfather and how since the fire he hasn't let her back in and hasn't shared any of the insurance money with her. She didn't have the funds to retrieve her clothes from the dry cleaners and she wasn't the one that sent them there. Her car was still parked behind the locked gate in the driveway and she had to get a lawyer to fight to retrieve that, too. As she was telling me the details of her life going years back, I heard a combination of wailing and quiet sobbing.

Shanel looked from me to the top of the staircase. I turned my head, too, and discovered the source of the tears. It was the sweet older black lady from the bathroom earlier that morning. She was accompanied by an older genteman who looked to be her husband. He had his right arm around her and his left arm holding her left arm. She needed the support walking down the stairs as she dabbed her eyes with tissues and softly cried. A few beats behind them was a young woman carrying a little boy no older than two. She was the one moaning. She cried over and over, "They took my mother. They took my mother." She was using the wad of tissues in her free hand to wipe her eyes. I can still feel how her pain ripped into my heart. The little boy had a look on his face that said he didn't understand what was going on but he knew it wasn't good and now was the time to be quiet.

They rounded the corner and walked out of sight down another hallway.

You and I both know I have no idea what happened or whether their family member deserved to be sentenced. I do know the amount of pain I had just witnessed was the same as what I have seen and experienced at funerals. It took a bit of time for me to recover from the tide of their grief that had just slammed into me and make sure I didn't get pulled into the undertow as my emotional knees buckled.

Shanel had resumed telling me her life story and continued to do so until Det. Lewis walked into view to tell me the court was ready for me.